I think I loved him from the moment I first saw him.  Oh, I don't mean in a physical sense, more the way you love a beautiful painting, or a great piece of music.  On an ethereal plane, I guess.  The only problem was that I didn't like him much.  Not then.  There he stood, all bright and shiny, that pale hair perfectly in place, the creases in his slacks sharp enough to draw blood, back straight as a pole.  I hated him.

He looked so good and I looked like a slob.  Me, I've always had this tendency to look like an unmade bed.  Used to drive my Ma nuts trying to keep me looking like something, at least until I walked out of the house in the morning.  By the time I was half way to school most mornings, I’d have gotten my pants dirty or my shirt torn or something.  I bet he always looked just as good when he got home from school at night as he did when he left in the morning.

And he was smart, too.  Smarter than me.  Always got perfect marks on the tests we took especially the written stuff.  I beat him, though, at the firing range.  My army training finally was of some use anyway.  For some reason, we always seemed to be standing side by side when we were shooting.  I think I made him a little nervous.  I'd catch him sneaking looks at the way I held my gun and then he'd try to duplicate my hold.  Of course, he couldn't do it exactly like I did, him being right handed and all.  Besides, his hands are bigger than mine and those guns we used just looked weird in his grip.  It wasn't until he became a detective and was allowed to choose his own weapon that he found the Magnum a better fit.  Me, I always liked the smaller guns, my Berretta and I are a perfect fit.  Kinda like him and me.

To make matters worse, some smart guy decided that the two of us should partner up on self-defense training.  Here he was, taller than me, with a longer reach that could grab a hold of me and send me flying.  For someone so thin, you never realized how much strength he has tucked away behind that calm exterior.  Me, I'm like a bulldog.  Once I get a hold of someone, I don't let go.  If I could get inside his reach, I could get him down but that didn't happen too often.  He may be stubborn (and boy, is he) but I'm tenacious.  Maybe that's why I've stuck it out with him so long.

Then another smart guy, I think it was golden boy himself, decided that I needed help in some of the academic stuff and that he needed help in the physical training end.  For someone who can move so gracefully, most of the time he's the biggest klutz you ever saw.  He'd trip over himself standing still, I swear.  So we started studying together.  He'd get impatient with me 'cause it'd take me a while to grasp some obscure point, then we'd start yelling at each other.  We'd have some pretty good fights, I tell you.  He'd call me dummy, I'd call him something way less complimentary and the war would be on.  There were days we wouldn't talk to each other unless we had to.  It was during that period that I first started calling him 'Hutch'.  How he hated that nickname, but he got used to it, even started introducing himself that way.  We still fight, a lot.  But ya know, I don't think I'd rather fight with anyone else.

Somehow, we both managed to graduate.  Him with honors, of course.  But my scores in marksmanship and driving were the best in the class.  I think that irked him a bit.  Not that I didn't rub it in whenever I got the chance.  We got sent to different departments to do our rookie bit.  He went to one of the Uptown departments; I went to Metro, which is one of the nastiest places on earth.  I learned a lot in those months, I tell you, but I sure missed him.  Oh, we'd see each other on occasion, but our shifts usually didn't allow us to get together as often as we'd like.  But that's life.

One time, I think we'd been out of the academy about three months, we went to a bar that I'd found in my district.  The bartender was a guy that liked to dress in real wild clothes, even by the day's standards.  But he was a good guy, always ready with a smart comment or a piece of news that would help a fledgling cop keep his tail out of a sling, if you get my drift.  He goes by the unlikely name of Huggy Bear, how he got that moniker I have no idea and I was always a little afraid to ask.  Anyway, there we were, sitting at the bar, when this fight broke out.  Now neither of us were in uniform, you understand, just civvies.  Me in a ratty pair of jeans and him, as usual, in pants and a pretty fancy looking sweater.  Looked like he just stepped off the pages of GQ or something.

Where was I?  Oh, yeah, this fight breaks out and Huggy gets in the middle somehow.  Well, I wasn't going to stand for that.  No one messes with my friends when I'm around.  I waded in; both fists ready to fly, when someone pulls a knife.  This big guy, ugly as sin, has me backed against the bar, knife at my throat.  I'm thinking as fast as I can, but there doesn’t appear to be any way out of this one without someone, namely me, getting hurt.  Suddenly, this hand reaches around and grabs the guy's arm, but that's not the best part.  This ugly guy's eyes get as big as saucers and sweat breaks out on his forehead.  He slowly drops the knife and allows the hand on his arm to pull him back off of me.  That's when I notice where Hutch's other hand is.  No wonder ugly guy looked so scared.  If someone had a hold of me in *that* area, I'd pretty much do whatever they wanted, too.

I think that's when I first realized that I really did like this guy.  Hutch has guts; for all that he was a college boy, fresh from that Midwestern, snotty upbringing of his.  And he had, and still does, a wicked sense of humor.  I can't even tell you some of the stuff he'd pull on people, superior officers, fellow cops, me, but there's been some classics.  Of course, he gets carried away sometimes, usually with me, but he always makes up for it.  Always.  But loyal?  Man, if you were someone he considered a friend, he'd move mountains to take care of you.  I know.  And he gets his heart broken so easily because of it, but he still hangs in.

