Chapter 5

 

A week had gone by and there were no breaks in the case.  The two teams had gotten into several arguments.  Starsky was tired of always being indoors and at his desk.  His fuse was getting shorter and shorter, and both he and Hutch were tired of assisting Johnson and Barnes.  They wanted to take over the case themselves.  There had been two additional robberies but, luckily, no additional deaths.  The lack of progress was wearing on everyone’s nerves and had Dobey down their backs.

 

For Hutch, the one bright spot in the week was Starsky’s increased appetite and the more relaxed expression on his face, that was unless he was around Johnson and Barnes.  Hutch couldn’t explain why, but he knew he was watching his partner gradually return to his old self.  Starsky still looked thin and tired, but the pinched, haggard look around his eyes was disappearing, and color was returning to his face.  In the evenings, Starsky always looked more relaxed and seemed to rebound with a little more energy.  But the best part to Hutch was the sound of Starsky’s laughter.  It came more frequently now, was deeper and lasted longer.  Every chuckle, every laugh, reached deep into Hutch’s heart.

 

Hutch just wished he could hear it now, as tension filled the room and the frustration had the four of them turning on each other.  “C’mon, guys, there has to be some connection.”  Starsky, frustrated, glared around the table at Barnes, Johnson, and Hutch.  They’d spent the last half-hour rehashing the facts and were getting nowhere.

 

“All we’ve got to go on is a partial fingerprint,” interjected Johnson, “and we aren’t even sure of that.”

 

“What about past employees, any grudges?”

 

“Starsky, you know we’ve looked into that angle!” Johnson exploded, standing up suddenly and overthrowing his chair.

 

“Look, there’s no point in getting angry.”  Hutch, ever the voice of reason, tried breaking the tension as he placed his hand on Starsky’s shoulder.  He’d been observing his partner’s rapidly changing facial expressions, and he decided to step in before an angry retort erupted.  “We all want to catch these two guys before anyone else is hurt or killed.  We’ve asked all the bar owners to come up with an employee list covering the past ten years.  If we have to go back farther than that, we will.  The next step is to check employees’ relatives and friends for any connections.  I’ll stop by the bars this afternoon, and we can go over them tomorrow morning.  I’ll also start checking on the bars in the areas that haven’t been hit.  Maybe someone will know something.”

 

“You mean, I’ll be checking on the relatives,” mumbled Starsky unhappily.  Starsky felt Hutch’s hand tighten on his shoulder as he overheard the comment.  Starsky was tired of having to do police work from his desk.  It was all grunt work, work a rookie could do.  He knew it needed to be done, but he needed to be out on the streets, with his partner…if only the doctors would clear him fit for duty.

 

“Look, Starsky, why don’t you see if you can find—”

 

Starsky stood up, shrugging Hutch’s hand off his shoulder.  He avoided looking at his partner and walked to the door.  “Look, Johnson, I’ll do my job,” Starsky replied, pointing his finger at Johnson.  “I’ll sit here for hours and go through the lists.  I’ll do all the grunt work neither you nor Barnes want to do while you’re out there running around on the streets.  Just don’t tell me how to do it.  No one, except my partner and my captain, tells me what to do.”

 

Starsky walked to the door and yanked it open.  Hutch, close on his heels, turned toward Johnson and Barnes.  “We’ll take care of our end…you take care of yours.”

 

š  ›

 

Fifteen minutes.  Hutch glanced at his watch again.  Twenty minutes.  Twenty minutes since Starsky, with Hutch following behind, had stormed out of the building, entered the police garage, climbed into the Torino and peeled out of the exit.  And not a word had been spoken in those twenty minutes.  Hutch waited.  Waited impatiently for his partner to speak.  He knew his partner needed time—time to cool off, time to relax, time to think rationally.

 

At thirty minutes, he couldn’t stand it any longer.  “Starsk—”

 

“Don’t even say it, Hutch.  I blew it.  I know it.  Now they’ll go to Dobey and tell him, and he’ll pull us from the case.”

 

“No, he won’t.”

 

“Johnson just gets under my skin.  He’s so superior and loves to tell me what to do.”

 

“You’re a better cop than he is, and he knows it.  Just learn to ignore him—”

 

“IGNORE HIM?!”

 

Now I’ve really blown it, thought Hutch.  Trying to calm his upset partner down, Hutch responded quietly, “We’ve only got to work with him for a little while.  We’ll do our part of the investigation and steer clear of him.”

