CHAPTER FOUR
SATURDAY, JUNE 17TH

"Cap, there's a uniform on the door," Starsky complained as he sat on his hospital bed, legs crossed. "I ain't blind."

His Captain was reading the paper sitting in what had become his regular chair. The smaller, hard plastic one didn't fit his larger frame and he had taken it upon himself to trade it out with one he found in the doctor's lounge down the hall. So far, it had been left there.

"He's there for your own protection, Starsky."

"Does this have anything to do with our little romp with Internal Affairs yesterday that you cut short?"

Dobey folded the paper into fourths and put it on the nightstand for later reading. "I told those turkeys to stay away until at least Monday, and not talk to you without me here."

"I can handle those ass wipes, Cap."

"Not on your own," he countered. "Not in this situation. You know that with your memory being scattered those bozos would jump at a chance to play games with you. Especially Simonetti. He'd love to nail you two."

"Pretty sure he'd choose that over a blow job from Farrah Fawcett."

Dobey was good at presenting himself as disaffected, but even this joke resulted in a snort from him.

Starsky pulled the lone sheet over his legs while looking around the room avoiding the silence between the two. "Cap, that rookie do-gooder out there – and I do know he's a wet behind the ears rookie. The creases on his bright blue, brand new uniform could crack an egg. Poor kid. You walk by him and he nearly pees his superman underpants."

"Your point?"

"You don't have to hang out here all the time. I need to stay in your wife's good graces. Her monthly pot roast dinners keep me sane."

"I eat the same pot roasts and I question my sanity daily," he smirked hoping to get the slightest hint of consolation out of his detective. "But, anyway, I don't think you have to worry about that." The smile on the Captain's face needed no explanation. His two top detectives were also fodder for his wife's mother henning. "I just want to be here when you start remembering things."

"I can write things down," Starsky whined showing his boss a pencil and paper in front of him.

"I know. I read your reports, remember?" Eyes rolled with this announcement. "That's why I'm here. Listen Starsky, let's start with the basics. What cases were you guys working on?"

Starsky laid back and stared at the stark white ceiling while covering his forehead with his interlaced fingers as though magically rubbing the memories to fruition. "That cold case from six years ago – Hamlin. So far, we got very little. A couple of questionables that turned into natural deaths. We've been working with narcotics on several drug related murders. We closed four this month already. That leaves two open. Prepped with that cold fish, ADA Martha Davis, for the Weston trial…. and… and… "

Starsky closed his eyes as he suddenly remembered snippets of a conversation he'd had with Hutch.

"….every time… shit disappears."

"….inside. Or infiltrated. Don't know."

"….party….."

"…getting close…"

"…trust…"

"Me and thee…. Have to find the right time."

"…no one… I'll talk to… You got Dobey?"

"Cap?" Starsky opened his eyes and took a deep breath. "Did we talk to you before this happened? About something big?"

"Not that I recall."

"Did someone else in the department?"

Captain Dobey shook his head.

Starsky felt so sure. SO sure. "No one talked to you?"

"Nobody. Starsky? What do you remember?"

"I don't know," he moaned. "I just know I need to be with Hutch. And I need to know what the fuck happened."

They were both frustrated, tired, bolstered with anxiety and fear of the unknown, and nearly talking on top of one another.

"It's a process, Starsky, you know that."

"No, I don't know that. And why won't you tell me about Hutch?"

Dobey scooted forward in his seat and rested his elbows on his knees. With a deep breath and reluctant hesitation, he pointedly looked up at Starsky eye to eye. "Son…"

"Here we go."

"Dave… "

"Told you not to do that."

"I'm not supposed to tell you anything. There's an ongoing investigation…"

"What investigation?" He was done playing the patient with patience role. All bets were off as he bolted off the bed and wandered over to the window, his left hand holding his hospital gown closed at his naked rear end. "Geez, what the hell is going on here?" he pleaded with a shaky voice. "I have a right to know what put me here."

"Yes…. Yes, you do. Just one thing at a time. Starsky, You were assaulted…"

"That's obvious. What aren't you telling me?"

