Thirty minutes later, they were sitting in the coffee shop attached to the motel.
“I thought we were gonna get some sleep,” Starsky complained, as he sat in the booth leaning against the window, leg up on the seat next to him.
“I know,” Hutch agreed. “Who would have thought the Mile High Motel would be full?”
“Who would’a thought every motel in town would be full? What are we gonna do now?”
“Guess Dobey didn’t take into consideration that it’s the holidays and people are here on vacation.” Hutch sighed and looked around. “Let’s get something to eat.” Hutch reached for the menu stuck behind the salt and pepper shakers and began looking it over, hoping there was something edible between all the grease and starch. Settling on the tuna sandwich, he looked up at Starsky and passed the menu across the table. “Bet I can guess what you want. Meatloaf, right?”
Receiving no reply, Hutch looked at his partner closely. The dark circles were widening under Starsky’s closed eyes and he looked slightly flushed. Hutch leaned forward in his seat and reached across the table to feel Starsky’s forehead. “You got a fever?” he asked, concern growing.
Starsky, irritated, brushed Hutch’s hand away, as he began coughing. “I’ll be okay, but I don’t want nothin’ to eat.”
Starsky’s lack of appetite and warm forehead convinced Hutch that Starsky really was sick. He pulled his hand back and sat back down, as the blonde waitress approached to take their order.
“I’ll have a tuna salad sandwich.” Hutch, quickly scanning the menu again, added, “And my friend here will have some of your chicken dumpling soup.”
“Anything to drink?” the waitress asked, scribbling on her pad.
“Just water, thanks.” Holding up two fingers, Hutch barely returned her smile, too tired to even flirt with the pretty waitress.
“Said I didn’t want anything.”
“Well, you need something, or I’ll be hearing your stomach growl all the way home. Try the soup.”
Starsky opened his eyes halfway and, seeing the concern in Hutch’s eyes, relented. “I’ll try. No guarantees.”
Thirty minutes later, Hutch had downed his sandwich and, resting back against the booth, watched Starsky twirling his spoon in the soup. “Works better if you catch a dumpling and put it in your mouth, Starsk.”
“Don’t want any more.” Starsky continued staring in the bowl, then he pushed it away, wincing as he coughed “’Sides it’s cold now.”
Hutch sighed, “Okay, but drink the water. You need the fluids.”
Starsky perked up a little and started looking around the diner. “That reminds me…”
“What are you looking for?” Hutch followed Starsky’s eyes around the diner and, suddenly realizing what his partner was searching for, pointed behind Starsky at the far left corner. “Bathroom’s over there.”
“Oh-h-h.” Starsky grinned, relief briefly lighting his face. He slid out of the booth and stood unsteadily. As Hutch opened his mouth to speak, Starsky rested his hand on Hutch’s arm, misinterpreting what Hutch was about to say. “Don’t worry, Hutch.” Scanning the room, he added lightly, “I don’t see any Joeys hanging around this place.” Smiling wryly, he added, “I’ll be safe.”
Hutch winced as memories of that dreadful night flooded back. He didn’t know if anything would ever erase the painful images of Starsky lying wounded and bleeding in the back room of an Italian restaurant. Hutch, smiling weakly, nodded, swallowing his comeback. Until Starsky had mentioned Joey’s name, the comparison hadn’t entered his mind—he’d buried the painful memory long ago. Or at least, he’d thought so.
As Starsky walked down the aisle, Hutch’s eyes scanned the restaurant, suddenly anxious. They were practically the only ones in the restaurant. Except for the waitress and cook, there were only a couple other people. There was a gray-haired couple in their sixties sitting in the booth near the door. A girl, with her back to Hutch, sat in the last booth near the bathroom door, and one guy, in his late twenties, Hutch guessed, wearing faded jeans and a jean shirt sat at the far end of the counter reading the paper. Nobody looked threatening. Feeling his anxiety level lessen, Hutch sipped his water and continued to monitor the room for any unusual movement. He didn’t plan on being caught unaware again, not when his partner’s life was at stake.
Coming out of the bathroom, Starsky glanced at the girl sitting in the last booth. She glanced up at him, briefly making eye contact. Seeing her red, swollen eyes, Starsky slipped into her booth. “You okay?”
Watching the girl dab at her eyes with a tissue as she nodded, Starsky guessed the girl with long, wavy brown hair and bangs to be in her mid-to-late twenties. His head was splitting from his headache and he ached all over, but he couldn’t ignore the obvious distress of the pretty girl in front of him. He reached out his hand, placing it on hers. “Can I help?”
Smiling gratefully, the girl looked up and stared into the deep blue eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ll be fine.”
“What’s your name?”
“Brittany Adams. Brit for short.”
“Hi, Brit.” Starsky stuck out his hand. “I’m Dave Starsky. Starsky for short.”
After shaking hands, Brit returned to relentlessly stirring her coffee, as Starsky tilted his head trying to unsuccessfully catch her eye.
Seeing Starsky sitting in the booth with the girl, Hutch wandered over. “Hey, what are you doing, buddy? Thought you wanted to get home.”
