You can run but you can't hide

by provencepuss

Starsky has been dumped outside The Pits and Hutchis missing. Hope I've got the rating right!the loss of chapter divisions when uploading was beyond my control. Sorry for the inconvenience

You can run but you can't hide

Dobey and his wife were in Florida catching a few days' vacation and celebrating their twentieth wedding anniversary. The ringing of the 'phone woke Dobey up. He grabbed it hoping that Edith wasn't disturbed and mumbled into the mouthpiece while squinting at the clock on the nightstand. Four thirty!

It was the night clerk; "I'm sorry to disturb you sir but I have someone on the 'phone from Bay City Police – she says it's urgent."

Dobey was wide-awake! "Put it through please… hold on a second…" He got out of bed and tested the length of the cord; it pulled far enough for him to go into the bathroom. He still hoped not to disturb his wife.

"Captain?" It was Minnie and she sounded almost hysterical. "Oh God Captain something terrible has happened." Her sobs echoed down the line.

Dobey felt a chill run through him; was it the kids?

"Calm down Minnie and tell me." He braced himself mentally.

"It's Starsky, he's…."

Dead Dobey's mind filled in the gap and he tried to push the idea away. He concentrated on listening to Minnie and not to the voice in his head.

"He's in a coma Captain. And we can't find Hutch."

Dobey told her to try to calm down and that he would be back as soon as possible. He replaced the receiver on the phone and carried it back to the bedroom.

Edith was sitting up in bed with the covers pulled around her shoulders.

"I didn't want to wake you."

"After twenty years of marriage Harold, I wake when the 'phone rings in the middle of the night." She said gently. "Who was it?" She could see the worry on his face. Like all mothers her immediate reaction was for her children. "Is it the children? Has something happened to them?"

"No. No, it's Starsky. He's in a coma."

Edith swung her legs out of the bed. "What about Hutch?"

"That's the other problem," Dobey said watching her make her way to the bathroom. "He's missing. Edith, where are you going?"

"I'm going to take a shower while you call down to get us on the first flight home Harold."

She closed the bathroom door and her husband sat on the bed and picked up the 'phone again. The night clerk arranged for them to catch a flight leaving at six-thirty. Edith emerged from the bathroom and started to dress. "Go get a shower dear; then I can pack the wash-bag." Dobey did as he was told. By the time he came out of the bathroom showered and shaved, Edith had packed everything but the clothes he was going to wear. They went down to the lobby and Dobey settled the bill; they waited for their taxi.

The flight to LA took nine hours. Dobey tried to concentrate on the movie – but his mind was focused on Starsky and Hutch.

It was just after midnight and Huggy was kind of glad that tonight had not been too busy. The last customers, a hooker and her client were about to leave. Huggy watched them climb the stairs to the street level entrance and sighed with relief, he was just thinking of maybe closing The Pits a little early tonight. The hooker's scream changed his mind.

The client came running back down the steps. "Call an ambulance there's a guy out there and he's unconscious." Huggy shouted to Angie to make the call and grabbed a towel and some ice in case he could be of help. The hooker was staring at the sprawled figure on the sidewalk. Huggy stared too. Starsky looked like someone had thrown him out of a moving car; his face was bruised and bleeding and Huggy could see that he'd taken a bad beating. Huggy knelt beside his old friend and raised his head slightly. No reaction. Huggy slipped the towel under Starsky's head and waited for the ambulance to arrive. Soon the wailing siren could be heard cutting its way through the night traffic. The hooker and her client melted into the darkness – Huggy didn't blame her; she was entitled to get her money where she could.

The paramedics were brisk and efficient. One of them recognized Starsky and another had been to The Pits more than once to deal with a drunk or a fight that had gotten out of hand. The two cops that turned up were less friendly; one of them obviously figured that a black man and a white victim could only add up to 'arrest the black'. Huggy was glaring at him when the paramedic stepped in. "Hey this is Huggy Bear, it's his bar…." The cop turned to the 'victim'; "what about him, will he live?"

"Starsky? Yes, he'll live." He turned to help his colleague load the gurney into the ambulance. Huggy jumped in behind him and as he did he heard the cop say "that was Dave Starsky? Shit!" The police car roared back to Metro and Huggy knew that within minutes the whole of the precinct would know that Starsky was on his way to intensive care.

Huggy sat by the gurney and held Starsky's hand. He looked at the knuckles and saw that Starsky had at least tried to fight back. One of his fingers was at a funny angle – he had broken or dislocated something in the brawl; but that was the least of his problems. Huggy leaned in close and said quietly "Starsk? Dave? If you can hear me, hang on in there."

For a second he thought that he saw a smile on Starsky's face.

The paramedics kept a close watch on Starsky during the high-speed run to the hospital.

Huggy watched them and Starsky. Where's Hutch? The question was pounding in his brain. He prayed that by the time they arrived at the hospital Hutch would have been told and that he would be waiting for them. The ambulance pulled up to the Emergency doors and Huggy followed the gurney into the hospital. A couple of cops from Metro were already there – Hutch wasn't one of them.

"White male aged about thirty …"

Huggy interrupted, "he's thirty six."

"Badly beaten, possible broken ribs and hand injuries. Vitals are stable but weak…we thought we were going to have to tube him back there."

They wheeled Starsky into an examination room and Huggy was gently but firmly led to the waiting area.

Huggy sat patiently for as long as he could bear but when, about fifteen minutes later he saw them wheel Starsky out of the examination room already attached to monitors and a respirator he had to fight back the panic. He ran after the doctor. "What's happened?"

"He's in a coma. I'm pretty sure he has a fractured skull; did you notice he was bleeding from the ear?"

Huggy nodded. "It's not the first time that he's been in a coma…he'll pull through but he's stand a better chance if…"

"If?"

"If Hutch, his partner, was here. Those two know how to get each other back from the edge."

"Can you call him?"

"No-one knows where he is!" Huggy's voice cracked. He went back to the waiting area.

It seemed like hours before the intern returned. "It's worse than I thought. The skull is fractured and there's internal bleeding. He's in surgery right now."

Huggy stared at him. "He will pull through, won't he?"

"He'll live; but we can't know what the life prognosis is unless he regains consciousness."

"What do you mean, 'unless'?"

"Right now I can't give you a better answer than that. Either he regains consciousness and we can assess his functions; or he remains in a coma for as long as it takes; or until a decision is made."

"A decision?"

The doctor shook his head. "I think you know what I mean."

Huggy felt the tears burning behind his eyes. Starsky could be in a vegetative coma and Hutch was not there!

One of the cops from Metro recognized him. The Pits was a local watering hole for the precinct as well as being a fertile source of information for Starsky and Hutch.

"Huggy; Minnie just called to say that Dobey is on his way back from Florida. His flight gets in just after mid-day." Huggy looked at his watch. It was already ten thirty. How could the time have gone so quickly? "I'll go and meet him at the airport; that way you guys can concentrate on finding Hutch. Hey I just remembered; I came in the ambulance – I'm going to need a ride back to my place to get my car."

The two detectives exchanged glances. "I'll stay here and wait for more news about Starsky. You take him home Pete; then go over to headquarters and see what's going on."

Huggy looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. He looked like he hadn't slept for a week. There was blood on his shirt, Starsky's blood. He stripped and stepped into the shower. Feeling fresher, he shaved and dressed in jeans and his wild patchwork jacket. He shoved an oversized denim cap on his head at a jaunty angle and set off down to his car.

Dobey and his wife appeared at the arrivals gate and Huggy led them to the waiting car. On the way to the Dobey's house Huggy filled them in on what the doctor had said. They arrived at the house and before she went in Edith exacted a promise from her husband that he would call her as soon as there was any news.

"Do you think I should call his mother?"

"Let's wait until the doctor has more news. I'm his commanding officer – I should be the one to call her."

"I know dear; but sometimes this is better from one mother to another – and Lily is such a fine woman." Edith had come to appreciate Lily Starsky's strength of character (and to understand where her son got many of his traits from) when Starsky's mother had spent three weeks at the Dobey's house while her son fought for his life after the shooting in the garage.

Dobey held her hand gently. "If it comes to it; and if Hutch isn't there, I think Lily would appreciate you calling her. Right now we'll wait and see."

He heard the body hit the concrete and he drove on into the night. He turned the music up loud in the car trying to drown out the memory of his victim's cries of pain. He checked his mirrors now and then to be sure that he didn't have unwanted company. The only sirens were going the other way – probably to pick up the man he had just dumped.

He turned off the main street and slipped from one side-street to another until he was out on the coast road and heading to anonymity. He drove on through the night; the ocean was to his left and for a moment he wondered about finishing it now and forever but that would be too easy. He would have to live with it for a while and then he would get over it. Put it out of his mind. Start over. But where? Years ago he had dreamed of going to San Francisco; but he'd landed up in LA and that seemed fine to him at the time. Life had been good but lately things got on top of him. He'd tried to numb it with alcohol but the pain wouldn't go away.

He drove on through the night. The moon disappeared into the ocean, spreading the water with molten silver. "The darkest hour is just before dawn….each night before you go to bed my baby; whisper a little prayer for me my baby, because it is hard for me my baby…." It was hard. Too hard and the one person he had always believed he could depend on had turned against him. And now he was running from what he had done.

He didn't notice the night go by as he drove on.

The sun began to climb behind the hills and mountains to his right. He checked the fuel gauge; he'd need to stop soon to fill her up again. This old car guzzled gas enough to keep the oil cartels and their cronies happy for a long time to come.

He pulled into the next truck stop and listened ruefully to the 'tink tink' of the pump as it clocked up the gallons. He'd thrown everything away now – no more paychecks – he'd have to be careful how he spent what he had. Everything he had was in a body wallet strapped under his shirt. He'd emptied his bank account and destroyed his one and only card. The rent and utilities would no longer be paid and his apartment would be re-leased. The few possessions he cared about were in a carton in the truck – as for the rest; his landlord could sell them if that would help compensate for the missing rent money. He replaced the nozzle and walked into the office to pay for his gas. The old man behind the desk looked at him with no curiosity. He'd seen enough drifters pulling through in their broken down old cars – relics of the hippies who had plied this trail for most of the sixties.

The car was full but his stomach was empty. He parked in front of the diner and went inside. The place was full of truckers and a few traveling salesmen catching an early breakfast. He ordered coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. The eggs were unappetizing; he sniffed at them and took a cautious mouthful. He spat it out discreetly. The coffee wasn't much better but at least there wasn't much anyone could do to ruin toast except burn it; and this wasn't burned. He ate what he could and left enough on the table to pay for his lousy breakfast. He drove on.

The journey was punctuated by stops for gas and bad coffee. Finally he drew into a small town and stopped in front of the general store. He bought a couple of packs of Camels and a quart of bourbon. He asked the way to the nearest motel and learned that he would have to drive the forty miles to the next town before he could find a bed.

Wearily he slipped behind the wheel; he glanced at the bottle beside him but put all thoughts of opening it out of his mind until he got to the privacy of his motel room.

The motel was clean. That's all he cared about. He showered and drained the bottle before sinking into what he hoped would be oblivion. That night the nightmares stayed away.

Dobey stared at Starsky lying pale and silent in his hospital bed. The monitors were the only indication that he was alive – if he was alive. He was connected to a respirator; a dialysis machine and a few other hoses and pumps that Dobey didn't recognize. Instead of Starsky's unruly curls his head was swathed in a heavy bandage covering the repaired wound where the surgeons had worked to relieve the internal bleeding. So far Starsky wasn't responding to anything.

The doctor was reluctant to commit himself to a prognosis. "I can't say yet. He's still under the influence of the anesthetic and he was already in a coma when we took him into surgery.

The bleeding was pretty intensive…he may recover some or all functions. It's the same effect as a stroke. The bleeding put pressure on parts of the brain and depending on how they recover he'll regain his abilities to move and speak etc. If I remember rightly he's left handed isn't he?"

"Yes."

"Well that could be good news in part – the worst damage was to the left side of his brain; so with luck he'll recover the use of his good hand. On the other hand the left side controls speech and language function and I can't make a prognosis on that until he opens his eyes and tries to speak. He has his youth and good health on his side."

"Starsky doesn't give up easily."

"No, I heard about that. I believe he died twice the last time."

"Yes. And he's not going to do it again!" Dobey was giving the unconscious man an order.

Edith Dobey took over from her husband and Huggy to share the vigil by Starsky's bed. It was on her watch that the EEG began to react and the lines made it look like a major tremor had hit the San Andreas fault-line. She pressed the bell and one by one the ICU team came into the room to take up their positions for whatever emergency was about to take place. The doctor saw the jagged graph on the EEG and went over to touch Starsky's face. His eyes fluttered open and he seemed to focus on the ceiling for a few seconds before the dark lashes dropped back to touch the soft skin under his eyes. Edith looked at the doctor willing him to say that this was a good sign. He shook his head.

"I can't explain it." He asked a nurse to stay in the room and watch for further reactions.

Half an hour later it happened again. The EEG went off the scale and this time Starsky moaned. Edith took his hand in hers and stroked the back of his wrist while the nurse checked his other vital signs. As Edith stroked Starsky's hand the EEG tracer slowed down but the pattern had changed to show that there was some kind of cerebral response. Edith removed her hand from Starsky's and touched his cheek. His eyelids fluttered again and a faint smile spread on his lips.

