Chapter Two

Running late after arriving back from New York in the early morning hours, Starsky maneuvered the Torino in and out of the busy traffic at breakneck speed.  His plane, socked in by fog, had been delayed nearly four hours.  Starsky had fleetingly thought of calling Hutch to let him know about the delay, but decided against it, figuring most likely his partner wouldn’t even realize he was late.

Hutch looked up as Starsky entered the room, walked directly to the coffee maker, and poured himself a cup of the strong brew that had been sitting on the burner for at least two hours.  A variety of emotions flitted across the blond’s face—relief, curiosity, and anger.  He waited quietly until Starsky sat down at the desk, giving him the opportunity to offer an explanation for being so late.  When Starsky gave none, Hutch couldn’t seem to bite back the snide comment that sprung to his lips. 

 “Nice you could join us.”

Starsky looked at him from beneath hooded eyes, answering tongue-in-cheek, “Yeah, well, I knew you’d be lost without me, Blondie.”

Knowing he’d deserved that, Hutch decided to start over.  He hated this uneasy pattern they’d fallen into.  They were, after all, adults, and he had no right to expect Starsky to report in to him.  The hell of it was, a few months ago it wouldn’t have been an issue.  Communicating was something they’d learned to do as a matter of self-preservation—always let your partner know where you are.  “I called you last night to see if you wanted to grab a bite and catch up a little.”

 “Flight left four hours late,” Starsky answered.  “I sat in that airport ’til I thought my butt was gonna grow to the seat.  Didn’t get in until two a.m.”  Having said that, he abruptly changed the subject.  “How about you?  How’s your family?”

 “Fine,” Hutch answered, smiling at the mental picture Starsky had just painted.  “Christmas was fine.  The weather was fine.  It just didn’t seem…”  Hutch paused, debating whether to finish the sentence—then decided against it.  “It was fine.”  He picked up his mug and took another gulp of coffee.  “You could’ve called.”  The words were out before he realized it.

 “What?”  Surprised, Starsky looked up.

“Well…I…uh…I thought something may have happened to you.”

 “Sorry,” Starsky said, realizing belatedly that Hutch had actually been worried about him.  “I should’a called.”

 “So, how’re your mom and brother?”  Hutch hastened to change the subject, wishing he’d not made an issue of Starsky’s thoughtlessness. 

 “Okay.  Ma was glad to see me.  And Nicky...well, you know Nicky.  Saw him maybe an hour the whole time I was there.”  Starsky plucked off the messages taped to their telephone and flipped through them absently.

 “Don’t think he’s in trouble again, do you?”

 “I don’t know,” Starsky answered, reaching up to rub his tired eyes.  “I hope for Ma’s sake he isn’t.”  He tossed the messages back onto the desk and looked up, making an effort to lighten the conversation.  “Any progress on the house?”

 “I called Ms. Choi, the realtor, when I got back into town.  Said she’d contact the mortgage company and try to speed things along.”  Hutch smiled before adding, “Hey, how about I take you by to see it?  It’s great, Starsk.  Has an nice little glass solarium on the back, two bedrooms, and real hardwood floors.”

 “Yeah...sure.  When do we go?”

 “Starsky!  Hutchinson!  My office!”  They both looked up to see Dobey looming in the doorway of his office, looking none too happy.

 “Happy New Year to you, too, Cap’n,” Starsky said facetiously, as he squeezed past the obese black man and went into the office.  Hutch, only a step behind, decided not to antagonize their boss any further.  Starsky was doing a great job of that on his own.

 “Okay, you two clowns have had your vacation, now it’s time to get your butts back out there on the street.”  Slamming the door, Dobey bustled back to his desk and plopped down in the chair, all business.  Secretly, he was relieved to see them back, but knew better than to let them know.  It was part of the little game they played.  Starsky and Hutch pretended he had no authority over them, and he pretended not to notice—just as long as they got the job done.  And he was confident they could wind this case up faster than any of his other detectives.

 “There’s a new pimp in the neighborhood who doesn’t play nice,” Dobey began, reaching up to loosen his already crumpled tie.

 “A pimp?”  Hutch looked up, unsure why Dobey would be assigning them to a prostitution case.  “Shouldn’t that be handled by Vice?”

 “Yeah, Cap’n.  How fast we forget.  We’re gone a week and you forget we’re homicide?” Starsky added.

 “It’s not Vice when we’ve got a dead body on your beat, is it?” Dobey shot back.  “Now, if you two will stop your wise-cracking long enough to let me finish, you’ll see why I’m assigning you to this case!” 

Both cops sobered instantly, giving him their undivided attention.

 “Over the past month, three hookers have shown up at County General emergency room, beaten within an inch of their lives.  Somebody dumped them at the back door and drove off.  When the police questioned them, they all refused to file a complaint, or even identify their assailant.  All Vice was able to find out was that they all worked for the same pimp—but none of the women would give up his name.”

 “Did Vice question any of the other women workin’ the street?” Starsky asked.

 “They tried to.  Said they didn’t know anything.  But the officers don’t believe they were telling the truth.  Most likely, scared of getting a taste of the same medicine.”  Dobey looked at them, his face grim.  “Two days ago, another victim was found outside the emergency room.  Unfortunately, this one died.  That’s where you come in.  This is no longer a case of some pimp getting heavy-handed with his girls.  Now it’s a homicide.”

 “So...you want us to call in a few markers...shake up a couple of snitches?” Starsky asked.

 “I know you have contacts out there who trust you and may give up some information.  I don’t care how you do it.  Just get him—before he kills another one.”

