Patrol in Langston consisted of a variety of tasks. As in any town, there
were the usual domestic disputes, disturbances and generally minor
infractions of the law. Most involved either the tourists in town for the
expressed purpose of "having a good time," or the habitual troublemakers of
the Bowery, with whom the police were often on a first name basis.
Starsky and Hutchinson regularly pulled patrol duty on the weekends, particularly now as the hunting season brought in the roughest of the transient crowd. There was the usual assortment of drunk and disorderly arrests now spiced with the added stimulant of having to deal with a group that was nearly 100 percent armed to the teeth. At least, when they entered town they were. All hunters were required to check their guns with the L.C.P.D. upon crossing the city limits, but this law was difficult to enforce with total certainty. Especially here on the outskirts, trunks and back seats often concealed heavy rifles loaded for large game. Thus, extra caution was displayed when making arrests, and even routine traffic stops rated additional back-up whenever possible. But on the whole, it was the same men who flocked to Langston County year after year. Some of these men, however, Langston could have done without.
"Looks like a washout here," Starsky grumbled, climbing wearily back into the car. It had been a long day. "Unless we can shake Brighton's alibi, we aren't going to be able to pin this burglary on him."
"That wife of his is pretty convincing," Hutch agreed. "But if we can--"
"Sierra-Bravo, Sierra-Bravo, come in please."
Hutch picked up the microphone attached to his dash. "Sierra-Bravo. What is it, Emily?"
Emily Church's dulcet tones caressed both men even through the imperfect medium of the police radio. No matter how often they were heard, they never failed to give either man a very warm rush. The warm contralto seemed to almost physically reach out and stroke - a more beautiful voice neither man had ever heard. Odd that it should belong to a grey-haired, over-weight grandmother of five, who always looked as if she'd slept in her clothes.
"Trouble coming your way, Hutch. Green Chevy, license plate MLU-375, headed south on Route 27. Got two cowboys in there taking potshots at bystanders, and you boys are closest. Subjects are armed, approach with extreme caution. Backup is en route, ETA ten minutes."
"Sierra-Bravo, we are responding." Hutch clapped the mars light to the roof of the Ford and hit the siren.
Starsky shoved it into a tight U-turn, headed at top speed down the dirt road they'd been following to reach Brighton's little shack. Route 27 was two miles farther on, a two-lane highway which cut a torturous path through the mountains before merging with busy Route 5 some thirty miles away. Route 27 was miraculously clear of traffic. Starsky braked to a halt at the edge of the road. "Which way d'ya think they are?"
"That way." Hutch pointed towards town. "They couldn't have made it this far since we got the--"
The sound of an approaching car cut him short. Starsky pulled out onto the highway, effectively blocking the road. "Here we go."
Then they saw it -- an older model green Chevy bearing down on them at high speed. Both detectives dove from the Ford, Hutch praying loudly that the drunken driver would stop before ramming his car. His prayer was answered -- barely. With a screech of tires, the Chevy skidded to a halt mere inches from the battered Ford.
Hutch breathed a sigh of relief before racing to the passenger's side. Magnum drawn. "Get out of the car with your hands up," he commanded tersely.
The Chevy contained two hunters, obviously having lifted more than their fair share of brew, but not so intoxicated as to want to risk spooking two grim men carrying guns. They obeyed slowly, hands in the clear.
"This way-" Hutch threw open the passenger door, stepping back several feet Starsky covered the men from the driver's side while they exited, then rounded the car to join his partner.
"Come on, come on . Morrie." Starsky read the name emblazoned on the filthy cap. "You know the routine. " He yanked Morrie, a bearded bruiser weighing in at least 240 in his stocking feet, around roughly and shoved him across the hood of the car. He holstered his Beretta, giving the man a rapid, thorough search. "This one's clean." Hutch nodded, watchful eyes never leaving the prisoners.
"Hey, now, you ain't got nuthin' on us," Morrie blustered, alcoholic courage adding volume to his already too-loud voice + "And you ain't takin' me in, neither."
He turned unexpectedly and swung at Starsky, using his backhand as a club. The smaller man nimbly stepped back out of the way and slipped into a defensive kata ready for the next blow.
It never came. Quick as a flash. Hutch had holstered his weapon and closed the distance between them. "No," he muttered, almost a plea.
As Morrie turned to face this new opponent. Hutch swung into action. A quick right to the stomach doubled the big man up; Hutch brought his knee up and his clasped fists down, catching Morrie's face and neck simultaneously. Morrie dropped like the proverbial rock.
Starsky hesitated, stunned into immobility by his partner's actions. He unfroze when he noticed the smaller prisoner trying to slip away from the battling duo. The man broke suddenly, heading for the woods at a respectable clip. He didn't make it twenty yards.
"Uh-uhn-UH!" Starsky snagged the man by the collar, yanking him around and to the ground by the simple expedient of sweeping his feet from under him. Within seconds the man had been cuffed, searched and hauled back to the car.
Meanwhile, Hutch finished cuffing his own prisoner, then dragged him roughly to his feet. Seconds later a black-and-white screeched to a halt and two men leaped out. Hutch shoved Morrie towards one of the uniformed men, who expertly fielded him into the patrol car; his partner took the other prisoner from Starsky.
"Schmidt, Murphy, take care of these two, will you?" Hutch asked, brushing back a strand of blond hair. "These are the two Buffalo Bills who tried to shoot up the town."