Captain Dobey remained in his seat with arms crossed over his large chest clearly unsure of what direction this discussion would take: Continued beating around the bush, or the truth. He chose a variety of the latter. "You both were."

"What?"

"A couple uniforms out on patrol found you…"

"…me?"

"Yes, just you… a couple blocks away from Hutch's apartment. I was called to the scene because… well... that's not important now."

That brought Starsky back to the bed on the other side of his Captain. He leaned over the bed and demanded answers as his exasperated eyes locked onto Dobey's. "Where is he?"

"Slow down. The doctors wanted me to wait a few more days… until your head was clear."

"Stop saying that. I've had my bell rung before and nobody gave a flying fuck… sorry Cap… nobody gave a shit how clear my head was. Well, its crystal clear now," he said while pointing to the messy mop of curls. "NOW would be a good time to tell me everything."

"But they want your memory to come back naturally, slowly, and definitely not all at once. Certainly it's best for the investigation if you can remember the events without extraneous…"

"Extraneous. Sounds like a word Hutch would use. He's not extraneous, Cap. Not to me."

"I know. I know."

Starsky entered the pacing mode now, walking in repeated patterns from the bed to the window and back. "Where is he?"

"He's here too, in this hospital. Just in another part of it."

"Is he OK?"

"Don't you worry about him." Dobey was back to the beating-around-the-bush answers. "I was just about to go over there…"

"I'm going too."

"No. You're just not ready."

"But I'm not tied to those damn IVs anymore, Cap." Starsky put his free arms up in the air and waved them in front of Dobey. "Look, Ma. Two hands."

"No."

"See… No more IV lines. They just have this little shunt thingy in my hand instead for those steroid injections they give me for my squashed squash. Mary calls it a happy locker."

"Hep lock, sugar", Mary corrected him as she made her way into the room with a tray holding four syringes.

"Four?" Starsky whined at his nurse.

Mary patted the bed directing him to sit down. "First one's a saline flush. The second one has the steroids. Saline flush again, then heparin to keep the line from clotting. Needles go in the line, not your tush, sweetie. Don't worry."

"Medicine still hurts when it goes in."

"I know," she said as she finished flushing the line then pushed the steroids. "Burns, I know. Sorry. Almost done."

Starsky looked down and away towards Captain Dobey with a grimace as she completed her task. It just seemed wrong not to have Hutch there helping him through this. Don't be a big baby, mushbrain, he would be scolding.

"Look, gorgeous," Starsky delivered turning his attention back to the older lady he had come to trust but had yet not been able to coerce, "I need to make an escape. You know, blow this popsicle stand. Take a powder."

"Such effort, Dave, and with passion too," she answered with a twinkled smile. "But you're barely on your feet."

"A stroll around the hospital. Need to see a friend. Come on, darling," he tried with his best Rico Suave mask, "these white walls are making me feel like a caged animal."

"Oh, you're an animal alright, but no unauthorized strolls just yet. Maybe you can go for a short spin around just the floor tonight in a wheelchair. But definitely not now. You need at least two good meals in you and some more sleep."

She had done this before. She'd done this for a very long time, he was sure of it. There was no breaking Mary!

"Please, Cap," he begged, "we need…"

"You heard the boss lady. Not now." Dobey then stooped over and talked very quietly to his detective as Mary deposited the empty syringes in the appropriate red Sharps container and stepped out. "Besides, visitors have been restricted."

"Says who?"

"Says me. And your doctors. Your little colleague in the starched blues wearing a badge out there has been alerted to your potential for slipping out without permission, so don't try anything… or I'll pay Mary extra to sit next to your carcass 24/7."

Starsky put his elbow up on the rolling tray over his bed and moped his chin into his hand. "Cap…"

"Look, Starsky, I'll give Hutch your regards, OK?"

"He's probably just as antsy to get out of here as me."

"Excuse me, Captain, Dobey," Mary said cracking the door open, "there's a phone call for you at the nurse's station. And they called from downstairs. I guess they're waiting for you for some meeting."

