Moonshine, a missing scene, after the bar.
"Starsk. You ok over there?" Hutch walked around to the passenger side of the car, where Starsky was propped up against the door, his skin pale and sweaty.
"Ooooohhh, Hutch. I think I'm gonna die. Why'd ya let me drink that hooch, huh?" Starsky leaned over again, retching violently.
"Come on, buddy. Can you at least get up and into the back of the car? Let's go back to our hotel room and you can lie down." Hutch helped Starsky get to his feet and moved the seat back so that he could crawl into the back. "Man, you stink. Don't light a match, because the alcohol fumes could blow us sky high."
"Hutch, I'm gonna puke again. Where's that pail?"
"Here you go."
"Uhhhhgggguhrrrhh, he gagged, bringing up even more of his stomach contents. " Please, take my gun and shoot me, Hutch. Be a pal." Starsky lay down on the seat and then sat up again as his head started to whirl. "Just get me to that hotel, fast." he said, retching yet again into the pail. "My stomach and head hurt so bad, Hutch. Ooohhhhurrrrkk."
"Ok, let's go." Hutch jumped into the front seat of the Torino, speeding away to the Lonely Lights Hotel, out on the edge of town.
Starsky was halfway passed out by the time they got to the hotel. "Babe, can you wake up for me?" said Hutch, opening the door and moving the seat ahead.
"Ohhhhh, Hutch. I'm dying, I tell you, and it can't come fast enough for me." Starsky tried to stand up but failed, and Hutch grabbed him, picking him up in a fireman's carry, slung over his shoulder.
"Just don't puke down my back, pal, please. Almost there." Hutch fumbled with the keys and managed to get the door open without dropping Starsky on his head. "Here we are. Do you want to lie down, Starsk?"
"Nooooo, I need the bathroom. NOW." Hutch dragged Starsky to the toilet, where he lay draped over the bowl, heaving up his guts. Again and again he threw up until there was nothing left but dry heaves and pain.
"Starsk, I'm getting scared here. It's the hospital for you if this doesn't stop."
"No! No hospital!" Starsky lay down on the cold tile floor. "Jus' give me a minute, I'll be ok." Hutch sat down on the floor beside his friend, leaning against the side of the tub. He rubbed Starsk's back in gentle circles, waiting for the painful heaving to stop.
After a few minutes, Starsky groaned, "Hutch, I need t'lie down. Nothing more coming out of me even if I tried. If you see my liver somewhere, tell it I'm sorry, wouldja?"
"Yeah, buddy. I think you're all right for now. Don't see anything resembling a liver in there, but there might be a few feet of your guts."
"Huuuutch, don't. You're gonna make me sick 'gain."
"Sorry. That was mean." Hutch flushed the mess down the toilet, hauled Starsky to his feet and got him onto one of the beds in the room.
"Jus' let me sleep it off, Hutch, 'kay? I'll be fine."
"I'm sure you will. Go to sleep."
Soon, ear-shattering snores were coming from the pathetic, smelly figure sprawled face down on the bed.
Hutch let out a sigh and got up to open a window. The stench of vomit and alcohol were enough to make him nauseous too, and he didn't need that, not after what he'd just witnessed. One of them being sick was more than enough for him.
He hoped that Starsky was over the worst of it, but he had no idea how they were going to function the next day.
At least his best buddy was going to live, not like the other unfortunate men. He had to admit that watching Starsky drink that liquor had scared the shit out of him. What if…..
With a weary sigh, he stretched out on the other bed, keeping vigil over his sleeping friend. It was going to be one hell of a long night.