The two cops exchanged looks, then stood up and headed for the door.  “Right.  We’re on it,” Hutch said.

 “Oh...Starsky...Hutchinson.”

They turned and looked back at Dobey.

 “Welcome back.”  As the door closed behind them, Dobey closed his tired eyes and leaned back in his chair for a moment, confident the case would be solved within forty-eight hours.

˜ ™

Hutch pulled the battered Ford into the driveway of the modest, circa 1950 bungalow and cut the engine before turning toward his partner, a self-satisfied grin plastered on his face.  “This is it.”

Starsky was impressed and said as much.  “It looks terrific.  How about the inside?  Do I get the grand tour?”

 “Sure.  I told Ms. Choi I wanted to come over here and take a few measurements for the bookcases I’m gonna build.  Since it’s vacant, she loaned me a key.  Come on, I’ll show you around.”

As they stepped through the door, Hutch was again overwhelmed by a feeling of contentment—like he’d always lived in the quaint little bungalow.  He led Starsky from room to room, pointing out the high points and the low, expounding on his plans to renovate the outdated bathroom, refinish the hardwood floor in the bedroom, and install the bookcases he planned to build for the living room. 

 “I saved the best for last.  Take a look at this solarium.”  Hutch swung open the narrow French doors that led into a tiny, glassed-in porch, brightly lit by the morning sunlight beating down through a smoked-Plexiglas skylight.  “Can you imagine the plants and herbs that’ll thrive out here?”

Starsky smiled, enjoying Hutch’s enthusiasm.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his partner so excited about anything.  Buying this place apparently meant a lot more to Hutch than he’d realized.  Inexplicably, just seeing Hutch happy made him feel good inside.  They’d shared too few enjoyable moments these past months.  Thinking back on his mother’s words, Starsky knew that in his heart he wanted the darkness between them to pass.  His mom was right.  He needed to move on.

 “I think it has your name on it, Blintz.  When do you move in?”

Hutch tipped his head to the side, giving Starsky a sidewise glance.  “It’s not a sure thing yet, Starsk.  I made an offer, and the seller accepted.  But I still have to get approval from the mortgage company.”

 “That should be a piece’a cake.  I’ll vouch for you.  ‘My partner, the model citizen, the super cop’.  What was it Marcos called you?  ‘The White Knight?’  Just tell me what to say and who to say it to,” Starsky joked.

A smiled tugged at the corners of Hutch’s mouth.  “I wish it was that easy.  It’s not a matter of my being of good character.  What it all boils down to is dollars and cents—whether or not the mortgage company thinks I’m a good credit risk.  The realtor said it’s taking a little longer to get approval than she’d expected.  So I’ll just have to wait.”

 “Wait?  How long?  Could someone else buy it right out from under you?”

 “No.  I put down earnest money, so at least I’m good until the mortgage company makes a decision.”

 “Oh.”  Starsky nodded, assimilating what Hutch had told him.

Hutch walked over to the widest expanse of uninterrupted wall and ran his hand over the finish.  “Right here—this is where I’ll put the bookcases.  And this corner over here—I can set my guitar up on that stand you gave me for my birthday.”

Hutch’s face reminded Starsky of a child’s on Christmas morning.  Memories of earlier days—before Kira—rose up before him, reminding him of the easy-going, open relationship he and Hutch had shared.  Today, for the first time, he felt a spark reminiscent of those happier times.  

“Yeah, it’ll look terrific there.”

 “I have to tell you, Starsk, it’s like I’ve always lived here.  I know it sounds crazy, but I...I just feel so at home when I walk through these rooms.”  Hutch turned to face Starsky and saw his amused expression.  “I know, I know.  You think I’m nuts.”

 “No...no, I don’t.  Nothing like that.  I just don’t think you’re gonna survive until you hear from that mortgage company, that’s all.”

Hutch considered Starsky’s words for a moment.  “I guess it’s not smart to get my hopes up too much.  I mean, what if they turn me down?  It’s just that, we’re not getting any younger, Starsk, and I...well, I want a place of my own—not some dinky apartment with all sorts of rules and regulations about what I can and can’t do.  I’ve been holding off, waiting until the right girl came along.  Settle down, buy a home together, maybe have a couple of kids.  But with my lousy luck with women, that day may never come.  So I’m gonna take the plunge and buy this place, quit throwing my money out the window on rent every month.  I doubt you get what I’m trying to say here.”

Starsky blanched at Hutch’s words.  He swallowed hard and averted his eyes to the floor before speaking.  “I know exactly what you’re sayin’.  I thought maybe I’d have a place somethin’ like this with Terry.  Guess it just wasn’t in the cards.”

Instantly regretting the thoughtless comment, Hutch reached out and laid his hand on Starsky’s shoulder.  “I’m sorry, Starsk.  I didn’t mean...I just wasn’t thinking.”

 “It’s okay,” Starsky mumbled, reflexively withdrawing from Hutch’s touch.

 “No—it’s not okay.  Dammit, Starsk, I just seem to always say the wrong thing these days.”

 “Let’s get goin’,” Starsky answered brusquely, as he turned away and headed for the front door.  “Huggy should be in by now.  Maybe he can give us a lead on this creep Dobey’s lookin’ for.”

Hutch looked away, frustrated by the way Starsky had clamed up again.  It seemed to him every time they were on the verge of regaining their old camaraderie, he said or did something stupid, and the wall Starsky had erected between them since Kira, appeared to loom larger each day.  Hutch was afraid—no, terrified—that soon it would be too massive to tear down.  Not knowing what else to do, he followed Starsky through the door and back to the dilapidated Ford.

˜ ™