Langston, Oregon had started life over a century ago as a bustling mining
town nestled amid the breathtaking panorama of the Cascades. After the
mines dried up, most of the town's populace had moved on to other towns,
other mines, but several hardy pioneers, enchanted by the sheer majesty of
their surroundings, had chosen to stay on and carve a civilized niche in
the wilderness.
Up until twenty years ago, Langston had been a quaint, quiet little place. Most of the townspeople had worked either in Boyd's Sawmill, located just outside of town, or ran the little stores and shops dotting the main thoroughfare. Everyone knew everyone else. It was peaceful, serene and practically crime free.
Then Ben Cage arrived. Cage was a developer with a sharp eye for real estate - not as it was, but as it would be with a little long-range effort and a lot of money sunk into it. Cage had looked at quiet little Langston in the future tense, and envisioned vacation homes, ski slopes and multi- million dollar acreage ripe for the plucking.
Twenty years later Cage's effort and money had been rewarded a thousand times over. The slopes of Mt. Carahdras were ideal for skiing; the new lodge catered to the tastes of skiers and nonskiers alike. Bars, pubs, and nightclubs sprang up seemingly overnight, and only vigorous and immediate zoning legislation had prevented Langston from resembling downtown Las Vegas in very short order.
Control was still possible, however, because Langston had not yet been "discovered" by the mainstream tourists. The people who trekked here year after year for the fishing, hunting and skiing tended, for the most part, to be the same ones come back repeatedly. Their ranks were swelling slowly, though, and one day Langston would take its place among such legends and Tahoe and Sun Valley. Not yet though. There was a long way to go before that happened.
Although it was customary procedure for the uniformed officers to handle routine patrols and for the detectives to be assigned the actual investigative work, there were often assignments involving patrol work for the detectives as well.
Both Starsky and Hutchinson relished the chance, as it gave them the opportunity to get to know the town on a deeper, more intimate level, much as they had their beat in Los Angeles. Conner agreed, and even thought it a good idea to increase responsibilities in that direction for Summerall and Cranmer, who appreciated the gesture not at all.
"I worked fifteen years in San Fran to get out of uniform," Summerall had complained bitterly. "How long did it take these kids? Three years? Four? And here I am right back where I started, gold shield or no."
Patrols took them to all sections of the town, from the expensive chateaux clinging precariously to the side of the mountains to the shabby bars and shacks servicing the town's poorer populace in the section commonly known as "the Bowery." Here, the saloons usually consisted of dirty, unpainted interiors housing the trouble-makers and misfits that seemed to inhabit every town no matter how small. Rough lumberjacks mingled with those who made their living by less-than-honorable methods in these small establishments, all able to purchase liquor, sex and even drugs under one convenient roof. Occasionally the tourists would "slum" here, innocent lambs to the slaughter. They usually left quickly, poorer if wiser. And, of course, there was the ski resort itself. Not a large concern, but comfortable and prosperous.
These extremes made up the new "beat" for Detective Sergeants David M. Starsky and Kenneth C. Hutchinson. Smaller, but perhaps not quite as different a beat as they had expected.
Working as partners again took a great deal of re-adjustment for the two detectives. At first there was an unusual shyness and even a lack of confidence in themselves, although not in each other. Slowly, that same old empathy began to re-establish itself, and the trust, which had never wavered, blossomed forth, and instead of two separate individuals, the team of Starsky and Hutchinson was a unit - whole once again.
For Hutch, who had been paired with several of the other officers both in Langston and before, in L.A., it was as if a part of himself which had been lost was back, leaving him complete, Starsky confided a similar feeling.
"When I was sitting there knowing you were out on the streets with some stranger, someone you didn't know and couldn't trust, it was as if part of me was stuck out there too. Kind of naked, you know?"
"Do I ever," Hutch agreed with feeling, "It's not as if Neil doesn't have some good men working for him, but...."
"Me 'n thee, hub?" Starsky asked, eyes shining.
"You got it, partner."
In a growing tourist town, there was rarely a dearth of cases for the detectives to work on. Everything from muggings and domestic disputes to cats up a tree; they handled them all with the same dedication and intensity which had made them the best team the L.A.P.D. had ever had.
