Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength.
Anonymous
The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
The dime dropped into the slot with a muffled clatter and he dialed the number that had somehow become embedded in his memory, along with a few others that he'd never had occasion before to call so often. But, that was before. It was picked up after a few rings, the greeting as short as it was bordering on the rude. It was good that some things never changed, because too damn much had changed recently.
Without preamble he spoke, "So, what's the verdict?"
"What must be done, will be done."
"Same as before, right?"
"Down to the last ridiculous detail, man."
"You're sure?"
"Starkinson, are you questioning the integrity of the Earl?"
"No, Merl. It's, just…Well, it's important."
"Yeah, man, I know. The vibe is there. I got calls out for the parts and the stuff's been flowing in. It'll be done. Ya got the word of the Earl."
pause
"Thanks, Merl. It means a lot," quietly.
"To all of us, man. To all of us."
pause
"Look, I'll call you when it's ready, okay?" Merl's voice had a quality that it seemed to take on whenever he called lately. It was hard to qualify, but it was there.
"I owe you one."
"Just do me a favour, and don't park that low-class hunk 'o junk in front next time."
"You got it, Merl," came the soft and almost affectionate reply.
He hung up the receiver and made his way back to his seat next to the five-year old Reader's Digests and tattered copies of Field and Stream. A waiting room was a waiting room was a waiting room, he quipped to himself. Then, he reminded himself that he had somebody to wait for, a situation that could have all too easily not been the case.
He sucked in a sudden breath to counteract the dipping of the pit of his stomach. The reaction was so typical, familiar, and as devastating as the first time. Could you get used to periodic bouts of stark terror followed by heaping loads of guilt, topped off with a sense of utter helplessness at your inability to reduce the pain your partner was going through? Would you want to?
The familiar topic chased itself like a puppy after its own tail through his brain, skittering through reminders of the day's activities. A desk in Metro gave him lots of opportunities to shift paper. He talked through endless phone conversations following up on the coldest of cold leads, the craziest and the most mundane of calls for police assistance. He'd catch himself thinking about busting punks in their district with a feeling that was practically nostalgic. He snorted out loud at this last. He was losing it. Looking up, he saw the person that would motivate him to ride a desk for as long as needed.
"Starsk."
One word, said in the way that only his partner could say, caused a smile to hover around his mouth. The lumbering jackknife movement of the lanky man getting out of the inevitably uncomfortable waiting room chair was endearing, and the smile cranked into a full-wattage grin. The befuddled wonder in Hutch's eyes at being the recipient of such a treasure (rare these days to have something to really smile about) made it all the wider.
"Hey, Blondie. Ya made it."
"Well, the Looney Tunes were off-key today, and I got out on time." A ghost of a smile graced his tired face.
"Hard to believe you can pull as much OT as you do flying a desk," Starsky sidled up to his partner, his movements, finally, a smooth rendition of his strut. He finished his rapid, yet comprehensive examination of his partner and pronounced judgment. "You're bushed. We're goin' home – now," and snaked his right arm around Hutch's left, grabbed his hand and led him to the doorway of the clinic. He waved at Sidney the receptionist, who smiled and went back to her typing.
"Starsky," he began, a hint of a whine coloring his voice annoying him no end.
"No buts. You been pulling 14 hour days, chauffeuring me around all over, keeping house, helping me with my therapy and studying, and generally carrying the weight of the world for too damn long."
After another look at his partner's face, Starsky stopped in corner the foyer, leaned forward, putting his other hand on Hutch's shoulder and tugged their foreheads together, heedless of the press of patrons passing and milling by the elevators.
Finally, Starsky said in a low voice, "It's one more week. Can you hold it together?"
"I have to."
"You don't have to do anything."
"Maybe I want to."
"Do you?"
"What?"
"Want to do things."
"For you, yeah."
"That's good for me then."
"Hope it is."
Starsky pulled back a little and smiled gently, "Come on, Blintz. I'll make you a tofu burger."
Gentle threats usually worked to get Hutch to give over. Sometimes cajoling. Tonight however, it was gonna have to be outright whining Starsky decided.
"You didn't eat."
