Chapter Four

 

The two detectives took advantage of the ride back from the ranch to call Captain Dobey and secure an arrest warrant for one Rodney Sullens, and to find a women’s shelter where Billy’s mom and sister could relocate.  Hutch declined to take his pain medicine, so he and Starsky could take turns driving back into town, while the other one caught a little sleep curled up in the back seat.  They’d made it back in record time, and a little after sunrise, they pulled into the parking lot of the R&M Diner.

 

“Hutch,” Starsky said tersely, shaking his partner gently to wake him.  “We’re here.”

 

Hutch sat up groggily and rubbed his tired eyes.  “Okay.  Let’s get this over with.  Did you call for back-up?”

 

As if on cue, a black-and-white pulled into the parking lot and slid into the vacant spot next to the Torino.  “How’s that for service?” Starsky quipped, stepping out of the car and holding the door open so Hutch could extricate his lanky frame from the back seat.  Starsky trotted off to the patrol car to speak to the two officers, while Hutch stretched the kinks out of his cramped muscles.

 

When Starsky returned to the Torino, there was a worried frown on his face.

 

“What’s up?” Hutch asked, concerned.

 

Starsky took a deep breath and leaned against the car next to his partner.  “It seems the warrant hasn’t come through yet and won’t be ready for another hour or so.  Judge Harris had to go to some emergency meeting or somethin’ and didn’t get a chance to sign it before he left.”

 

Hutch ran a weary hand down his face.  “So, how do we want to play this?  Should we wait for the warrant, or go on in there and see if we can make ol’ Rodney resist arrest?”

 

“Well, I am kinda hungry,” Starsky grinned in reply, nudging Hutch toward the diner.  “And I’ve always liked a good roust with my mornin’ coffee.”

 

Hutch nodded.  “You know, I’m in the mood for some good old-fashioned health food.  What do you think?”

 

They ambled off toward the diner.  “That’s an excellent choice, Ollie,” Starsky replied.  “Excellent choice.”

 

The first thing they noticed upon entering the building was a young girl seated alone in one of the booths that bordered a large plate-glass window.  She appeared to be in her early teens, and in spite of her pale face and downcast eyes, she bore a remarkable resemblance to Billy.  She didn’t even look up as they took a seat in the booth directly across from her.

 

Starsky grabbed a menu off the table and studied it closely.  Within a few moments, a tired-looking waitress with bloodshot eyes came to their table and stood patiently, waiting for them to order.

 

“I’ll have the big breakfast special, please, with scrambled eggs, sausage, oatmeal, pancakes, and hash browns.”  Starsky replaced the menu in its rack.  “Oh.  And a bottle of ketchup.”  He sat back in the booth contentedly with a wistful look on his face.

 

The waitress turned expectantly toward Hutch.  “And I’ll have an egg white omelet with organic goat’s cheese and fresh watercress with a side of whole wheat toast and plain yogurt.”  He looked at the waitress.  “And herbal tea to drink...um...chamomile, I think.”

 

The waitress looked at Hutch uncertainly.  “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t serve all that stuff; just what’s on the menu.  Perhaps you’d like to take another look and select something else?”

 

Hutch pretended to be angry.  “Look, lady.  I’ve seen your menu, and there’s nothing on there that’s fit for human consumption.  Who runs this greasy spoon, anyhow?”

 

The waitress flushed deeply.  “My husband does.”

 

“Then get him out here.  I’d like to have a few words with him.”  Hutch broke eye contact with the waitress, signaling that their conversation was over.

 

The waitress scurried to the kitchen, and a few moments later, a large muscular man came storming out of the tiny room.  He approached their table, his face set in an angry scowl.  “What seems to be the trouble?” 

 

“The trouble is that this diner serves nothing but crap.  How’s a guy supposed to get a decent meal in this dump?”  Hutch looked the man up and down and snorted derisively.  “Of course, judging by the caliber of people who run the place, I’m not surprised.”  He shifted his gaze to make eye contact with Starsky, each one waiting for Rodney to make his move.

 

“Look, buddy,” the man continued, taking another menacing step toward the table.  “Either order what’s on the menu and like it, or go find someplace else to eat.  I ain’t got time for this.”

 

Hutch looked the man over once again.  “And just who am I talking to?”

 

“Whom,” Starsky corrected.

 

“Whom,” Hutch repeated dutifully.

 

“Who wants to know?” the man sneered.

 

Hutch stood slowly, stepping out of the booth so he could stand toe to toe with his antagonist.  “I do.”

 

“The name’s Rodney.  Rodney Sullens.  And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll sit down, shut up, and stop tryin’ to cause trouble.”  Rodney stood his ground, drawing himself to his full height, which was a couple of inches taller than Hutch.

 

“Are you threatening me?” Hutch asked incredulously.  “You have got to be kidding!”

 

“Oh, yeah?” Rodney said, taking a step back from the detective.  “We’ll see who’s kidding!”  With that, Rodney grabbed the front of Hutch’s shirt and, with very little effort, hurled him over the back of the booth’s bench seat.

 

Starsky was immediately on his feet and landed a right cross to the larger man’s chin, knocking him into some extra chairs piled against the wall.  Rodney hit the chairs with a loud crash and crumpled to the floor, apparently unconscious.  Starsky immediately turned to help his partner who was slowly climbing back over the bench seat, his bandaged arm cradled in his good hand.

 

Meanwhile, Rodney recovered his senses, and, seeing that Starsky’s back was turned, he quietly picked up a vacant chair and swung it in a wide arc toward Starsky’s head.  Starsky, whose attention was still focused on his partner, didn’t see it coming.  Hutch, however, caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and, seeing the danger, threw himself into Starsky, knocking him out of the way of the chair.  Unable to stop his momentum, Starsky crashed through the plate glass window and landed in a heap in the parking lot outside.

 

Seeing Starsky fly through the window, the two officers outside hurriedly exited their vehicle and ran into the diner.  Within minutes, they had helped Hutch subdue a very angry Rodney, loaded him into the back of the squad car, and were headed downtown. 

 

Hutch poked his head out the door of the diner.  “You okay?” he asked his partner who was sitting on the curb, his elbows resting loosely on his knees.

 

“Yeah,” came the breathless reply.  “You?”

 

“Good as gold, partner,” Hutch replied, smiling broadly as he headed back into the diner to tie things up.  “Good as gold.”

 

˜  ™