Conner broached the subject with them one evening after dinner. "I hear you boys busted Jerry Stevens this morning. What was he doing, getting loud with his wife again?"
"Drunk and disorderly," Starsky answered him. "Took a swing at some guy named... um...." He cocked an inquiring eye at his partner.
"Ed Frieberg," Hutch replied, sugaring his coffee.
Starsky nodded. "Frieberg. Right. The victim wants to press charges. "
Conner groaned. "Again?" The bigger man leaned forward, idly shifting some files spread across the coffee table. "Those two go at it tooth and nail an average of twice a week. Jerry always picks a fight and Ed has him arrested. No big deal."
No, it's not, is it?" Starsky murmured, introspective.
Conner caught the same look mirrored on Hutch's face and groaned softly to himself. "Oh, boy," he sighed. "Dave, Ken." He waited until he had their attention returned from the not-so-long ago days when these two were breaking cases most cops- himself included - only dreamed about getting.
"I got your evaluations in this morning from the L.A.P.D. and from those qualifying trials you went through last week." He flipped open a folder. "As of now, you're the two best shots on the L.C.P.D. Matter of fact, you beat out last year's 'winner' by a good five percent."
"Oh, yeah?" Starsky asked, interested. "Who was that?"
"Me."
"Ooops." Starsky shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry."
Conner grinned lopsidedly. "Don't worry about it, kid. There's still next year." He returned to the file. "It says you two have been partners for seven years... joined the Academy at the same time. That where you met?"
"Yeah." Hutch set his cup carefully on the coffee table, then rose and stretched, catlike. "Ran into this fuzzy-headed idiot in the gym one morning before classes. He was going a couple of rounds with the bag. It was really pathetic." Hutch shook his head pityingly, ignoring his partner's offended yelp. "After a while I offered to show him a couple of moves. Taught him everything he knows."
Starsky, who had been listening in wide-eyed indignation, sputtered a bit at this last. "You taught who?!" He sneered. "You tell a pretty good fairy tale, partner, but you don't really expect--?"
"Tut, tut." Hutch held up a hand. "No sense denying it, Starsk. Without me, you'd've never made it through hand-to-hand."
"I'll mano-a-mano you!" With a graceful pounce, Starsky snagged his partner in a headlock and began to slowly force him to the floor.
"Wanna play rough, eh?" Hutch grunted.
He dropped limply, throwing Starsky momentarily off balance. Before he had time to recover, Hutch had slipped one arm around his waist and twisted, while simultaneously sweeping his partner's feet out from under him. Starsky hit the floor, lightly rolling back to his feet in one smooth movement and readying for another attack.
"I got five bucks on the cutie with the curls!" Kathy Connor stepped daintily between them and deposited a fresh pot of coffee on the table before turning back to the combatants. "Oh, do go on with what you were doing."
"Sorry, Kath," Hutch apologized. "Got to keep a tighter leash on my partner, here."
"You know what they say about paybacks, partner." Starsky brushed a curl back from his eyes. "Five bucks, hub?" He shot Hutch a smug look. "You see, even Kathy knows I could take you out any day."
"Oh, yes. Besides, I always bet on the underdog." Kathy smiled sweetly as Hutch burst out laughing. "I'll get some cake to wash down that coffee." She disappeared back into the kitchen.
Conner went back to his file, reading silently for some while. The other two waited uncomfortably for him to finish. Conner finally looked up, studying them one by one with unfeigned respect. "I have to admit. I'm impressed." He tapped the folder with one finger. "According to this, you two heroes had more felony arrests on your record before you were thirty than most cops get in their entire careers."
Hutch, fair skin flushed, shrugged deprecatingly. "Had a talent for stepping into situations, Neil."
"And tearing the guts outta them," Starsky added with a grin.
"I'll say." Conner caught the triumphant look which passed between the two men. "Felt good, didn't it?"
"I'll say," Starsky echoed, including him in his smile.
"And then there was Langston." The grins faded, replaced by puzzled frowns.