"Starsky? David? Can you hear me dear?"

Although there was no visible physical reaction to her words the EEG answered the question. A quick jagged trace registered that Starsky's brain had reacted. The nurse slipped out of the room to wall the neurologist.

Edith continued to speak gently to Starsky. "David? It's me Edith Dobey. I know you can hear me; please try to wake up."

Once again the eyelids fluttered and she got a glimpse of Starsky's deep blue eyes.

"Come on dear; try again. Wake up and tell us who did this to you."

The EEG jerked and jagged again and Edith was appalled to see the physical reaction to her question. A slow tear trickled down Starsky's cheek.

He continued heading north; although he knew it was a risk he stuck to the coast road, enjoying the views of the ocean and still wondering how easy it could be to just drive off a cliff someplace and finish it all. Logic got the better of him when he decided not to pass through major cities if he could help it. He turned off the highway and took another look at his map. He could find his way through the smaller towns; skirt Fresno and Sacramento and go on up to San Francisco. A man could lose himself in Frisco. He'd let his hair grow long and find a commune and…who was he trying to kid. The sixties had already melted into the seventies; the hippies had left Haight Ashbury to the gay community. Could he hack that? He didn't know.

He drove on.

Somewhere near Stockton the car started to splutter and shudder. He pulled into a used car lot and did a deal with the skinny old man who shuffled out and looked at him like he'd landed from Mars. He ended up exchanging the car and a hundred bucks for an old pick-up. He flung his stuff into the flatbed, hoping that the old man didn't see the rifle, and drove on.

He stopped at store and bought another quart and a carton of smokes. About a mile on up the road he spotted a picnic area; glad to see that there was no-one else in sight he pulled over and settled at the wooden table. He spread the map out and drew on the bottle before lighting a cigarette.

They would be looking for him by now. You don't dump one of Bay City's finest…maybe the finest…on a sidewalk without having the whole force after you. He shook his head. "Dumb!"

He hadn't thought it through at all; in fact he hadn't thought at all – it was the alcohol that guided his actions. All he could think of was putting distance between himself and the battered body of Dave Starsky. Changing the car would stall things for a while – but only until the old man saw a photo or got a call from a Sheriff. He needed to change his route a little. Throw the pack off his trail.

He looked at the map carefully. He'd driven across the desert before, all the way to Vegas. But not this time. He figured that if he made a detour through Nevada it might buy him a little time; the time it took for the BCPD to ask for an all states bulletin.

Lighting another cigarette he sat back and drank steadily. It was a need. He didn't get drunk anymore; he just kind of topped up his levels. A breath test would have taken him off the streets straight away – but he showed no signs of drink. He walked back to the pick-up and steered to a smaller road that would lead him up through Nevada and over the Oregon border.

He drove on. Night fell and he slept on the flatbed rolled up in a blanket; keeping the rifle close to his side.

The sunrise woke him. His head ached and he grabbed the bottle to calm his shaking hands. There were only a few gulps left but it was enough to re-establish his equilibrium.

He looked at the map again while a kid filled the tank in a gas station that looked like it was stuck in a time warp somewhere around 1955. He was going to have to head further east to cross into Oregon. He swore but accepted the fact that he'd have to follow the main route for a while.

It was dark when he pulled into the next town of any size. He saw the lights of a motel up ahead and pulled up in front of the bungalow marked 'Office'.

The motel was a whorehouse.

"Welcome to Winnemucca, sweetheart. My girls are clean and so are the sheets."

He woke the next morning with a headache and a sore cock. The child-like whore beside him was all adult in bed! She turned to him and stroked his chest with the tip of her finger before putting it in her mouth and sucking it while watching him with half-closed eyes.

"You don't have to pay extra, honey"

He rolled onto his back and pushed her down the bed.

Breakfast was almost a family affair. There were assorted whores and a few 'overnight guests' gathered around a big table outside the kitchen. The owner was known to all as 'Ma' and she provided a steady supply of coffee and eggs and bacon and biscuit. He ate his fill before paying and driving away. As the pick-up disappeared up the road the whore smiled. "I sure hope he comes back this way sometime." Ma shook her head. "Not that one Honey, he's running from something but he's never going to escape it."

"How do you know?"

"Because he's running from himself."

The radio tracked his journey from sellers of god to sellers of cars through country music and rock and roll. He crossed the border and headed west again.

He stopped in an anonymous little town and drank bad coffee in a café where the local hunters and farmers were gathering to gossip before going about their daily business. One of them was reading a paper and the TV was blaring above the counter. He caught sight of a photo on the paper and left enough on the table to cover his coffee. By the time the slow-reading hunter turned the page the pick-up was long gone.

The inside of Starsky's head was roaring like a jet engine on a runway. The pain was physical and mental and he knew that it was going to be a long time before it went away. He'd been here before. He could hear the monitors beeping and as he regained consciousness he could feel the respirator pulling and sucking at his chest forcing air in and out of his lungs that felt battered and too tired to work for themselves. This time it would be so easy to let go…to slip away from the pain and the misery and the fear of what he was going to discover when he came up to the surface again.

He didn't see it coming. The attack was so vicious and violent that all he could do was try to ward off the blows. He remembered the sharp pain in his hand telling him that he had got in at least one blow. His last memory was of trying to curl into a position that would protect his vital organs from further damage. The blows rained down on him. Kicks found his kidneys, his spleen, his solar plexus and in one, literally breathtaking slam, his balls. When his attacker finally aimed a double kick at the side of his head he was grateful for the small mercy. But it wasn't over. He could hear his attacker moving around the apartment; he tried to call out "Hutch" but his voice failed him. For a second he thought he heard Hutch crying. His attacker finished whatever it was he wanted to do in the apartment and came back to Starsky. A couple more vicious kicks and Starsky lost it totally. He thought he heard the door close. As he sank into the blue-black haze of unconsciousness again he wondered where Hutch was and what the attacker might have done to him.

He had no idea how long it was before his attacker returned. Time had stopped, mocking him by suspending his pain and helplessness. He felt someone grab his ankles. All he could do was try to relax in a hope that his bruised and battered body wouldn't take much more damage. He was being dragged by the shoulders now and his feet bumped down every one of the familiar steps leading down from the apartment in Venice Place.

The cool night air aroused him slightly but he couldn't open his eyes, they were stuck shut with dried blood and the swelling that the initial beating had created. It was as if his attacker didn't want him to see who was doing this to him. His mind was screaming for help but his lips just moved slightly and no sound came out. Starsky knew that even if he could cry for help the chances were that no-one would hear him. The restaurant below Hutch's apartment was closed for renovation and there were never many people walking around these streets in the daytime; let alone now, late at night…or was it early in the morning already? Starsky had no way of knowing. He was manhandled into a car and shoved upright on the seat. His attacker said nothing but his breathing was labored with the effort and Starsky's sharp sense of smell detected booze and stale cigarette smoke. The car started and drove off. Starsky slumped to one side and rested his shoulder on the passenger door. He didn't know how long they drove; he was aware of a few right, or left turns and one stop that must have been for a red light. Then the car slowed and his assailant leaned over and opened the door and pushed him out. The last thing Starsky remembered was the crack of his head on concrete and the sensation of something warm in his ear.

Now, lying in the hospital, he was trying to get a picture in his mind of what had happened in Hutch's apartment. But the brain has its own mechanisms for dealing with trauma – sometimes it chooses to forget the details. Try as he might, Starsky couldn't get a clear fix on the man who hit him.

He could hear voices around him. A low rumbling man's voice asked if there had been any change. A woman answered. Starsky knew he'd heard both these voices before. He dredged in the back of his memory and the images of a fat black man and his pretty wife came to him.

He groped in the dark of his brain to remember their names. He slipped back again; the effort of concentration had exhausted him. Later he'd make a better effort tot surface; maybe he owed it to himself; maybe he owed it to Hutch. Strange, his mind's voice said in his ear, I don't remember who these people are, but I do remember Hutch. What happened to Hutch?

The EEG registered the fact that Starsky's mind was active.

The neurologist checked the readings and said quietly "I think it's time to see if he can breathe on his own."

He felt the tube slip out of his throat tugging slightly against the back of his throat and making him gag. The neurologist noticed the gagging and said "at least the reflex reactions are there."

They left him in peace again. He didn't resist when his lungs filled with air; he'd decided that he was going to fight back after all.

Huggy was talking to Joe Cummings, one of the detectives in the murder homicide squad that operated out of Metro division. Cummings had been in the squad about a year now and he, like all his colleagues, knew that Starsky and Hutch were the best team in the precinct – some said in the city. He also knew that they were almost inseparable. Like many newcomers to the squad his first reaction was 'how do they get away with it?' accompanied by the assumption that the two men were gay. His fellow officers soon put him clear on that one. Starsky and Hutch were 'like two peas in a pod'; 'closer than brothers'; 'Siamese twins separated at birth by geography' and a whole range of other explanations but they were definitely not a pair. Cummings soon saw that anyway; the female population of the precinct building either went for blonds (Hutch) or brunets (Starsky) and a few of them were happy to flirt with both men. The two cops were never at a loss for a date and both had been through serious relationships that had ended in their kinds of tragedy. Hutch was divorced and Starsky had seen the woman he would have married shot as revenge against him for the death of an unbalanced man's son.

Joe and Huggy were trying to piece together what had happened.

"I was about to close up. There was a hooker – I think it was Sugar Sally, I'm not sure now – I was waiting on her to leave with her pick-up for the night. They went up to the street and I heard her scream. When I got there I saw a car disappear round the end of the block and Starsky was lying on the sidewalk."

"Think Huggy, did you see the car?"

"It was too dark to see anything clearly. The streetlamp outside the joint went down two days ago and the city still hasn't fixed it. All I saw was the tail-lights."

"And Sugar Sally? Do you think she saw it clearly?"

Huggy rolled expressive almond-shaped eyes at Cummings. "Hey man, if she did and if she had any idea who it was, she probably be too scared to say."

Cummings pulled out his notebook. "Give me her number or her address anyway."

Huggy told him where and when he could find Sugar Sally and went back to wiping down the bar.

The road took him through towns with picturesque names and the same display of diners and gas pumps, motels and stores. Now and then he saw a sign to a tourist spot, huckster sites that advertised some local guy's obsession. "The finest collection of soda cans in the West."

"Lone Ranger memorabilia museum." "See the replicas of all the wild west heroes."

He drove on shaking his head.

That night he decided to camp out again. The sky was gathering in on him as night fell and he knew instinctively that the bad weather wasn't far away; His grandfather used to say he could 'smell the snow coming' and he could smell it now. He would use the flat-bed's tarp as protection that night. He lit a fire and heated a can of soup. The booze always went down hot and sweet but he understood that his body also needed nourishment and real heat inside it if he was going to survive. He sat smoking and drinking the last of the bottle; watching the night sky disappear under the clouds. It was getting cold now and he kicked out the embers before climbing up into his make-shift shelter and wrapping himself in the bed-roll. He kept the rifle within easy reach.

He was awoken by the sound of an engine idling. Someone was walking around the pick-up and a flash-light beam swept across the tarp. He pulled the rifle close and eased himself out of the bed roll. He raised the edge of the tarp to see a man standing right up close.

"I've got you covered." He said and poked the tip of the rifle out from under the tarp to prove his point.

"I'm not here to hurt you mister. I saw your fire a while back and we just got a big snow-storm warning. I figured you'd rather stay in the lodge with me than freeze to death out here."

He emerged from the tarp and when the Ranger showed no reaction he felt more confident. Maybe the news hasn't spread this far.

"I've got a roaring log fire and soup and biscuits and coffee." The other man said. He glanced at the disheveled figure standing in front of him and grinned; "got plenty of hot water too. What you doing out this way?"

"I'm just a guy trying to get away from it all that's all."

"Well that's OK by me. But I can't let you freeze out here. Follow me."

He shrugged and put the rifle into the back of the pick-up and climbed into the cab. The Ranger waited while the old engine coughed and complained against the cold start and they set off towards the lodge a few miles up the road.

The soup and biscuits were good. The Ranger introduced himself. "Bob Reynolds. I quit the big city about ten years ago to live here; never looked back."

He paused. My name is my business. "John Fletcher. I quit a boring job and decided to take a long trip to a new life." If the Ranger didn't believe him it didn't show.

After supper he relaxed in a hot tub and felt the dirt of the past few days float away. If only the dirt in his soul could disappear with the same ease.

"There's shaving stuff in the cabinet." Bob yelled through the door. He looked at himself in the mirror. His beard was growing fast and the moustache and the whiskers around his mouth were yellowed from nicotine, and it grew up to meet his sideburns.

He decided against the shave.

In the morning he took all the breakfast on offer: bacon, grits, pancakes and plenty of coffee. Finally he stood up. "I'll be happy to pay you for all this."

Bob laughed and led him to the door. The snow had come in the night. About fifteen inches had already fallen and the flakes were still tumbling out of the steel-gray sky. "We'll have to wait for it to ease off." Bob said. "Then we can dig out your pick-up. Snow-plow should come along by the afternoon."

