I can never say enough to convey my thankfulness to Kate for helping me in my journey to discover myself—and the writer that is me…finding out they are one in the same.
oooo
"Choking"…hmmm
A difficult birth…
Again I have to compare another one of my writing experiences to giving birth…
Seems like this story shouldn't be here…
There was some concerns about it's legitimacy—it's paternity… some talk of possible defects-- aborting …
There were times I felt like I was choking--RL stress and situations that made it a challenge for me to carry this one to full term. But this story kept a strong hold-- nursing at the teat -- demanding to be given life
What can a mother do?
So here it is… the angst and comfort and love is there—just a bit down the road y'all.
ooooooo
I'd like to offer the usual disclaimer(s)- S& H don't belong to me—sadly so, and I don't make any money for telling these stories about them.
I'm taking liberty with making changes to what happened on "Playboy Island" and have sent the story to a different place than the original episode. You know – a what if…
I also am borrowing from "Hutchinson for Murder One " the character of Officer Simonetti –he just seemed like a perfect match for what I was looking for—
(sorry if typos)
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CHOKING"STARSK! Let go! You 're killing him! Let GO!" Huggy had arms around the dark-haired cop's body, desperately trying to wrestle away the hands on Hutch's neck that were choking the life out of him.
"What are you doing?" Huggy couldn't get Starsky to loosen his ferocious grip and Hutch had seconds earlier stopped gasping for air. The murderous, hateful look on David Starsky's face frightened the gangly barkeeper but it couldn't stop him from trying to prevent Starsky from taking Hutch's life.
Huggy glanced around frantically. A large tree limb lay nearby. He grabbed at it and with just a moment's hesitation swung and made impact to his friend's back. Starsky's head rose up when the limb made contact. Disoriented, he blinked several times and then tipped over on his side.
"Go! Over there!" Huggy took a chance the dazed man would listen, as he pointed to the trunk of a gigantic ancient-looking tree. "Get over there!"
Starsky practically crawled away. The cop was under the influence of whatever voodoo, drug, or potion Papa Theodore had him slipped him.
The two other men Huggy had enlisted to help find his friends, came running onto the scene of Huggy examining the intended murder victim's seemingly lifeless body.
"Hutch?" he called. He patted his friend's pale cheek with trembling fingers as he pleaded with him. "C'mon now, Blondie. You breathe!" he ordered. "Breathe!"
Word had traveled like wildfire. The tale of the white men and what Papa Theodore had done to them. Huggy had searched the island from the minute his Aunt Minnie had told him of the rumored death looming over their souls. The evil Bokor had stirred anamolous destruction for the cops who had dared to disrespect his power. They had played with fire and had gotten burned.
"Wilton," Huggy called out to his cousin, "He's breathin' right?" Huggy needed confirmation.
His cousin, making his own observation, put an ear to Hutch's chest and then to his mouth. "Yeah, mon-- he's breathin'."
Huggy saw Starsky's movement from behind. "Stay there!" He yelled. The drugged cop's chest was heaving and his eyes were glazed with miscomprehension. But the evil that had been there had faded.
"Hutch?" Starsky meekly questioned as he tried to get up.
"NO!" Huggy told him. Exhausted and worn out, Starsky let his head slump back onto the massive trunk and slipped into unconsciousness.
Hutch moaned out pain through bluish lips. The skinny bartender rested a hand on his friend's chest. "It's alright, now. I'm gonna get you some help."
-oooo-
Why! Why! Starsk? You're killin' me! Starsk!
He knew he was dreaming but the nightmare was real. Starsky, driven by some barbaric power inside him had put hands around his throat and squeezed … and squeezed…and squeezed. Hutch had kicked out his legs and batted arms…finally he had grabbed hold of Starsky's wrists and had looked into the burning hatred in his eyes. No longer able to draw in a breath, he had surrendered to the darkness. But the look in his partner's face—the rage and hatred followed him there.
Starsk…No
He was awake now.
Couldn't talk. His throat nearly swollen shut. The muscles and tendons inside side were on fire.
He was in a hospital. People had come and gone. Attended to him, talked over him. Huggy had sat in the chair by his bed… but not the other one.
Hadn't seen Starsky since….
Why? Why?
Starsky hated him and he didn't know why.
Starsky had tried to kill him.
