Chapter Six

 

Starsky stormed from the municipal courtroom, his face grim, anger and hurt etching deep lines in his handsome features.  Hutch and Dobey flanked him on either side, anxious to escape the room before losing their own composure.

 

Things had gone much worse at the hearing than they could have imagined, leaving them reeling with disappointment and shock.  Most of the witnesses seemed confused and unsure of what had transpired during the holdup.  None had offered testimony favorable to Starsky’s actions. 

 

Mrs. French remained steadfast in her belief that Detective Starsky was a menace with a gun, whose poor marksmanship caused the death of an innocent man.  While Mr. Luponi had waffled and recanted his statement that Kramer was a hostage, he couldn’t account for how the man ended up between Detective Starsky and Hodgins.  In the end, the Board had discounted the old man’s statement as inconclusive.  It had come as no surprise to Starsky or Hutch that Denise Guthrie had given a generic version of what she’d seen, never hinting Kramer may have in any way contributed to his own death.  Since this wasn’t a trial, and several witnesses were willing to give their statements before the panel, the Board hadn’t considered it necessary to subpoena the rest. 

 

As Starsky approached the Torino and wrenched the driver’s door open, Hutch reached around him and threw out an arm, blocking Starsky’s entrance into the car.  “Give me the keys, Starsk.  I’ll drive.  You’re too upset to be behind the wheel right now.”

 

“Hutch is right, son,” Dobey agreed.  “This isn’t over yet, and I don’t want you going off half-cocked, getting yourself into more trouble.”  The commissioner’s words still rang in the captain’s ears.  “Detective Starsky, this Board finds you derelict in your duty, in as much as your rash actions have resulted in the death of an innocent citizen of this city.  Therefore, I have no choice but to relieve you of your duty as an officer of the law.  You are officially dismissed from the Bay City Police Department.  It will be the decision of the District Attorney’s Office whether or not to proceed with criminal action against you in the death of Mr. James Addison Kramer.”

 

Starsky’s head snapped up, his blazing eyes boring into Dobey’s.  “I don’t think I’m your concern anymore, Captain.  You were in there; you heard what the Board said.  I’m not one of Bay City’s finest now.  No disrespect intended, Cap’n, but I don’t have to take orders from you, or Hutch, or anyone else connected with this city.  So if you two don’t mind, I think I’d like a little time alone to think about a new career.”

 

“Starsk,” Hutch groaned.  “Please…don’t do this to yourself.  Hell, don’t do it to us.  You know we won’t rest until we prove you’re innocent of these charges.”

 

“Starsky, I know you, and I know you’re a good cop.  You’d never do anything to endanger anyone’s life.  I’ll do everything in my power to see you’re reinstated,” Dobey assured him.  “But you’ve got to trust me and give me a little time.”  The captain reached into his back pocket and plucked out a handkerchief, swiping it over his perspiring face.  “You and Hutchinson are my best detectives, and I’m not letting them railroad you off the force without a fight!”

 

His voice thick with emotion, Starsky diverted his eyes from Dobey’s before answering.  He spoke calmly and deliberately, battling to keep the hurt and humiliation in check.  “The way I see it, Cap’n, is that I’ll be lucky if firing me is the end of it.  I suspect Simonetti and the DA are planning to indict me for manslaughter.” 

 

He turned to Hutch, and, in a heartbeat, the expression in his stormy blue eyes changed from smoldering anger to anguish.  “Hutch, back off.  Please,” he said beseechingly.  “If you don’t, you could be putting your own job on the line.”

 

“Since when do you think I give a damn about this job if I have to do it without you as my partner?” Hutch answered heatedly.  Their eyes locked in a battle of wills for a long moment before Starsky shoved Hutch’s arm aside and quickly slid into the car.  Hutch had no time to react before the door slammed shut and the engine roared to life.

 

“I’ll be in touch,” he promised Hutch.  “Cap’n,” Starsky added.  “It’s been an honor to work with you.  Find Hutch a partner he can trust to watch his back.  Okay?” 

 

Before either man could respond, the Torino squealed away from the curb and blended into the busy Bay City rush-hour traffic.