The angels are having a pillow fight. Who said that to him when he was a kid? Not his mom that's for sure. He focused his memory and remembered the housekeeper who had shown him some kind of affection right up until the day he started school. He remembered his bitter tears when he came home to find that she was no longer there; replaced by a sharp-faced stranger who was only too quick to turn him over to his father when he misbehaved.

"Hey, you want more coffee?" Bob's voice drew him out of his memories.

"Yea; I guess there's not much else we can do."

"Nope. I just got on the radio; the plow won't be through 'til tomorrow. Hope you know how to play chess!"

Oh yes, I know how to play chess. I'm good; the only person who ever beat me was the man I taught to play. I tried to say it was beginner's luck – but he was too good for me.

Sugar Sally was a popular whore over on that side of town. She got her name in homage to the Rolling Stones song – she was the color of dark brown sugar. Cummings knocked at her door at an hour when she was not likely to be working. She opened it as far as the chain would allow and peered shortsightedly at his badge. The door closed to re-open again without the chain.

"I guess it's about that poor guy on the sidewalk." She said as he walked in.

Cummings took her in with a quick up and down glance. He'd seen her in the booking room a couple of times; pulled in for dealing when the tricks weren't turning fast enough for her pimp. He'd also seen her talking to Starsky and Hutch a few times. Once when she'd been beaten up by a crazy trick who turned out to be a killer; the other time it was in The Pits and although he saw Hutch slip her a few bills he didn't think she'd given them much information.

Despite her pretence about 'that poor guy' she knew Starsky, and Cummings figured she had recognized him which was why she made herself scarce. He looked towards the bedroom door. She smiled. "Honey I've been off-duty since six am."

She offered him coffee and he accepted. She clinked her mug against his and smiled.

"Ok give me the third degree, handsome."

Cummings smiled. "I need to know exactly what you saw Sugar."

"Exactly?"

"Yes."

"Well honey I don't rightly know what I saw exactly."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet and laid down a twenty. She sipped her coffee and whispered; "I think I'm beginning to remember something." Cummings saw his twenty and waited.

"I was just coming out of The Pits. I went up the stairs first to give the trick a little glimpse of what he was going to get later, if you see what I mean." Cummings could see exactly what she meant. She was facing him and the thin cotton of her dress showed that she wasn't wearing panties.

"So I got to the top of the stairs and this car drew up. It didn't stop. The door opened and this guy rolled out. He came out kind of fast – I think he was pushed. Well I did what any woman would do…I screamed!"

"Did you get a good look at the car?"

"Yea; but honey wrecks like that are dime-a-dozen."

"Wreck?"

"Well I don't know but I…it was dark…but I think it was two colors."

"What about the driver?"

"I couldn't see him." Something in her voice told him she was lying

"Sure?"

She looked at him steadily. He pulled out a ten.

"He was smoking. He looked kind of scruffy; maybe fair hair maybe not. Hey it was dark and it all happened so fast."

"And you saw who the victim was didn't you?"

"Yea, I saw it was Starsky and I ran. I mean if someone wanted to hurt him that bad…"

Cumming pushed the money towards her and stood up.

"Thanks Sugar. Come by the precinct later and make that a formal deposition, OK?"

"OK."

She watched the door close. Starsky was one of those cops who only pulled a hooker in if she was really making trouble. Hutch was more than a little soft on her best friend Sweet Alice. She was willing to take a risk to help this new cop find whoever beat Starsky to a pulp and dumped him outside The Pits.

Dobey sent a team of cops to both the apartments. Starsky's place was as neat as a pin; but his precious Torino was missing.

The team that went to Hutch's apartment didn't even need to go inside to see that the story here was different. Blood stains on the stairs up to the apartment door alerted them to probable danger. One of the officers ran down to radio for backup. His partner waited for him to return before carefully pushing the door open with the barrel of his gun.

The trail of blood led to the center of the room; blood stains in the kitchen area, on the rug, the couch and the edge of the low table bore witness to the attack that had taken place. The two cops explored the apartment carefully. The bed hadn't been slept in; they had no way of knowing of anything was missing. One thing was sure though, neither Starsky nor Hutch were there and one or both of them had been attacked.

Dobey arrived with the forensics team. He stood aghast at the scene in front of him. Seeing the blood he assumed that Hutch had been attacked in his apartment and that Starsky had been abducted somewhere else before being dumped outside The Pits. The forensics team was thorough. Although a casual observer would assume that all the blood in the room came from the victim of the attack – forensic workers never assumed anything. Separate samples of blood were taken as many stains as possible. They dusted the table and other surfaces for prints. A third member of the team was on her hands and knees peering through a magnifying glass at the area around the rug; hoping to pick up evidence of what had happened. She used tweezers to put two hairs into two plastic bags. One was blond; the other almost black.

Dobey personally carried out the final inspection of the apartment. Hutch's gun was still hanging inside the closet door. Something made him check the drawer of Hutch's desk. Hutch's check book was missing.

"All this for a lousy check book and maybe a little cash" Dobey shook his head; it had to be more than it seemed. He looked again in the drawer and found Hutch's ID wallet. Wherever the blond cop was he was as good as naked out there without his badge and his gun.

The 'phone rang on Dobey's desk. He listened without really hearing or taking in what the voice at the other end was saying. "Captain, did you get that?" Dobey pulled himself back into focus.

"Tell me again – I was thinking about something else."

"We found Starsky's car, sir. It's over at the Marina."

Dobey put down the phone and lumbered out of his office. He felt numb as he drove over to the Marina. There were three patrol cars blocking the access to one of the piers; the slight wind made the ropes and pennants sing against the metal and wooden masts. Dobey parked and walked over to where the car had been found.

"One of the boat owners heard something last night sir; he thought it was kids messing around. This morning when he came up on deck he saw it."

As the cop spoke the crane that usually hauled boats out of the water so that their hulls could be cleaned whirred into action. Dobey watched in horror as the red and white Torino rose from the dock, water poured out of the open windows. He held his breath. There was no sign of Hutch.

Dobey sat at his desk setting a plan of action in his mind.

Priority number one…but what was his priority? He had one cop in a coma and another one missing presumed dead. The 'phone rang.

"Captain?" Dobey was relieved to hear Huggy's voice. "Yes Huggy?"

"We need to talk and I can't get away from the bar right now."

Dobey glanced at his watch; his stomach was already sending him distress signals and when he saw that it was nearly one thirty he understood why. "Keep a special for me, Huggy, I haven't had lunch yet." He heard Huggy chuckle as he put the phone back on its cradle.

Huggy directed Dobey to a booth at the back of the bar and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned a few minutes later with two plates piled high with burgers, fries and coleslaw. Dobey grinned and tucked a paper serviette into his collar. He took a big bite out of his burger and grinned at the skinny man across the table. To an onlooker they made a bizarre pair – a black version of Laurel and Hardy. Dobey swallowed and said "OK Huggy, what have you got?"

"Nothing, but maybe something."

"Dobey grunted and raised an eyebrow.

"What I mean is we have the Torino but we don't have Hutch's car. We have Starsky but we don't have Hutch. But has anyone looked for Hutch's car?"

Dobey nearly choked on his mouthful of fries. He'd forgotten a basic principle of detective work – if you can't see something where it should be – look for it! He had been so worried about Starsky that he'd forgotten the possibility that finding Hutch's car might lead them to the blond.

The 'phone rang behind the bar. Dobey said; "I told them I was coming over here." Huggy called over to Dianne behind the bar "I'll take it!" and ran to pick up the 'phone. He listened then looked worried. "Captain, I think you should take this upstairs in my office."

Reluctantly Dobey left his food and went up to the room that Huggy used as an office and bedroom when he was too tired or a friend was too drunk to drive home.

Huggy appeared at the door as Dobey took the call.

"Captain, it's Phil. I have a make on the blood samples we took in Hutch's apartment.

The blood samples matched two groups; and they match for Hutch," Dobey missed a beat, "and for Starsky."

Dobey felt sick. Both men had been attacked in the apartment and only Starsky was accounted for. Had the attackers tortured Starsky in front of Hutch? Had they both been beaten up at the same time? Dobey tried to put the possibilities into some kind of logical formula but all he could come up with was that one of his best men was lying in a hospital and the other had disappeared without trace. He filled Huggy in.

"So maybe Blondie got away and took his car…Captain…"

Dobey dialed quickly. "This is Dobey. I want an APB out Hutch's car. I don't know. A Fairlane, something like that. No, wait, that was his last car, it's an LTD…kind of gray or blue. Ask down in the garage someone must know!" He stared at Huggy in exasperation. Huggy grinned. "The Torino is easier!"

"We know where that is." Dobey said grimly.

"Yeah."

Huggy nodded. Dobey caught the look in his eye. "There's something else isn't there Huggy?"

"Yeah."

"What?"

"I was talking to Sweet Alice. You know she's always been kind of soft on Hutch and it goes both ways. Well anyway she and Sugar Sally go back a long way. Sally was pretty upset about seeing Starsky land on the sidewalk in front of her. She started telling Alice a bit more than she told your man."

"Go on."

"Starsky didn't fall out of the car; he was thrown or pushed out. She said he would have fallen but whoever was in the car shoved him hard like he wanted to do more damage."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Huggy, I know you almost as well as Starsky and Hutch know you. There's something else, isn't there?"

"Alice asked Sally about the car. Sally remembered a bit more about it and Alice recognized it straight away. It was Hutch's car!"

Dobey turned back to the phone. "Put out a cross-county APB; if Hutch is in that car they might cross the county line.

Starsky started to show signs of distress later that night. The nurse noted increased EEG activity again. She went to find the doctor. When they returned to the room Starsky was tossing and turning and trying to shield his face with his good hand. He was moaning and weeping. The nurse touched his arm and he calmed a little.

Why? Why are you doing this to me?

The EEG slowed down and Starsky slumped into a coma again. As he lost consciousness again he whispered "Hutch…" at least he thought he did.

Dobey made a decision that he hated. As commanding officer it was his duty to inform next of kin when an officer was dead or his life was in danger. He'd made this call once before; when Dave Starsky had already 'died' twice in the hospital after taking three bullets in the back. He checked the time and made a quick calculation; it was about seven pm in New York. He punched the buttons slowly; his fingers felt thick and heavy and seemed to resist the movement. He punched the area code and the rest of the number and listened as the phone at the other side of the continent rang. Once. Twice. Three times. He willed her to pick it up. Four. Five. Click. "I'm not in right now but please leave me a number so I can call you back". He couldn't do it. He couldn't leave a message for Lily Starsky to call him back – he knew how much it would frighten her. He punched a new number.

"Al? This is Captain Dobey. No…no, he's alive but it's bad. I tried to call his mother but she wasn't there. She has an answer machine now; and I couldn't leave her a message. I wondered if you or your wife, know where she could be." He heard Al speak to his wife and he heard her wail when she learned that yet again her nephew was fighting for his life. He waited while Al calmed his wife a little. Al returned to the 'phone. "Apparently she always goes to her brother Saturday nights. Rosa says do you want the number or do you want me to do it?"

Dobey thought about it. "I'd be grateful to you Al. You need to know what's happened. Starsky is in a coma. He's been badly beaten up and he was pushed out of a moving car outside The Pits. Hutch has disappeared. The Torino was dumped in the Marina; I guess his mom doesn't need to know about that."

"I'll tell her. I guess she'll want to take the first flight out." Al sighed. Dobey hung up.

It took Al twenty minutes to calm Lily down. He finally spoke to his brother-in-law who agreed that Lily should stay at his house that night. Then Al dealt with his wife who was sitting in the kitchen keening softly. Finally he went to his office to make a call he didn't want anyone to hear;

"Benny? Dave's been badly beaten up; the kid's in a coma. Hutch has disappeared."

He spoke to Benny for a few more minutes before replacing the 'phone knowing that another team was now working on the case; a team that would stop at nothing to find out who had harmed Dave Starsky and why.

Starsky was still in deep coma. He was receiving basic nutrients by tube and other tubes drained what little urine his kidneys managed to produce. The EEG registered the same steady pattern.

Al led Lily into the room. She leaned on him for a second and then touched his arm.

"Don't go."

He walked over to the chair over by the wall and sat quietly.

She sat down beside her son. "Oh Davey, not again." She scolded gently as if he had just come into the house with bloodied knees.

Lily touched her son's cheek with the tips of her fingers. Al listened as she spoke to him softly in Yiddish. "Don't leave me Dov, darling. Come on sweetheart, come back to momma. Does it hurt so bad Dov? Is that why you don't want to come back?"

She stroked his cheek. Al noticed the tracer on the EEG begin to move.

Lily continued to talk to her child, her beloved first-born; urging him, in their private mix of Yiddish and English, to stay with her and not to give up on life.

She brushed away a tear and looked at her brother-in-law. "Do you think he can hear me?"

Al nodded and pointed to the tracer. Once again it was registering something.

Lily leaned over and kissed her son's eyelids. For a brief moment the tracer jagged and skipped before returning to its regular pattern.

Lily sat back and took her son's hand in hers.