"What are you talking about, Neil?" Hutch asked, lowering himself into the arm chair.
"Look, fellas, I'm going be blunt about this." Conner leaned forward, resting his arms across his knees. "This evaluation makes you two look like a combination of Superman, Sam Spade and Wonder Woman all rolled into one."
"Wonder Woman?" Starsky mouthed to Hutch. Hutch ignored him.
"Let's face it," Neil went on, "you two have spent the last seven - eight years of your lives handling cases that most of us country boys only read about in the newspapers. I can even count the number of times I've had to pull my piece. Almost never been shot at - not since 'Nam, anyway."
"Sounds pretty good to us right about now. Chief," Hutch commented softly, looking at his partner.
"Yeah. A good deal." Conner shifted, sitting back against the cushions. "No danger, no big busts, no.... Well, you get the idea."
"I'm not sure I do," Hutch said. "What are you getting at?"
Conner studied them again before answering. "You two lived a fast, exciting life back in L.A. You pushed hard and you came through with the heavy collars. Lot of prestige to go with it, wasn't there?"
"We weren't in it for the prestige." Starsky paced before the fireplace, then turned to Conner, eyes sharp and angry. "We worked hard to keep the scum out of our beat. We put away those who deserved it. We were needed there." "And you don't think you are here?"
The anger drained away and Starsky dropped his eyes. "It's not that we're not needed, Neil," Hutch spoke up. "We just need to... adjust. It's different here."
Conner jerked his head toward the folder in his lap. "Do you know what your psychological profiles say?"
Hutch blinked at the seeming non sequitur. "What?" "Psychological profile."
Neil removed a sheet of paper from the folder. "This report is signed by Dr. Elsa Marsden, police psychiatrist, L.A.P.D. Know her?"
Starsky grimaced. "You know we do. What about it?"
Conner held the paper up. "Says here that.... Well, let me hit the highlights here. Ambitious... completely dedicated to their beliefs and their jobs... mavericks, no respect for rank... totally independent, except...."
"Except?" Hutch prodded.
Conner paused, again referring to the sheet. "Except when it comes to each other. Then it's a whole different ball game." He made a little throw-away motion with his left hand. "Anyway, the point I'm making is that I'm wondering if you two are going to be able to adjust to this kind of life. We don't get many major busts, and there's very little excitement."
"What about that deal out at the... where was it?... the Banyon place?" Starsky asked, affecting a casual pose with one elbow on the mantle. "I'd call that 'exciting,' wouldn't you?"
Conner laughed softly. "What do you think, that's an everyday thing?"
"Summerall and Cranmer handled themselves well enough," Hutch pointed out. "Didn't seem like their first time."
"No, not the first time, but there haven't been all that many." The big man replaced the papers into the file and closed it firmly. "They're good cops, Kenny, but think back - you'll remember it was you who called the shots in that situation." Hutch faltered before the other's steady gaze. Conner plowed on, not waiting for a reply. "I heard it all from Lou. He said he and Jake moved in well enough - they were both in the Army, you know - but that you.... How did Lou put it? It was as if you were in your element. He said you seemed to be almost enjoying yourself."
"It's not... that, exactly," Hutch replied slowly. "It's a rush, sure. The adrenaline, the... danger. But enjoy it? No. I can't say I enjoy risking my life." He caught Starsky's eye and the look which passed between them flashed bright. "I sure don't enjoy risking my partner's."
Conner settled back, indefinably satisfied with the answer. "Fair enough. But you're used to that 'rush,' as you put it. Are you going to be able to give that up? Settle down into routine peacekeeping? As I said, Langston's pretty mundane."
"And boring. Yes, I know. But we've got to try, Neil." Hutch sighed, a ghost of the weldschmerz that had plagued him in L.A. touching his face. "The 'prestige' and 'excitement' got to be a little costly for my tastes."
"My, such somber faces!" Kathy re-entered the room, carrying a tray laden with dessert. "What happened to the happy smiles I left just five minutes ago?"
"They followed you around, Kathy," Starsky bowed gallantly, "and returned with you."
