Intro: "Thank-You!" to those of you who helped me with this fanfic story! My dear friend Trish (Atrish1 on this fanfic site) included and would be helping if during our phone conversation that we try to do each week, she wasn't so tired from getting off of work. Then there is my sweet friend Robin C. and she gets a special "Thank you!" because like me, she's a fan of David Soul and that includes we are Hutch gals! However, unlike me, she hates Hutch being hurt! What a fantastic pal she is for helping me with my story.
An extra special "Thank-You!" goes to my dear friend and main beta-reader Arlene (acmabry on this fanfiction site)! I lost track of how many times she had to re-read my intro and the story because I kept changing things. Don't know how she kept from pulling out all of her hair with all of that beta reading. By the way, it's so marvelous that on Oct. 18, 2015, Arlene and her hubby celebrated their 34 years wedding anniversary! She said he's her Starsky and Hutch rolled into one!
As for my research on the web... Glassman (like Bernie Glassman in "The Fix") and Glaser, and other variations of it, has a name meaning of: German and Swiss German: occupational name for a glass blower or glazier, from an agent derivative of Middle High German glas 'glass'. This name is widespread throughout central Europe. Jewish (Ashkenazic): occupational name for a glass blower or glazier, from the German word Glaser.
Ashkenazic Jews are the Jews of France, Germany, and Eastern Europe and their descendants. The adjective "Ashkenazic" and corresponding nouns, Ashkenazi (singular) and Ashkenazim (plural) are derived from the Hebrew word "Ashkenaz," which is used to refer to Germany. Most American Jews today are Ashkenazim, descended from Jews who emigrated from Germany and Eastern Europe from the mid -1800s to the early 1900s.
As for Paul Michael Glaser- I don't know if he is Akhkenzaic Jewish or not and have yet to write to him and ask him if he knows. As for Starsky being Jewish... I read on the web at Jewish Chronicle Online an article about Paul. In part of the article Paul said he didn't play Starsky as being Jewish, but to him he was just ethnic.
Also, though I know that Hutch and Starsky cuss, there isn't any in my story.
Also, in this story I'm not sticking with a whole lot of things the way that they are in the episode of "The Fix."
However, one of the ways I'm sticking to the script and that Robert I. Holt wrote is that with the exception of Bill Beryl, Bryd, Henry, Conner, and Catalina (whose names I made up) any other characters I give the names of are the same ones Robert has in his script. Oh, and to clarify this- Also, not mentioned in the script are David and Jonathan from the Bible.
Comments and no matter the size; and good comments, bad ones, or a combination of both, are much appreciated! Thank you so much and much love to you all!
Chapter One of Riding the White Horse 'Heroin' into Heaven and Then into Hell!
You can't actually see God, but you can feel Him in the wind.
Really that should be-
You don't need to actually see God to know that He is a real, just like you don't need to literally see the wind to know that it exists.
And speaking of the wind…yesterday a breeze, that had begun its life somewhere far out in the Pacific Ocean, had grown mighty enough to blow into all and not just part of the Bay City, California metropolitan area (the 2nd largest metropolitan area in the country) some rain.
Precipitation and plentiful enough to keep the plant life...like the trees with beautiful white flowers and lush green leaves...from thirsting for more water before the next rain came down. The weatherperson who'd predicted that such would take place six days from today was one of the most accurate in the U.S.A.-
There were other things I was thinking about: Like how right now there weren't any chills running up and down my spine, and how there weren't any warning bells going off inside of my head.
Why should there be?
When there was nothing weird going on that it was Bill Beryl, my partner for eight years now, who was sitting behind the steering wheel of the police car.
While out patrolling, he usually did the driving, that didn't mean he was better at it. He did, however, like doing it more than me. Meaning that while he drove, there wasn't anything odd going on...what with me, Bernie Glassman, also wearing a police uniform, having my butt parked, and quite comfortably, on the front passenger seat of the full-sized sedan.
In American slang the sedan was known as a 'black and white' due to the large panels of the car being painted with those two colors-
Underneath the hood was a heavy-duty transmission.
A powerful engine also was helping with moving the car, that didn't weigh a ton, but it certainly wasn't light-weight, easily forward and going south on a two-way, two-lane street called Elm.