"I forgot. Thank you, Mary. You're a gem," he gave her with a polite smile as he stood to leave. "Starsky, I'll be back tomorrow when your doctors stop in. They want to have a meet and greet about possibly discharging you, and… and, well, we have some things to talk about."

"Is that where you're going now? A meet and greet about Hutch's discharge?"

"Something like that."

Starsky settled back in his bed ready for a long nap before his bland hospital dinner arrived. "Hey, tell Hutch if he wants to get the sewer pipe disconnected from his plumbing he has to sit up in bed, walk to the bathroom by himself and be a good little boy. He's a real shitty patient. Oh, and no enemas without prior approval. Tell him I'll get there to see him as soon as I can. Tell him that, huh Cap? And Cap…. Tell him I miss him."

Dobey stopped before exiting the room, the door propped half open. "You really don't remember that day, do you?"

With his head planted firmly on the pillow, Starsky shook his head and slung an arm over his eyes to hide his spent feelings.

The tugging on his shoulder opened his eyes, but Starsky really woke up when he focused his eyes on who was doing the tugging.

"Detective…"

"Worst nightmare ever… Simonetti?"

The smug, brash Internal Affairs pain-in-the ass placed a grease laden paper bag on the bedside table. "Is that how you thank someone who brings you a Deluxe Bay City Burger from The Pits?"

Wiping his eyes from blurry to clear, Starsky propped himself up on one elbow. "Yeah, well Dobey said you turds get to stay in your shit house until Monday. I believe you're two days early for the inquisition."

"Late evening when you are your sleepiest is sometimes the best time to pull from your memory."

"Go fuck yourself. Then wash the scum off your hands and do it again."

Simonetti righted himself and looked over his shoulder at the doorway… at the suit there… at Schrader. "So tell me, Starsky, what do you remember?"

"You don't quit."

"Just doing my job. You would too."

"There's a question of work ethic here. Pretty sure I outplay you on that one."

"Do you? Does Hutchinson?"

"Ask him."

Again, Simonetti glanced at his superior.

"Stop looking at Daddy for support," Starsky spit.

"Tell me about what you two were working on"

"It's no secret. Cold case, court prep and a month of co-op work with Narcotics. Why?"

The IA cop was hammering away with no relief. "What brought you guys to the point you were at last Thursday?"

"Point? What the hell are you talking about?" His level of frustration was building as he sat up and turned the light on over his head. "What point? Look, all I remember is talking to Hutch about missing shit, something about needing to talk to someone and trusting each other. Maybe planning something. It's just snippets and the docs here say I should eventually remember everything, but… And, damn it, I needed to get something from the car."

Before Starsky could finish, Simonetti walked over to have a conversation with Schrader in hushed voices.

"I'm right here, ya know. You realize that." Starsky fell back onto his pillow exasperated. A few words later and Schrader left the room altogether.

"OK, look Detective," Simonetti bolstered walking back to the bed, "you need to be frank with us."

"I only know one language, maybe a little Yiddish, but I'm pretty sure fuck off is universally understood. So let me put it to you in your own language of Simple Dimwit… FUCK. OFF."

"Excuse me?"

"Yiddish. Originated in the 9th century. Was the language of the Ashkenazi Jews. Pete down in the motor pool can help you with this…"

"You think you're funny, don't you."

"Hutch thinks I'm hysterical."

"Look, Starsky, you need to…"

"I know what I need to do, moron. And if I remember anything I'll tell Hutch first."

Simonetti sighed but not without a small, garish half-smile escaping.

"Where'd the burger come from anyway? Even Huggy hasn't been allowed to visit."

"I guess you could say Hutch sent it."

"Yeah? Too bad I can't thank him personally."

"You want to see Hutch? I think I can arrange that."

"Wait…. Now? You can get me to him now?"

"Yeah, sure, why not."