"I'm not going to leave here until you wake up Dov." She said firmly. Al knew she meant it and went to arrange with a nurse for a comfortable chair at Starsky's bedside.

"We can do better than that, sir. I'll get a bed brought into the room."

Whenever Lily left her son's side someone was there to keep the vigil. Rosa and Al took their turns and their son Harvey came in too. Edith Dobey visited daily with good home cooking to keep their spirits up.

Many of the hospital staff had seen Starsky through his last trauma and they believed that he would pull through if only…

"If only Hutch was here too." Lily said after two days. "I'm sure he's alive. I don't know why but I think David is waiting for him too."

The roaring in Starsky's head faded away now and then and he could hear voices. His mother was singing to him. He was sure of that.

One day she kissed his eyelids just the way she did when he had nightmares as a child. If only he could rise up out of this nightmare.

He'd risen up for her before. Willed himself to life although his body had been torn apart by bullets and his heart had stopped twice.

But this time the will wasn't there.

Last time he'd done it for his mom and for Hutch.

Hutch.

Oh Hutch, why did you have to start drinking again?

His mom was holding his hand. He knew it was her and no-one else. A child knows the feel of his mother's skin.

The roaring closed in again and he allowed himself to sink back down. If I touch the bottom either I push myself back up, or I stay there. We'll see.

The roaring faded again. This time the visions of what had happened returned too. He tried to block them out but they wouldn't go away. They were burned onto the back of his eyes forever. This time he saw who it was beating him.

Lily wiped a tear from her son's face and turned to the neurologist who was reading the erratic print out from the EEG.

"There is something there doctor; I know there is. A mother can sense whether her child is dying or not. I refuse to let you switch him off."

"Mrs. Starsky." The young doctor tried to reason with her; but the indomitable little woman from the Bronx was every bit as stubborn as her favorite son. Edith watched as she stood up to this young man wearing his white coat and his knowledge like a badge.

"I know what you think doctor; that's the difference between us young man. You think; I know! And I know that my son is not going to die.

Somewhere in the depths of the roaring chasm Starsky thanked his mother.

It was getting boring in the darkness. He knew he'd have to face it one day. His dad had taught him that – face up to it Davey, take what comes but never run away. He'd taught his son that lesson face down with a smarting butt. Davey learned to never run away from things again. He'd faced dangers and horrors in 'Nam and never run away from them. Instead he'd taken them on, headlong and impetuously sometimes, but he never regretted it in the end. His police career had been the same. While Hutch stopped to take too long to think about what to do, Starsky barreled in and dealt with it. Like the day he'd burst them out of an airtight room while Hutch was still making laborious calculations that Starsky could have figured out straight off if he'd thought it was worth it.

His dad taught him something else too: the value of loyalty. "Be true to your friends, Dave and they'll always be there for you." He'd really learned what his father meant after his death. Joe Durniak had been a true and loyal friend to Mike Starsky even if they operated on different sides of the law. Dave had carried his father's flame in his heart and stayed loyal to his memory. He'd found making friends difficult; he was reluctant to trust someone who could hurt him later. But he'd found a true friend; someone he had always believed he could trust with his life. Even when their friendship had been threatened by a bitch who tried to play them one off against the other, he'd stayed loyal.

Now he was paying the price of that loyalty and the pain was unbearable.

"Dov, sweetheart, momma's here."

He could hear her. She so wanted him to return to her. He made a supreme effort.

The EEG went off the chart.

Lily looked at her son; his long dark eyelashes exaggerated the paleness of his skin. The eyelashes fluttered.

She took his hand in hers and felt his strong fingers tighten around her thumb.

"Davey? Davey are you waking up?"

He tried to speak but there was something blocking his mouth. He groaned.

Lily waited for her son to come back to her. Slowly his eyes opened and although she could see that they were not focusing properly she smiled at him. Despite the breathing tube he managed a slight smile too.

"Don't move sweetheart; I'm going to get a nurse to come and take that thing out of your mouth."

While the medical team dealt with Starsky, Lily placed a call to her brother and another to Edith Dobey. She had to spread the good news. David had regained consciousness. As yet there was no way of knowing how much damage had been done, but as long as her son was awake and recognized her, Lily was happy.

Starsky's mind was making more progress than his body. He could speak but he couldn't move easily.

He had lifted a hand to his head and felt the bandage. When he learned that his head had been partially shaved he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

His mom was by his side and that was the best medicine he needed right now.

The next day Dobey sat by Starsky's bed and listened while the younger cop pieced things together in his mind and out loud.

"Hutch was drinking again Captain. I don't think he knew I'd noticed. Well maybe he had." The lopsided grin was faint but distinct. "I mean he never could keep a secret from me for long could he?"

Dobey shook his head.

"So I noticed that his timing was kind of slow; we'd been over to the range to run our annual assessment and he missed a couple of really easy targets. Plus I could smell it on his breath; he thought a couple of cough candies would mask it – but I knew why he was sucking them! I think he was smoking too, but that smell on his clothes could have been from hanging around in bars. So anyway I decided I'd better do another bottle raid. I watched his apartment until he went out. The key was in the usual place so I let myself in. I started in the bathroom. I found a bottle in the towel closet. I found another bottle in one of those crazy high boots he bought a couple of years back; and another one under the bed."

Starsky was reciting his story in a deadpan voice; trying to keep it as calm as possible; but Dobey could hear the distress as the other man described his best friend's deception and addiction.

Starsky went on. "There was a half-empty bottle in the piano. That's for the ones that were hidden. He had a couple of bottles of wine in the rack and there was a six pack in the fridge. That's for the 'open' drinking, Captain, for when I'm there!"

Dobey sighed. "What did you do with them?"

"Same as I always have." Dobey let that pass. "I was emptying them and lining them up on the drainer when I heard the door open and that's…" Starsky's voice wavered. "That's all I can remember for now; no, there is one thing. He hit me over the head from behind then started punching me in the face – like he didn't want me to see who he was."

Dobey sat back in the chair and waited while Starsky seemed to gather his thoughts together again. He was staring at the ceiling.

"After he finished beating up on me I could hear him moving about the place. I thought I could hear someone crying. Don't ask me why but I'm sure it was Hutch. I wanted to reach out to him but I couldn't stop myself from passing out. Last thing I heard was the door close, and I knew I was alone. Did they do something to Hutch Captain? Is that why he isn't here?"

Dobey didn't know what to say. Since Starsky had regained consciousness he had made amazing progress. But the doctors had seen his files from the last time he'd come close to death – and the files from the psychiatric clinic where he'd spent a month recovering from post-traumatic shock almost six months after he had gone back to work. They were reluctant to allow any information that would tip Starsky into a similar condition.

Starsky looked tired. Dobey smiled at him. "Get some rest Dave."

"I wish I knew where he was Captain. If I just knew where he was I'd be ok."

Starsky's sadness echoed round the room.

Dobey touched his arm. "It looks like he's alive, Dave."

"He's alive Captain. I know that…but where is he?"

"Rest."

Starsky sighed and closed his eyes.

The snow plow finally passed through later that evening. Despite the Ranger's offer of a bed he knew he had to move on. Spending too long in one place just increased the risk of being found. And he wasn't ready to be found yet.

The pick-up slithered on the icy roads but he was soon back on an open highway and heading for the coast. Somewhere south of Portland he steered north; he could either disappear in a city or go on to Canada. He didn't have his passport with him but that didn't matter; it wouldn't have been any help to him if he had.

He drove on, stopping only for nature's calls and to buy more booze and smokes. By now he was driving on a kind of autopilot anyway.

The weather was patchy. He drove through snow and ice and through driving rain. The alcohol kept him warm and went some way to blotting out the memory of what he'd done.

The sun was setting over the ocean as he pulled into a motel in a suburb of Portland. He walked into the office but the clerk's expression told him in advance that there was no room for him in this inn. He wandered back to the car and pulled off the road a little further up. He had a sea view and a quart of bourbon. What more could a man running away from himself ask for?

Starsky looked in the mirror ruefully, his face was still recovering from the damage that two angry fists had done. But worse than that was the uneven haircut. Where they'd shaved him to operate the hair was growing back quickly but it was still compact waves; the rest of his head was covered with long curls that hung down making him look like a character out of the pirate movies he loved to see as a kid. His mother stood behind him and he caught her eye in the mirror.

"I guess you get your dream mom; I'll have to have a hair cut."

"It will grow back Dov."

"Yeah. I know. But did you notice this?" He traced the line of the scar with his fingers – the hair there was growing in a whitish gray.

"Even you aren't going gray." He smiled his old impish grin and winked at her. "Hey momma what dye do you use?" She raised a hand in a gesture of mock scolding. "David!"

He turned and kissed her. "I love you momma. Go gray of you like or dye it green; you'll always be beautiful."

"Come on darling. Let's go home."

"Home?"

"Unless you'd rather go stay with Al and Rosa."

"Hey momma; I've been through enough …"

"I know sweetheart, that's why I thought you'd like me to stay with you and cook all your favorite things."

He grinned at her. "Some of my favorites have changed a bit momma; but your cooking still beats all."

Lily left him to dress and joined her brother-in-law in the waiting area.

"How is he?"

"Like when he came back from the war. He won't tell me how bad it really is."

Al was silent for a moment. "He didn't want you to know Lily. He didn't want to worry you."

She turned angry dark blue eyes on him. "Worry me! Didn't he think I was worried from the day he told me he had been called up?" He smiled softly. "He loves you Lily; he didn't want you to see him in the state he was in when he got back. And from what he told me that was a lot better than the doctors ever expected it to be."

"Should we believe in miracles, Al? David seems to have come back from the dead more than once."

"Maybe it makes up for the ones who didn't." He touched her arm and they sat in silence remembering the photos of cousins they'd never met and never would. "Our miracle was being born west of the Atlantic Lily."

The door opened and Starsky walked towards them. "Wow, you two look like you've been discussing serious stuff."

Lily stood up and took her son by the arm. "Take us home Al." al watched as she looked up into her son's eyes…they both had deep blue eyes that could speak without a word leaving their lips and mother and son were holding a loving conversation.

He was brought back to reality with a shock when he switched on the radio. It seemed like the whole country was buzzing with the poignant tale of a cop fighting for his life and of his partner who had disappeared without trace.

"Bay City Police are still unable to identify the author of the vicious attack on Detective Starsky." The newsreader's voice droned along. "Detective Starsky has, however left the hospital and Captain Dobey reports that he hopes that there he will be able to give more information about what happened to him. Detective Hutchinson has not been seen since the day before the attack and Bay City Police are concerned that he may be dead or injured. His car is also missing and the description has been sent to all nearby states."

How long will it take them to find that old guy who sold me the pick-up?

The voice on the radio continued. "Bay City Police have released a photograph of Detective Hutchinson; you will find it in your local paper tomorrow. If you have seen Detective Hutchinson please contact BCPD at 555 65987; that's 555 65987. All calls will be treated in confidence."

He resolved to pick up a paper tomorrow and see what other details the police were releasing. Once they found the car the net would close in fast. He had to get rid of the pick-up too. He drove down to the deserted beach and found a spot behind some rocks and a bank of trashcans that the city authorities had installed for the summer.

He pulled out his stuff and rejected everything that wasn't essential, praying that the city emptied the dumpster regularly even out of season. He wiped the steering wheel, the door handles, the gear stick, and the radio control as best he could then ran his jacket over the outside of the truck on all the places he figured he was most likely to leave prints. Finally he climbed up to the top of the cliff and checked all around before slinging the rifle in the ocean.

He trudged into town and started to look for some place to stay for the night before hitching on further up the state and across yet another border.

Starsky sat staring into the middle of the room. Al had left them alone; understanding how much his nephew needed to be given time to recover from all that he had gone through.

Starsky was nursing a can of beer and sniffing the air with a mischievous grin as his mother busied herself in the kitchen.

"Something smells good."

"I'm making chicken darling. Do you want carrots or broccoli?"

Starsk hesitated. The best way to wind up his mother was to pretend he didn't want to eat his vegetables.

"David?"

"Well, mom uh …oh gee…I guess…both!"

He sipped from the can. His head hurt, his ribs hurt, in fact he still felt like he'd been in a fight with a road roller – and the roller won. But it wasn't just the physical pain; there was a nagging ache in the back of his mind.

His mother sat down beside him and touched his wrist gently.

"What is it darling? What is it you keep looking at in the middle of nothing?"

Starsky shook his head. "I wish I knew momma. I wish I could see whoever it was; just for a second."

The 'phone rang and Lily went to answer it; but Starsky stopped her. "I'll take it, in case there's news of him." She watched as her son moved painfully across the room to answer the 'phone.

"Yeah hi Benny. No….I really didn't see him it was like he worked on my face first to stop me seeing…he said what? No, he's wrong. This time he got the wrong info Benny.

No…" He sobbed softly and put the phone back on its hook on the wall.

Lily waited for him to turn to her. When he remained hunched against the kitchen counter staring into the center of the room again she led him gently to the couch.

"Tell me Davey. Tell me what Benny said."

"I can't; not yet. Hey do I smell burning chicken?"

