Hutch awoke with a groan, his trembling hand reaching for the source of the throbbing ache in his head. All he found was a large bandage wrapped turban style at his hairline. His eyes wandered around the brightly lit room and finally focused on a thin black man sitting on a chair close by.
“Huggy?” Hutch asked softly, trying not to aggravate his headache.
“Well, well, well,” Huggy replied, turning his attention to his wounded friend. “Lazarus arises from the dead. It ain’t just for Sunday school anymore.”
“What happened? The last thing I remember is that rookie Schlenko trying to play fish with my mars light.” Hutch pushed himself up on his elbows and looked out the window. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion and he looked to Huggy for clarification. “What time is it?”
“It is three o’clock in the afternoon. You’ve been doin’ the Rip Van Winkle thing for the last twenty-one hours, my man. Had some of the folks around here a little worried. Not me, of course, but some of the folks.”
Hutch looked at his surroundings again and tried to make some sense of his scrambled thoughts. He knew he was in a hospital room, but he had no memory of how he got there or why he was there. He again turned to Huggy for the answers. “So, tell me what happened, Hug. I seem to have a few holes in my memory.”
“Well, it seems that a certain bank robber was tryin’ to make Swiss cheese of your temporary partner and you got yourself shot pushin’ him out of the way. Doc says it was just a crease, but it was enough to make you look like you’d bought the farm right there on the street. Man, I wish you could have seen yourself.”
“You were there? What were you doing there?”
“Nah, I wasn’t there. I had to catch the scene like the rest of your fans – on the tube. It was just like watchin’ Adam-12 with all the sirens and the gunshots and...”
“Wait a minute, Hug. What are you talking about? Slow down a little, will ya?” Hutch once again raised his hand to his aching head as bit by bit his memory returned. “You saw me on the TV?”
“Yeah, that’s right. They were just startin’ one of them Clint Eastwood westerns. You know the ones; I think they call ‘em the Lasagna westerns, or somethin’ like that.”
“Spaghetti.”
“What’s that?”
“Spaghetti. They’re called the Spaghetti westerns.”
“Oh. Well, whatever. Anyhow, they interrupted the movie marathon for a news bulletin and there you were. Laid out in the street lookin’ like you’d breathed your last. I came right over here to see for myself – couldn’t quite believe that my blond brother could buy it so easily, you know? I kept waitin’ for your other half to show up, but Captain Dobey informed me that Starsky was otherwise detained, so I made myself comfortable and here I am.”
Hutch leaned back in the bed and rested against the pillows, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I think I remember now. Someone was aiming a gun at Schlenko...” Hutch’s gaze shifted back to Huggy. “Is he okay? He wasn’t hurt, was he?”
“Take it easy, bro. Your young charge is just fine. A little shook up, maybe, but just fine. Fact is, he’s singin’ your praises to anyone that’ll listen. You are quite the ce-le-brit-ee! Hey, when you get rich and famous, can I be part of your entourage?”
Hutch groaned loudly and went back to studying the ceiling. Something Huggy had said was nagging at his brain, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint it. He looked out the window, not really focusing on anything, then allowed his gaze to fix on the television set that hung from the ceiling in the corner of the room. Obviously, Huggy had returned to watching the western marathon as Hutch had slept and a John Wayne movie was just reaching its climax. Hutch found himself smiling. ‘He’s just as bad as Starsky,’ he thought, shaking his head.
Suddenly, the nagging little thought that had been bothering Hutch came into sharp focus. If Huggy had seen what happened while he was watching old westerns and if Starsky had planned to watch the marathon while guarding the witness, that could only mean...
“Oh my God!” Hutch exclaimed, throwing back the covers and sitting up in one fluid motion. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and was almost standing when Huggy’s strong arms stalled his progress.
“Whoa, amigo! Hold on just a minute there. Where do you think you’re goin’?”
“Starsky!” Hutch tried unsuccessfully to push his way past his friend. “He’s probably worried sick right now. I’ve gotta get to him.”
Huggy finally won the battle and eased Hutch back on the pillows. “Take it easy, compadre. I’m sure if your other half is worried he’ll call downtown and find out for himself that you’re okay. You’re not going anywhere, at least not ‘til the doctor says so. Besides, what makes you think Starsk even knows about this?”
“You saw me on the news during that western marathon, right?” At Huggy’s nod, Hutch continued. “Starsk told me he was going to watch that same channel for the full 48 hours he was on assignment. If you saw what happened, then he must have too. Now, you gotta help me get to him!” Hutch pushed himself back into a sitting position on the side of the bed, struggling against Huggy’s restraining hands.