"Oh, Lord, it's shovel time," Kathy groaned, then smiled. "But, boy, do I ever love it! Dig in, boys - tomorrow we diet, tonight we party!"
***
Up until twenty years ago, Langston had been a quaint, quiet little place. Most of the townspeople had worked either in Boyd's Sawmill, located just outside of town, or ran the little stores and shops dotting the main thoroughfare. Everyone knew everyone else. It was peaceful, serene and practically crime free.
Then Ben Cage arrived. Cage was a developer with a sharp eye for real estate - not as it was, but as it would be with a little long-range effort and a lot of money sunk into it. Cage had looked at quiet little Langston in the future tense, and envisioned vacation homes, ski slopes and multi- million dollar acreage ripe for the plucking.
Twenty years later Cage's effort and money had been rewarded a thousand times over. The slopes of Mt. Carahdras were ideal for skiing; the new lodge catered to the tastes of skiers and nonskiers alike. Bars, pubs, and nightclubs sprang up seemingly overnight, and only vigorous and immediate zoning legislation had prevented Langston from resembling downtown Las Vegas in very short order.
Control was still possible, however, because Langston had not yet been "discovered" by the mainstream tourists. The people who trekked here year after year for the fishing, hunting and skiing tended, for the most part, to be the same ones come back repeatedly. Their ranks were swelling slowly, though, and one day Langston would take its place among such legends and Tahoe and Sun Valley. Not yet though. There was a long way to go before that happened.
Although it was customary procedure for the uniformed officers to handle routine patrols and for the detectives to be assigned the actual investigative work, there were often assignments involving patrol work for the detectives as well.
Both Starsky and Hutchinson relished the chance, as it gave them the opportunity to get to know the town on a deeper, more intimate level, much as they had their beat in Los Angeles. Conner agreed, and even thought it a good idea to increase responsibilities in that direction for Summerall and Cranmer, who appreciated the gesture not at all.
"I worked fifteen years in San Fran to get out of uniform," Summerall had complained bitterly. "How long did it take these kids? Three years? Four? And here I am right back where I started, gold shield or no."
Patrols took them to all sections of the town, from the expensive chateaux clinging precariously to the side of the mountains to the shabby bars and shacks servicing the town's poorer populace in the section commonly known as "the Bowery." Here, the saloons usually consisted of dirty, unpainted interiors housing the trouble-makers and misfits that seemed to inhabit every town no matter how small. Rough lumberjacks mingled with those who made their living by less-than-honorable methods in these small establishments, all able to purchase liquor, sex and even drugs under one convenient roof. Occasionally the tourists would "slum" here, innocent lambs to the slaughter. They usually left quickly, poorer if wiser. And, of course, there was the ski resort itself. Not a large concern, but comfortable and prosperous.
These extremes made up the new "beat" for Detective Sergeants David M. Starsky and Kenneth C. Hutchinson. Smaller, but perhaps not quite as different a beat as they had expected.
Working as partners again took a great deal of re-adjustment for the two detectives. At first there was an unusual shyness and even a lack of confidence in themselves, although not in each other. Slowly, that same old empathy began to re-establish itself, and the trust, which had never wavered, blossomed forth, and instead of two separate individuals, the team of Starsky and Hutchinson was a unit - whole once again.
For Hutch, who had been paired with several of the other officers both in Langston and before, in L.A., it was as if a part of himself which had been lost was back, leaving him complete, Starsky confided a similar feeling.
"When I was sitting there knowing you were out on the streets with some stranger, someone you didn't know and couldn't trust, it was as if part of me was stuck out there too. Kind of naked, you know?"
"Do I ever," Hutch agreed with feeling, "It's not as if Neil doesn't have some good men working for him, but...."
"Me 'n thee, hub?" Starsky asked, eyes shining.
"You got it, partner."
In a growing tourist town, there was rarely a dearth of cases for the detectives to work on. Everything from muggings and domestic disputes to cats up a tree; they handled them all with the same dedication and intensity which had made them the best team the L.A.P.D. had ever had.