His mother ran into the kitchen to check her cooking. Needless to say everything was fine; but she understood that David didn't want to continue the conversation. She started to finish the gravy and told him to set the table. When she turned to put the food on the table she smiled. Starsky had lit two candles.

"I've always wanted a candle-lit dinner with a sexy older woman." He smiled his lop-sided smile and for a moment Lily saw her dead husband sitting looking up at her with love in his eyes. She brushed away a tear. "Just like your father!"

The next morning Starsky insisted on going into Metro to see Dobey; and to collect the Torino that had been dried out and cleaned after forensics had examined it. The only prints they found belonged to the owner and his best friend and partner – Hutch. Starsky looked at the car carefully. He couldn't see any sign of damage and when he slipped his key into the ignition the motor growled into life with no difficulty. He switched it off and made his painful way up to the squad room and Dobey's office.

He was limping badly again. One kick had got him right where his leg was vulnerable – and he was lucky that it hadn't broken a bone.

A lucky break? Or was Benny's informant right? He pushed the questions out of his mind as he walked over to the elevator.

Dobey was waiting for him. No-one said anything about the warm up cap that he was wearing to cover up his short haircut and the Munster family streak.

"Dave, how are you feeling?"

Starsky grinned; "it must have been touch and go if you call me Dave, Cap'n."

Dobey grunted.

"If you really want to know I feel lousy." He hesitated. Go on Dave, tell him. "I had a call from Benny last night."

Dobey looked him in the eye. "And?"

"And, Weasel saw my car on its way to the Marina." Starsky took a deep breath but his voice had already faltered. "Weasel was sure that it was Hutch driving."

Dobey didn't know what to say. Another witness had already come forward – a kid who had been fishing off the Marina that night.

Starsky sighed. "Why would Hutch drive my car to the Marina, Captain? It doesn't make sense."

"I'm afraid it adds up, Starsky. We have another witness who saw it. You have to admit the Torino attracts attention. The witness gave a good description of the man; he saw him get out and push the car enough to go over the side. Tall, collar-length blond hair; mustache; wearing jeans and a plaid jacket…"

Starsky pressed his eyes to try to stop the tears; but he couldn't hold it back. He put his hands over his face and sobbed.

"Why?"

It was cold and the fog was rolling in off the ocean when he finally arrived outside the Sailor's Mission. He pushed open the door and walked over to the desk.

"Is this place really for sailors or can any guy down on his luck get a bed?"

The young man looked up from his book.

"If you don't have anywhere else to go you are welcome here. We have a limit of four nights; OK?" He grinned. "Of course that doesn't mean you can't come back and take another four nights; most of the guys here are permanent residents!"

He pushed a register over the desk. "As long as you don't sign M. Mouse or D Duck I'm not fussy."

He hesitated for a moment. He'd told the Ranger that his name was John Fletcher; it would be better to change again. He signed it Richard Milhouse and grinned at the joke. The man behind the desk raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"OK you get your own room. The rules are simple. You take a shower every day, and you change and wash your clothes. You clean up after yourself – especially in the bathroom; you leave the place tidy and you only go into someone else's room if you are invited. No booze and no drugs and no weapons. So if you have any of them with you take it outside and dump it."

He shook his head. "I'm out of booze and I've never used drugs." Not intentionally anyway. I don't have any weapon either; but if you want to search me…" The other man smiled at him again. "We trust you." He handed over a key. "Room eight; just along the hallway. The bathroom and showers are at the end of the hallway. You have towels in the room. Dinner is at seven sharp."

He found his room and slung his bag onto the cot. There was a locker and a night stand; towels were neatly folded on a chair by the bed. The room resembled a neat prison cell.

I may have to get used to it

He stashed his things and went in search of a shower; he passed another man in the hall, they exchanged nods and that was all.

I may be able to stay here all four days.

After a shower and a change of clothes he felt better. He sat on the cot and tried to run through all that had happened in the past couple of weeks. The mounting doubts, and the need to numb them with alcohol when once he would have turned to his best friend. The increased violence of his reactions – smashing the bottle into the sink when he spilled a little milk; throwing a chair across the room in frustration, all signs of his mounting inability to deal with the days one after another. A shrink would have called it stress. His father would have called it weakness. Funny, that; he thought of the old man a lot these days. It had never been an easy relationship. The successful older man expected his son to follow his footsteps without question. His concept of his status in the town and his professional reputation were translated into a snobbish set of values underlined by his well-born wife's background. She had brought him the last ticket into the society of Country Clubs and Black Tie dinners for good causes. Their child was a natural consequence of their marriage. Something that his mother was expected to achieve within two years of her wedding day. She had been attentive enough; but never given comfort when he ran to her smarting and crying after his father had punished him for something he didn't even understand.

They assumed he would go to his father's Alma Mater and pledge to his Fraternity. And they were wrong. He'd chosen the State University and after a year of boredom he'd dropped out.

His parents' only consolation was that he married a 'nice' girl from the right society circle. He'd married her because she said she was pregnant; she wasn't and he was trapped. She'd clung to him until she realized that he would never give her what she had grown up to expect. The end was messy. He'd started drinking and he hit her; not once, but regularly, frequently. Sometimes he even wondered if he didn't enjoy the feeling of her soft flesh under his knuckles. When she finally walked out he had turned to alcohol as a lifeline only to throw it away and pull himself together when he finally understood what he wanted to do with his life. He'd learned a new profession and made the best friendship he could ever dream of making with a man so unlike him in background and temperament that the relationship was almost inevitable.

He sighed. And like a fool I let drink take over and I threw it all away.

A voice yelled "Come and get it!" and he looked at his watch. Seven o'clock. His hunger took him by surprise and he went in search of food and maybe even a little company.

He stood in line with a tray and accepted the hunk of bread and the bowl of soup that was offered. He saw that the other men were taking places at the long table and with an inward shrug he sat at the end of the row. If this was all they were getting it was still better than nothing. He was finishing the soup when two men stood up and went into the kitchen. Minutes later they reappeared with huge dishes of stew and mashed potatoes. Each man served himself a reasonable portion and handed the dish to the next; by the time they reached him there was more than enough.

He ate steadily, savoring the food that might be his last for a while. As he looked at the men in the room he knew he couldn't stay here more than one night…too many people, too many who could recognize a photo in a paper or on a TV screen.

After dinner some of the men went to deal with the dishes; others settled to play chess or cards; a couple returned to their rooms and the others settled in front of a TV. He held his breath. After a heated discussion they agreed to watch a movie. He decided to go back to his room and read.

He couldn't sleep. His body needed the comfort of alcohol before he could settle. He pulled on his pants and sweater and made his way to the door. A notice informed him that anyone not returned by eleven pm would not be able to reenter the Mission that night. It was already gone eleven; he trudged back to his room and managed to sleep after all.

As soon as breakfast was over he checked out.

"Gotta keep moving on…never could stay in one place very long. " He said to the man on duty. It wasn't the guy from last night and he cursed inwardly that yet another person had seen him here.

He walked out of the town heading north and got lucky later that morning. By the end of the day he was jumping down from a truck and making his way to the Seattle waterfront.

Starsky's unhappiness swept over him when he least expected it. He was sitting on his couch staring at his badge and gun, tears streaming down his face, when his mother let herself in. She put her shopping on the kitchen counter and came to sit next to him.

"Davey?"

"It's like I've lost him mom. He's gone and I don't even know why; was it something I did?"

He sniffed threw the badge across the room. "I don't know if I can do it without Hutch. I don't know if I want to go on if he isn't working with me."

She took his hand in hers. "Listen to me sweetheart. When your father was killed the only reason I had to go on was you and Nicky. If I hadn't had you two boys to look after and worry about I think I might have joined your father. I know you felt like that about Terri. But Hutch is still alive; I'm sure of that."

He turned to look at her. "So am I and that's what hurts the most!"

"I'll make some coffee and we'll talk."

She handed him his badge; "put this where it belongs David, in your pocket."

"Yes momma."

While Lily made coffee and cut the remains of a homemade chocolate cake, Starsky went into the bathroom and ran cold water over his face. He still hated to see his hair this short; it reminded him of that other hell on earth that he'd survived; if he could get through 'Nam he could get through this! He fingered his white streak. unpredictable. He heard his mother open the front door and then Dobey's growling voice. He winked at himself in the mirror and went into the living room.

"Hi Cap'n; did you smell momma's chocolate cake all the way over at Metro?"

Dobey tried to smile but Starsky could read the signs.

"They've found him haven't they? Is he…" he choked on it ; couldn't bring himself to ask if Hutch was dead.

"No we haven't found him; but he's alive. We've had a few reports coming in that sound like it might be Hutch."

Starsky jumped up and grabbed the keys to the Torino. "So what are we waiting for? Where do we start?"

Dobey winked at Lily Starsky who said quietly: "I think David will be OK."

Dobey settled into the passenger seat of the Torino. "We got a report in from just north of Stockton. A man sold Hutch's car and took and old pick-up in exchange."

Starsky turned to him and stared at him carefully. "A man?"

"Ok; it sounds like the description fits Hutch."

Starsky drove skillfully, hitting the maximum speed wherever possible and slipping in and out of the traffic. For the first time Dobey really understood the younger man's driving capabilities. They were soon out on the open road and Starsky pushed the Torino up above the new 55limit. He grinned at Dobey, "if the CHiPs come after us be ready to flash your badge!"

They pulled into Stockton later that afternoon. Starsky stopped once for gas and food. They showed Hutch's picture to the waitress, but she shook her head. "I haven't seen one that handsome for a while." Starsky chuckled as they got back in the car. "The photo is kind of old, Captain."

The County sheriff drove them out to the used car lot. As they arrived a transporter was pulling off up the road, loaded with cars beyond all hope. Starsky's sharp eyes spotted something. As soon as he stopped the Torino he trotted over to the Sheriff. "I think the car was on that transporter; can you stop it?"

The Sheriff spoke into the radio.

Dobey and Starsky walked over to the skinny old man who was peering at the Torino through the smoke curling up from a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"Joe said you guys are cops."

Starsky gave him the full force of a deep-blue deadpan stare. "Yeah, that's right."

"What in the hell is that thing?"

"My car. A Torino with a little bit extra under the hood and a custom paint job."

"A Torino!" he grinned. "Kid you have to have a wild streak in you to do a thing like that to an old workhorse!"

Starsky smiled mirthlessly. "Never mind my wheels let's talk about…" He was interrupted by the return of the transporter that rolled to halt in a cloud of dust that threatened to turn the Torino into yet another gray car.

The driver came walked over to the Sheriff, his anger showed in every movement.

"What the fuck is going on here, I have a truck load of wrecks to deliver before sundown."

The Sheriff nodded towards Starsky and Dobey. "Captain Dobey and Sergeant Starsky are from Bay City Police. They are looking for a car." The truck driver had seen the Torino and he grinned. "Why, that thing too bright for them?"

Starsky walked over to the man and stood close, very close. Dobey knew what was going to happen and he waited. Starsky tapped the trucker on the shoulder with a finger and said slowly and evenly.

"Maybe you heard about the cop who got beat up?"

The man nodded.

"And how his partner has disappeared?"

Another nod.

"Wanna guess which one I am?"

The driver said nothing; Starsky continued. "Now I drive a car with guts but my partner prefers the kind of thing you have loaded up on the truck; and guess what…I think I see his car; third from the front on the top level."

"So?"

"So I need it down here where I can see it!"

Dobey decided to intervene. "That car may have evidence of what happened to Sergeant Hutchinson. We need to get it back to Bay City and the lab."

The driver lit another cigarette and started over to the truck. Scowling, he operated the back ramp and climbed up to drive the cars that were blocking Hutch's off the ramp. When he finally unloaded the scruffy LTD he started reloading the trailer cursing and muttering about lost time and money.

Starsky walked over to the LTD with a grin. "It's his all right. The back looks like it was mistaken for a dumpster about a month ago!"

Dobey had a quick conversation with the Sheriff and arranged for a local truck to return the LTD to Bay City. Starsky had turned back to the lot owner.

"What did he look like?"

"Tall blond; kind of well-built but he looked like he didn't look after himself so well any more."

Starsky raised an eyebrow.

"He looked like he hadn't shaved for a few days and I could tell by his face that he had been drinking."

"Where was he going?"

"How should I know…" He caught the expression on Starsky's face and stopped. "He went on up north; heading for Nevada if you ask me."

Starsky and Dobey had a quick and private conversation. The Captain then went over to the Sheriff and made all the necessary arrangement s for the LTD to be returned to Bay City.

"I need to ask you another favor Sheriff. I'm going to need an office and a 'phone for a few hours."

"No problem, if it will help find your man. There's just one thing I don't understand; are you following your lost cop or the guy who beat up Starsky here?"

Starsky stared glumly at the road leading away from the lot and said quietly. "Maybe both."

He still had a hundred in his money belt. He weighed up his options. Cross the border at some remote spot where no-one cared if a hunter went in and out the country two or three times a day. Sign up on a ship. He laughed at the idea; somehow sailing on the lake with the Sea Scouts wasn't likely to be the experience a tanker Captain was looking for.

He sat at the side of the docks.