Starsky, glancing up at Hutch’s voice, slid deeper into the booth, making room for him and, with a twinkle in his eye, began making introductions. “The blond blintz here is my partner, Ken Hutchinson. Hutch for short.” Brit blushed, realizing the handsome brunette was teasing her. “This is Brittany, Hutch. Brit for short. Seems she has a problem.”
“Oh, yeah?” Hutch looked at Brit. “Can we help?”
Brit looked up at the two sets of blue eyes—one light, one dark—staring at her, both filled with concern. She smiled sheepishly. “It’s not that big of a problem. I’m sure it will work out.”
“How do we know, if you don’t tell us about it?” Hutch smiled encouragingly, wondering how Starsky, exhausted and sick, still managed to find a pretty girl to flirt with.
Brit looked from one to the other, embarrassed. “It’s probably pretty silly to you…”
“Try us.” Starsky squeezed the hand still beneath his.
“Well, I’m an actress. At least I’ve done some college productions,” Brit clarified, her voice rising with excitement. “I answered an ad in the newspaper and I was offered an audition in LA.”
Wondering what kind of ad it was and who’d placed it, Starsky, raising an eyebrow at Hutch, nodded for Brit to continue.
“But, my boyfriend doesn’t want me to go and we had a big fight. He was really angry and told me I couldn’t go.” Brit looked at Starsky and Hutch, defiance lighting her eyes. “But—”
“You’re going anyway,” Starsky and Hutch said together, both anticipating her next words.
Brit nodded, smiling at how they’d read not only her thoughts but also each other’s.
“Yeah, I’m going. This could be my big opportunity and I don’t plan on missing it.” Brit’s voice cracked with emotion.
“So what’s the problem?” Hutch asked.
“Well, I have no way to get there. My car died and he won’t drive me. I missed the last bus for LA, and there won’t be another until tomorrow morning and that bus will arrive too late.”
As Starsky and Hutch exchanged glances, Starsky offered, “Well, luck is with you, Brit. It looks like we’ll be returning to LA ourselves tonight. Would you like to ride with us?”
Suddenly cautious, Brit bit her lip thinking. “I don’t think so. I don’t even know you.”
Hutch reached into his back pocket and pulled out his badge and credentials. “We’re detectives with the LA Police Department, and we’re headed back to LA tonight. We’d be happy to drop you wherever you want. Besides it would be nice to have someone else along for the ride.” Hutch tilted his head toward Starsky as he winked at Brit. “I’m getting tired of talking with him.”
Brit amazed at her good fortune, jumped at the chance, literally throwing herself across the table, flinging her arms around Starsky. Taken completely off guard, Starsky briefly returned the hug and then sat back, coughing repeatedly.
Hutch, laughing as he observed the two hugging, suddenly grew concerned. “Take it easy.” He rubbed his hand across Starsky’s back, offering him the unused glass of water on the table. Starsky, pain crossing his face as he struggled to regain his breath, sank back against the bench.
“Are you okay?” Brit asked, worried.
Holding up his hand, Starsky finally managed to catch his breath and relaxed against his partner’s arm, his energy spent. “I’ll…be…fine,” he managed to choke out, knowing Hutch was watching him intently.
“I think it’s time to get you home and tucked into bed, Gordo.” Hutch stood and pulled a twenty out of his pocket. “I’m gonna pay the bill and see if they sell any aspirin.” Hutch headed toward the counter and stopped abruptly, “Are you coming with us, Brit?”
Brit nodded, eagerly. “Of course. I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you.”
Having paid the bill, Hutch returned to the booth where Brit and Starsky still sat. “Starsk, I’m going out to warm up the car. Come out in five, ’kay?”
“I’m a big boy,” Starsky began, protesting.
Hutch, pointing his finger at Starsky, stopped the response in mid sentence. Holding up his hand, indicating five minutes, Hutch stared Starsky down, daring him to continue. Starsky finally nodded in agreement, willing to abide by his partner’s request, willing to let Hutch take charge.
Five minutes later, Starsky zipped up his navy blue windbreaker and pulled the collar up against the cold. Brit picked up her purse and, zipping up her winter coat, stood next to Starsky. She pulled on her gloves, commenting, “You guys must be from the city. You certainly don’t dress for the weather around here.”
“Well, we weren’t planning on staying for any length of time or for any snow, that’s for sure,” Starsky explained, as he ushered Brit down the aisle and through the door, joining Hutch at the snow covered car.
Starsky opened the front door for Brit; as she climbed in, he looked across the roof, watching Hutch brush off several inches of snow from the windshield.
“They didn’t have any aspirin. Why don’t you try and catch a few winks in the back seat,” Hutch offered. “Brit will keep me company.”
Starsky nodded and, blowing on his cold hands, he tucked them inside his coat pockets pulling his arms tightly against his shivering body, trying to protect it from the wind and snow. Stomping the snow off his blue Adidas, Starsky climbed into the back seat, yanking several times on the door before it caught. Purposely avoiding Hutch’s eyes, Starsky couldn’t help thinking, One thing’s certain. I can’t wait to get home and outta this piece of junk.’
As they pulled out of the parking lot, none of them noticed the man at the counter set down his paper, toss some money on the counter and head to the door.
Chapter Four