"I did," Hutch replied, turning a page of Siddhartha that Starsky knew hadn't been read. The turning intervals were too regular, too careful to be anything but a shield for some serious brooding.
"Two bites," he pouted. "Don't you like my cooking?" he let a waver come into his voice, then a slight hitch – just a touch so as to not over-do it. It got immediate results.
"Of course I like your cooking, Buddy," Hutch looked up, alarmed, then faltered at the smug look on his partner's face. "Bastard," he added without heat, then closed his eyes and sighed, tossing the book on the coffee table.
Starsky plopped down on the couch next to him and tuned sideways, feeling delightfully limber. He shimmied a bit, just to enjoy it. Hutch opened his eyes just as he made this maneuver and had to chuckle. His sybaritic partner was just a joy to watch these days. His alive, lively, lovely other half, and he just stared. They'd been want to do that lately, just stare at each other, eyes locked, with easy silence. This was the best talking of all.
Starsky sighed. The final shield was down and they could now get to what needed to be said. His left hand wandered over and slipped itself into Hutch's right and their fingers interlaced. Touch was needed here; it made communication even easier.
"It's one week to the Boards," he began, unconsciously squeezing the other's hand.
"Not like I'm gonna forget that, Starsk," Hutch said dryly, but his thumb began gently stroking his partner's fingers.
Starsky's head bobbed, then he gave a sheepish half grin. "I know, I just…Geez, Hutch. I feel like there's so much going on here, and I don't know where to start…" he trailed off, genuinely puzzled by the bubble of panic in his throat. He'd started this, and now he couldn't get it down the road.
"Hey," Hutch said softly, looking carefully past some of Starsky's own defenses and seeing the budding panic. "Hey," he called again and reached over to tug Starsky into his arms. "I'm supposed to be the worrier in this partnership," he continued as he slid one hand behind his partner's head and tucked it into the hollow of his shoulder, resting his chin gently on the top of his head.
"Says who," muttered Starsky, rubbing his face into Hutch's neck like a tired child. Well, he was tired. PT was a bitch in high heels, just ready to step on your feet and really, really enjoy it.
"Says me," Hutch chuckled into curly hair, nuzzling to feel its softness, to confirm its presence, it existence yet again. The tightening of his arms signaled to Starsky that he was having another momentary flashback, the petting of his back let him know that Hutch was ready to talk again.
"I'm scared," Starsky finally got out, his face still hidden. "Stupid, huh?"
"Nope," Hutch shook his head.
"Yeah, well I'm goin' on about you holding it together, then I start…"
"Start what?"
"Acting like I'm five and afraid to go to school."
"School didn't include pimps, pushers, thieves, and automatic weapons, Starsk."
"You didn't go to P.S. 122, Hutch."
"Very funny."
"I know I'm gonna pass, ya know? It's just…then what do we do?"
"We do what comes next," Hutch leaned back as Starsky finally came up for air, his face a study of youthful pout and older dread. "We always do."
"Then why are you so worried?" he shook his head when Hutch tried to speak. "No way. You were sitting here, steam practically comin' outta your ears. I could hear you thinking in the kitchen and it wasn't a pleasant sound, lemme tell ya."
"I just," Hutch stopped and took a breath. He looked directly at Starsky and ground out, "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
Hutch couldn't bear looking directly at his partner any more and shut his eyes.
"Come on, Hutch, sorry for what? Burning my toast? Forgetting to pick up my jacket at the dry cleaners?"
"For letting you get hurt, damnit!" roared Hutch.
"Thought that might be something you were thinking about," Starsky said softly, cupping the other's chin and lifting his face so their eyes met yet again. "Don't ever think that you could have done anything more than what you did, Hutch. If you'd done any more, you would have been shot, and I couldn't have taken that on top of everything else. You hear me?"
"I hear you; it's a little harder to make myself believe that."
"That's why you been killing yourself these past months, isn't it? You feel guilty."
"N-no, that's n-not it, n-not r-really," he broke off, angry with himself for falling into his stress stutter.
"Don't," Starsky shook the blond's chin. "Relax. I know you did all this stuff for me because you want to. God knows I probably don't deserve it, but, thanks."
Hutch nodded. Their understanding met.