Two miles up ahead we approached a stop sign; there was nothing strange about Beryl obeying it like he always did and to keep from crashing into some other vehicles. Not colliding into them when not a whole lot of feet in front of us was a two-way, four-lane road named 2nd Street. And without any kind of traffic sign informing the driver of each vehicle on that street whether or not they should go, slow down, or stop.
Then, here on planet Earth, in a time zone when it was Tuesday early afternoon and there was nothing bizarre about 2nd Street having a good number of vehicles traveling on it- It could be very dangerous for a person to try to cross over 2nd Street to get to Elm.
Either way, there still weren't any chills running up and down my spine because from where Beryl and I sat facing south, we couldn't see that someone was wanting to cross over 2nd Street to get to Elm.
Also, currently there was nothing to be alarmed about because Beryl and I had just watched three people pass by the front of our patrol car. Two had walked west, one east, they'd had no problems at all arriving safely onto the sidewalk they wanted to be on, and afterwards continue on walking to wherever it was they were heading to.
But wait!...
There was something different.
Out of the ordinary because looking out of the rolled down driver's side window of the patrol car, I'd suddenly just noticed someone.
A man.
One and who was hunched over and he was running!
I wasn't aware that the blond man used to live in Duluth, Minnesota and had been in love with ships and the sea ever since he was old enough to read.
And in high school he was a lifeguard, was voted the boy most likely to succeed, and was the class valedictorian.
Then when he was attending college, he was an intercollegiate dart champion along with the fact he was a success at being an intercollegiate wrestler and for the three years he attended college. Then he decided to attend the Bay City Police Academy and unsurprisingly graduated with top honors in many of the police academy topics.
I also wasn't aware that he had been married to someone named Vanessa, and though he wasn't successful at staying married to her and she had divorced him, he was successful at a lot of other things.
I also wasn't aware that in this part of Bay City, just moments ago: He (and dangerously enough that it would've caused chills to run up and down my spine had I seen him do it!) had crossed over 2nd Street to get to Elm.
And when doing so he'd come too blasted close to being struck by a car and that could've killed him!
And then right afterwards he was almost hit by another car!
I also wasn't aware that the driver of the first car had blared their horn at him before he'd succeeded to get to where I was currently observing him on Elm Street's east sidewalk; it was easy to see that he hadn't just intentionally meant to rudely collide into a blonde woman who over her shirt she was wearing a green, button up sweater.
(He had to have heard her high-pitched startled "Ah!" when he'd collided into her and made her fall!)
Another thing that had been easy to observe was that he hadn't had enough time to at least politely quickly say "Sorry!" to her before he'd simultaneously, albeit unintentionally, had rudely plowed into a man who was considerably older than him.
Right before the woman and the older man had crashed onto the green grass or the sidewalk- she had tossed into the air a large paper sack of food that she'd been carrying in her arms. And the older man, when falling on his back, had lost his hat off his head and had completely dumped over his personal two-wheeled, fold-out shopping cart and in it two big paper bags of groceries, one stacked on top of the other one.
When the guy I didn't know who used to live in Duluth, Minnesota accidentally made the woman and the older man do all of that- he additionally didn't mean for the woman and the older man to get hurt.
It was unintentional that they were hurt because they hadn't been bullying him or trying to do anything mean to him at all.
They merely were people who happened to be in his way of him trying to get further away from whatever or whoever or those he was running from!
I knew the woman who just so happened to be unintentionally in his way and wearing the green sweater-Bryd was a recent bride and was 28-years- old. The older man, Henry, was old enough that he and his wife had just celebrated their 24th wedding anniversary.
However, inside the patrol car I was thinking that any cuts, bruises or any other injuries that Bryd and Henry had didn't require the services of a doctor, nurse, paramedic, or someone else who knew a whole lot about first aid.
Surely, Bryd and Henry, even though he had fallen onto his back, hadn't been wounded too badly. Conner, and standing just a few feet away from them , would be able to take care of them. Conner was carrying a business briefcase and knew just the very basics about first aid.
It was especially so that he was going to have to attend to Bryd's and Henry's needs because I was so much, much, more concerned about 'him.'