Conner broached the subject with them one evening after dinner. "I hear you boys busted Jerry Stevens this morning. What was he doing, getting loud with his wife again?"
"Drunk and disorderly," Starsky answered him. "Took a swing at some guy named... um...." He cocked an inquiring eye at his partner.
"Ed Frieberg," Hutch replied, sugaring his coffee.
Starsky nodded. "Frieberg. Right. The victim wants to press charges. "
Conner groaned. "Again?" The bigger man leaned forward, idly shifting some files spread across the coffee table. "Those two go at it tooth and nail an average of twice a week. Jerry always picks a fight and Ed has him arrested. No big deal."
No, it's not, is it?" Starsky murmured, introspective.
Conner caught the same look mirrored on Hutch's face and groaned softly to himself. "Oh, boy," he sighed. "Dave, Ken." He waited until he had their attention returned from the not-so-long ago days when these two were breaking cases most cops- himself included - only dreamed about getting.
"I got your evaluations in this morning from the L.A.P.D. and from those qualifying trials you went through last week." He flipped open a folder. "As of now, you're the two best shots on the L.C.P.D. Matter of fact, you beat out last year's 'winner' by a good five percent."
"Oh, yeah?" Starsky asked, interested. "Who was that?"
"Me."
"Ooops." Starsky shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry."
Conner grinned lopsidedly. "Don't worry about it, kid. There's still next year." He returned to the file. "It says you two have been partners for seven years... joined the Academy at the same time. That where you met?"
"Yeah." Hutch set his cup carefully on the coffee table, then rose and stretched, catlike. "Ran into this fuzzy-headed idiot in the gym one morning before classes. He was going a couple of rounds with the bag. It was really pathetic." Hutch shook his head pityingly, ignoring his partner's offended yelp. "After a while I offered to show him a couple of moves. Taught him everything he knows."
Starsky, who had been listening in wide-eyed indignation, sputtered a bit at this last. "You taught who?!" He sneered. "You tell a pretty good fairy tale, partner, but you don't really expect--?"
"Tut, tut." Hutch held up a hand. "No sense denying it, Starsk. Without me, you'd've never made it through hand-to-hand."
"I'll mano-a-mano you!" With a graceful pounce, Starsky snagged his partner in a headlock and began to slowly force him to the floor.
"Wanna play rough, eh?" Hutch grunted.
He dropped limply, throwing Starsky momentarily off balance. Before he had time to recover, Hutch had slipped one arm around his waist and twisted, while simultaneously sweeping his partner's feet out from under him. Starsky hit the floor, lightly rolling back to his feet in one smooth movement and readying for another attack.
"I got five bucks on the cutie with the curls!" Kathy Connor stepped daintily between them and deposited a fresh pot of coffee on the table before turning back to the combatants. "Oh, do go on with what you were doing."
"Sorry, Kath," Hutch apologized. "Got to keep a tighter leash on my partner, here."
"You know what they say about paybacks, partner." Starsky brushed a curl back from his eyes. "Five bucks, hub?" He shot Hutch a smug look. "You see, even Kathy knows I could take you out any day."
"Oh, yes. Besides, I always bet on the underdog." Kathy smiled sweetly as Hutch burst out laughing. "I'll get some cake to wash down that coffee." She disappeared back into the kitchen.
Conner went back to his file, reading silently for some while. The other two waited uncomfortably for him to finish. Conner finally looked up, studying them one by one with unfeigned respect. "I have to admit. I'm impressed." He tapped the folder with one finger. "According to this, you two heroes had more felony arrests on your record before you were thirty than most cops get in their entire careers."
Hutch, fair skin flushed, shrugged deprecatingly. "Had a talent for stepping into situations, Neil."
"And tearing the guts outta them," Starsky added with a grin.
"I'll say." Conner caught the triumphant look which passed between the two men. "Felt good, didn't it?"
"I'll say," Starsky echoed, including him in his smile.
"And then there was Langston." The grins faded, replaced by puzzled frowns.
"What are you talking about, Neil?" Hutch asked, lowering himself into the arm chair.