"Sitting on the dock of the bay, watching the time going away; sitting on the dock of the bay wasting time…."The song rattled around his brain. When had he last heard it? In the bar where he was drinking before he…before…he shook his head and pulled the brown bag out of his coat pocket. He pushed the paper away and drank long and slow.

When he had drained the last precious drops he threw the bottle out into the water below.

"Hey man, that's littering." A voice said behind him.

"Sure is." Another voice cut straight in behind.

"Maybe this guy needs a lesson?"

"Yeah."

He turned ready to defend himself. Despite his recent decline he was still strong and he put up a good fight before they left him slumped against a pile of crates waiting to be loaded onto a ship. One of them turned back to check that he wasn't following, but he was out for the count.

A ship docked in that night and the next morning the chief longshoreman found him still slumped against the chests. "Call an ambulance; this guy is more than just drunk."

At the hospital they cleaned him up and shaved him.

"He's younger than I thought." The doctor said as he put the last stitch into John Doe's cheek. "And he looks familiar." He prescribed a pain killer and a sedative and arranged for the down and out to be kept in the hospital overnight.

Starsky and Dobey divided up the calls between them. Dobey contacted the FBI to help with what was obviously an inter-state investigation. Starsky busied himself with calling police and sheriffs all along the possible routes that the pick-up might have taken.

Dobey put down his 'phone for the last time – he had just called Edith to warn her that he might not be home for a few days. "What do you have Starsky?"

"Nothing yet, but I guess someone has seen him somewhere. It's just a matter of time."

"I warned Edith; I guess you should call your mother."

Starsky raised an eyebrow and smiled, then punched his number.

"Hi mom; it's me. Well who do you think it is? Ok, ok, I'm only kidding you. Listen mom….mom please…I'm fine…we have a few leads and I guess I might be back for a few days. Water my plants for me; especially the one with the pretty leaves on the windowsill…

I guess you could say that yeah…I put it in lasagna now and then. Mom I'm telling you I'll be OK." He held the phone away from his ear and grinned at it turning it so that Dobey could hear Lily's voice as she continued to chide her son for doing too much too soon. He motioned to Starsky who handed the 'phone to him.

"Lily, I'll look after him, don't worry." He handed it back.

"I love you mom. See you soon." Starsky replace the phone before his mother could start again.

The two men stared at the phones waiting for something to happen. Somebody brought in burgers and they munched them without much enthusiasm. A phone rang and Starsky jumped to answer it.

"Yeah…where…." He started to laugh. "We're on our way."

Dobey swallowed the last of his lunch and stood up. He followed Starsky out to the Torino and the Sheriff watched as the garishly painted car disappeared in a cloud of dust.

"Edith and my mom might not like this Captain, but we're going to Winnemucca!"

Dobey chuckled. Winnemucca had a reputation as being the best little whorehouse in Nevada. "A hooker thinks she spent the night with him." Starsky started to fiddle with the tuner of the police radio. "I guess we should try to keep on the local wavelengths in case anything else comes up." A few minutes later he picked up a conversation that interested them.
"So do I pass it on to the FBI or do we know where the guys from Bay City are right now?"

"Are you sure it was him?"

"It was the pick up that's for sure."

Starsky pressed the button on the mike and spoke "This is detective Starsky of BCPD; I'm driving on 95 heading for Winnemucca; where are you and what do you have for me?"

The radio crackled and Starsky swore softly, sure that they had gone out of range of the conversation. He was wrong.

"Detective Starsky this is Ranger Reynolds of the Oregon Parks Service. Where are you?"

Starsky explained that he had just crossed the state border into Nevada and that he was heading for Winnemucca on a tip."

"Your radio has pretty good range there, detective." The other man sounded impressed. "I don't know if you have any pressing need to go see Winnemucca," he chuckled, "but the guy I saw was heading west so I guess he came by here after that tip you got."

"What do you have?"

"He stayed in my lodge a couple of nights because of a snowstorm."

Starsky and Dobey exchanged glances. "I'm handing you over to Captain Dobey; tell him everything you can about your visitor."

Starsky handed Dobey the like and pulled to the side of the road to check his maps. He located his position quickly enough and worked out the best route to get him over to where the Ranger had spotted their man. "Tell him we'll be there this evening." He said to Dobey and gunned the engine leaving a cloud of dust at the side of the road.

Dobey continued to talk to the Ranger for a few minutes before breaking the connection.

Starsky spotted a gas station and diner. The Torino was thirsty and Starsky was feeling hungry. He knew the Captain wouldn't say no to food. He pumped the gas himself and started towards the office. "I'll pay for it Starsky." Dobey said. "You go order us some food."

Starsky walked into the diner to be greeted by interested stares; most of the customers looked like local hunters. He could tell that the folks around here didn't see that many strangers and he knew that the two men and the car must have raised a few questions in these good ol' boys' minds. He smiled at each and every one of them. "I see you're admiring my wheels." He said to one of the younger men – the guy looked about twenty five but you never could tell.

The younger man nodded. "You some kind of stock car racer?"

Starsky grinned. "No; I'm some kind of cop!"

They all laughed. Starsky grinned even broader. "It's true and the guy out there's my Captain."

"Hey next thing you'll be tellin' us you're some kind of dee-tective." One of the older men sneered. Dobey opened the door just in time to hear the waitress tell him to shut up.

"Wait a minute; ain't you the cop who got all beat up? I saw it on the TV."

Starsky settled on a stool and put his elbow on the counter, cupping his chin in his hand and grinning up at her. "That's me; now I'm hoping to catch up with…."

With who? The guy who beat me up? My partner? One man or…?

He didn't need to finish the sentence. One of the hunters spoke; "You looking for the guy in the pick-up?"

"Yes." Starsky's interest was aroused. "Did he stop here?"

The waitress chimed in. "He came in and didn't say much. Ordered something and then upped and went – left the money on the table and that was all. After he gone, Joe here saw the photo in the paper."

"It was him. I'd swear on my mother's grave." The hunter said quickly. "I figure he saw the photo and wanted to be out of here before any of us saw it and put two and two together."

"Which way did he go?" Starsky's voice betrayed his anxiety and Dobey glanced at him cautiously. The last thing he wanted was for Starsky to go over the edge again.

The hunter stared carefully at the impetuous man standing in front of him.

"Hey listen. Your Captain looks like he needs coffee at least; and you ain't going to catch up with him so why not sit down and enjoy some of Cassie's good food."

Starsky and Dobey took a booth and ordered the blue plate. Cassie plunked two plates down in front of them and even Starsky eyed the food on his plate with suspicion. Dobey poked at the brown blob on his plate and raised a fork to his mouth; the smell was better than the appearance. He tasted his forkful and smiled encouragingly at Starsky. "It's OK Starsky; in fact it's pretty good."

Starsky laughed dryly. "If you say so Captain; but it looks like one of Aunt Rosa's concoctions to me." He took a mouthful and chewed as if he was waiting for it to bite him back. "Geez, I'm getting as bad as Hutch." He said with a lopsided smile as he happily loaded his fork and settled down to eat all that was on the plate.

"Hey what stew was that?"

One of the hunters guffawed. "Well I guess if it's Wednesday it must be leftover from Tuesday. And on Tuesday it's squirrel – or was it raccoon this week Cassie?"

Starsky gave him the full benefit of the Starsky special; a gimlet stare with deep blue expressionless eyes and a deadpan face.

Cassie said quickly; "Don't take any notice of him guys; it was a fine buck that they shot a week back."

"A week?" the city-bred cop looked dubious again. Dobey patted him on the shoulder "don't worry son, deer meat is better after it's hung a few days."

Starsky wandered off to the men's room muttering "try to find out which way Hutch went."

He rejoined Dobey and learned that things were falling into place. Their fugitive had passed this way. Dobey looked at Starsky; the younger man was staring ahead as if he was picking his way through fog. "Starsky, you know what you said back there don't you?"

"Huh?"

"Come on Starsky don't play innocent with me. You called him 'Hutch'. You think it is him don't you?"

"I don't think Captain; I know; and so do you." His voice was muted. Dobey decided to wait.

They drove on and after another couple of hours Starsky pulled into a motel. "I'm tired Captain. He's so far ahead of us it won't hurt if we stop now."

Dobey followed him into the office. "Two rooms please."

The clerk looked up at him, "I only have a family room that's a double and a single." He eyed Dobey's fat form and the unspoken comment didn't escape Starsky's sense of humor. "That will do fine for dad and me."

Dobey grunted. The clerk gave Starsky the key to a room at the end of the row and he drove the Torino to the parking space in front of it. As the walked in Dobey said gruffly "dad?"

Starsky giggled; "well I know that they all want you to keep an eye on me and you couldn't be mom so …"

Dobey eyed the two beds. "That's ok Captain, you take the double. I don't sleep that much right now anyway." Dobey didn't need to be told that, Starsky had dark circles under his eyes permanently.

Dobey woke to the sound of Starsky pacing up and down in the room. He switched on the light by his bed. "What is it Starsky?"

"I keep seeing bits of what happened. I mean it comes like a dream; like my brain still can't bring itself to believe it."

Dobey sat up. "Sit down and tell me."

Starsky sat on his bed and sighed. His whole body signaled dejection.

"I was emptying his bottles and the door opened. I heard him come up behind me. He…he…hit me from behind. When I went down he hit me again. He went straight for my face but I saw him for a second. It was Hutch, Captain. He beat the shit out of me and dumped me and went off and …and…" He turned and threw himself face down onto the pillow but he didn't succeed in stifling his sobs. Dobey sat on the edge of the bed and put a meaty paw on the back of Starsky's head. "Get it out of your system son."

"I can't. I can't get it out of my head that Hutch did this to me. I knew he was drinking again but I didn't think it was that bad."

Dobey knew that there was nothing more he could say or do. He left the room quietly and settled in the coffee shop to give Starsky time alone.

He woke up the next day and looked around. Everything looked like it had gone white; he shook himself mentally and focused on the room. It was a hospital. There was someone in the bed next to him; whoever it was more dead than alive. He turned away. He tried to remember what had happened.

The doctor was standing by his bed now. "Good morning. How are you feeling?"

"My head hurts, in fact I feel like I was run over by a truck."

"No, but you were pretty badly beaten up. I need to ask you some questions. You were found on the docks, but you had no ID on you. Was it stolen?"

"No. I don't carry anything."

"I need your name."

Shit!

"I uh…uh…don't ….I uh…."

"Do you know where you are?"

"That's easy, this is a hospital."

The man in the white coat smiled. "That's cheating."

"OK, I'm in Seattle, right?"

"Good now try for your name."

"John Doe"

"I guess I'll have to accept that."

"Yea, I guess you will."

"He says his name is John Doe." The doctor was speaking to a police officer in the hospital entrance. "But he looks familiar to me."

"Can you spare the time to come and look at the books?"

"I'm off in an hour; I'll come by then."

An hour later Doctor Steven Dean walked into the Seattle Police precinct nearest the hospital. He settled at a desk and started to look through the books; he needed to rest his eyes now and then – otherwise all the mug shots blurred to look the same. He looked around the walls and saw what he had come to look for.

"That's him." He pointed to the picture on the wall.

The cop at the desk looked at the poster and ran into his Captain's office. "The doc has identified his patient. It's the missing cop."

He waited until the doctor had left the room then got out of bed. He felt kind of sore but his need was getting desperate. He found his clothes and slipped into the bathroom as a nurse opened the door of the room. She obviously thought he was in there and carried on with the routine treatments for his room-mate. When he heard the door close again he walked out fully dressed and sent to open the door. The coast was clear and he sauntered out as casually as he could, hoping not to attract any attention. He walked out of the hospital and found the nearest store. He bought what he needed and walked over to a nearby park.

He opened the bottle and took a restoring gulp. The booze took a few minutes to hit his system but soon he felt better. He lit a cigarette and stared at nothing in particular.

Maybe it was time to get it over with. He'd run as far as he could without crossing the border.

Someone had left a newspaper on the bench and he leafed through it. On an inside page he saw his photo. He sighed. There was a police station at the end of the block; he could walk in there and get it over with, face the music.

He took another slug and lit a cigarette, drawing the hot smoke down into his lungs.

Face the music? More like stand up against a full fucking orchestra playing the Flight of the Walkyrie! The wrath of the Bay City police force against the man who left Dave Starsky for dead!

Another slug of bourbon to help get things clear.

What was it he once said about running away from things? You can't escape what's in your head? Something like that. He could read my head like an open book. But me; I had to accept the little bits that Dave Starsky gave away when he really needed to. Did I ever know him?

The quart bottle was nearly empty now. He drained it and smoked another Camel.

Sure I knew him! Loved him even. Ever since the day I said "now who do we trust" and he said "Me and thee just as we always do."

He came through for me. Held me and fought me and battled the demons with me when Forrest pumped me so full of horse I thought I'd never get through another hour without a fix.

He's the one who saw me through when Vanessa was killed in my apartment and when I fell in love with a hooker who got murdered. He's the one who held me while I cried over her body. The one who cared enough to go after a hit man, to save me from the plague. The one who put his life on the line when the shooting started and who didn't bawl me out when I froze in an alley. The one who held me until the ambulance came when I was trapped under my car. Dave Starsky, so fucking loyal I can't even shake him out of memory now.