The blond 'him' whose hair had some curl to it, was about 32-years-old, was wearing blue jeans and a long-sleeved, light tan shirt, and who had just succeeded in getting himself up and off the grass that he'd also crash-landed onto.
And again, hunched over ...
He was running!
"Hey, isn't that that detective?'' I asked my partner, but not giving him a chance to answer, "Yeah, Hutchinson, " I firmly replied, when there was no mistake about it! That Hutchinson was precisely who he was!
"There's a missing officer out on him," I told Beryl for the 2nd time today. Then "Call it in," I also said in a tone of voice that conveyed it was urgent that he hurry and pick up the mike!
To not be slow about speaking into it either, and speedily get the message out and over the airwaves and to every police radio within receiving distance that Starsky's partner, and not only that! But his best friend in the whole entire world had been sighted!
(Starsky also was Hutchinson's best friend in the whole entire world, they were a modern day David and Jonathan from the Bible, with the way their souls were so tightly knit together!)
Immediately following telling Beryl to "Call it in."-
'Click'
Went the front passenger seat door handle making its usual sound when someone lifted up on it.
Opening the door all the way and exiting the patrol car-I went chasing after Hutchinson.
As fast as I could.
He led me into an alley…It was an un-picturesque one at that.
Then watching the guy literally sag…literally 'wilt' down onto his knees...
It was 1975 and more precisely than that-It was early October; the season of autumn that some people called "fall"...
Today there was a gentle wind blowing. Also called a "zephyr" and poetically used in some Christian hymns,
The zephyrs seem to float to me,
Sweet sounds to Heaven's melody,
As angels with the white robed throng
Join in the sweet redemption song. ('Beulah Land' copyright public domain)
Wherever today's zephyr had originated from, the salty Pacific or Atlantic Ocean or way over in Israel in the Sea of Galilee; which actually was a big freshwater lake-
The breeze, though gentle, was still mighty enough to blow on Hutchinson. Blow on him and making him fall face down onto the alley and then roll immediately over onto his right side, and into a semi-fetal position!
And no longer the proud and strong man that he once was.
That he used to be.
But let's stop with the over-dramatics because the truth was that the light wind had nothing to do with making him fall and collapse on over like he'd just done.
No doubt about it…it was the severe depletion…the massively brutal draining of his own body's energy... that had caused him to do it.
And standing just a few feet away, feeling downright protective of him, and not wanting to make things worse for the poor guy by assaulting his ears when yelling out loud...
Inside my head and where Hutchinson couldn't hear my thoughts, but God definitely could, I was cursing the Almighty. Not using actual swear words, but still giving God a royal chewing out for allowing this detective- this- 'human!'- To be in such a sad shape as this!
Then, on the other hand, I had a reputation for professing to as many people as possible how much God loved all of mankind and so much so that He had sent Jesus, His only begotten Son, to Earth to die for our sins-
This cop shouldn't be cursing Him at all.
Knew full well that what I should do was to send up to Heaven a quick but anyhow heartfelt prayer of praises and thanks!
Because Hutchinson was lost but had been found!
No longer missing, having been physically located!
And though the magnificent joy in that hadn't gone 'Poof!'
Into thin air.
I had once again became irritated… disappointed... Words stronger than that because steaming hot angry at God! (And repeating that God was All-powerful!)-
That prayer of praises and thanks hadn't been sent up after all because here HE was allowing Hutchinson to just lie here on the dirt pavement that had mixed in it some small stones; with some rain water still on that pavement, and in that same semi-fetal position he was so sick that he had no control over the fact that his upper body was quaking!
Continuing to feel immensely sorry for him-
"Why aren't you stepping in and miraculously healing him, and which you Lord, and without a doubt, are so capable of doing!?" I questioned God and so loudly, that to keep on protecting Hutchinson, the inquiry had been shouted inside my head and where it couldn't hurt Hutchinson's ears.
And then a sense of needing to ask God for forgiveness suddenly washed over me (and I quickly just whispered a prayer for Him to do so) as who was 'I'… a mere human…to be finding any kind of fault at all with completely perfect and awesomely holy Deity?