"But," Starsky continued resolutely, "there is no way in hell I'm letting you own any guilt for what happened. Gunther came after me because of what we did to him. He could have easily come after you, and I can tell you, Hutch, I know I sure as hell wouldn't 've handled this as well as you have."
"Well," Hutch snorted.
"Yeah, Blondie. You've done it all. Been a regular White Knight, and it's all coming down to the wire, isn't it?"
"Yeah," came a husky agreement in a far away voice.
"Then, what is it?"
"Funny thing that you should mention that you're scared about what comes next."
Darker blue met lighter and waited with a patience that had been cultivated by force recently.
With a deep intake of breath, Hutch continued, "What's gonna happen here, Starsk? With us?"
"You mean, have I thought about where we're going?"
"Something like that."
"I haven't really thought about where very much. Just that I want to go there together. That okay with you?"
"Yeah, Charlie, perfect."
"Glad that's settled," mumbled Starsky, tucking his head back down, hugging. "Tell me a bedtime story, huh?"
"Idiot," but the smile belied the words as the two got up and wandered out of living room to go to bed.
The thumping at the front door woke Starsky from a pleasant interlude of sleep. After Hutch had left for work, he'd given in to the impulse to fall back asleep. Seldom did his schedule permit luxuries of that type and he'd been enjoying the lazy feeling immensely, more so because it would be even scarcer after next week.
Stumbling to the door, he mumbled, "Yeah, yeah, I'm comin' already." Carefully checking to see that his S&W was readily available, he opened the door. "Yeah, can I help you?"
Worried eyes cast a quick glance at the partially opened door, the hall, and then came to rest on Starsky's face, immediately flicking away nervously. "You're Starsky, right?"
"Yeah, who's asking?"
"I know Huggy Bear."
"That's nice. Still doesn't tell me who you are."
"Man, he said you were a hard case."
"It's a character flaw I'm working on – you got a point or were you just leaving?"
"Got some info, man. Good stuff that you'll want."
"And you're just all set to be my fink, being's we're such good pals, right?"
"Shit, man. Huggy'll set you straight. Just call him and he'll tell ya. Name's Cranberry."
Starsky gazed again at the pretty youth in the hallway of Venice Place – tight, shiny clothing that looked out of place in the daylight, wild hair, even wilder eyes.
"You trippin'?"
"I ain't zonked, man. I don't pop nothin', just do a little weed now and then. Not my scene you know?"
"What is your scene?" Starsky motioned for the youth to come in and pointed to a kitchen chair. He sat down as if he expected it to explode; all the while his eyes were skating around the room.
"Right now, stayin' alive," Cranberry met Starsky's gaze for the first time and held it.
"Hold that thought," Starsky pointed a finger at the youth and dialed Huggy's number. The phone was picked up immediately, so he figured that the Bear had been expecting this call.
"Hey Hug."
"Starsky, ma man, what it is."
"Ya gotta stop sending me presents so early in the mornin' Hug; I really can't fully appreciate them 'til I've have my first cup of coffee, ya know?"
"So he turned up, huh? Sorry, man. The way Berry asked about you, I thought he was lookin' for a meet. I told him I could arrange one, but he was rather anxious. If he showed up at your pad, he scored the address from my office," the Bear's voice held chagrin.
"S'okay. Don't worry about it. He one of yours, Hug?"
"Step-cousin, only the step ain't steppin' no more, ya dig?"
"Got it. Worth it?"
"He's basically a good kid workin' it. Passably on the up and up, if you get my drift. All I know is, he's scared. He knows something big, Starsky, and he needs help. Yours and Blondie's."
"I'm getting a similar impression," Starsky took a deep breath, then exhaled. "We're on it, Hug. Get back to you when we got something, okay?"
"Thanks, man. I owe ya."
"Don't think so, Hug. We're pretty much in the hole with you for the next decade."
"That's different, Starsky, and you know it. You two are family, not cousins, ya dig?" Huggy scolded his friend.
Starsky grinned and replied, "Got it, Hug. And…thanks, man."
"The Bear aims to please, when he's dealing with Hutchinson and Starsky's," Huggy crooned with glee.
"Later, Hug," he hung up the phone laughing softly, all the while keeping his eyes on Cranberry, who appeared fascinated by his side of the conversation.