So fucking loyal that he was willing to cover up for me being drunk at a stake-out; so loyal that he snuck into my apartment and emptied my booze supply.

And how did I repay it? Well there's the time you two-timed him with Kira for a start Kenny boy. Then there's the day you were all too willing to pretend to testify against him after a no-good rapist got a bullet in the arm. Interesting that…no-one ever suggested that Starsky should take that role and I should go after the vigilante committee. Did someone already doubt my loyalty? How about the day I acted snooty at the black tie reception and let him make a fool of himself with a for hire label on the back of his tux. Some friend you are Ken Hutchinson!

The bottle was empty and he let it drop to the ground beside him. He lit his last cigarette and looked at the paper again

They're closing in.

He stood up and made his way to the police station.

Starsky and Dobey were talking to Ranger Reynolds. They were now sure that the man they were following was Hutch. While they were still talking the phone rang. Reynolds answered and grinned. "Yes they're here. You guys are pretty quick at finding them." He handed the receiver to Dobey, "it's your office." Dobey listened and gave a few monosyllabic answers. He put it down. "Thanks for your help Ranger. Starsky, reports have been coming in from all over but we know where we're going."

"We do?"

"Yes. He was spotted in a couple of places but he is in Seattle now."

"Seattle!" Starsky looked like he was being asked to drive to the moon. "That's a hell of a drive Captain, how can we be sure that he'll still be there when we arrive?"

Dobey took the younger man by the arm and led him outside. "He's turned himself in to the Seattle police. They have put him in a holding cell but they're waiting for us to arrive before going ahead and processing him."

Starsky turned deep blue eyes to his Captain. "He turned himself in?"

Dobey nodded. Starsky sighed; "I hear Seattle is pretty at this time of year." He walked back inside and accepted a cup of coffee while he pored over the map to figure the quickest way to Seattle. He and Dobey decided to stay overnight in Portland before carrying on up north.

They checked into a hotel that offered a restaurant. As they separated to go to their rooms Dobey smiled encouragingly at Starsky. "Call me when you're ready and we'll eat. You look like an early night will do you good." Starsky smiled and sketched a salute. Dobey was happy to see the lop-sided grin as Starsky said "Yes sir…or do I mean yes mom?"

"Starsky!"

They met in the restaurant and ate in near silence. Starsky's appetite had come back. He made his way through a huge platter of steak, baked potato with soured cream and chives and a side order of coleslaw and after that he ordered a chocolate cheesecake with butterscotch sauce. Dobey didn't exactly stick to the salad bar either.

Sipping a beer Starsky looked at Dobey. "I wonder what he has said to them."

"From what the cop told me he just walked in and told them that he was the man who had beaten up a cop in Bay City. They already knew who he was. He'd been beaten up and refused to give his ID to the hospital but one of the doctors thought he recognized him so he went in to look at the books and saw the APB poster. When he got back to the hospital Hutch had left."

"So when he turned up at the police station they put him in a cell in case he decided to leave again." Starsky finished it. "Except, I don't think he's going to run any more, not if he turned himself in."

He finished his beer and refused an offer of coffee. "I'm going to sleep; it's a long drive."

Dobey paid the restaurant check and opted for an early night too. He was going to have to be there for both of his cops when they were reunited.

Starsky drove most of the way in silence. He was thinking abut the confrontation up ahead and he had to admit to himself that he was scared about it. How was he going to face Hutch after what had happened; and more to the point, how was Hutch going to face him? He was still trying to work out in his mind what could have happened inside the blond's head to make him turn against Starsky in the way he had.

If he'd yelled at me, maybe even had a fight, I could have understood it; but why did he beat me up like that…why did he try to kill me?

He sniffed and Dobey stole a sidelong glance at him. Starsky had tears welling up in his eyes and the Captain decided not to broach the subject. Let him tell me if he wants to, I can't push him.

The stopped to buy gas, and stopped again later at a diner. Dobey managed to eat a burger but Starsky just toyed with his food. He pulled the pickle slices out of the burger and ate them; he dipped a couple of fries into a pool of ketchup on the side of his plate; but if he was hungry he didn't notice. He sipped a coke and stared out of the window.

"Coffee?" Starsky didn't seem to notice the waiter standing beside him. Dobey accepted a re-fill for his cup and leaned forward to touch Starsky on the arm.

"Huh?"

"Do you want more coffee honey?" The waitress was smiling at him. He looked at his cup and shook his head. He hadn't touched the coffee that had now gone cold. He stood up to go to the men's room. Dobey paid the check and then he went to the restroom. Starsky bought some gum and unwrapped a stick mechanically; he folded the foil and slipped it into his pocket then wandered out to the car. He sat tapping the wheel while he waited for Dobey to reappear. He wanted to get on – but at the same time he didn't want to get there either.

They drove on towards Seattle, the silence punctuated by Starsky's steady chewing and the occasional crack of the gum between his teeth.

After what seemed to Starsky like the longest drive he had ever made they pulled up in front of the Seattle port area precinct. Starsky parked as close as possible and the two of them went inside. Starsky was bracing himself mentally for what was ahead.

Captain Harry Benson was the kind of cop that soap opera writers create to break the bad news to a family at the climax of the episode. He was a genial man in his early fifties. Sandy hair flopped over his brow and his hazel eyes usually twinkled as he spoke, but not this time.

He greeted his opposite number warmly and held out a hand to Starsky. Starsky shook it absently, his eyes darting around the room. Benson led them into his office and they took their seats.

"We have a difficult situation here Captain." He said.

Starsky grunted and Dobey put a warning hand on the younger man's knee. Benson noticed the gesture.

"I had a partner I was close to once; I understand."

"Do you?" Starsky's voice was dangerously flat as he spoke between his teeth.

Dobey warded off trouble by speaking before the impetuous detective could say something he might regret afterwards.

Benson took the signal. "The problem is that you have an APB out on a missing cop. There was also an APB out on a possible fugitive. Your cop walked in here and confessed to being the fugitive. Now by rights if he confessed to beating up a cop we should have arrested him; but it was obvious that this is also the missing cop. So I held off from doing anything more than putting him on hold for twenty four hours until you got here."

"I want to see him now." Starsky said carefully.

Benson stood up and led him to the outer office. He called a uniformed cop over and asked him to take Starsky down to the holding cells.

Starsky followed the cop down the stairs to the cells. The first thing he noticed was the smell. For a fleeting moment he wondered if there was some kind of standard issue aerosol for this stench. The smell of unwashed clothes and flesh mingled with the stench of urine and vomit. There was only one man in the cells so the smell had to be coming from him; he was lying on a cot staring at the wall. Starsky motioned to the cop to leave him to enter alone. The man on the cot didn't move.

Hutch had always told him that he could move like a cat and Starsky stepped forward as quietly as he could. The man's shoulders moved. Aw shit I think he's crying.

Starsky crouched down by the cot; balancing on the balls of his feet, his back ramrod straight – he could hold the position longer than most people. He reached out and touched Hutch's shoulder.

"Leave me alone!"

Starsky withdrew his hand and waited a second; "Hutch?"

The other man turned to face him and Starsky saw the tears that tracked down his damaged face; he couldn't help a sharp intake of breath. It wasn't the bruises from the attack that had put Hutch into the hospital, but the effects of a fortnight's hard drinking and smoking that shocked him. Hutch's face was haggard but swollen. His eyes were puffy and it seemed to Starsky that his best friend's face had somehow expanded to a caricature of its usual good looks. He sighed and touched Hutch's cheek with his finger. Hutch said nothing but his eyes were full of shame.

"We've been here before Buddy," Starsky said, "I'll see you through the tough times."

Hutch rolled away and turned his back again. "Leave me be will you! Don't you understand that you can't help me this time?"

"Of course I can. It will take a bit of will power from you but…"

"I said leave me alone!"

Starsky recoiled as if he had touched something hot and burned his hand. "Ok." He said softly. "I'll leave you now, but I'm not going to let you go Hutch! No way am I going to let you go."

Hutch shrugged his shoulders in dismissal and Starsky walked out of the cell and back to Dobey.

Dobey took one look at Starsky and knew that the man in the cell was definitely Hutch. "What happened to him Dave?"

"I don't know, but right now he looks more like a wino from an alley off Vine than a cop." Starsky turned away for a moment and gathered himself together. "He doesn't want me there, Captain. He told me to leave him alone. Dammit I'm not taking that from him, not now, not ever!" He turned and went back down to the cells.

This time Starsky stood at the door. "Hutch, listen to me and listen good; I don't give a flying fuck what you want, but I want my partner back. So either we start be talking about what happened or I let them book you for assaulting me – it's up to you; you get the choice between a few days of hell drying out or a worse version of hell as a cop in a prison cell. You've been through the first hell before and I was there for you every minute of the way. I can't do a goddamn thing to help you if you take the second option."

He leaned against the bars of the cell; shoulder and hip against the iron, legs at a slight angle from the vertical and his ankles crossed; it wasn't a coat rack but it would do!

Hutch didn't move. He was thinking about what Starsky had just said and he was trying to find the words to answer him. He fought back a sob.

From his vantage point Starsky saw the tell-tale movement of Hutch's shoulders and waited for his next move.

"I don't deserve it." Hutch said quietly.

"Bullshit!"

"No, I don't; not after what I did. I don't deserve a friend like you."

"Too fucking bad buddy – 'cos you've got me so you'll have to put up with it!"

"Starsky…I…I…..tried to kill you!"

"And you failed miserably didn't you?"

"I'm so ashamed…" Hutch started to sob gently.

Starsky motioned to the guard to let him into the cell and went over to the cot and sat on the edge. He put his arms around Hutch's shoulders and pulled him up to lean against his chest. "Hey asshole; haven't you forgotten something? Me and thee!" He smiled and held Hutch close to him while his friend cried out his shame.

Hutch finally calmed down and Starsky pushed him gently to lean against the wall. They sat next to each other in silence until Hutch said "How are you going to deal with this?"

Starsky grinned at him. "I'll think of something. Right now I'm going to get you out of here so you can take a shower and sleep in a decent bed. Then we'll decide what to do next."

Hutch watched as Starsky walked out of the cell and skipped up the stairs to deal with the situation. Me and thee!

The guard locked the cell and went up to get himself a sandwich; leaving Hutch with his guilty conscience.

Upstairs Starsky took Dobey to one side. "He's in a bad state – like after Forrest got him. I need to get him out of here. We have to convince Benson to let us take him out of here."

"It won't be easy; Benson is sticking to the book and Hutch confessed to the assault."

"I'll hock the Torino if I have to Captain, but I'm taking Hutch out of here when I leave."

"Go get some coffee and leave it to me."

Dobey talked to Benson for a half hour that seemed like a day to Starsky. Finally the two Captains came out of the office and Benson said "OK Starsky; I'm releasing him to your personal custody."

Starsky ran back to the cells to break the good news to Hutch and Dobey watched him fondly; despite his gruff exterior the Captain had a very soft spot for these two unusual young cops. He knew how much they meant to one another and he was glad to see Starsky determined to hang onto Hutch despite what had happened. Benson shook his head. "I don't get it; the man downstairs left him for dead and he's all-fired to get him out of here."

"They're special, Benson. They are so unalike and yet they are a perfect partnership."

Whatever Benson was going to say was interrupted by the sound of Starsky yelling for help followed by a single shot.

Starsky skipped down the stairs to the cells. He wasn't going to take any self-flagellating bull-shit from Hutch; he was going to get his friend out of this stinking hole and clean him up and get him back on the streets the way things should be. Starsky's loyalty overcame his hurt and bewilderment at the way Hutch had behaved; all he knew was that right now Hutch needed him.

He walked into the holding area and stopped in his tracks. Hutch had somehow managed to twist the sheet from the cot into a kind of rope and he was hanging from the window bars. Starsky yelled for help at the top of his voice. The door was locked and he couldn't see the keys; aiming his gun at the lock was a reflex reaction.

The shot echoed around the room and Starsky's brain. He threw the gun to one side and lunged across the cell to grab Hutch by the legs and push him up gently to relieve the pressure on his throat that was slowly killing him. He thought he heard Hutch moan.

"Hutch, speak to me, grunt to me, make some kind of noise so I know you're alive." Starsky looked up at his friend's swollen red face. Hutch's tongue had already started to loll out of his mouth and his eyes were already bloodshot. Starsky pushed him up a little more and arranged himself to kneel on the cot in order to support Hutch until someone came to cut him down.

"I'm not letting you get away with this Blondie. It's the coward's way out and you know what I think of cowards." He went on speaking, saying anything that came into his head in a desperate attempt to keep Hutch with him. Hutch choked and wheezed and Starsky turned his deep blue eyes up in an appeal to his partner to stay with him.

He sent up a silent prayer and vowed to himself that he would hold to his promise made to god if Hutch survived.

Dobey and Benson ran straight down to the cells when they heard the shot. As soon as they saw the scene in the cell they coordinated without a word. Benson went to the 'phone to call for an ambulance and Dobey ran over to help Starsky.

