LOST INNOCENCE
When his father is murdered, David Starsky starts hanging out with a local street gang and makes some bad choices that will have a dramatic impact on his future
CHAPTER 1
"David," Rachel Starsky called to her eldest son as she stepped around her youngest son who was sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor. "Take Nicky outside and play with him until your father gets home."
"Aw, Ma…" David appeared in the doorway. "Do I have to?"
David didn't mean to complain. But, he had just turned twelve and he wanted to be outside playing with his own friends, not taking care of his six-year-old brother.
"Yes, David. You do," His mother said in a firm voice. She smiled to soften her words. "Now go on."
"Come on, Nicky," David said in an annoyed voice. He stepped forward and reached out to grab his brother's hand, pulling him roughly to his feet. "Let's go outside."
"David Michael!" his mother admonished him sternly. "There's no need to pull on your brother's arm like that! You could hurt him."
"Sorry Ma," David said, lowering his head as his mother chastised him. In a quiet voice, he said to his younger brother, "Come, Nicky. Let's go play some ball until Pop gets home."
"O'tay…" Nicky said with a gap-toothed grin. Two missing front teeth gave him a slight lisp when he talked.
"Nicky, pick your cars up first and put them away," Rachel instructed.
Nicky obediently did as he was told and then joined his brother at the back door.
The two boys went into the back yard of the tiny two-story house. They lived in a middle class neighborhood in Brooklyn along with several other Jewish families. They were a close knit community that generally kept to themselves.
David tossed a softball to Nicky, who missed it. Giggling, the younger boy ran after the ball as it rolled across the grass. He scooped it up and awkwardly tossed it back to his big brother, who caught it with ease. Nicky adored his older brother and loved spending time with him. It was hard for him to understand why Davy didn't seem to want to spend much time with him anymore.
The two boys tossed the ball back and forth until they heard the familiar sound of their father's car pulling into the driveway. Tossing down the ball, Nicky cried "Pop!" and took off running toward the front of the house. David picked up the discarded softball and strolled around the house at a more leisurely pace in time to see Nicky throw himself into his father's outstretched arms. Both boys resembled their father with the same dark blue eyes, olive complexion and dark, curly hair.
Michael Starsky was a police officer with the NYPD and proud of it. He enjoyed his job as a patrolman. He'd found his niche in life and intended to stay there. Promotions within the department didn't interest him. His main priority in life was, and always would be, his family.
His blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he lifted Nicky up into his arms and glanced at his oldest son. David was growing up fast, faster than Michael would have liked. He wasn't a child anymore, but he wasn't yet a man, either. He was at that awkward phase in between. In another year, he would be thirteen, and it would be time for his Bar Mitzvah. In the eyes of their faith, at that time he would be considered a man with all the rights and obligations that went along with that.
He was proud of both of his sons but, as the oldest, David held a special place in his heart. After he was born, the doctors weren't sure that Rachel would ever be able to have another child. Then when Nicky came along, it had seemed like a blessing from God. For health reasons, Rachel had been unable to have more children, so they were grateful for their little family of four.
"Come on, Davy," Michael called out to his eldest son with a lopsided grin. "Let's go see what your Mama has for supper."
"Sure, Pop," David said with an answering grin.
Rachel looked up from putting the finishing touches on supper as her husband and sons came into the house. Even after almost fourteen years of marriage, she still felt an almost overwhelming surge of love whenever she saw her husband's smile. "You boys go wash your hands and then, David, you can set the table."
"Yes, Ma'am," David said obediently.
Michael put Nicky down and gave him an affectionate swat on the bottom. As the two boys left the room to wash up, he turned to his wife and gave her a slow lingering kiss.
"Mmmmmmmmm…" he said, taking a sniff of the delicious aromas in the air. "Something sure smells good."
Rachel smiled indulgently and playfully swatted at his hand as Michael tried to steal a bite of the salad sitting on the kitchen counter. "You can wait until supper," she chided her husband fondly.
"But I'm starving…" he said with a pout that usually got him his way.
"You're always starving," Rachel said with a soft chuckle. "You sound just like David."
Their moment of privacy was interrupted by the chattering of the two boys returning to the kitchen. David started setting the table with a little assistance from Nicky, who proudly put the silverware beside each plate. It was the same warm domestic scene being played out in homes throughout the neighborhood at that time of day.
After supper, David did the dishes while Michael helped Nicky with his homework. When they were done with their chores, the boys were allowed to watch television until eight o'clock when Rachel took Nicky upstairs for his bath and to get him ready for bed.