“Hold on a minute, Hutch. Now you know and I know that if Starsky had seen you on the tube like you seem to think he did he’d be here in a heartbeat drivin’ the doctors and nurses crazy. Assignment or no assignment, he’d be here.”
“Not this time, Hug.”
“What’s so special about this time? He guardin’ the Queen of England or somethin’?”
Hutch began studying his hands, still ashamed to look Huggy in the eye when it came to the subject of Rigger. Starsky and Hutch had lost a witness that day, but Huggy had lost one of his best friends and the two detectives still felt responsible, even though Huggy had long ago forgiven them. “We made a promise, Hug. After Rigger was killed we agreed we would never leave an assignment and endanger another person, no matter what. And you know Starsky would never go back on his word. No, he’s stuck in that hotel room and I have to find a way to let him know I’m okay. If I were in his shoes right now, I’d be going crazy and knowing Starsky, he’s probably found a way to blame himself for the whole thing. Now, are you going to help me or not?”
“How about I just take myself down to the pay phones in the lobby and give ol’ Starsk a call? That way he’ll know, you can stay here and behave and everyone will be happy. Whatta ya say?”
Hutch glanced up at Huggy and shook his head. “Sorry Hug, not possible. He’s not able to make or receive any phone calls or have any visitors...” Hutch’s voice trailed off as a thought occurred to him. How was he supposed to let Starsky know he was okay if he couldn’t call him or go to see him? He knew that if he went rushing over there in a panic he would be jeopardizing not only the witness, but also the entire case against Caruso. He would have to think of another way.
“So where is our curly-haired brother? Probably sitting in some swanky hotel room enjoying the good life while I’m stuck here trying to wrestle the White Knight on a mission.” Huggy’s face was a study in martyrdom.
Knowing they were alone and that he could trust Huggy completely, Hutch decided to answer the question. “He’s at the Westermeier, but that’s just between you and me, you got that?”
“The Westermeier?” Huggy asked, shocked. “That dump? Shoot, they’ll have to fix that place up before it can be condemned! I’ll bet Starsk is just lovin’ that drafty slum! I used to go there when I was a kid ‘cause you could hide in an empty room and hear people’s conversations on the street below your window. We used to spy on our friends that way. The Westermeier? Man!”
Hutch was intrigued. “You know the Westermeier, Hug?”
“Does a cat have a climbin’ gear? Of course I do.”
“Then, do you know where room 206 is?”
“Sure. It’s on the street side of the hotel about half way down the second floor hallway.” Huggy studied Hutch carefully and had the distinct feeling he wasn’t going to like what was coming next.
“Huggy,” Hutch began, snapping his fingers. “I’ve got an idea. You know that Santa suit I rented for the children’s party next weekend? I want you to go get it and wear it back to the hospital tonight around 5:00. That’s when the next visiting hours are and you won’t have to force your way past the nurse’s station. Think you can do that? In the meantime, I’ll stay here and rest and follow orders like a good little patient. Deal?”
“I have a feeling I’m going to regret this,” Huggy answered despondently. “But you know I can’t say no. Could you please give me a little hint as to why I have to wear the suit though? Couldn’t I just carry it in?”
“No,” Hutch answered quickly. “I want you to wear the suit and when you get here, we’re going to trade places. You’re going to stay here in the bed while I wear the Santa suit out of here. That way no one will find out I’m gone until after I’ve done what I need to do.”
“We ain’t exactly twins, Blondie, if you catch my drift. The only person we’re gonna fool is a blind man!”
Hutch grinned at Huggy. “I know that. But people have a tendency to see what they think they see and I think it’ll be enough to fool a few folks for at least long enough for me to get out the front doors. After that, I’m home free.”
Huggy sighed dramatically as he picked up his hat and headed for the door. “Mama Brown’s only boy child masqueradin’ as a white man. The things I do for these turkeys!”
“Oh, and Huggy?” Hutch’s voice stopped Huggy’s progress toward the door. “Bring my guitar, too, would ya?”
With an exaggerated bow and a wave of his hand, Huggy went on his way to fulfill his mission.
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Starsky sighed deeply and, stretching, rose from the sofa where he had been trying unsuccessfully to take a nap. Higginbotham had slept through the night and most of the day, waking only long enough to eat a couple of times and use the facilities. He had made a few snide comments about Starsky’s appearance, pointing out the circles under his eyes and the fact that he had aged about ten years in twelve hours. Starsky had merely glared at him and Higginbotham had gone back to his room without another word. The rest of the day had been quiet, the silence of the hotel room broken only by the continuous drone of the television.