"If you can hold him up Captain, I'll get him down." Dobey positioned himself to support Hutch's weight as soon as Starsky released him. Hutch was a big man but the escapades of the past two weeks had taken their toll and he no longer weighed as much as he should – on the other hand it was an almost dead weight that Dobey was supporting and the fat man soon broke out is beads of sweat.

As soon as he was sure that Dobey had taken the strain Starsky started to struggle with the slip knot that had tightened with every movement; finally he fished in his pocket and pulled out his pocket knife. He stood up on the cot and started to saw at the rough cotton sheet. His knife was a good one but he was grateful to see how worn and thin the sheet was. As he cut through the final threads he deftly took some of Hutch's weight again and pulled the big blond down onto the cot in a protective hug.

The paramedics arrived in time to take Hutch from Starsky's arms and lay him on a stretcher.

"Hutch, please just let me know you're alive." Starsky's voice was rough with emotion. Hutch half opened one eye; he tried to speak but the pain in his throat stopped him. He lifted his arm and touched his neck before reaching out to take Starsky's outstretched hand. His lips formed the words 'me and thee'.

Starsky was sitting by a bedside in yet another hospital room. He looked around at the familiar white walls and the board behind the bed with sockets for monitors. Hutch had an oxygen mask over his mouth and his pale blue eyes fluttered open and then closed again. This had happened more than once in the past twenty four hours and Starsky understood that it was an involuntary action. Hutch was still out cold.

The doctors had been reassuring. Starsky had got there just in time and Hutch had a good chance of full recovery.

"So I just sit with him and wait, right?"

"Yes."

"I guess there's a good side to everything." The doctor stared at Starsky; "what do you mean?"

"Well while he's unconscious he ain't drinking; and the longer he goes without a drink the easier it will be to dry out."

The doctor laughed. "That's one way of seeing it. On the other hand if he had become really dependent on alcohol his body is going to start craving it; and there's the danger of dehydration. We'll keep a close eye on that."

Starsky sat on the chair by the bed and took Hutch's hand in his. He stroked the back of Hutch's hand with his thumb. "You don't get away from me that easily kiddo!"

Somehow Dobey managed to swing things to get Hutch back to Bay City as soon as possible. He assured Benson that Hutch would be kept in police custody until the affair had been thoroughly investigated.

'Police custody' took the form of staying at Starsky's place under close watch either by Starsky or Huggy while Starsky talked to him to find out what had gone wrong.

"I was getting more and more unhappy with the job Starsky. I kept thinking of all the times I let you down. Remember when I froze in that alley? And the times when I wasn't quick enough to stop you taking a bullet? And…"

"And the times when I wasn't quick enough to stop you getting hurt, what about them, Hutch? But I didn't go off on a bender. Ok so once I got stoned out of my mind while you were in the hospital…but I was back on duty with a level head the next day!"

Hutch raised an eyebrow, "you got stoned?"

"Hey Huggy, he's getting back to normal; Duluth's homecoming Prince!"

Starsky grinned. "You want tea or coffee while we talk a bit more?"

"You know what I want."

"Nothing stronger than a Dr. Pepper and that's only if you are a good boy."

Hutch's chuckle told Starsky that he was winning.

Over the next few days Starsky held Hutch in his arms while he sobbed and fought him physically when Hutch tried to get to the wine rack in the kitchen. In the end Starsky entrusted his few bottles to Huggy "for the duration Hug, I expect to get them all back unopened!"

Slowly Hutch tried to explain what had snapped in his mind.

"I knew you were checking up on me. At first I was reassured; it meant that you wouldn't let me go too far. But I kept sneaking off for more."

"I know; you were buying from one of Benny's stores." Starsky mugged him.

"I came home one day and I saw all the bottles lined up and I thought 'fuck him why can't he just let me go!' so I tried to make you want to change partner. I figured that if I annoyed you enough you'd flare up and maybe even quit and go back to New York."

Starsky stared at him. "You thought I'd quit? Hey how long have we worked together?"

"Yea, I know, I guess it shows how dumb I was getting with the booze."

"You said it buddy, not me." Starsky nudged him gently and Hutch managed a smile.

"So I went out and I got really drunk. I was so mad at you and I didn't even know why. Starsky I was beginning to think I hated you!"

Starsky said nothing but he made that familiar gesture with his eyes that told Hutch to go on.

"I came home and the Torino was outside. I snapped. All I could think of was stopping you from emptying all my precious booze down the drain again. I needed it Starsky; don't you understand….I needed the booze more than I needed you."

Hutch covered his face with his hands and sobbed quietly. Starsky slid over to the couch and put his arms around the other man. "Hey; if you haven't understood after all we've gone through that you can't get rid of me that easily; I don't know what I'm going to do with you."

He sat quietly and held Hutch for a while. "You want to leave this for tonight?"

"No. No I need to say it all. Then you can decide if we are still friends."

"I made that decision a long time ago Hutch, and you know how stubborn I am about changing my mind."

"I opened the door and there you were, emptying a full bottle of Jack Daniels down the sink. I knew you hadn't heard me and although I was drunk I managed to get to you before you reacted. You put up a fight; I had to hit you again and again before you went down. I wanted to get to your face – stop you seeing me. When you went down I knew that you were hurt but I couldn't stop. The booze was in control Starsk. I just went on hitting you and kicking you. I heard you call out to me; I thought you'd realized who it was beating up on you, so I kicked you harder until you shut up.

I didn't know what to do. I had to get you out of there and I had to get rid of your car. I made sure you weren't going to wake up too soon and I found my set of your keys. I took the Torino to the Marina…"

"I know. Now that might be a bit harder to forgive!" Starsky raised an eyebrow.

"I walked back to the apartment; you were still out cold. I dragged you down to my car. I didn't know where to take you."

"Why not the Marina; I mean why didn't you take me in the Torino and get rid of both of us at the same time?"

"Us?"

Starsky grinned "my car's my other partner! So why didn't you put me in the water in the car?"

"I don't know. I think maybe it crossed my mind but I was too drunk to think straight. I mean I knew what I'd done; I knew what I was doing; but it seemed like it was someone else making my body do these things."

Starsky went into the kitchen and returned with fresh tea for both of them. He chinked his mug against Hutch's. "Go on."

I got you down the stairs and into my car. You groaned a bit, I thought you were coming round. I started driving; trying to think where to get rid of you. I realized that I was near Huggy's place so I…I….oh god, Starsky I pushed you out of the car without stopping and I just drove away. I wanted to get as far away as possible."

"Did you think I was dead?"

"I don't know. All I knew was that I had to get away. So I just kept driving. I guess you know the rest now."

"Yeah, your own special version of 'On the Road' all the way up to Seattle. Why Seattle?"

"At one time I thought of going across the border."

Starsky's lop-sided smile spread across his face. "Hey haven't you forgotten something? The Mounties always get their man! I'd have found you Hutch, no matter what. I knew you were alive; I just knew you were. When I was in the coma I knew that you were out there somewhere and I had to get to you. I knew you needed help. At first I thought that you'd been attacked too – that maybe whoever beat me up got to you too. I heard movements and I thought I heard you cry; so I figured they were working on you. Then I began to see things in my mind. I saw you hit me…but I didn't want to believe it. But I knew I had to find you and bring you back. I had to understand why you did that to me."

"So now you've found me, what happens next? Beating the shit out of a cop is a federal offence, they could even pin attempted murder on me, not to say being an across state fugitive."

"True. But there are mitigating circumstances."

"What?"

"Sure. One, you were drunk. Two, everybody in the precinct knows what an irritating ass-hole I can be sometimes and most of them wonder how you put up with me! Three, and this is the important thing, you are a good cop and I have no intention of breaking in another rookie from the boondocks – you were bad enough and I'm older and maybe even wiser – so I wouldn't be as tolerant as I was with you. Now go get a shower while I order a pizza."

Hutch stood up. "No jalapeno peppers!"

"Take your punishment like a man!"

Although Hutch was spared the humiliation of being charged with attacking Starsky he knew that it had to go on his files. He was suspended for three months on half pay under the condition that he entered an alcohol rehabilitation program. They also suspended his driver's license until he could prove that he was dry and stayed that way. That was tough; but Starsky was there for him all the way. He collected Hutch every day for his session in rehab and took him home at the end of the day. Starsky was refusing to work with anyone else and whenever he needed to bounce around his ideas about a case with someone he went straight to Hutch. They sat up late rapping about suspects and stake-outs and that way Hutch felt that he was still a cop. The day came when his case was up for review with the disciplinary board. Starsky put on his best suit and ran down to the Torino. Driving over to Venice Place he rehearsed everything he wanted to say to the board. How Hutch was and would always be the only cop that he would trust with his life; that is they didn't reinstate Hutch they could take his resignation there and then and, most of all, no matter what their decision he forgave Hutch everything.

He parked outside Venice Place and ran up the stairs; taking the key from its usual resting place he opened the door. Something was wrong, the hairs on the back of his neck were felt like they had sprung to attention as he walked into the dark apartment. His hand went automatically under his jacket to grab the gun slung below his right shoulder. He sniffed, stale cigarette smoke and whisky fumes floated on the air.

"Hutch?" He heard someone move in the bedroom. "Hutch, are you OK?"

He walked into the bedroom area of the apartment and a tight smile spread across his mouth. He flipped the main light switch and went over to the radio by the bed; he turned up the volume to maximum as he switched it on.

Hutch shielded his eyes with his arm and groaned. "Shit Starsky…what the f…"

"It is eight thirty and you are up in front of the board at nine fifteen. Now are you going get your ass out of bed and into the shower or do I throw a bucket of water over you where you are?"

Hutch could tell by the grim tone in Starsky's voice that he wasn't kidding. His friend was angry and for now he had it under control. He rolled off the bed carefully. His brain seemed to lurch from one side of his skull to the other and his eyes felt like they were about to slide down and out of his nose. He swallowed hard to hold back the biliousness that was rising and burning in his esophagus. He made his way painfully to the bathroom; Starsky had got there first and the shower was already running. Gratefully he stepped into the cubicle and instantly changed his mind about gratitude. The water was freezing cold; He reached for the hot faucet but Starsky's bare arm appeared through the door and stopped him. "Cold! It will wake you up and clear your head." Hutch let the cold water do its job then stepped out of the shower. Starsky held out his robe. Hutch noticed that his friend had removed his jacket and rolled up both shirt sleeves in case he had to do more than he had already done. While Hutch shrugged himself into the robe Starsky put toothpaste on the toothpaste and handed it to him in silence. Starsky's steely blue stare said everything; Hutch had better do as he was told!

Starsky made coffee while Hutch shaved and then dressed. He came into the bedroom as Hutch was putting on his vest. "Drink this and we'll go." Hutch swallowed the tongue-fuzzingly strong coffee and followed Starsky down to the car.

"You want to tell me what the hell you think you were doing getting drunk again?"

"It won't happen again."

Starsky took advantage of a red light to look Hutch in the eye. "Yes it will. Again and again, every time you think life's being too hard on you or you feel one of your guilt trips coming on or whatever. You'll hit the bottle and I'll be there to mop you up. I'm not going to cover for you Hutch. I can't stop you from drinking – only you can do that. Forrest got you onto dope but it wasn't long enough – I broke you from it, but you will always be vulnerable to addiction and that's what this drinking is. All I can do is watch over you and help you up when you fall."

"Are you going to tell them about this today?"

Starsky swallowed. Hutch answered his own question. "Only if they ask. That's it, isn't it? You can't lie to them directly but if you have to skip the issue you will."

They didn't ask; so Starsky didn't tell. The board still had reservations of allowing Hutch back on the streets. He was assigned to desk duty for another month. Starsky punched his arm gently and said "I'll let you type up all my reports if you're good."

They stood up to leave but the chairman of the review board hadn't finished. He held up a sheet of paper that a clerk had given him during the hearing.

"One last thing Hutchinson; all this happened because Detective Starsky did a bottle raid in your apartment. We had someone visit your apartment after you left this morning." Starsky and Hutch exchanged glances in silent conversation. "Did you know?" "No!"

The chairman continued. "Our man found a half-empty bottle of bourbon and a full ash tray. What do you know about this Detective Starsky?"

"No more than you do sir." Starsky kept his voice as calm as he could.

"Make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Yes sir." Starsky sat down and Hutch squeezed his hand in thanks.

They went straight to The Pits. Starsky ordered ice-coffee for both of them. "And Huggy; make sure that no matter what Blondie here asks for all the staff know that his regular is this or club soda." They chinked their glasses in a mock toast.

"What are we drinking to Starsk?"

"Me and thee; what else?"

Huggy brought cheeseburgers but Starsky pushed his away. Hutch looked at him carefully. Starsky smiled. "I can't eat that Hug; meat and cheese ain't kosher!"

"Do what?"

"I made a promise to keep Hutch alive – I can hack it for a year."

"This is going to be interesting." Huggy said.

Hutch fingered the streak of white hair that followed the scar tissue on his partner's scalp. "What did they say about that?"

"Fifty-fifty it starts growing in the right color. If not I guess I can always dye the rest candy apple red and to match my car!"

Hutch sighed and sipped his coffee.

Huggy raised his whiskey "I'll drink to that."