An Extraordinary Day
Please let me introduce myself. My name is Bertha Thorton and I work as an assistant in a large pharmaceutical company in Bay City. I enjoy my job and take pride in what I do—selling the medicines, medical supplies, and other merchandise you would normally find in a pharmacy. I have worked here for 25 years and plan to stay for many more. I am telling you this because of an incident that happened not long ago. One that I will never forget.
Usually, my work week is a routine one. I work all day, go home, have dinner, then watch TV or perhaps read a book before retiring for the night. I awake the next morning and the cycle starts again. One day simply following the one before it. That is, until this one particular day. Let me tell you about that day and its extraordinary events.
One of the favorite parts of my job is greeting the customers, assisting them with their purchases, and sending them on their way with a warm good-by and a wish that they come back soon. Many of the people who come into the store are regulars whom I have come to know and care about. One such customer was leaving as another entered.
A man burst through the door as if he were in a great hurry, knocking the other customer against the door jamb. Without any apology whatsoever, he then stomped over to my counter, thumping his fist on the countertop for attention. I had never seen him before. He was a balding, rather overweight man with a rude, brusque manner. His whiskered face wore a surly, almost threatening, expression. I barely had time to greet him before he loudly demanded the items he wanted and insisted they be produced immediately. "Ain't got no time for your dawdlin'. Hurry up!" he said. He then told me he wanted supplies for a leg cast. While I was gathering the plaster, cotton batting, and adhesive tape, he was fidgeting and nervously looking over his shoulder, like he was afraid someone would see him there. When I gave him the hastily wrapped package, he slapped his money on the counter without saying another word and hurried away, almost running out the door. I remember wondering why he would need those items; he certainly didn't look like he needed them himself.
Later that night, he came to mind again and I recalled his unusual behavior and rude manner. In my 25 years of working at that company, I don't think I have ever met anyone as impolite and disrespectful as he was. I didn't expect to see him or hear from him again.
The next day started out as it usually did with serving customers and stocking shelves. During that shift, two police officers with serious expressions came through the door and walked over to me. They asked if I could remember seeing anyone unusual come into the store recently. I instantly thought of the incident the day before and described the encounter with that horrible man. I was asked to go down to the station and look through some pictures and to be sure to ask for a Detective Hutchinson. I signaled to my coworker that I needed to leave for a short time and left to go to the station.
When I arrived, I was escorted to a back office. The officer with me called over to two others sitting at a desk, telling them that I was there to look at some photos. The blond one, Detective Hutchinson I thought, distractedly waved his arm, saying to just go ahead with the pictures. His full attention was on the dark-haired man sitting across from him. He looked ill, pale and shaky with a sheen of sweat covering his face. Even from where I sat, I could sense they were close. When the ailing one held out his hand and the other grasped it as if he would never let go, I knew they shared a bond as strong as steel, one that could never be broken. I couldn't catch their words, but I saw the sad, rueful expression of the one who was sick and the concerned, pained one of the other. My heart went out to them both for whatever it was they were going through.
I turned back to the pictures that had been given to me, leaving them in their private world, still holding tightly onto each other's hand. When I came across one picture, I recognized him right away. I didn't know his name but I knew who he was—the rude man who had come in to the store yesterday. I couldn't quite believe that I had found the man the police were so desperately searching for. I hurried over to show the two detectives what I had found. They were so concentrated on each other that at first Detective Hutchinson brushed me away. But when I told them I recognized that man and why he had made such a great impression on me—that he had wanted ingredients for a leg cast- they both reacted like I had just given them the most wonderful Christmas present they had ever received. Detective Hutchinson was so excited that he stuttered when he repeated what I had told him, his blue eyes shining, as if it was too good to be true. His partner looked up at him with a desperate, expectant look of hope in his eyes. He rose more slowly and stiffly but with the same determination as his partner to go after that man. No words were spoken, but I could tell they were talking in their own special way. They reached out for each other and with the one helping the other, they hurried out the door. I said a little prayer for their safety and that they would find what they were looking for.
It wasn't until later that I learned the whole story and both the detectives' names. How that man, Vic Bellamy, had injected a powerful poison into Detective Starsky, giving him only 24 more hours to live. He was following the orders of a professor who was out to exact revenge on the detectives. He had blamed them for the death of his son who had been involved in drugs and had been killed in a police raid. I also learned that Vic Bellamy was now dead, killed in a shootout with the two detectives, and the mastermind of the plot was in jail. In addition, that Detective Hutchinson had found the antidote in time to save the life of his partner.
I can't tell you how deeply happy I am for this pair. Because, although I had met them only for the briefest of time, I knew they were special young men who had a bond so unique, so strong, that if the one hadn't survived, the other wouldn't have either. My prayer had been answered and for that I was very grateful.
A couple weeks later, I was pleased and surprised to see them come through the door of the store. The dark-haired one that I now knew as Detective Starsky had a big grin lighting up his face. He still seemed somewhat pale to me and was walking a little slowly. His partner, with a softer, gentler smile, was close by his side, as if he were afraid to be too far away, that he needed to be close to protect him. They introduced themselves as Ken Hutchinson and David Starsky, each of them reaching a hand out to me. As our hands touched, I could feel the warmth and love these two shared and knew it was deep and strong, just like that steel bond I mentioned earlier. They thanked me for coming forward and identifying Vic Bellamy's picture. Detective Hutchinson's voice cracked when he told me I was the key to their finding that man and saving his partner's life. When Detective Starsky heard that voice crack, he reached over and gripped the other's arm, again sending a silent message that only they could hear and understand. I knew I had been a part of something rare and magical, just as I also knew they were more than just partners, they were also best friends and a brother to each other.
I had told you earlier that in my 25 years of working here, I had never met anyone as mean and unpleasant as that man known as Vic Bellamy. And now I can tell you that in those same 25 years, I have never met anyone as kind, true, and genuinely sincere as these two detectives who stood before me. I felt privileged to have been able to play a small part in their lives. As they were leaving, arms over each other's shoulder, and with tears in my eyes, I again said a prayer for their continued safety and that their bond would always stay as strong as it was today. Somehow, I knew my prayer would be answered.
