Hutch looked at his watch for the thousandth time and sighed. Only one more hour to go on this miserable shift, and he could go home, have a cold beer and a hot shower and try to forget about this awful day. Luckily, there hadn’t been much action on the streets and their calls had been limited to one domestic disturbance and one complaint of disturbing the peace. Both calls had been handled without incident and Hutch considered himself fortunate, considering the lack of skill possessed by the man who was riding in the passenger seat of his car.
Feeling eyes boring into the side of his head, the tall blond detective turned to find his temporary ‘partner’ staring at him. “What?”
“Uhm...I was just wondering...uhm, sir...,” Schlenko began, nervously shifting his gaze from the side of Hutch’s head to the dashboard and back again. “You’re a really good cop. Really good. And I was just wondering why someone like you would agree to ride with someone like me.”
“Easy,” Hutch replied, smiling a little to take the sting out of his words. “I lost the coin toss.”
The squawk of the radio interrupted their conversation. “All units in the vicinity of 1400 Main Street. A 2-11 in progress at the First National Bank. Silent alarm sounded at that location. Proceed with caution.”
“That’s us!” Hutch expertly executed a U-turn and hit the siren. “Put the light on the roof, would ya?” He picked up the microphone and spoke into it. “This is Zebra three. We are responding to the 2-11 at 1400 Main Street.”
“Ten four, Zebra three. Copy that. Be advised that Zebra seven and Zebra eight are already on the scene.”
“Roger and out.” Hutch replaced the microphone on the radio and turned to look at his companion. Incredibly, Schlenko was still holding the mars light on his lap with a bewildered expression on his face. “What’s the problem, Schlenko? Get that light on the roof!”
Flustered, the rookie replied. “I...I don’t know how. How do you put it up there?”
“Just slap it up there! It’s not rocket science!” A very frustrated Hutch turned his attention back to the roadway as he increased his speed.
To his credit, Schlenko really tried to do as Hutch told him. He eagerly grabbed the light in his right hand and hung his arm out the window, ready to place the light where it belonged. Unfortunately, he was not prepared for Hutch’s sudden increase in speed and the doomed light flew out of his hand to go crashing onto the street, dragging beside the car like a dilapidated tail. Thoroughly embarrassed, the rookie began hauling in on the cord, attempting to bring it back into the car.
“Forget it!” Hutch snapped, shaking his head in consternation. “We’re here.”
He pulled the car to a stop in front of a large, modern bank building and pulling his weapon, jumped from the car and ran toward the other units on the scene. His mind registered the fact that somehow the press had already arrived and their cameras were rolling. A young, female reporter was delivering a narrative about the situation in front of a single cameraman. Both of them seemed to be in a safe position, so the detective quickly decided that there were other matters that needed his immediate attention.
Hutch glanced behind him to check on the progress of the rookie and was alarmed to see that he was not there. He had assumed that Schlenko would follow his lead, but instead, the young officer was still in the car trying to pull the mars light back in through the window. As Hutch hurried back toward his car, a movement in the bank caught his eye. There, on the second floor, the barrel of a rifle poked out of a window and was aimed straight for Schlenko who had, by this time, exited the car and was standing directly in the line of fire.
“Down!” Hutch screamed, instinctively launching himself at the rookie. The echo of a single gunshot roared across the street as Hutch’s body came into contact with that of Schlenko, knocking him safely to the ground.
Schlenko sat up slowly, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. The force of the impact had slightly stunned him and in his confusion, he couldn’t quite figure out what had just happened. He looked around for Hutch to get an explanation as the other officers on the scene ran over and dragged him to safety behind a nearby black and white cruiser.
“What happened?” Schlenko asked, running a hand through his hair. “Where’s Detective Hutchinson?”
“Over there,” a uniformed officer replied grimly, pointing in the general direction they had just come from. Schlenko looked over toward the bank and his face paled at what he saw.
There, lying in the street, was Hutch. Unmoving, his face covered in blood, the detective was void of any signs of life. The shot from the window had found its mark.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Starsky could not ever remember being so bored. The star witness was asleep and had not awakened since he had stumbled into the bedroom five hours earlier. There had been absolutely no suspicious activity inside or outside the hotel and Starsky was pretty sure that Caruso did not have a clue as to where they were. For the moment, at least, they were safe.
Starsky looked over at his dwindling stash of snacks and decided he’d better ration the remaining goodies so they would last for the duration. The Feds had seen to it that the refrigerator was stocked with sandwiches, fruit and milk, but none of that could compare to a delectable chocolate chip cookie washed down with a mouthful of root beer.
Turning his attention back to the television set, Starsky once again thanked whatever cosmic forces had arranged for the western marathon to be televised the same 48 hours he was imprisoned in that room. A Clint Eastwood movie was just about to begin, so he settled in and made himself comfortable.
“We interrupt our regularly scheduled program to bring you this special news bulletin.” The announcement came over the airwaves just as the movie started. Starsky sighed in frustration and decided that it would be an opportune time for him to check out the plumbing.
“This just in. An armed robbery is in progress at the First National Bank on Main Street and our cameras are there. We now take you live to the scene. Amanda, can you tell us what’s happening?”
“Well, Bob, it looks as if a couple of armed men have forced their way into the bank. Several police units are already here and ...oh! Here comes another one.” The unmistakable whine of a siren could be heard as Hutch’s battered brown LTD came into view on the screen.
Starsky stopped in mid-stride at the sight of his partner’s car. He quickly resumed his seat, noting with amusement the mars light trailing behind the vehicle. He nearly laughed out loud at the sight and couldn’t wait to see Hutch again to hear what had happened.
