THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE..
By: CindyR
"I don it believe it! That's Tommy LaBeck over there!" Sgt. Ken Hutchinson dumped the rest of his coffee out the car window and shoved the big car into gear, slamming his partner - jelly donut and all - back against the seat.
"LaBeck?" The other man wiped strawberry jam from his chin with a paper napkin, while struggling to right himself. The napkin and donut followed the coffee cup out the window. "Vice has been looking for him for the last six months."
"Yeah, and we got him." Hutch pulled the car around into a tight U-turn, bringing it to a halt in front of a dingy looking bar with the unlikely appellation of The Cosmic Equation. "I got the front."
"I'll get the back." He disappeared around the corner, leaving Hutch to enter the front door alone.
Lousy hole in the wall. Hutch thought to himself, peering around the dim interior. Kind of place even the roaches don't visit.
Several patrons lounged around the long wooden bar, sipping beer and shooting him suspicious glances. Being the only white in the place did tend to make one a bit conspicuous, he thought wryly. He felt a bit like a cue ball. Yeah, a cue ball Right behind the eight ball. As usual.
Faint shadows danced in the murky dimness, giving the patrons within a wraith-like aspect. The dark suited these creatures of the night, concealed that which was not fitting - rarely even spoken of - in the purer light of day. With the dawn these ones would be gone, vanished like the specters they so resembled.
Slowly, Hutch made his way into the smoke-filled interior, searching for one face among the many. A largish man with magnificent full beard and a sullen expression stuck a leg out into the aisle, blocking Hutch's progress. Defiance smoldered in the muddy eyes, a rejection of the authority inherent in the straight, confident figure.
The moment held then faded as the Negro changed his mind. Experienced black eyes summed the blond up instantly - hard, cold, no one to mess with unless he wanted more trouble than it was worth. Reluctantly, the bearded man withdrew his leg, rejecting the challenge shining in the crystal blue eyes.
"Another time, pig," he muttered.
Hutch dismissed him as soon as the man had backed down. Another time. Yeah, I believe that.
A flash of movement from the rear of the bar caught Hutch's attention. He moved swiftly across the room, only slightly hampered by the unwashed bodies which blocked his path. He arrived barely in time to see a smallish weasel of a man slipping out the back door.
"Hold it, Pol-" Hutch halted mid-word as a large, masculine hand reached through the now opened door, snagging LaBeck by the shirt collar and lifting him clear off the floor.
"Now, now, little man." A smug smile followed the hand into the room. "You're not going anywhere, are you?" A stream of invective was the only response until the large hand - attached to a very large cop - gave him a rough shake. "That's enough of that, little man. You're under arrest,"
Detective Sergeant Sean O'Brian held the prisoner with one hand while cuffing him with the other, all the while reciting the Miranda in an amiable baritone. Hutch watched quietly, resisting the almost uncontrollable urge to look around for Starsky.
Starsky's in the hospital, he reminded himself for the hundredth time that day. Reminded himself unnecessarily - the events of those few weeks ago were burned indelibly into the fabric of his mind, a waking/sleeping nightmare that followed him wherever he went. Starsky was alive, but mending slowly - very slowly. The wounds 'Massive damage, ' had brought the man to the point of death... and beyond.
He'd survived - barely - and was now on the mend, but it would be a long time before Starsky had regained enough of his health to work with Hutch again... if indeed he ever did. The doctors were frankly skeptical on that point.
In the meantime, Dobey, in a rare burst of diplomacy, had teamed Hutchinson "temporarily" with Sgt. O' Brian, a large, towheaded Irishman as different from David Starsky as night was from day. Where Starsky was hot-headed, O' Brian was placid. Where Starsky was instinctive, O'Brian was reasoned. Where Starsky would rush in, O'Brian would plan carefully down to the last detail. No comparisons one to the other; no reminders.
Hutch found himself liking the amiable man despite an initial resentment on Starsky's behalf, and even Starsky, in one of his now frequent moments of lucidity, had pronounced O'Brian a suitable "stand-in" capable of watching his partner's back "for a little while." High praise indeed for Starsky.
Hutch took one of LaBeck's cuffed arms, helping O'Brian drag the little man back to the Ford. "Vice'll be glad to see this one," the Irishman commented. "He's -been at the top of their list for awhile."
Hutch grunted assent but could force no more enthusiasm than that. Yeah, right, they caught Tommy LaBeck. Big deal.
He was immediately sorry for the reaction. LaBeck sold dope in the local high schools. Taking him out of circulation was a big deal, and O'Brian had every right to be proud of the collar. No sense ruining his sense of accomplishment just because Hutch was in a bitchy mood.
"Vice will be very glad to get hold of this one," he agreed, dredging up a smile. He nodded over his shoulder at the loudly cursing man cuffed to an armrest in the back, "Got quite a mouth on him, doesn't he?"
