Writer’s Block

What was Hutch doing before Starsky flatlined in Sweet Revenge?

I had writer’s block, so to get over, it I gave Hutch the same. Small missing scene.

Hutch sat and stared at the typewriter. The typewriter did not, in fact, stare back, but Hutch couldn’t help feeling that if it could do so, it would. The paper remained obstinately blank.

Hutch longed for his partner’s fluid use of written language and mourned its lack. But that was what this report was about, the attack on Starsky in the parking lot by someone’s hired goons. Someone’s… and Hutch was damned well going to find out whose.

Right now, though, he had to write a report on the shooting, necessary for the ongoing investigation. And he had writer’s block. The task didn’t seem possible. How to condense into a few short concise sentences the horror of that moment when he saw Starsky lying so still on the tarmac, bleeding out? How to express the sickening shock of seeing men in Bay City uniforms shooting at them?

It didn’t just seem impossible, Hutch found himself thinking that it actually was impossible.

He played with the ping pong ball from their game of, was it just that morning? So much had happened since then… His mind wandered. How was Starsky? Surely he would know if…

Suddenly Hutch had to know, immediately. With trembling hands he dialed the number to the hospital, and asked for Dobey.

Dobey’s flat tone left him chilled. “You’d better get down here right now.”

Phone dropped, ping pong ball left to roll on the desk, he took off running. Writer’s block forgotten, report be damned, getting to Starsky was all that mattered.