Looking appraisingly at the boy, Starsky spoke, "Huggy says you're all right, and I'm willing to listen to you on the strength of that. But," and he strode over the table and stood over Berry, his gaze steel, "you screw with me, and the deal's off. Got it?"
Berry visibly swallowed and croaked out, "Got it."
"Why are you comin' to me here? 'Cause I gotta say, not inclined to make me very comfortable that you know my address." Not to mention he wasn't on active duty, not yet anyway, and any confrontation would be messy from a paperwork standpoint to say the least.
"Heard someone tried to blow you away a few months back, and that you were in bad shape for a while, recovering at home," Berry began.
"And just where did you hear that," Starsky's voice slipped in a honed edge to match the steel of his eyes.
"J-just around, man," Berry stammered. "I don't know nothin' about the hit, just heard it, ya know?"
Starsky nodded, then dialed it down a few degrees, resuming his lean against the counter.
"Anyway," he looked up at the cop, then down again. "I knew that your partner was back at work, and I asked Huggy where you lived. Told him I needed to talk to you."
"And you're telling me that Huggy Bear just gave the home address of a cop to you 'cause you asked him nicely?'
"No," he faltered, then continued. "I asked if you and the blond were on the take. Hug said you two were the most honest cops he'd ever known and that I could trust you." Berry looked at Starsky, "He really digs you two, and you're really his friends, aren't you?" There was wonder in his voice.
"Yeah, we're friends, Berry, and that's mighty sweet, but try again," his manner became glacier. "And don't bullshit me, 'cause if you lie to me one more time, you're outta here."
The youth shivered and, if possible, looked even more frightened. He almost whispered, "I stepped into Huggy's office when he was busy out front, looked in his book, got your address, and left. He never knew I was in there." He looked at Starsky, who hadn't warmed up any. "I had to, man. He would've never given me your home address, and I couldn't connect with your partner. Hell, if I'da called him, someone would've known, you get it, man?"
"Who is someone, Berry?" his interrogation voice none the worse for wear for a few months disuse.
"People," Berry replied, the wild look that hadn't gone too far returned to his eyes. "People wired for sound in this town. Totally juiced, ya dig?' His eyes implored Starsky's, just for what was not readily apparent.
"Just what the hell are you talkin' about, Berry," Starsky was half inclined to dismiss the whole thing as a scam, but something about the kid hit him directly in his gut, the place he trusted to keep his partner and him safe on the streets almost as much as the weapons they carried. It told him to listen, so he did.
"I was at CherryDelight's night before last," his voice quivered as he spoke. "I saw them take Corey out of the back and put him into a van."
"Who's Corey?"
"He was my friend," the stark statement held the clear message that Corey was quite probably his only friend.
"What went down?"
"I was in the alley. I'd just, well, finished my trick and I was gonna go in the back way. I'd put a matchbook in the lock so it wouldn't shut all the way. Jerry the bouncer don't like me much, so I do it that way, so I can get back in without a hassle, get cleaned up, maybe cruise another. I was sorta behind the dumpster when I heard someone coming out the door. I waited, thinking it was one of the bouncers or somebody, then I heard a van coming down the alley. I saw them with Corey."
"How did you know it was him?"
"I'd know him anywhere! I saw him in the light of the streetlamp," his voice caught and stopped.
"How do you know he's dead? Why'd they want to kill him?"
"He'd seen the guy."
"Cut the melodrama crap, Berry, and tell me what guy and why he's so important!"
"Corey and me are tight and we talked, ya know, really talked? He told me a couple days ago, that one night last week, he got picked up by this dude in a Caddy on Santa Monica. Took him to a house in the hills, gave him some great shit that got him higher than a kite, and then some other dude came in fucked him sideways for two days. Next thing he knows, he's waking up at the Chalmer and he's got a hundred bucks in the pocket, and he don't remember how he got there."
Starsky knew the Chalmer; it was a dive just on the edge of his district. It had a mixed trade of hookers, drug deals, and actual hotel patrons that couldn't afford better digs. "This other dude, you gotta name?"
"Corey said he didn't know his name, and nobody really talked to him, ya know? But, sometime the second day, the dude got a phone call. He told Corey to go into the bathroom and wait, but he opened the door and listened," Berry paused and looked haunted. "If he hadn't of listened, he'd be alive."