Should never have started such a foolish thing to begin with! What, with knowing all along that God has His reasons for doing and not doing certain things, and obviously He was choosing to not make Hutchinson instantly and miraculously 'all better' from whatever it was that was causing him to be so ill and in so much pain.
(On top of that, in the New Testament it says that miracles eventually did cease and because it says that, I believe it, even if I don't yet understand how miracles have ceased.)
As Hutchinson continued to lay on his right side and in a semi-fetal position with his entire body faced away from a wall...
(An 8 feet tall plywood wall with graffiti on it and that God hadn't written on; though thousands of years ago He'd written on a plaster one and it could be read about in the book of Daniel.)
Suddenly a thought struck me to keep Hutchinson not facing the plywood wall and take a hold of his left forearm.
Then do other things and quickly scoot him-
And as non-painful to him as possible closer to the wall. Get him further away from the center of the road, just in case the brunet Starsky, in his extreme eagerness to get to his extremely precious blond, was driving so fast that he wouldn't be able to stop his Torino in time and accidentally run over the blond!
Additionally, there were those track marks.
Those track marks and running up and down the full length of the alley had been made by the tires of other people's automobiles, Hutchinson's upper body had suddenly stopped shaking.
But that wasn't such a great thing because laying on his right side and, again, still in a semi-fetal position, he was rocking his upper body back and forth.
"Errr" wasn't exactly the sound he was making. The sound that was coming out of his mouth while he was trying to puke and totally get rid of whatever it was that was making him feel so sick to his stomach. But "Errr" was close enough.
Having moved him closer to the 8 feet tall plywood wall and using the space left between it and his partially drawn up legs, I was part way crouched down onto my left leg and was kneeling on my right knee.
The two positions making it possible to continue bending my upper body far enough over and around Hutchinson's legs, and having continued sympathy for him looking down at him, keeping an equally sympathetic watch on his face.
However, in hopes that he did actually realize that someone deeply cared about him, I'd already placed my right hand on his back.
Then amidst the sound of Hutchinson still trying to throw-up, I heard something else.
Straightening up my back, turning my head to the left and watching the Torino finishing turning the right corner of the connecting alley, Starsky brought the car's speed up enough to bring it to a screeching-brakes skidded stop about 20 feet away from us.
In his urgency and haste to get to Hutchinson- -Starsky hadn't accidentally run over Hutchinson after all.
And getting out of the Torino, but having to close the door to be able to get past a railing in front of one of the buildings on that side of the alley, and rounding the car's front fender, Starsky hurried over to his partner.
Directly in front of Hutchinson, dropping onto his right knee with just the tip of his adidas tennis shoe touching the pavement, he squatted down onto his left leg just enough to quickly reach his arms out to his partner.
"Hutch," he said. "Wait," he instructed me, cupping his hands around the blond's left arm directly above the elbow.
Though Starsky had said, "Wait," he didn't mind that I'd helped him (but just a little bit!) with raising the ill blond halfway up and off the alley and into a partially sitting up position.
Sitting that way, Hutchinson was leaning somewhat less onto his right side.
But he still was so weak and so sick! And Starsky totally took over and was the only one who was allowed to touch Hutchinson! Hutchinson's chin, jaw and his neck being supported by Starsky's spread out (yet strong!) left hand while Starsky looked at his face.
As for my own partner, Bill Beryl-We'd had the last two days and nights off work; we weren't spending any of it together. Again, it was Tuesday, and at 6:30 a.m. before I was supposed to meet Beryl at the Bay City police station where we worked out of; I was inside a coffee and doughnut shop when Catalina, a female cop, who also frequently came there, approached my table. "Do you remember who David Starsky is?" she asked.
"Sure do! He's the Bay City plain-clothes detective who works out of Parker Center and drives a candy-apple red Torino with a white vector stripe on both sides!"
Neither of us having mentioned how we'd met him in the first place, she said, "An APB has been put out on his missing partner Ken Hutchinson. According to Starsky and their captain, the last time they'd seen Hutchinson was on Friday at about 7:15 p.m. and that he was in excellent health and in a really good mood when he left their squad room to go spend time with his lady Jeanie Walden!"