Hutch tried to process that—but couldn't. Everything inside him rejected it. I could not have happened…
But he had been there… saw the loathing in his partner's eyes and had come to the understanding--- resolved that his life was coming to an end. Wet sand under him. Over him the brightness of a sun filled blue sky. Crystal clear aqua water--waves splashing near his head. The spasms in his lungs-- cut off from the sea-misted air so close… yet so far away, as Hutch was unable to wrestle free of the grip of death Starsky had on him.
He had tried to fend off the attack—but wasn't able to fight for his life like he needed to. Couldn't brandish the blows--punches that would take down an adversary. Starsky was his partner—his friend and every time Hutch didn't answer his blows with equal intensity was just like driving a nail into his own coffin. At some point overwhelming fear had crippled him. Fear of death. Fear of dying. Fear of hurting his friend. So, he had given up.
Reliving it sent terror pulsing through his body like wildfire through a dry forest. He couldn't shake it.
Starsky tried….No. No. No.
Trusted him like a brother.
He felt whatever it was they gave him taking control of his body---
Sedation.
What if Starsky came back? Came back to kill him?
It was his last thought before the darkness overtook him.
-oooo-
"I gotta see him, Hug!'
"Starsky…"
"Damn it, man! I gotta see him, talk to him—I don't even know why--- why I did it—what happened…just need to tell him… I…"
"Starsk—I don't think, it's a good idea, bro. Not till his head's clear and yours too. 'Sides—the doctors here won't allow it. You know they ain't exactly buying this whole thing. Now, I know you wouldn't do nuthin' like this. But two white men from stateside—two cops-- with some tale about voodoo. That's just sounding like some BS story sure to hurt tourism. That's the number one source of income, here." Huggy worriedly studied his friend's haunted blue stare. "Anyway, whatever --- hold Papa Theodore …I mean – whatever is going on here—you so sure he's finished with you? Hutch is still alive and so are you."
Starsky growled his frustration. Punching at the air, he turned away from the barkeep and collapsed into the chair next to his hospital bed.
Both Starsky and Hutch had been admitted to St. Mary's Medical Center. Hutch for the severe trauma to his neck and Starsky because of the near catatonic state he had been in for the first 6 hours after his admission. The past 2 hours Huggy had spent explaining to him what he had done to Hutch.
Both of the Bay City cops now had police as guards outside of their rooms. They were there to stop Starsky from leaving his and also to prevent him from getting into Hutch's.
Local law enforcement didn't want to hear anything Huggy had to offer about how close the men were and how much they need to be allowed to see each other. So Huggy had made the call. Called Dobey who had clambered out of bed in the wee hours of the morning and stared making his calls. Arrangements to get his boys back home as soon as possible.
Huggy had to do some more explaining -- to the captain. Several times, re-telling how things had ended up so badly—how Starsky had been made to put his hands on the neck of his best friend and press his fingers into the flesh there—leaving the marks and bruising cops were used to seeing on crime victims.
The whole thing had gone so wrong.
Huggy thought he heard Dobey curse. It sounded like he covered the phone, and the barkeeper heard the man he had just woke up say, "It's about the boys, Edith." Huggy could easily imagine how the few spoken words played out sadly across her face. The couple exchanged a couple more muted sentences and then Dobey was back on the line.
"Look, Huggy--I'm gonna handle this. Let me get back to you – give me a number where I can reach you."
-oooo-
The dark-haired cop grew crestfallen as he began to remember bits and pieces of the day before when he had used a super human strength to throw his best friend to the ground—the look of shock and hurt on his partner's face as he squeezed and squeezed until Hutch's eyes were shut—tears streaming down the side of his face. And the voice inside of him--- demanding him – "Dark must kill the Light."
Papa Theodore's voice in his head.
But it was his hands that had performed the ultimate act of betrayal.
Starsky looked down at his hands—he hated them—hated himself.
"Look. I'm gonna check on him, right?" Huggy told him as he patted his shoulder in sympathy. "As soon as I can get him signed out of here and you guys are home—everything-- I mean-- you guys can work it out—ya know?"
The detective nodded robotically, "Yeah, we'll work it out. He…knows I wouldn't...He's gotta know I wouldn't…"
He had heard everything Huggy told him but if that was supposed to explain why he had tried to kill Hutch -- none of it made any real sense. How could it?