"Look, fellas, I'm going be blunt about this." Conner leaned forward, resting his arms across his knees. "This evaluation makes you two look like a combination of Superman, Sam Spade and Wonder Woman all rolled into one."
"Wonder Woman?" Starsky mouthed to Hutch. Hutch ignored him.
"Let's face it," Neil went on, "you two have spent the last seven - eight years of your lives handling cases that most of us country boys only read about in the newspapers. I can even count the number of times I've had to pull my piece. Almost never been shot at - not since 'Nam, anyway."
"Sounds pretty good to us right about now. Chief," Hutch commented softly, looking at his partner.
"Yeah. A good deal." Conner shifted, sitting back against the cushions. "No danger, no big busts, no.... Well, you get the idea."
"I'm not sure I do," Hutch said. "What are you getting at?"
Conner studied them again before answering. "You two lived a fast, exciting life back in L.A. You pushed hard and you came through with the heavy collars. Lot of prestige to go with it, wasn't there?"
"We weren't in it for the prestige." Starsky paced before the fireplace, then turned to Conner, eyes sharp and angry. "We worked hard to keep the scum out of our beat. We put away those who deserved it. We were needed there." "And you don't think you are here?"
The anger drained away and Starsky dropped his eyes. "It's not that we're not needed, Neil," Hutch spoke up. "We just need to... adjust. It's different here."
Conner jerked his head toward the folder in his lap. "Do you know what your psychological profiles say?"
Hutch blinked at the seeming non sequitur. "What?" "Psychological profile."
Neil removed a sheet of paper from the folder. "This report is signed by Dr. Elsa Marsden, police psychiatrist, L.A.P.D. Know her?"
Starsky grimaced. "You know we do. What about it?"
Conner held the paper up. "Says here that.... Well, let me hit the highlights here. Ambitious... completely dedicated to their beliefs and their jobs... mavericks, no respect for rank... totally independent, except...."
"Except?" Hutch prodded.
Conner paused, again referring to the sheet. "Except when it comes to each other. Then it's a whole different ball game." He made a little throw-away motion with his left hand. "Anyway, the point I'm making is that I'm wondering if you two are going to be able to adjust to this kind of life. We don't get many major busts, and there's very little excitement."
"What about that deal out at the... where was it?... the Banyon place?" Starsky asked, affecting a casual pose with one elbow on the mantle. "I'd call that 'exciting,' wouldn't you?"
Conner laughed softly. "What do you think, that's an everyday thing?"
"Summerall and Cranmer handled themselves well enough," Hutch pointed out. "Didn't seem like their first time."
"No, not the first time, but there haven't been all that many." The big man replaced the papers into the file and closed it firmly. "They're good cops, Kenny, but think back - you'll remember it was you who called the shots in that situation." Hutch faltered before the other's steady gaze. Conner plowed on, not waiting for a reply. "I heard it all from Lou. He said he and Jake moved in well enough - they were both in the Army, you know - but that you.... How did Lou put it? It was as if you were in your element. He said you seemed to be almost enjoying yourself."
"It's not... that, exactly," Hutch replied slowly. "It's a rush, sure. The adrenaline, the... danger. But enjoy it? No. I can't say I enjoy risking my life." He caught Starsky's eye and the look which passed between them flashed bright. "I sure don't enjoy risking my partner's."
Conner settled back, indefinably satisfied with the answer. "Fair enough. But you're used to that 'rush,' as you put it. Are you going to be able to give that up? Settle down into routine peacekeeping? As I said, Langston's pretty mundane."
"And boring. Yes, I know. But we've got to try, Neil." Hutch sighed, a ghost of the weldschmerz that had plagued him in L.A. touching his face. "The 'prestige' and 'excitement' got to be a little costly for my tastes."
"My, such somber faces!" Kathy re-entered the room, carrying a tray laden with dessert. "What happened to the happy smiles I left just five minutes ago?"
"They followed you around, Kathy," Starsky bowed gallantly, "and returned with you."
"Oh, Lord, it's shovel time," Kathy groaned, then smiled. "But, boy, do I ever love it! Dig in, boys - tomorrow we diet, tonight we party!"
***