It took a couple of years and some fancy finagling, but he got himself transferred to Metro division.  And with a little apple-polishing and lots of promises, we got assigned as partners.  It took a lot of hard work, rotten cases, and some good police work on both our parts for us to make detective, but we did it.  We even managed to make Sergeant.  That in itself was a real coup.  I know there were a few instructors back at the academy, not to mention some training officers that never expected either of us, especially me, to make it that far.  But together we can do just about anything.

I guess what it all boils down to is that we make a good team.  He's smart and I'm street-wise.  He's cool and I'm eager.  What he lacks, I have and vice versa.  Neither of us is better than the other, we're total equals.  Oh sure, I let him think that he's in charge sometimes, but that's only to make him happy.  I can be very subtle when I have to be, and with him, it's easy to get him to see my way without him knowing it.

But the best thing about our partnership is that we really do care about each other.  We're friends first, partners second and I think that's important.  I can't envision myself with a different partner; it just wouldn't be the same.  Besides, I kinda like the guy, now.  But don't tell him I said that.  Okay?

*********

I remember the first time I saw him.  Standing there, all rumpled, hair too long and that insolent way he has of looking at people.  I thought to myself that this guy wasn't going to last a month before he'd get thrown out on his ear.  But there was something about him that appealed to me.  Maybe it was that insolence, or maybe that he looked as lost as I felt.  I don't know.  I do remember him sneering at me; looking me up and down like I was some kind of freak.  I hated him.

We ended up getting teamed together in some of the non-academic parts of the training.  He was just plain nasty in self-dense class.  I'd try to get a hold of him to flip him and he'd duck under my arm, get me around the middle and the next thing I knew I was on the ground.  He'd stand there over me, with that maniac grin on his face, hardly breaking a sweat.  I'd be laying there flat on my back, trying to learn how to breath again, hating his guts.  But he taught me a lot about street fighting.  Far more than the instructors did.  Of course, a lot of it was rather dirty but it certainly has come in handy over the years.

There were times on the firing range when I couldn't help but admire the way he could just stand there, so nonchalantly, and get a perfect score everytime.  I tried to duplicate what he did, but I just don't have the talent he has.  Not that I'm a bad shot, but I need something with a lot more firepower than he does to get the same results.  He's helped me over the years to improve, but he's still the better marksman and always will be.

We had been in class together for a couple of months when I realized that he was having a bit of trouble with some of the harder academic courses.  He wasn't in any risk of failing, but his grades weren't all that good.  I got the bright idea of offering to tutor him if he'd help me with the weapons and defense courses.  At first he was reluctant but soon realized that he would benefit from it.  Little did he know that I was the one getting the better deal.  But, man, could he get me mad.  I don't know if he did it on purpose or was really that dense, but sometimes he just wouldn't understand something I was trying to show him and then we'd start yelling.  Some of the things he'd tell me to do were physically impossible and extremely creative.  He still has quite a mouth on him, but I've learned over the years and once in a while, I can get in a real good one.  He's taught me a lot, in more ways than one.

When we finally graduated, we ended up in different divisions.  I worried about him at Metro; it's a rough area.  Was then, still is for that matter, but now he has me to back him up.  We didn't get to see each other much, conflicting schedules and my marriage interfered.  But we tried to get together when we could.  He's the one who introduced me to Huggy.  Couldn't imagine ever being friends with that guy, but you know, he's been a real good friend to both of us over the years.  A real asset in both our jobs and our private lives.

I remember the first time I felt really scared that I was going to lose him.  There was a bar fight one night when we had gone out for a couple of beers.  Some redneck types decided to start pushing Huggy around and Starsky took exception to it.  We weren't in uniform, no weapons, or anything, but that didn't stop my friend.  He waltzed over to the biggest one of the bunch and told him to back off.  Except the big guy didn't.  He pulled a knife instead.  Pushed Starsk back until he was stuck between the bar and the knife with no way to defend himself.  I didn't even think, just grabbed where it would do the most good and convinced the guy to leave him alone.  It wasn't until afterwards, when the cops had come and taken the idiots away and we had sat back down to our beers that I realized what I'd done and why.

It was right then that the two of us decided that no matter what it took, we were going to work as partners.  It took two years and a lot of favors but finally I was transferred to Metro.  It didn't take long before we convinced the powers that be that we were meant to be partners.  Besides, we were both such mavericks that a lot of the other officers wouldn't work with either of us any longer than they had to.  We worked hard to prove ourselves and made detective.  I think we even surprised ourselves when we made Sergeant.  But that's because we did it together, as a team.  The best team that the department ever had.  And that's not just me saying that.  It's the truth.

Yeah, sure, he's still a cocky little bastard who knows how to get a rise out of me.  Does something truly stupid, then looks at you with that little half smile that makes you just want to kill him.  Then he'll turn on the charm and that big grin of his and you forget why you were mad.  He's my friend.  I don't now what I did to deserve him; it must have been something really bad.  But I'll tell you the truth.  There's no one I'd rather have at my back when things turn sour.  There's no one I'd rather have as a partner to watch out for me.  And there's no one I'd rather have for a friend when life kicks me in the teeth.  I know he cares about me and I care about him.  He's my friend first then my partner.  I can't see being a cop without him.  I don't think I'd even want to try.  Besides I rather like the guy.  Just don't tell him I said that.  Okay?
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