 

˜  ™

 

Hutch looked at his watch again, then shifted positions to relieve the cramp that was starting to seize his right leg and thigh.  “Starsk, where are you?” he muttered beneath his breath.  Impatiently, his long fingers drummed the steering wheel.  It was dark now, and he’d spent the past two hours sitting in his car in front of Starsky’s apartment, needing reassurance that his partner was okay.  Worried about the way Starsky had taken off after the hearing, Hutch had spent the better part of the afternoon searching for him at their usual haunts.  Coming up empty, he finally decided to stakeout Starsky’s place and wait for him to return.

 

Hutch rubbed his eyes and leaned his head back to rest against the car seat, telling himself he’d give it thirty more minutes, then start patrolling their beat again, checking with some of the street regulars. 

 

The dispatcher’s voice crackled loudly over the two-way radio, snapping him to attention.  “Zebra Three, this is Control.  Zebra Three, come in please.”

 

Depressing the mic key, Hutch answered, “Control, this is Zebra Three.  I read you.”

 

“Zebra Three, see the man at the place called The Pits.  He said to tell you it’s important and he has something valuable for you.”

 

“Ten-four, Control.  I’m on my way.  Zebra Three out.”  Hutch started the car and swerved away from the curb.  Wide-awake now, he sped toward The Pits, hoping Huggy’s “something valuable” was a lead on where he could find Starsky.  If it was about anything else, he wasn’t interested.

 

˜  ™

 

When Hutch entered the club, he quickly spotted Huggy behind the bar, drawing a couple of drafts from the tap.  When the wiry black man looked up and saw Hutch, he nodded and motioned for Hutch to join him. 

 

“What’ve you got for me, Hug?” Hutch asked without bothering to take a seat.

 

“Hello to you, too,” Huggy jibed.  “I see I got your attention with my call.”

 

“Sure did,” Hutch replied.  “I hope it’s about Starsky.”

 

“Ye of little faith,” Huggy quoted.  “Didn’t I tell you, if I turned up anything, I’d call you?  And isn’t Huggy a man of his word?”

 

“You’ve heard from him?”

 

“Yeah,” Huggy answered, leaning conspiratorially over the bar as he spoke.  “But let’s talk in the back.”

 

Hutch followed him into a smaller room¾the one Huggy usually kept closed off for private parties.  Slumped over a table in one corner of the room was Starsky, his elbows propped at angles, his chin resting in his hands.  It was obvious from the glazed expression on his face, he wasn’t feeling any pain.

 

“He’s been here long enough to get drunk, and you’re just now calling me?” Hutch asked, turning an angry glare on Huggy.

 

“Hey, be cool, man.  He showed up here on foot like that.  At least he had enough sense not to drive.  I just brought him back here so no one would see him,” Huggy answered defensively.

 

Hutch turned a penitent face to Huggy.  “Sorry, Hug.  It’s just, I’ve searched for hours—”

 

“Forget it,” Huggy answered, cutting him off mid-sentence.  “Just take him home, will ya?”  Uncomfortable with Hutch’s attempt to apologize, he added, “Drunk cops are bad for business.  I got a reputation to protect, man.  I’d help you, but Diane didn’t show up, plus I’m down two waitresses.  I’ve got to get back out there before my business goes south for the winter.  Ya dig?”

 

Hutch gave him a slight knowing smile, recognizing his friend’s ploy.  “Yeah, okay.  I’ll see if I can get the big lug onto his feet.”  Hutch stopped halfway across the room and turned back to Huggy.  “Thanks, Hug.  I owe you another one.  I’ll take him out the back way.”

 

By the time Hutch reached the table, Starsky’s head had sunk down lower, his forehead lying flat on the hard surface.  “Starsk?” Hutch said, gently touching his partner’s shoulder.  “Are you awake?”

 

“Hmmm?  ’Zat you, Hutsh?” Starsky drawled without lifting his face.

 

“Yeah, it’s me.  What do you say I take you home, buddy?” Hutch coaxed.

 

“Naw...lez have a drink.”  Slowly, Starsky turned his face to the side and squinted up at Hutch with one eye.  “Don’ ya wanna drink, Hutsh?  Iz okay.  I mean, iz not like I’m on duty or anything.”

 

“I think you’ve had about enough, Starsk.  Let me take you home, and I’ll make some coffee.”

 

“No, no, no,” Starsky protested.  “No coffee, Hutsh.  Whiskey.  Thatz what I need.  Pour me another drink, will ya?  Pour yourselv one too, huh?  You got time for a drink with your ex-partner, don’t ya, Hutsh?”

 

Hutch lifted Starsky’s arm and draped it over his shoulder, then hoisted him to his feet.  “Whatever you say, buddy.  But let’s just go back to your place to do our drinking, okay?”