O' Brian turned suddenly in his seat, "Quiet!" he bellowed startling both LaBeck and Hutch into silence. "Sorry. He was getting on my nerves. What did you say?"
"Uh... only that Vice is going to be glad to get him off the street. " Hutch tried again to lighten his tone but failed miserably when he caught himself wishing for the umpteenth time that it was a curly-haired imp sitting in that seat grinning at him rather than this big Irishman. He smothered that thought as well. Sean was a good man and a fine cop. It wasn't his fault he wasn't Dave Starsky.
O'Brian caught the single glance cast his way and accurately deduced the meaning behind it. He might be an easy-going man, but was neither insensitive nor stupid, and was well aware of what his "partner" was going through of late. Dobey had been quite open with him on the subject.
"Hutchinson is not going to accept you as a partner," he'd admitted one day. "But he needs someone level-headed to watch out for him. With Starsky out of it..."
"Permanently?" The question was reasonable and polite, but still ignited a flash of anger of Dobey's chocolate brown eyes. So the stories were true -- Dobey did have a soft spot in that steel clad heart of his for this pair of hotshots.
"We don't know if it's permanent or not, O'Brian," the police captain answered stubbornly, "and we won't know for some time. Until then, Hutchinson is not going to be at his best, and I want someone I can trust keeping an eye on him."
"You're sure..." Sean stumbled over another reasonable question. "You're sure he's going to be able to... uh, function on the streets?" Is he going to get me killed?
Dobey's eyes gleamed stonily in the office light. "He'll do his job, O' Brian, don't you worry about that. You just make sure you do yours
"Yes, sir."
And so an unlikely pseudo-partnership was born, with both men learning to work together bit by bit. O'Brian was constantly reminded, however, not by word nor deed but only by instinct, that he was not Detective Hutchinson's partner, was there temporarily and by sufferance only until Detective Starsky returned.
O' Brian sighed. The scuttlebutt had it that Starsky would not be returning to the force; would be pensioned out on a medical discharge. Privately, O'Brian believed that Ken would be going with him. As close as those two were, as dependent as they had become on each other's support, there was as little chance of Hutch staying with the department without Starsky as there was of Starsky coming back at all.
O'Brian would miss the man, but understood this would be for the best. After all, it was about time O'Brian hooked up with a permanent partner of his own. The streets could be very lonely without one - as evidenced by one Detective Sergeant Kenneth C. Hutchinson. Very lonely indeed,
By: CindyR
"I don it believe it! That's Tommy LaBeck over there!" Sgt. Ken Hutchinson dumped the rest of his coffee out the car window and shoved the big car into gear, slamming his partner - jelly donut and all - back against the seat.
"LaBeck?" The other man wiped strawberry jam from his chin with a paper napkin, while struggling to right himself. The napkin and donut followed the coffee cup out the window. "Vice has been looking for him for the last six months."
"Yeah, and we got him." Hutch pulled the car around into a tight U-turn, bringing it to a halt in front of a dingy looking bar with the unlikely appellation of The Cosmic Equation. "I got the front."
"I'll get the back." He disappeared around the corner, leaving Hutch to enter the front door alone.
Lousy hole in the wall. Hutch thought to himself, peering around the dim interior. Kind of place even the roaches don't visit.
Several patrons lounged around the long wooden bar, sipping beer and shooting him suspicious glances. Being the only white in the place did tend to make one a bit conspicuous, he thought wryly. He felt a bit like a cue ball. Yeah, a cue ball Right behind the eight ball. As usual.
Faint shadows danced in the murky dimness, giving the patrons within a wraith-like aspect. The dark suited these creatures of the night, concealed that which was not fitting - rarely even spoken of - in the purer light of day. With the dawn these ones would be gone, vanished like the specters they so resembled.
Slowly, Hutch made his way into the smoke-filled interior, searching for one face among the many. A largish man with magnificent full beard and a sullen expression stuck a leg out into the aisle, blocking Hutch's progress. Defiance smoldered in the muddy eyes, a rejection of the authority inherent in the straight, confident figure.
The moment held then faded as the Negro changed his mind. Experienced black eyes summed the blond up instantly - hard, cold, no one to mess with unless he wanted more trouble than it was worth. Reluctantly, the bearded man withdrew his leg, rejecting the challenge shining in the crystal blue eyes.
"Another time, pig," he muttered.
Hutch dismissed him as soon as the man had backed down. Another time. Yeah, I believe that.
A flash of movement from the rear of the bar caught Hutch's attention. He moved swiftly across the room, only slightly hampered by the unwashed bodies which blocked his path. He arrived barely in time to see a smallish weasel of a man slipping out the back door.
"Hold it, Pol-" Hutch halted mid-word as a large, masculine hand reached through the now opened door, snagging LaBeck by the shirt collar and lifting him clear off the floor.