 

Expecting an angry retort from his partner, Hutch was surprised at the strange silence, and then, the unexpectedly quiet response.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Sorry?  Sorry for losin’ your temper at Johnson?  He deserved it!”

 

“No, sorry that I’ve probably gotten us thrown off this case…your first real case in months.”

 

Hutch looked at his partner staring straight ahead and reached over to place his hand on Starsky’s shoulder.  They’d come so far in the last few months; he couldn’t stand seeing his best friend look so miserable.  “Hey, you won’t get us thrown off.  Dobey knows better than that.  He needs us to solve this case.”

 

Starsky glanced over at his partner with a weak grin.  “Yeah, he ‘needs’ us, right?”

 

“C’mon, you yell all the time.  When did Dobey ever throw us off a case because of it?”

 

Starsky’s silence was the only acknowledgement Hutch needed.  “C’mon, let’s go to Huggy’s for lunch, and then I’ll go pick up all the lists so you have something to do tomorrow.”

 

š  ›

 

“High and to the right!”  Starsky grinned, as he watched David run to the right, mitt high in the air,

“Perfect catch!  Let’s try to the left now.”

 

Hutch had spent most of the afternoon stopping at the various bars to pick up their past and present employee lists.  There was only one more stop to make.  He turned on to Burton Street, and, as he headed east, he was surprised to see Starsky’s Torino parked in the city park’s parking lot.  What’s he doin’ here? I thought he was going home to take a nap.

 

Curious, Hutch pulled into the lot.  He didn’t want his partner to feel like he was spying on him, but he couldn’t resist the urge to make sure Starsky was okay.

 

Hutch walked across the grass and up a hill.  Pausing beside a tree at the top, he found himself overlooking a baseball field.  There, he spotted Starsky hitting a baseball high and to the left.  A boy, about eight years old Hutch guessed, ran to the left and made a perfect catch.

 

“Another great catch!”  Starsky’s voice carried to the top of the hill, and Hutch had to chuckle as he watched Starsky peer out from under his New York Yankees' baseball cap.

 

“I’m thirsty," yelled the boy, arm and mitt dropping to his side.

 

“’Kay.”  Starsky motioned the boy toward him.  “Let’s take a break.”

 

Who is this kid? wondered Hutch.  I’ve never seen him, and I don’t remember Starsky mentioning him.

 

Watching the two interact, Hutch could tell they’d known each other for a while.  He started to take a step toward them, and then, for some unknown reason, stopped.  From the top of the hill, Hutch watched the two resting on one of the dugout seats.  They drank companionably and talked quietly.  It was obvious they’d been here before.  Is this where the tan’s coming from, buddy? The return of the bounce in your step?

 

After watching for a few minutes more, Hutch quietly turned and walked away, a smile forming at his lips.

 

š  ›

 

 “Hey, what’s that I smell?” asked Starsky, running his hand through his rumpled curls.

 

“How was your nap?”

 

“Good, I think.”  Starsky rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat back on the couch.  He was still tired from the day’s events, but the smells had awakened him.  “What’s for dinner?  Hot dogs?”

 

“No wonder you’re a detective,” Hutch teased.  “It is hot dogs.”

 

Starsky stood and stared at his partner as if he’d gone crazy.  Hutch never ate hot dogs and he teased Starsky incessantly about eating them any chance he got.

 

“Cooked just like at the ball park, even have some chili and onions for you to put on them.”  Hutch set a bowl of chopped onions on the table. “C’mon, sit down and eat.  They’ll get cold fast.”

 

Starsky sat down, not taking his eyes off his partner, leery of what might come next.  Hutch placed a small bowls of chili and shredded cheese on the table, and encouraged Starsky again, “C’mon, eat up.”

 

Hesitantly reaching for the bowl of chili, Starsky’s eyes followed Hutch over to the counter.  He must be sick.  Sick or not, Starsky decided he was going to eat, but he’d watch his partner’s every move.

 

After a few minutes, Hutch sat down and started in on his own salad.  “So what did you do this afternoon, Starsk?”

 

Starsky, still studying his partner, replied, “Not much, took a nap as usual, worked on my ship model.”

 

“Is that all?”

 

“Yeah, why?”

 

“Just interested.”  Hutch, suddenly mesmerized by his salad, wondered why his partner was keeping his young friend a secret.  He reached across the table and handed Starsky a bowl  “Here’s some onions for your hot dogs.”

 

“You hate it when I eat onions.”

 

“Well, just remember to gargle when you’re done.”