The reporter continued her monologue, but Starsky tuned her out as he watched his partner’s actions on the screen. The whole thing was just so bizarre – Hutch on TV, just like Clint Eastwood had been moments earlier. The scene unfolding before him had a surreal quality to it, almost like it wasn’t happening at all.
Strangely bemused, Starsky noticed that Hutch had exited the car alone. Although the camera was focused on the reporter, enough of the background was showing that Starsky could see that Schlenko, for one reason or another was slow to leave the vehicle. He decided not to ponder on the reasoning behind the rookie’s moves and focused his attention on Hutch.
Suddenly, all hell broke loose. He watched, horrified as Hutch threw himself into Schlenko to the sound of a single gunshot. Both the cameraman and the anchorwoman ducked as the shot was fired and for several seconds all that was visible on the television was the sidewalk.
Starsky rose to his feet and moved closer to the set, intently studying the images before him. He held his breath and waited impatiently for the camera to focus in on what was going on.
“As you heard, Bob, shots were just fired on the scene and it looks like an officer has been wounded. Can you get a shot of that, Teddy?”
Obediently, the camera left the woman and focused in on the lone figure lying in the street. Hutch’s face was covered with blood and as Starsky watched, horrified, a couple of uniformed officers left the shelter of the cars they hid behind and pulled him to safety.
“Oh my God!” Starsky exclaimed as all the strength drained out of his legs and he dropped into a kneeling position in front of the set. “Hutch!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
During his initial examination of the hotel room, Starsky had found a small chink in the otherwise unbroken blinds and he stood there now, staring bleakly at the vista before him. A silvery sliver of moon hung suspended from a star-studded sky as the muted tones of a far off church bell pealed lazily by. It was almost like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting, but Starsky was too preoccupied to notice. His thoughts were centered entirely on the well being of a certain blond-haired detective and whether or not he was still alive.
Six hours had passed since Starsky had seen Hutch get shot – six hours of pacing and praying and sitting glued to the television hoping to hear an update of the story previously aired. Unfortunately, some depressed businessman had chosen to climb up on the Golden Gate Bridge and jump off. Only he hadn’t jumped yet and every minute of the news coverage was taken up with on-the-scene footage of the attempted suicide. Starsky had watched it for a while until he realized that he was actually praying that the guy would hurry up and jump so they could go back to the story of the bank robbery. Feeling selfish and foolish, he had finally turned off the set to begin a regimen of pacing and bargaining with God.
Starsky’s first impulse had been to run out of that miserable hotel room and head straight for the hospital to find out what was going on. He caught himself just as he reached for the doorknob, angrily flinging his jacket back onto the sofa. He tried to reason with himself and justify leaving the witness alone, but he knew that was out of the question. Higginbotham, Dobey, and the parents of thousands of kids whom Caruso hadn’t managed to corrupt yet were counting on him to keep the witness alive for another 37 hours when he would be escorted to the courthouse. All he had to do was find a way to convince his anxious heart that he was doing the right thing.
His mind drifted back to a similar situation a few years back. He and Hutch had taken on the responsibility of guarding their own witness, a man named Rigger. Starsky had been alone in the hotel room when, to his horror, he saw Hutch’s car explode, flinging Hutch through the air like a rag doll. Instinctively, Starsky had bolted from the hotel room, rushing to be by his partner’s side. Unfortunately, an assassin had created that opportunity and had killed Rigger while the two detectives were otherwise occupied. On that very night, Starsky and Hutch had vowed to each other never to let that happen again. Starsky planned on keeping that promise to his partner, but it would be the hardest thing he ever had to do.
Starsky sat delicately on the edge of the armchair, staring pensively at an imaginary spot on the wall. Images of Hutch came unbidden into his mind – good times, bad times, even times when they weren’t sure they’d ever live to see another sunrise. He could even see Hutch earlier that day and could almost hear his voice. “My Christmas wish this year is to see this scumbag behind bars for good.” Starsky knew he would do everything within his power to help ensure that Hutch got his wish. What Starsky didn’t know was if Hutch would be around to appreciate it.
Starsky leaned back in his chair, propping his head against the back so that he was looking at the ceiling. He tried to relax and ease some of the tension out of his protesting muscles, but every time he closed his eyes all he could see was Hutch, covered in blood, lying lifeless in the street. For a brief moment he allowed himself the luxury of giving in to his fears. What if Hutch was dead? How could Starsky make it without his friend? Who would be there to share his triumphs and sorrows the way Hutch always had? Who else would Starsky be able to turn to when the terrors of the job threatened to overwhelm him? Who else would be so accepting and understanding? Would he ever be able to trust anyone again?
That thought floored him. Trusting anybody was nearly impossible for the dark haired detective, a side effect of growing up in a world where anyone you loved could be taken away from you in a heartbeat. And he really hadn’t meant to, but trusting Hutch had come to him as naturally as breathing. Ever since their first meeting at the Academy, Starsky had instinctively known that he had found someone whom he could trust completely without reservation. They depended on each other for their very lives and Starsky wondered if perhaps he had taken that too much for granted. The possibility that Hutch was no longer in the picture shook him to his very core. Life without Hutch? Not a very appealing proposition.
Starsky once again rose from the chair and crossed to the window to peer out the chink in the blinds. From somewhere in the distance he could hear the faint sounds of Christmas carols playing and the soft melody of Silent Night nearly did him in. He turned his gaze heavenward, eyes blinking rapidly as he struggled to maintain control and he prayed for the heavenly peace that he knew would not be his on that night. He tried to focus his thoughts on the birth of a child who would bring life and hope to a dying world, but his tortured mind could not concentrate on a single thought. The long night stretched bleakly ahead of him as he left his post by the window to once again resume his pacing.