Catalina then said that Hutchinson was Caucasian, was 32-years-old, had blond hair and gave a few more details about it, had sky-blue eyes, was 6'1", lean and weighed 175 lbs. She then told me how she'd found out that Starsky and Hutchinson were each others best friends in the whole entire world and were a modern day David and Jonathan from the Bible, with the way their souls were so tightly knit together!"
This morning and a soon as I saw Beryl I gave him every last bit of the pertinent information, but now, here in the alley, I was uncertain if Hutchinson was really who I thought he was so that...
He's your partner, isn't he?" I asked Starsky.
He also hadn't stopped paying close attention to the blond whose mouth was open, his respirations having picked up to such a rate in speed that now he was huffing in and out.
"Yeah," Starsky replied to my question.
But dropping down onto his knee that wasn't already on the alley and examining Hutchinson's face some more, then apparently seeing something in those wild-looking sky-blue eyes belonging to Hutchinson, Starsky tightened his right hand more firmly around his partner's left wrist and fully stretched out the arm.
Starsky didn't hesitate with using his other hand and yanking up the blond's shirt sleeve... Hutchinson also looking down at what was going on... The three of us seeing in the crook of his elbow the injection needle track marks, it was then that, "My God. He's a junkie," came out of my mouth.
Two of heroin's slang names were heaven-dust and heaven. And if a person got themselves a hypodermic needle injection of the liquefied stuff , the drug would enter them into paradise. Paradise, that is, on Earth, and where they were free from all of life on Earth's problems.
But two more slang names for heroin were 'hell-dust' and 'hero of the underworld' and for a humongous reason. Especially when a human, who was hooked on the highly addictive and illegal drug, had gone too long of a time without getting another shot of the stuff!
Surely, Hutchinson, also working for one of the largest and the best police departments in the whole world was very much more so educated about illegal drugs than if he worked for some other police department.
And though he knew he had gone too long of a time without getting another hit of heroin, he knew, too, that he hadn't seen anything yet!
When the current pain he was in and the suffering that came with it, although making him feel awful- as the withdrawal from the heroin continued it was going to cause him to feel a whole lot worse.
Was going to feel more miserable than he was now and horrifically so, but being aware of the fact that at least it wasn't contagious to anyone around him, he would feel like he'd come down with a case of the super flu!
The agony! Not anywhere close to being as excruciating as if he'd been badly burned by real fire!-Regardless of that 'all and spare none' of the 37 trillion cells in his body were going to be screaming out to be released from the hellish torment!
And because it was by his own freedom of choice he had decided to use heroin in the first place, I had already ceased feeling sorry for him!
As it was, his head started shaking up and down and, again, he was making a sound that he still needed to vomit and when so far he hadn't 'succeeded' in doing so.
Starsky compassionately pulled him over onto his lap. "Shut up, huh? I'll handle it," Starsky said in regards to the "My God. He's a junkie," his eyes having shifted to barely look at me before he brought them back to the left, and bent his head down and fully looked down at his partner.
Then, without hesitation Starsky used his right hand and made circles; smooth and unbroken; on the blond's back; trying to comfort Hutchinson in as much as the blond's current degree of distress would allow.
"I gotta make a report," I interjected.
Starsky's response to that was to keep Hutchinson pulled over onto his lap and at the same time the brunet's left hand also stayed tucked between the blond's right armpit and rib cage-Starsky's continuing to not being disgusted with him, and not recoiling away from him, was obviously meant to also aid in trying to comfort Hutchinson.
However, Starsky rapidly stopped looking down at his partner and staring me straight in the face- he lashed out his right arm and took a hold of a tight fistful of my shirt! Giving it some tugs,
"No report. This didn't happen, Bernie. Understand? This didn't happen. I'll take responsibility," he said.
Nodding my head "Yes" up and down a couple of times, but to then verbally notify Starsky what the nodding actually meant I said... " I really didn't understand that 'this' didn't happen!...I'd heard his, "I'll take responsibility," but I was choosing to ignore it! And I was still going to type out in my police report that it was Hutchinson's own freedom of choice to use heroin in the first place!"
