I had rarely seen one without the other. Lonely and Eddie, two lowly figures that haunted this seedy neighborhood of pawn shops and massage parlors. The mainstream had long since passed them by and they had no importance other than to each other. But now Lonely was dead, the victim of an assault in the parking lot of the Stardust. The two detectives, Starsky and Hutchinson, were already on the scene when I arrived. I wasn't surprised. They had a habit of staying close to the action in this part of town. They also had a habit of staying close to each other, I'd noticed. But that was neither here nor there and certainly had no bearing on this investigation. Or did it?
I watched Starsky questioning Eddie about what he'd seen. Actually, it was more like consoling. Without his buddy, Eddie'd lost his connection to the rest of the world. He was confused – as confused as a homeless man on house arrest. Locked in limbo.
"Make sure he's okay before you leave." Starsky told me. It wasn't just a procedural instruction. It was a personal request.
We saw senseless brutality like this often enough on the street. It was part of our job. Before today I hadn't known how immune to it I'd become. But then I saw the look in the detective's eyes. Starsky didn't just feel compassion for Eddie, he felt empathy.
"And give him a ride down to the mission." He turned from me and walked over to his partner, Detective Hutchinson. They stood together with their heads inclined, in truth nearly touching, as they exchanged what they'd learned about the incident. For a brief second I felt a cold shadow pass over me as I imagined what might happen to one of them if they were to lose the other. But then I went to help Eddie into the squad car and the moment was gone.
Back at headquarters I filled out my report with the facts of Lonely's death as I knew them. Somehow it seemed so inadequate. How does one convey the loss of someone's other half in mere words typed a piece of paper?