 

Swiveling his head to peer up into Hutch’s face Starsky smiled lopsidedly.  “Oh, okay...okay...thatz a good idea.  Then I won’t have to worry about you gettin’ home if ya drink too much.”  Despite his earnest attempt to stand, Starsky’s knees folded beneath him, his full weight falling against Hutch.  “Uh-oh,” he said, giggling drunkenly.  “Where’d my legs go?”

 

“They’re there,” Hutch assured him.  “They just need a little help.  Hang on, okay?” 

 

“Okay, Hutsh.  Okay.”  Hanging on as well as his limber arms would allow him to, Starsky tried again to stand, but found his legs as ineffective as two rubber bands.  Hutch half-carried, half-dragged Starsky through the crowded kitchen, skillfully avoiding several close encounters with the cook staff, until they reached the back door of the restaurant.

 

Propping Starsky against the doorjamb, Hutch gave him his orders.  “Now, I want you to wait here until I pull the car around.  Think you can do that for me?”

 

Starsky’s head rolled forward, his chin dipping down to touch his chest.  “Shuuure,” he answered, slowly sliding down the wall without realizing it.

 

Hutch caught him before he hit bottom and pulled him back into an upright position.  “Starsky.  Starsk, listen to me.  Stand right here and I’ll be back in a flash.”  When he got no response, Hutch notched his thumb under Starsky’s chin and lifted his face up to see if he was conscious.

 

“Stand right here,” Starsky repeated.  “Right here, Hutsh.”

 

“That’s right,” Hutch answered.  “I’ll be right back.”

 

“Hey.  Hutsh?”

 

“Yeah, Starsk?”

 

“You go get the car, and I’ll juz wait right here,” Starsky suggested, then smiled, clearly pleased with his own cleverness.

 

“Now why didn’t I think of that?” Hutch said, grinning, as Starsky slowly slid back down to the bottom of the doorjamb.  Deciding maybe he should just leave well enough alone, Hutch darted out the back and down the alley to retrieve his car.

 

˜  ™

 

By the time they reached the apartment building, Starsky had passed out and was snoring lightly, his head resting on Hutch’s shoulder.  Loathe to wake him, Hutch considered trying to carry him up the stairs to the apartment, but thought better of it.  The last thing he needed was for both of them to end up in the hospital from falling down the flight of stairs.

 

“Starsk, wake up, buddy.  We’re home.”  He lifted Starsky’s head from his shoulder and lightly patted his face.  The odor of stale whisky assailed him as Starsky let out a deep sigh.

 

Scrunching his eyes tightly, Starsky resisted waking, content to stay adrift in the comfort of the alcohol-induced haze, oblivious to the problems that had driven him to drink so much in the first place.  “Mmmm,” he groaned, snuggling his head back onto Hutch’s shoulder.   

 

“Starsky, come on, now.  Time to go in.”  Hutch opened the door on his side of the car, slid out, and dragged Starsky across the seat.  Too out of it to care, Starsky didn’t protest.  Once Hutch had him on his feet, the two of them staggered up the stairs, Hutch bearing most of Starsky’s weight, forcing him to move, while struggling to keep his own balance.  When they finally made it to the landing, Hutch lifted the doormat, located the key, and wrangled the lock open while holding Starsky up with his other arm. 

 

No longer in motion, Starsky’s knees buckled, and his full weight hit Hutch hard as he slid to the floor.  “Damn,” Hutch groaned.  On surer footing now, he hauled Starsky up into his arms and carried him into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind them. 

 

“The things I do for you...” he griped, while none-too-gently depositing Starsky onto the bed.  He quickly removed Starsky’s sneakers and jacket before heading to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.  Then, resigning himself to the fact that no matter what he did his partner was going have one hell of a hangover in the morning, Hutch decided he’d better stick around.  Probably best to let Starsky sleep it off, he figured.  He dumped the water from the carafe and clicked off the coffee maker. 

 

Returning from the kitchen, Hutch dragged off his own shoes, sank to the sofa, and lay his head on the armrest.  They’d been through a lot of rough times together.  They’d get through this one, too, he tried to reassure himself.  One thing was certain.  If he couldn’t prove Starsky’s innocence and get him reinstated, Hutch’s days as a detective would be over.  They were a team.  That’s the way it was.  The way it had to be.

 

˜      ™