Starsky knew that when typing out a report that carbon copies of the report were also being made, and the most dreaded department in the Bay City, Calif. Police Department 'Internal Affairs' (IA ) would be getting a copy, Starsky argued back at me and in continued protectiveness of Hutchinson:
"Look! Bernie! Friday at about 7:15 p.m. when Hutch left our squad room to go spend time with his girl Jeanie Walden, he was in excellent health and in a really good mood. Our captain also can vouch for that!
I didn't have any reason to really disbelief Starsky. Still, here in this filthy alley, I now shot back at Starsky:
"But I got a feeling when Jeanie and that partner and best friend of yours met up at her place he became so depressed over something that when he jumped into his car, instead of going to a hospital's ER and getting professional psychiatric help like he should have, he sped to a dealer, scored himself some heroin and the paraphernalia needed to feed his arm!"
Not even a little bit...none...zero! Of Starsky's and my intense shouting at each other had been so noisy to have hurt Hutchinson's ears.
To add, the very curly-haired brunet Starsky obviously had noticed that my forehead didn't have any scowl lines. Lines that said I did really have Christ-like sympathy for Hutchinson getting so down in the dumps when he met up with Jeanie on Friday night, and he had my sympathies even though I didn't know what he'd gotten so depressed about.
Even so, my lips were tightly curled downward. Into a frown to show that I still didn't have 'any' compassion for Hutchinson going through 'any' of the stages of withdrawal and the symptoms that came with each of those stages. When rather than using the Detective Sergeant First Class (the ranking and at such a young age meaning that he was highly intelligent) brain God blessed him with, and getting himself some much needed professional emergency psychiatric help when he'd gotten that depressed...he was an idiot... a total fool at that! To use heroin in the first place...When Starsky and also with the same ranking as Hutchinson and at such a young age, immediately lost all of his patience with me.
Giving my shirt yet another tug and this time significantly harder, at least he was highly intelligent enough to not strangle me to death because with a murder on his mind, certainly he wouldn't be able to continue on taking care of Hutchinson as well as he wanted to.
Still, Starsky had turned into a mother hen wasn't anywhere close to being the correct animal. A grizzly bear is what he'd turned into. Grizzly bears always came into the world weighing less than a pound, blind, hairless, and toothless; Hutchinson wasn't any of those, but right now he still was as helpless as one. Grizzlies were usually born in pairs, Starsky definitely had turned into a full-grown mamma one who had given birth to only one baby and that made Starsky even more so fierce. Especially so when he defended Hutchinson and growled at me:
"Now you listen Bernie and you listen really good! You got that right Hutch is my partner and best buddy and I found his gun at his apartment! He wouldn't visit his own mother without it and never met up with Jeanie on Friday night! Don't you dare tell me you didn't see the bruises on his face and the blood on his shirt! He didn't beat himself up or juice himself up with heroin either! But IA won't care that a lousy crook shot him up with the stuff and get Hutch fired anyways! Even if I promise IA I'll get him clean and make certain for the rest of his life he stays that way! Somethin' else 'bout Hutch. Even with all the endless bull-crap a cop has to put up with being one, Hutch loves being a cop enough that he doesn't want any other kind of job! Again, to get it through that thick skull of yours, it wasn't his fault he was doped up, but IA won't care and get his hide canned anyhow so no report! Got that!?"
Yes I did get that! And wasn't going to type out a report after all. Because even though their close-knit friendship would stay intact when Hutchinson got fired, I didn't want IA splitting up the great at their job cop team of Starsky and Hutch.
Also, I didn't want to get Hutchinson canned from his job because when he applied for another one even if the job didn't have anything to do with law enforcement; the job application would ask certain questions. Questions like:
Where did he last work?
For how many years was he employed there, and why did he no longer work there?
If Hutchinson answered the last question honestly, he possibly would go through the wringer (even more hell) when talking the hiring manager into hiring him anyways. When some places of employment didn't want former druggies on their payroll even if it wasn't their fault they'd become a druggie in the first place.
Here in this alley I was no longer frowning, I gently told Starsky that I most certainly did get everything he'd just told me. However, I also just as gently explained to him that although I wouldn't type out a police report, as soon as I got back to my partner and not best friend, but still good friend Bill Beryl, he would still be expecting me to give him an oral report about Hutchinson's condition.