David always looked forward to this time of the day. This was his special time to spend with his father. While he sat at the kitchen table and cleaned his service revolver, Michael Starsky entertained David with stories about his day. His father was David's hero, and he wanted to be just like him someday. Unconsciously, he had already adopted many of his father's habits and mannerisms.
Rachel and Michael were strict with their children, while still allowing them to develop as individuals. Both boys were obedient and well behaved, perfect examples of their parents' parenting skills. The boys knew what was expected of them and acted accordingly. Michael was the disciplinarian in the family. He knew from experience what it was like out there on the streets, and he was determined that his sons would never get involved with a street gang or any of the neighborhood gangsters. One of Michael's best friends from his childhood, Joe Durniak, was well on his way to becoming a local mob boss. Michael didn't want that kind of life for his sons.
David went to bed at nine-thirty, leaving Michael and Rachel with their own private time. Their day started at six am when Rachel got up to fix Michael's breakfast before he went to work. After he left at seven-thirty, she got up the boys and fixed them their breakfast before they left for school at eight-thirty. Then Rachel spent her day doing the routine domestic chores that most housewives do every day. It was a good life, and Rachel considered herself to be truly blessed. It was a warm day in June when that all changed and her world fell apart.
The boys were out of school for the summer. In the afternoons, Rachel would give David enough money to take Nicky to the corner drug store for a treat. David usually got a soda while Nicky always wanted an ice cream cone. The boys were almost to their house that day when David saw his dad's car pull into their driveway. David dropped his brother's hand, leaving Nicky to catch up on his own, while he ran ahead to greet his father. His father paused and smiled as he waited for his sons to reach him.
As David sprinted towards his father, he heard rather than saw the car approaching from behind him. As Michael opened his mouth to call out to his son, four loud cracking sounds rang out, like firecrackers going off on the fourth of July. But, when David saw the surprised expression that crossed his father face before he fell to his knees and pitched forward, crumbling to the ground, the boy knew the sound he'd heard wasn't fireworks. It was gunshots. He father had been shot.
David bolted to his father's side, covering the short distance between them in seconds. As he knelt beside his father, he reached out to tug the older man's head into his lap, trying to offer comfort the only way he knew how. His father's fingers weakly grasped at David's shirt as the life slowly drained from his eyes.
"POP!" David cried out frantically, desperately trying to still the frantic pounding of his heart and the sudden tightness that clutched at his throat. "STAY WITH ME, POP! DON'T DIE! PLEASE DON'T DIE! DON'T LEAVE ME!"
David was vaguely aware of the sound of the front screen door slamming open and the sound of his mother screaming. David threw back his head and added his own screams to the chaos, even as neighbors came running out of their houses to investigate the gunshots that had shattered the quiet of that late afternoon.
Still holding his father tightly, David leaned forward over his body, fighting back the tears that stung his eyes. He would not cry, not in front of his mother or the neighbors. He heard the voices of some of them, comforting his mother and tending to Nicky, but David refused to let them comfort him
He pushed away the hands that tried to reach out and help him to his feet, refusing to leave his father's side. He heard the sound of sirens approaching in the distance, but he knew they were already too late. His father was gone, and nothing would ever be the same again. When the ambulance arrived, someone grabbed his arm and forcibly pulled him to his feet and away from his father's side.
David pushed the man holding him aside; not bothering to see who it was that had pulled him away. Turning, he ran past his weeping mother, who was holding a wailing Nicky in her arms, and disappeared into the house. Making his way up the stairs to his bedroom, he went inside and slammed the door, locking it securely. Throwing himself down across his bed, face first, he finally let the tears come, sobbing quietly into his pillow to muffle the sound of his crying.
In accordance with Jewish tradition, the next day, they laid Michael David Starsky to rest. David stood in the temple and repeated the words to the prayers automatically. His eyes were dry, and his posture was stiff and erect. A part of him had died along with his father, forever shattering the innocence of his childhood.
For the next seven days, the immediate family would sit Shiva as a sign of respect to the deceased. David would comply with the age-old tradition only because he had no choice. His pain and his grief went too deep for words or for consolation. Nicky was too young to understand much of what was going on around him, but David knew and it was a day that would remain burned in his mind forever. If he closed his eyes, David could still smell the scent of his father's blood on the warm pavement where he had died and hear his mother's screams echoing in his ears.