Now alone, Starsky sat on the corner of the white-sheeted hospital bed, engrossed in studying the hands that had done this horrible thing. The spent man's stomach lurched and he tripped and stumbled into the small bathroom in his room to vomit again.
-oooo-
"Hey, Blondie," Huggy said softly. "How ya doing?"
Huggy knew Hutch wouldn't be answering. Even if he wasn't heavily sedated the darkening beet red and blue on Hutch's neck warned of the swelling that had to have accompanied it. Talking would be much too painful.
The skinny man wasn't sure about holding Hutch's hand… but knew somebody should. If Starsky were there – that's what he'd be doing. So he slipped his fingers underneath Hutch's palm. Quite a striking contrast--Hutch's pale hand and his brown one.
The fact they had become close--the street-wise hustler and the midwest-raised All-American type was one of life's enigmas. He bet Hutch played football in high school – or tennis—while he, scrawny street kid looking for his pot of gold, was skipping class to work a vendor's booth downtown. Selling tie-dyed t-shirts to would-be hippie tourists. Hutch probably had parents, coaches, and teachers urging him to keep his nose in the books. Huggy had a nana, one who loved him, but not spry enough to keep an eye on her grandchild day in and day out.
It was odd how it happened. There were reasons though why they became such a big part of each other's lives. Sure-- there was the information about what was going on in the criminal underworld the barkeeper kept parceling out to the two cops and the twenty bucks they regularly slipped him in return. It started out that way—snitch and cops…
But now, Huggy couldn't put into words the depth of the friendship that kept making them stay in each other's life.
This man, in the hospital bed, like Starsky, was in his heart---was family. Daily sessions of banter-filled exchanges strung into hours and hours of time spent hanging out together made them so. They looked out for, encouraged, and supported one another. Knew each other's likes and dislikes—read the other's thoughts like breathing. He loved the guy and was sure Hutch felt the same way about him. The blond-haired cop had proved that on more than one occasion. Even risking physical injury.
Like that time early in their friendship, when the off duty fair-haired officer had been downing cool ones on a steamy hot California evening and ended up throwing himself in between the lithe bartender and irate drunken patron. The customer, the size of both Huggy and Hutch together, had threatened the bar owner who had refused to serve him more tequila.
When Huggy had reflected over it later, it didn't go unnoticed that none of his regulars-- supposedly his buddies who so eagerly hung out at his joint for the freebies that came with such close relations -- never moved to lift a hand to help him.
Hutch had taken quite a thrashing from the drunk before uniformed cops, responding to the officer-needs-assistance call, showed up. Ken Hutchinson ended up needing 15 stitches to repair a wicked cut to his forearm.
Huggy felt horrible. But, as they sat in a busy ER--filling up with victims of a four car pileup –waiting for several hours before getting the attention of a doctor—they did a lot of talking-- got to know each other better. They also were witnesses to a frantic Starsky barreling into the place with demands of information on Officer Hutchinson's condition. He terrified the nurse on duty, and both the bartender and an injured Hutch got mild amusement out of the uproar the curly-haired cop made.
Starsky, spotting them, grinned joyously to see his partner sitting up and breathing. He bounded to Hutch's side. And it was in the few minutes as the skinny barkeep watched love given and received-- bouncing back and forth between the two cops that Huggy realized – how much he wanted to stay in this good place. With these two sincere and caring guys. Good people- real friends. Friends who looked out for you-- had your back even if it put their own butt in the frying pan. The Bear had a lot of room in his own heart to be giving and loyal—but just hadn't met too many folks out in those cold streets who wouldn't take those qualities in him for weakness.
He hung around them that night. Waited for Hutch to get his stitches. Once they got outside in the crisp early morning air the men all decided they were hungry.
It was one of the best memories of Huggy's life. He had found a family. They went out for breakfast—Starsky insisting Hutch have steak and eggs to replace the minor blood loss. Then preceded to cut up the meat in bite-size pieces for his best friend with the freshly bandage appendage as Hutch gave him looks of well-played annoyance—which made Huggy give in to a round of giggles he couldn't stop.
Good times…the beginning of many more meals and more laughter...some tears, too. Just like all families.
Was that still salvageable—had Playboy Island destroyed all of that?
Somehow Huggy needed to put his family back together again. But how?
He looked over the man in the bed again telling him, "Don't worry about nuthin' bro. We'll work it out."
(tbc)