I then quickly informed Starsky that Hutchinson and he had nothing to worry about because what I would tell Beryl was that Hutchinson 'Hutch' for short, had been beaten up and he was sick, but both were able to be medically taken care of by him staying mostly in bed for the rest of the day and tonight and most of tomorrow, and occasionally Starsky handing him two Tylenol, some ginger ale, some chicken and noodle soup, but no more than that.
"Thanks!" Starsky exclaimed, giving me a pat on my upper right arm...
"Give me a hand," he instructed me and as he got up and off his knees, raised Hutch off his lap ...
"Come on, Hutch," and even while Starsky was saying that, it couldn't be helped that both Starsky and I had relaxed some of our hold onto Hutch.
When we'd done so Hutch had drastically leaned to the right with needing to rest his still attempting to vomit sick self down onto the pavement; a guttural groan also having come out of his mouth that expressed he needed to do so.
Nevertheless, us three men couldn't stay here any longer and before Hutch had descended all the way onto the alley, Starsky and I were able to get him pulled up and onto his feet and assisted him in supporting his body weight, and shortly thereafter we arrived at the front passenger door of the Torino.
I quickly opened the door. Still, due to a lack of space, it was only Starsky who got Hutch into the car and sat him down on the seat.
Then the brunet lowered him down onto it so that Hutch laid on his left side.
Next Starsky curled him up into a ball. But not so tight of a one that his guts were being painfully scrunched together, and just below his knees his legs freely dangled off the seat.
Staying outside the car, out of their way, and continuing to look through the windshield at what was happening and viewing Starsky taking his left hand off of Hutch's right hip bone, though the blond didn't cry out,
"Don't go. Don't go. Don't leave me!" Starsky must've sensed that right now Hutch would've missed his departure because "I'll be back in a flash, Babe!" Starsky assured him.
Then Starsky hurriedly backed himself out of the Torino, and did other things, so that as he sat behind the steering wheel, the doors closed, I watched them go a little way up the alley.
Then hearing another motor vehicle, I quickly turned around.
It was Beryl driving the patrol car and as soon as he stopped it near me, I opened the front passenger door, quickly got into the car, and just as hurriedly sat down on the seat and slammed the door shut.
Before he could say, "Well? What's the report on Hutchinson?" I said just like I'd told Starsky I would that Hutchinson 'Hutch' for short, had been beaten up and he was sick, but both were able to be medically taken care of by him staying mostly in bed for the rest of the day and tonight, and most of tomorrow and occasionally Starsky handing him two Tylenol, some ginger ale, some chicken and noodle soup, but no more than that.
"That's great news!" Beryl responded, satisfied with what I'd told him. Then later on while we were patrolling the main streets, God hadn't suddenly decided to give me any kind of divine revelation (and which pertained to Hutch, Starsky, and some other people) but if He was giving me the revelation, this is what I would be seeing...
Starsky was fifteen minutes into driving Hutch and him to Huggy Bear's Bar and Grill and that Huggy, the owner, was also their favorite police informant, along with being a great friend of theirs and who could be trusted to keep things a secret.
Starsky reassured a still worried about where they going Hutch that was exactly where they were going, and when they got there, they would be using Huggy's upstairs bedroom as a hide-out crash pad and where only they and Huggy, and Captain Dobey would know where they were.
Then, although Hutch still hadn't yet puked, he eventually would when one of the nasty symptoms of heroin withdrawal was doing just that (and in spite of whether or not he still desired to vomit) though he wasn't yet vomiting, presently he was having some of the other dreadful symptoms that came with the extra amount of time that had elapsed since leaving the alley and since he had gone without getting another shot of heroin.
Continuing to lay on his left side, curled up into a ball, but not so tight of a one that his guts were being painfully scrunched together, and just below his knees his legs still freely dangled off the seat, and additionally the top of his head continued to make great contact with his partner's and best buddy's outer right thigh, even so, he had stopped being contented with 'any' of that!
