DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN ANY PART OF STARSKY AND HUTCH FRANCHISE. THE FOLLOWING IS FOR ENTERTAINMENT ONLY.
The noise and chaos out in the hall follows you into the squad room as you open the double doors. Your senses are challenged by a number of different things as you enter. The desks are arranged end to end more like long lunch room tables. There are people, papers and chairs everywhere. Papers and books are all over the place, not in any recognizable order, but spilling over the desks with no border to control their spread.
The officers are all busy with various tasks, according to their assignments on that particular day. The phones are constantly ringing or in use. Snippets of phone conversations overlap with witnesses reporting details of the crimes against them.
----"Jerry, do you have an ID on the dead body yet?--C'mon it's been 24 hours, you gotta give me something", Marshall complained to the lab guy on the other end of the line.
"But officer, he was big and he had glasses. And he was running off with my pink satchel. That's all I know!" The thin, mousy woman whined to the detective as she gave what details she could remember about the purse snatcher. In turn, Johnson tried to type out the scanty details in such a way that it would pass his captain's inspection.
You might wonder how anyone can concentrate in such a confused, jangling atmosphere. But each professional in that room has their own way of dealing with the chaos swirling around them.
Jack sits by himself and seems to be daydreaming. He is at his desk which is closest to a wall of metal file cabinets. There is an open case file in front of him. On a piece of paper he's drawing stick figures in various positions with captions under each. Captain Dobey is always expressing his exasperation that Jack does nothing but draw cartoons. But the big black man knows that this is how Jack maps out a crime scene. Most of the men take notes, but Jack thinks better when he can outline the scene on paper and come up with his own conclusions.
Arnie is at the middle row of desks on the phone. He has one finger stuck in his ear as he holds the receiver up to his other ear. This way, he doesn't have to overtax his ears to hear what the lab is telling him about the latest crime scene results.
---"The blood type again?-- No from the blue Ford- yeah, the blood and hair found in the trunk.-- What's that??"
Of course, when Arnie has to write down something he's been told, then he's got to break concentration, take his finger out of his ear and write quickly what he just heard and get back to his phone listening position.
Everybody else is just trying to get their immediate tasks done and stay out of the way without getting too sucked in by the din swirling around them.
But the noise takes on a life of its own as the phones keep ringing, typewriters click out reports and even the shouting from the hall filters in to mix with a headache producing scene.
Among all of this however, there are a few personal items mixed in among the clutter. Over by the desk under the window, someone tacked up their 5 year olds newest masterpiece done in a blaze of finger paint color.
On the cabinet by the door sits a potted philadendren, surprising in that it is well tended and flowing over the side of the file.
Perhaps the oddest thing is not so much the object on the desk at the far end of the room, but where it sits. Starsky and Hutch are huddled together in their space among the noise, working on a delinquent report. They are at the end of a long row of desks and have a little more leg room and it's not as claustrophobic as being in the middle of the room.
Despite being surrounded by noise and confusion, the two men don't seem to be having any trouble communicating with each other. They don't need words to understand each other. Mostly, just glances, shrugs and eyebrow lifts are all it takes to communicate. After years of depending on each other out on the streets, they've worked out their own sign language consisting of body language, trust and as few actual words as possible.
The object in question is a piggy bank. Not just any piggy bank but A PIG. It is a round ceramic pig with a red bottom and pink face with a slot in its head. Seems so out of place to have a childish knick- knack in such plain view, with no attempt to hide its existence. Although there are a few other toys on top of the nearest filing cabinet that demand attention. A medium sized white bear sits beside a very skinny looking blue dog. They just sit observing their counterpart on the desk opposite and continue doing their job of watching over the curly, dark haired man and the tall, blond one.
Minnie pushed into the squad room and made her way through the confusion to Starsky and Hutch. She sank into the chair opposite Starsky and pushed at the pig. She thought back to the man originally responsible for it's being there and smiled to herself. She sat up and spoke to her two favorite detectives.
"Hey boys, how are ya doing? I thought I'd give my feet a rest. I needed a change of scenery for a minute.--"
She picked up the pig and was surprised by its weight as she shook it at the two men in front of her.
"It's about time isn't it boys? Time to make another visit to the soup kitchen", Minnie looked over the top of her glasses as she questioned the detectives.
"Ya know Minnie, Me and Hutch were just talkin' about that yesterday. It's amazn' how that pig fills up and most of the time, we never notice anyone contributing.", Starsky stopped writing his report to answer Minnie.
Hutch put the file in front of him out of his way and pushed his chair closer into the table so he could talk easier to Minnie.
"Rocky was killed two years ago down on Mission Street. He never had a chance. Rocky was a good cop and a good friend."
The room started to thin out and quiet down. It was the time of day between the end of one shift and the start of the early evening shift. It was now 5 p.m. and things seemed to slow down between then and 9 p.m. After that anything and everything could happen, particularly if it was a full moon. But for the next few hours, things wouldn't be so hectic and fewer people were at their desks.
"Hey Arnie, remember Rocky?", Starsky called over to the husky detective.
"Sure, who doesn't? Is it time for the pig patrol again?", Arnie pushed his glasses further up on his nose and jotted something down on the paper in front of him.
"Pig patrol on the loose! Hey, I'll go with ya if you can wait a few minutes. I gotta wait for records to call me back--- Oh, wait, that's gotta be them---" Phillip joined in the banter until his phone call interrupted him.
"Sure is comforting to know that Rocky isn't forgotten about. As long as you guys keep this pig as a reminder, his big heart will keep on making a difference." Minnie sighed as she stood up and ruffled her hand through Starsky's curls.
"Minnie, no way could we forget about Rocky Boulder. He was a good cop but also a caring guy. I think he died of a broken heart rather than the knife that was pushed into his back. For being a cop, he was still naive about some things. By helping one person, he thought there would be a ripple effect of kindness extending to someone else helping out."
Starsky stated, lost in remembering the big hearted fellow cop.
"Remember when he told us about volunteering at the soup kitchen on his days off? We all thought he was nuts. But he really cared about those people and did all he could to make a difference in their lives." Hutch pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought back to the friend they had all lost.
"Boys, I have to get back to work. I can see Rocky's spirit is alive and somehow that really makes everything we do seem worthwhile. You be careful now and Starsky, you save a smile for me!" Minnie winked at Starsky as she left the now almost quiet office.
Hutch continued reminiscing about his friend. Rocky and Hutch were partnered together for a few weeks once while Starsky was in the hospital.
"Starsk, you were in the hospital because of your latest gun shot wounds so Dobey put the two of us together. There was a homicide down at Pier 91 near the soup kitchen and Rocky knew the people down there. I just wish I could have prevented his death.", Hutch sadly recounted.
Starsky grabbed the pen from behind his ear and wrote something quickly on the report in front of him. A detail had just popped into his head and he wanted to get it on paper before it slipped from his memory. Once that was done, he moved his butt off the seat and raised himself onto the back of the chair.
"Blondie, don't do that guilt thing. Rocky more than anybody knew what he was up against. You and me tried to get him to be more objective about things and not let his emotions overlap, but he always made it work for him.", Starsky shook his head and continued.
"I was laid up for about two weeks that time. It seems weird thinking about all that now. That was the last assignment for Rocky and before I was even out of the hospital, he was dead. Really strange that the very place he wanted so badly to help was the cause of his death."
Starsky glanced at Hutch, appreciating the sadness he saw reflected back in those blue eyes.