Over
the Edge
“Just three hours.”
“What’s that?” Hutch asked, momentarily distracted from his typing.
“Only three more hours and
we’re off for four whole days.” Starsky
sighed, looking at his watch. “Am I
ready.”
Hutch studied Starsky, noting the tired, drawn look on his partner’s pale face. “You believe it? Dobey gave us Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off, plus two extra. Wonder what put him in the Christmas spirit.”
“Isn’t like we haven’t been workin’ our butts off.”
“Yeah, been a rough coupl’a weeks. I still can’t believe we pulled off a major drug bust just before Christmas; thought it was going to take us into the new year before we could shut down Bartoldi’s operation.”
“I know. I was gettin’ tired of the all-night stake-outs.” Starsky stretched, as he stood up stiffly to refill his coffee cup. Stopping to rub his neck, he continued, “I ache all over.”
Passing his cup over for a refill, Hutch paused, concerned. “You sure you aren’t coming down with something?”
“Nah, just tired of catching catnaps curled up on the back seat of a car, I guess.”
“You mean you’d rather eat a pretzel than be one?” Hutch grinned, as he pulled the finished report out of the typewriter with a flourish. “Well, I plan on crashing and sleeping for the next twenty-four hours.”
“Hey,” Starsky, setting Hutch’s cup back on the desk, couldn’t resist asking. “You aren’t going to sleep through Christmas, are you?”
Hutch hid his grin at the pleading apparent in his partner’s voice. When it came to Christmas and all its glitter, Starsky would be a kid forever. “I’m beat and the best present I could get is sleeping through the holidays.”
“Hutch…” came the plaintive reply.
Hutch braced for the nagging he knew was sure to follow.
Choosing that moment to open his office door, Captain Dobey spied the two and ordered, “Starsky, Hutchinson, my office.”
“Almost done with the reports, Cap’n.” Starsky hurriedly slid into his chair and started typing, anticipating the usual bawling out for failing to complete his paperwork on time. “Gimme a couple more minutes.”
“Finish them later,” Dobey said, walking back into his office.
Starsky looked at Hutch with a raised eyebrow and shrugged. Dobey telling them to drop a report undoubtedly meant more work, and they only had three hours left on their shift. Pushing his chair back, Starsky slowly rose to follow Hutch into the office.
“Either of you remember Jack Schultz?” Dobey said. Glancing up, he noticed that Hutch was seated while Starsky hung near the door, skittish, as though ready to bolt.
Hutch nodded. “We put him behind bars for petty theft and fraud a couple of years ago.”
Dobey nodded in agreement. “Only, it turns out he’s a material witness in a five-year-old murder case up in Wrightwood.”
At the word “Wrightwood,” Starsky’s stomach pitched and his headache intensified. Anticipating Dobey’s next words, Starsky leaned back heavily against the wall and studied his hands, flexing his fingers open and closed. He’d really been looking forward to the next few days off. His body was screaming at him to get some rest. He’d been feeling terrible off and on for several days and so far he’d managed to hide it from Hutch, not an easy feat since Hutch knew him so well, too well, sometimes. He’d only managed to pull it off because they both were bone tired as a result of the last several weeks preparing for the bust. They’d put in over a hundred hours in probably the last eight days alone. He wanted only two things over the next four days—his bed and celebrating Christmas. Starsky sighed, remembering he’d also planned to hit the stores today for Hutch’s Christmas present. It looked like his plan to use the rest of the afternoon to find the perfect gift was also going down the tubes.
“I know the two of you have been putting in lots of hours,” Captain Dobey continued as he shuffled papers on his desk, still not making eye contact.
Hutch, shifting in his chair and taking in the sight of his dejected looking partner, waited for Dobey’s next words.
“And I hate to ask this.” Dobey cleared his throat and, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed, continued, “I need you two to deliver Schultz to the Wrightwood police. They seem to have their hands full up there with two officers out sick, several on leave, and now this murder case. They’re a small force and have asked for our help.”
“Cap’n, Wrightwood’s way up in the San Gabriel Mountains,” Starsky protested.
“And you promised us four days off,” Hutch reminded him wearily. “We’re beat.”
“I know. I know. Believe me, I hate to send you, but with the holidays we’re working with a skeleton crew, and I can’t afford to take anyone off the streets. It’ll only take you a few hours. I promise you’ll still get your four days off when you get back.”
“Why can’t it wait until after the holidays?”
“It seems that the media got wind of the possibility of a witness and their breathing down the Chief’s neck. The murder took place five years ago on Christmas Day. They’ve been takin’ a lot of heat for the unsolved murder and they want to break the news on Christmas.”
“Are you askin’ us or orderin’ us?” Starsky, still staring at his hands, asked, his voice now barely above a whisper.
Dobey cleared his throat and looked at his uncharacteristically quiet, curly-haired officer. “I’m asking. Wrightwood is only a few hours away. You can spend the night there, get some rest, then head home tomorrow morning and start your time off.”
Starsky,
amazed at the amount of effort it took to raise his head, looked at Hutch. He studied Hutch’s tired blue eyes
momentarily, sending a message before he looked down again, sighing to
himself.
“Okay, we’ll do it,” Hutch said, message received. They both knew that Dobey must have been desperate. He rarely “asked” them for anything and both felt obligated. “But the Wrightwood Police better appreciate it.”
Dobey looked from Starsky to Hutch and back again. The “message,” left unfinished, came through loud and clear. He did appreciate it. He knew he was pushing them to the limits. He would have liked nothing more than to send them home to bed, safe and warm for the holidays, but it wasn’t within his power. The mayor of Wrightwood was a friend of the commissioner, and Dobey had been “asked” to deliver Schultz as a personal favor. “Thanks. You can pick up Schultz at the county jail. I’ll call Thompson in Wrightwood and let him know you’ll be on your way shortly.”
Starsky pushed himself away from the wall and, shoulders slumped, headed toward the door as Hutch stood up.
Dobey cleared his throat as
he reached for the phone. “Edith, Cal,
and Rosie are looking forward to you two coming over for Christmas
dinner….” Dobey hesitated, as if he no
longer felt sure they’d still accept the invitation. He didn’t ever remember seeing his two detectives look as tired
and as worn out as they did at that moment, unless it was when one was standing
guard at a hospital waiting for word on an injured partner, or endlessly
searching the city for the other when they were missing. It only proceeded to make him feel guiltier
at having placed this extra burden on them.
They were his best officers, and he had counted on them not to say
no. They hadn’t disappointed him.
As Hutch reached the door, he held it open for Starsky. “Sure, tell Edith that we’ll be there.” Pulling the door closed behind him, Hutch turned back and, attempting a half-smile, added, “Merry Christmas, Cap’n.”
Chapter Two
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