When Hutch was highly stressed out about something he sometimes couldn't hold back his habit of stuttering,
"Hot-t-t," he huffed out while agitatedly rolling his head from side to side and clawing at the front of his partially unbuttoned now wet with his sweat shirt; attempting to get some more of the buttons unsnapped.
Though soon finding out that he wasn't getting anywhere with trying to unsnap the rest of the stupid things, he simply just gave up and quit agitatedly rolling his head, and rested his hands on his still wholly clothed lower abdomen and like a lot of the rest of his shirt, had been made even wetter with his perspiration from his brief amount of physical exertion inside the Torino.
The back of his shirt that was now even wetter was wet with his sweat even in the alley, before he simply just gave up undoing the snaps on the front of his shirt, Starsky was already on it with trying to cool Hutch down. Starsky was right that trying to help Hutch undo the rest of the snaps on the shirt wasn't going to do a bit of good at cooling Hutch down as the shirt was already made of a light-weight material that was light enough it couldn't be contributing in making the blond hot.
The breeze outside the car was too gentle to be coming through the fully rolled down driver's side window so instead, Starsky, as quickly as he could, had gotten it entirely rolled back up, and as rapidly as possible had turned on the Torino's fantastically functioning air conditioner to its highest cooling and blowing setting.
Seven more minutes passed and as Starsky still kept his eyes safely on the road, he looked down at his noticeably less distraught friend. However, there still was a deep crease between Hutch's eyebrows that informed Starsky to continue to not unsnap Hutch's shirt when again, the cotton material was already light-weight and wasn't making the blond hot in anyway at all.
It was the withdrawal from heroin making him hot, but even though the blond currently was less distraught, that didn't mean the air conditioner, as great as it was, had yet gotten around to cooling Hutch off as much as he wished to be cooled off.
To hopefully take Hutch's mind off of that particular irritant, Starsky slipped his right thumb and fingers through the somewhat curly fair hair that covered the right side of Hutch's head, and began giving him what he hoped was a marvelously soothing scalp massage.
Not that he was counting, but twelve seconds into doing it, "You're loving this, huh?" Starsky asked when Hutch, to show that he did love it and appreciated the massage let out a long, happy, sigh and then feeling at complete peace, he was quiet as a lamb. One lying down in green pastures and besides still waters with one David Michael Starsky being the shepherd who had brought him there.
Nevertheless, after thirty three more seconds of Starsky's therapeutic administrations Hutch whimpered, whimpered, whimpered and did it some more, even though Starsky, on Hutch's first vocalization that he was once again hurting, yanked his hand off the blond's head, thinking that it was the head massage that was contributing to Hutch being in pain.
Starsky, when yanking his hand off of the blond's head, at least didn't run the Torino off the road and ram into one of the many heavy-duty aluminum tall lamp poles that lined the road, and were turned off with it still being broad daylight.
And Hutch heroically didn't yet ask for Starsky to give him (something, medicine, diacetylmorphine, heroin, horse, H, smack, stuff, junk etc.) when doing so would even more-so anguish Starsky.
Starsky...his already distressed best partner, best friend, and best caregiver and that any person in the world could ever ask for!
Although the blond man who used to live in Minnesota and just this instant realized the time would come when he wouldn't be able to keep from being a despicable coward and selfishly ask Starsky for the heroin anyway!
It terribly frightened him that even though he would continue to thoroughly dearly love Starsky that he would go so low as to ask Starsky to give him the stuff.
The blond also was scared and shockingly so, knowing that after he'd asked, he hadn't seen anything yet!
When Starsky wouldn't give him the 'medicine' anyway and the withdrawal would get so diabolical that just like Hutch knew what would happen-
The time would arrive that he felt like he had a case of the super-flu with 'all and spare none' of the 37 trillion cells in his body screaming out to be released from the hellish torment!
In the meanwhile...
"Wasn't your massaging me...but heroin withdrawal right now so bad ...the cold air...on me... causin' shootin' searin' hot nerve pain!" then four minutes later he groaned out,
"Still hurts! I'm free- free-freezing!" he stuttered, again having become highly upset and noticeably shivering, his teeth uncontrollably chattered together. And even though Starsky, as fast as he could, had turned off the air conditioner as soon as he'd heard Hutch say "cold air."