As Simonetti left the room to get a wheelchair, Starsky giddily gathered some things to take to Hutch. "Those lemons swabs," he mumbled looking in cupboards and finally finding his loot in the bedside nightstand. "Yes, these are awesome." He held several of them like a bouquet of flowers. "And where's that cherry lip balm Edith Dobey gave me instead of the one here that tastes like moldy butt…?" Getting his bathrobe on, he found the lip balm in the pocket. "Snap! I'm a genius."

The last thing Starsky grabbed before sitting in the wheelchair with Simonetti in the driver's seat, was the newspaper Dobey left behind. "He likes to read the stock market. He even makes notes in the margin. Dork."

As they made a quick exit, Starsky reached over and plucked a pencil from the officer's shirt pocket tucking it into the newspaper on his lap. "Going for a ride, Sheriff," he snickered. He didn't see the nod shared between the officer and Simonetti.

"David." Mary's soft but curt voice was unmistakable.

"Uh oh, Charlie Brown, we're caught."

"Sneaking out the bedroom window?" She asked in the voice of authority that reminded Starsky of his own mother. "What's your destination, boys?"

"Just going for a spin with my… friend… ma'am," Starsky gave like a guilt laden preteen boy. "Clearing the cob webs. Around the floor, Mary. Just like you said." Seeing what was in her hands, he couldn't help himself. "Mary, can I have those socks?"

Mary looked down at her hands. "What, you don't like your purple ones?"

"Variety is the spice of life, right?"

With that, Starsky added the pink socks to his collection of gifts for Hutch.

As colleagues gestured Mary towards another room for help, she pointed a finger at Starsky and shook it at him. "Five minutes, young man. I want you back in your room in five minutes."

"Yes, Mom."

As soon as the nurse was out of sight, Simonetti steered Starsky into an elevator. With a quick turnaround to face the mirrored doors, Starsky looked up at the buttons of floor numbers, several lit up. "What floor are we going to," he mumbled doing everything he could not to look at his battered reflection.

Simonetti shrugged his shoulders. "Going down."

"What floor," he asked again not feeling comfortable with the close quarters amidst a cluster of strangers not to mention his own likeness.

"There's always the basement." Simonetti was a dirt ball through and through. He was looking for shock value yet Starsky played it cool, even though the current conditions didn't quite allow for the beat down he wanted to give the jerk even from his vertically challenged spot.

Before the elevator doors even opened, Starsky started getting excited. He patted his bathrobe pocket to make sure the cherry lip balm was there. He held tightly onto the bouquet of lemon glycerin mouth swabs on top of the newspaper, a pencil tucked into a fold. The swabs were sure to get a laugh out of the blond.

The first thing Starsky noticed when they got out of the elevator on the fifth floor was the stark difference from his own floor. It was quiet and foot traffic was limited to a few tired looking visitors. They had to go through two sets of double doors and once they got to patient rooms, well, they weren't really rooms. Passing by three before stopping, Starsky noticed from his seated position that they were just areas with curtains, sometimes a wall on each side of the bed, but no doors. In his mind they looked like work cubicles for sick people. He looked up and over the nurse's station and spotted a sign.

CICU
Visitors check in with unit desk first

"What…? Hey Tricky Dick," he asked looking up at Simonetti, "what's CICU?" He knew. He knew the gravity of it, but hoped, just hoped… "Not funny, asshole. This is not even…"

"Here we are," was the non-answer as they turned into a patient area directly across from the main desk. "Hold on. Just going to angle your wheelchair…"

Starsky heard nothing else. He saw the dry erase board across from the end of the bed that said:

Ken Hutchinson
NPO
Charge Nurse: Paola
Drs. Adams, Patel, Barken

But when he looked at the patient in the bed his head could not wrap around what he was seeing.

"No."

The newspaper slipped to the floor as he rose from the wheelchair and walked to the bed. The pink socks ended up under a chair.

"NO." Other than the hum of the machinery, the only sound came from the pencil rolling under the bed.

Gravity dropped his hand down and he walked through the scattered lemon swabs that fell and bounced in several different directions.

"This isn't him," he said looking back at Simonetti. "This isn't Hutch. It's not."