There had been very little word on the bank robbery or on Hutch’s condition. They had mentioned the fact that the bank robbers had been captured and that no one else had been injured. Amanda, the on-the-scene reporter, had done a five minute spot speculating on the condition of the wounded officer. As Starsky recalled, her exact words were, “Due to the sensitive nature of the work that the wounded officer is involved in, neither the police spokesman nor the hospital would release any information regarding his condition. However, having been there myself, I am sad to say that it is my feeling there will be one less officer coming home for Christmas.” This had only added to the burden of grief that Starsky was already carrying and served to dim the slight glimmer of hope he still held in his heart.
Other than that and a replay of the shooting, there had been nothing else. The world forgets so quickly and once the depressed businessman had been safely rescued from the bridge, the local stations had moved on to bigger and better stories in-between the westerns. During one particularly long break, they had televised a small choir singing traditional Christmas songs. Normally, Starsky would have turned up the volume and lustily sang along; instead, he stood morosely at the window and stared down the street allowing the music to feed his melancholy. Funny how he never noticed before how depressing some Christmas music was, but a heartfelt rendition of “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” brought the weight of despair crashing down onto his shoulders.
He looked at his watch. 5:00. Another nineteen hours before he would know. On the one hand, uncertainty could be a good thing. At least he had the slim hope that Hutch was somehow still alive, that he hadn’t died alone on that filthy street while saving the life of another officer. But Starsky knew that hope would only carry him so far and he had to know, one way or another. He hadn’t slept in nearly 35 hours and his leftover snacks lay untouched on the end table. At noon tomorrow the Feds would come and take Higginbotham to the courthouse and Starsky would have his answer, good or bad. He sighed deeply and prayed for good news.
Starsky left his vigil by the window and sat in front of the TV, hoping to be distracted for even a few minutes. A Jimmy Stewart movie was just starting and Starsky tried valiantly to get into the plot and follow the action, but it was no use. Try as he might, his heart just wasn’t in it. Exhaustion began tugging at the corners of his mind and he knew he had to get some sleep.
Resolving to at least get a few hours of rest, Starsky turned off the TV set and settled down on the couch, his head resting on a pillow he had purloined from the unoccupied bedroom. He closed his eyes and willed himself not to think about his fallen partner, concentrating instead on the Christmas season and trying to picture what it must have been like on that night so long ago. His tired mind dredged up images of angels singing on a hillside and he could almost hear the beautiful music as they sang.
Starsky sat straight up on the couch as he suddenly realized that he was, indeed, hearing music. He reflexively glanced at the television but it was still off and was definitely not the source of the song he was hearing. He eased off the couch and crossed over to the window, alert for any sign of danger.
The sun was just beginning to sink toward the horizon as Starsky peered through the chink in the blinds. The source of the music revealed itself as the street corner Santa continued picking out a melody on his guitar. Starsky studied the Santa closely, noting with suspicion that it was definitely not the same person who had been there earlier. This Santa was much taller and thinner and, by careful scrutiny, Starsky could see that this man had blond hair and what appeared to be some sort of white cloth peeking out from under his Santa hat.
Sudden recognition dawned on Starsky and relief washed through his entire being. He leaned heavily against the wall, his eyes still glued to the chink in the blinds, as all of the tension and uncertainty of the past 24 hours drained from him. He had his Christmas miracle, for the mysterious Santa on the corner was none other than his partner. Starsky stood unmoving and unblinking as his exhausted mind processed the scene before him. No matter what else happened, Hutch was alive and well and was standing outside his hotel room. His clear tenor voice floated up to him, surrounding him like a balm and filling him with the peace he’d been praying for. Starsky stayed where he was, mesmerized by the beautiful voice that slowly healed his wounded heart and despairing soul. He listened as his partner sang, immersing himself in the joy that seemed so elusive just moments ago.
Pushing himself away from the support of the wall, Starsky drank in the sight of his partner before the sun completed its journey over the horizon. Hutch made a move as if he was going to pack up his guitar but then changed his mind and began softly strumming once again. Even the traffic and the pedestrians sauntering down the grimy sidewalk seemed to stop and take notice as the words and melody touched the hearts of everyone who heard them. But no one was as moved as the curly-haired detective peeking out the window and basking in the peace and joy depicted in the simple words the Santa had chosen to sing.
Silent
night. Holy night.
All is
calm. All is bright.
Round yon
virgin mother and child.
Holy infant
so tender and mild.
Sleep in
heavenly peace.
Sleep in
heavenly peace.
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11/11/01