"Now, now, little man." A smug smile followed the hand into the room. "You're not going anywhere, are you?" A stream of invective was the only response until the large hand - attached to a very large cop - gave him a rough shake. "That's enough of that, little man. You're under arrest,"
Detective Sergeant Sean O'Brian held the prisoner with one hand while cuffing him with the other, all the while reciting the Miranda in an amiable baritone. Hutch watched quietly, resisting the almost uncontrollable urge to look around for Starsky.
Starsky's in the hospital, he reminded himself for the hundredth time that day. Reminded himself unnecessarily - the events of those few weeks ago were burned indelibly into the fabric of his mind, a waking/sleeping nightmare that followed him wherever he went. Starsky was alive, but mending slowly - very slowly. The wounds 'Massive damage, ' had brought the man to the point of death... and beyond.
He'd survived - barely - and was now on the mend, but it would be a long time before Starsky had regained enough of his health to work with Hutch again... if indeed he ever did. The doctors were frankly skeptical on that point.
In the meantime, Dobey, in a rare burst of diplomacy, had teamed Hutchinson "temporarily" with Sgt. O' Brian, a large, towheaded Irishman as different from David Starsky as night was from day. Where Starsky was hot-headed, O' Brian was placid. Where Starsky was instinctive, O'Brian was reasoned. Where Starsky would rush in, O'Brian would plan carefully down to the last detail. No comparisons one to the other; no reminders.
Hutch found himself liking the amiable man despite an initial resentment on Starsky's behalf, and even Starsky, in one of his now frequent moments of lucidity, had pronounced O'Brian a suitable "stand-in" capable of watching his partner's back "for a little while." High praise indeed for Starsky.
Hutch took one of LaBeck's cuffed arms, helping O'Brian drag the little man back to the Ford. "Vice'll be glad to see this one," the Irishman commented. "He's -been at the top of their list for awhile."
Hutch grunted assent but could force no more enthusiasm than that. Yeah, right, they caught Tommy LaBeck. Big deal.
He was immediately sorry for the reaction. LaBeck sold dope in the local high schools. Taking him out of circulation was a big deal, and O'Brian had every right to be proud of the collar. No sense ruining his sense of accomplishment just because Hutch was in a bitchy mood.
"Vice will be very glad to get hold of this one," he agreed, dredging up a smile. He nodded over his shoulder at the loudly cursing man cuffed to an armrest in the back, "Got quite a mouth on him, doesn't he?"
O' Brian turned suddenly in his seat, "Quiet!" he bellowed startling both LaBeck and Hutch into silence. "Sorry. He was getting on my nerves. What did you say?"
"Uh... only that Vice is going to be glad to get him off the street. " Hutch tried again to lighten his tone but failed miserably when he caught himself wishing for the umpteenth time that it was a curly-haired imp sitting in that seat grinning at him rather than this big Irishman. He smothered that thought as well. Sean was a good man and a fine cop. It wasn't his fault he wasn't Dave Starsky.
O'Brian caught the single glance cast his way and accurately deduced the meaning behind it. He might be an easy-going man, but was neither insensitive nor stupid, and was well aware of what his "partner" was going through of late. Dobey had been quite open with him on the subject.
"Hutchinson is not going to accept you as a partner," he'd admitted one day. "But he needs someone level-headed to watch out for him. With Starsky out of it..."
"Permanently?" The question was reasonable and polite, but still ignited a flash of anger of Dobey's chocolate brown eyes. So the stories were true -- Dobey did have a soft spot in that steel clad heart of his for this pair of hotshots.
"We don't know if it's permanent or not, O'Brian," the police captain answered stubbornly, "and we won't know for some time. Until then, Hutchinson is not going to be at his best, and I want someone I can trust keeping an eye on him."
"You're sure..." Sean stumbled over another reasonable question. "You're sure he's going to be able to... uh, function on the streets?" Is he going to get me killed?
Dobey's eyes gleamed stonily in the office light. "He'll do his job, O' Brian, don't you worry about that. You just make sure you do yours
"Yes, sir."
And so an unlikely pseudo-partnership was born, with both men learning to work together bit by bit. O'Brian was constantly reminded, however, not by word nor deed but only by instinct, that he was not Detective Hutchinson's partner, was there temporarily and by sufferance only until Detective Starsky returned.
O' Brian sighed. The scuttlebutt had it that Starsky would not be returning to the force; would be pensioned out on a medical discharge. Privately, O'Brian believed that Ken would be going with him. As close as those two were, as dependent as they had become on each other's support, there was as little chance of Hutch staying with the department without Starsky as there was of Starsky coming back at all.
O'Brian would miss the man, but understood this would be for the best. After all, it was about time O'Brian hooked up with a permanent partner of his own. The streets could be very lonely without one - as evidenced by one Detective Sergeant Kenneth C. Hutchinson. Very lonely indeed,