"How do you know he's dead, Berry?" Starsky's voice softened at the genuine distress in the boy's face.
"He didn't come home," whispered Berry. "We always promised when we got done with a job, we'd come home, no matter what. I waited two days, but he ain't comin' back, not this time." Tears finally started their way down his face, marking rivulets on café-au-lait skin.
"What did he hear? Who'd he see, Berry?" Starsky couldn't help himself, and crossed over to grasp one shoulder of the boy in front of him.
"He heard the dude talking about some city accounts to be looked at, and that he wanted to make sure that the books were in place," Berry looked up at Starsky. "Corey was real smart, ya know? He said he figured this dude was in on some scam with somebody that worked for the city, and they had to, you know, cover it up because there was gonna be some, I can't remember what he called it…"
"An audit?" Starsky prompted.
"I think so."
"This guy, did Corey have a name or describe him?"
"He just said he was older, had grey hair, and dressed really fine," Berry reached up to touch Starsky's arm. "Corey thought he'd seen him somewhere, you know, like on TV or in the paper. When I talked to him night before last, he was really excited, said we were gonna have some real money soon, that we'd have it made once he scored later that night. I never saw him again." The boy's hand dropped onto the table in defeat.
"Have you checked the hospitals?"
"Yeah, and the morgue. He's not anywhere, but even if he took off, he wouldn't' leave me behind – we're tight, man. The tightest," Berry insisted, faith in his friend's loyalty unswerving in his eyes.
Starsky thought for a moment, then said, "Can you think of anything else that Corey said, any detail, no matter how small? 'Cause I gotta tell you, this is pretty thin, Berry."
"The Moon."
"What?"
"Big dude, hangs at the Delight some nights. I dunno his real name, his handle's Moon. He was one of the muscle takin' Corey out; I saw him. I think he works for this dude or somebody close to him. Last night, when I was asking the bartender about Corey, he was watching me. When I left, he followed me, but I lost him."
"Do you know if he's ever been arrested?"
"Probably, but I don't know for sure. I've never wanted to talk with him about his life history – he's bad news."
"Okay, you need to get down to the station and look at the mug books, see if you can find him so we can get a picture of him."
"No way! I'm not going anywhere near a police station, man! You don't get it…They made Corey disappear. I'm not even as smart as Corey, and nobody gives a shit about me now that he's gone. If I get disappeared, no one's gonna even look for me."
"All right," Starsky conceded the boy's fear. "But, ya gotta know, kid I'm not on active duty just yet, and my partner's not taking new cases right now. What do you think we can do for you?"
"You're cops. Hug says you care 'bout folks, even bruthers. I need help. I can't go back to my place, and the dudes are bad. They'll find me, no matter where I hide, 'cause I know I can't hide out forever. You guys can take care of it without me making a report, right. Keep it out of the news down there?"
"Yeah, we can wave our magic wand and end world hunger, too, kid. Just who the hell do you think we are, anyway?"
"You're Starsky and Hutch, man." Which to him, seemed to explain everything.
"Oh, that'll work," muttered Starsky. "Stay put," he admonished, and caught the phone up again and dialed Metro to talk to his partner. Digging into a cupboard, he pulled out a bar and threw it at the kid, who looked at it puzzled. Starsky laughed as he waited to be put through to Hutch. "It's granola, kid. Trust me, it's better than it looks."
Berry didn't seem too convinced but bit into it anyway, taking with alacrity the glass of juice Starsky poured for him. This cop was strange, but like Hug said, seemed to be cool at the same time.
"Hey, Hutch. S'me."
"What's up, Starsk?"
"Got a hot date for lunch, Blondie?"
"Was gonna meet Minnie for the daily at the cafeteria, why?"
"I've got something special that Huggy gave me, I'd like to get your opinion on it. Can you swing by?"
pause
"Sure, Starsk. You need anything to go with that?"
"Nah, got it handled. Thanks. See ya."
"Bye."
Starsky looked over at Berry, who'd inhaled the granola bar and juice, and was still looking like the hungry teenager he was. He sighed. "Eggs?"
TBC