"Come on, pal, watch your head." The smaller prisoner joined Morrie in the back seat, cursing loudly and in at least two languages. Murphy shook his head and turned back to Hutch. "Got quite a mouth on him, don't he?" he remarked with something approaching admiration. "I used to know this Marine recruiter who could cuss like that. She was a pretty little thing, too." He chuckled. "We're heading in anyway; we'll book 'cm for you and you can finish the paperwork when you come in."
"Thanks, Murph. We'll be in later to file the report." Hutch waited until the patrol car had disappeared around a bend before turning to his partner- "We still ought to see Mrs..." He trailed off at the expression on his friend's face. "What is it, Starsky?" The expression - Anger? Surprise? - faded into a neutral mask. "Nothing. Let's go see Mrs. Brighton long as we're out here." He climbed into the driver's seat of the Ford and refused to say another word on the subject the rest of the afternoon.
***
Hutch groaned and settled heavily onto the sofa. The warmth from the crackling fire seeped into weary muscles still tense from the day. Tired. He rubbed the back of his neck hoping to relieve some of the strain there, then twisted, hearing the bones crackle. He decided a beer would go over very well then, and made to stand again, albeit reluctantly.
The slamming of the front door gave him pause. "Hutch, we've got to talk," he demanded, entering the room and tossing his coat on a convenient chair.
The blond roused himself, more than willing to be distracted, sank back into the armchair with a groan. "What about?"
"About this arrest we just made."
A straight-forward enough arrest. Hutch thought and said as much. Starsky agreed instantly. "That's the point, Hutch. It was something we've done hundreds of times. Only..." He faltered before the blond's puzzled look. "Look, man, you screwed up big time on that bust." He spread his hands apologetically but not before Hutch's puzzlement had transmuted into astonishment mixed with a kind of wary anger. "If this is your idea of a joke, Starsk, I'm telling you right now it's not funny."
Starsky settled himself on the sofa and sighed deeply. When he spoke, it was softly, as if to himself. "You don't even realize what you did, do you?"
"Why don't you tell me?"
The other swallowed and forced his eyes up again. "Do you realize you turned your back on a possibly armed and dangerous criminal this afternoon?"
Hutch frowned, confused. "What are you talking about?"
"When Morrie swung at me this afternoon, what did you do?"
"What did...?" Light dawned. "Oh."
Starsky nodded solemnly. "You didn't even think about it, Hutch! You just... dived in. We hadn't even searched that other guy yet!"
Hutch shifted uncomfortably. "Screwed up pretty bad, didn't No answer. "Starsky, I'm sorry about that. But you could have said something at the time. We've both done it enough in the past. And Morrie had to be stopped."
"You still don't understand, do you?" the other retorted, throwing up his hands.
Hutch's irritation flamed. "Then make me understand.
"You.... Oh, man." Starsky ran a hand through his unruly curls. "Okay, I'll spell it out for you in plain English. You ignored an unsearched, possibly armed and dangerous criminal to jump into my fight."
"The guy had to be stopped," Hutch insisted stubbornly.
Blue eyes flashed. "I was stopping him. It was me he was attacking! "
"But--"
"But nothing." Starsky stabbed a finger at the other man, driving home his point. "You didn't even stop to consider that I might be able to take this guy. I could have, you know," he added more gently. "We were lucky this time because that other guy wasn't armed, but if he had been, you'd be dead right now. You'd be dead because of me and I don't think I appreciate that concept."
Hutch stood up and crossed to the hearth, mulling the words. He paced once while a pair of determined blue eyes bored into his back. "You're right," he said suddenly. "You're absolutely right. "
Starsky blinked at him. "Just like that? No arguments?" He sounded disappointed.
"Oh, I wouldn't go that far." Hutch returned to the sofa but sitting instead on the low coffee table opposite the other man. "You're right in that I over-reacted to that guy threatening you. Dr. Marsden said I would. I don't want to lose you again, buddy."
Starsky sighed deeply. "I know. But we can't work like this, Hutch. I won't risk you putting your life on the line every time it looks like I'm in some kind of trouble." He brought his clenched fist down on his thigh with a little smack.
Hutch chuckled softly. "We're starting to sound like a couple of old maids."
That won him a half-smile. "Really."
Hutch patted his arm. "We can work it out," he said confidently.
"Before or after one of us gets blown away?"
Anger flared, darkening Hutchinson's sky blue eyes. "That was a cheap shot, Starsky, and you know it."
"It's not and you know it," the other returned evenly. "It's the whole point of this discussion."
That set Hutch back a moment. "Okay, yeah, maybe it is. But Dr. Marsden did say this would happen."
Starsky shifted around until he could rest his back against the arm of the sofa, his expression very thoughtful indeed. "You spent a lot of time talking to her, didn't you?"
Hutch squirmed uncomfortably. "You're off the point."
Dark curls bobbed in a defiant shake. "Not really. The point is whether or not you're going to be able to handle the possibility of my getting hurt... or killed again. If you can't, Hutch...." There was no need to finish the statement; the meaning hung heavy in the air between them.
The brand new clock on the mantle ticked off a full sixty seconds during which each man maintained a pensive silence. Hutch picked up a newspaper from the walnut end table Kathy had so painstakingly selected from the inventory of Ye Olde Antique Shoppe. He sat folding and unfolding it, his eyes unseeingly scanning the headlines. Finally he replaced the paper and raised his head.
"Starsk, do you remember back when I had that trouble with Monk? Do you remember how you were after that?"
Starsky grinned crookedly. "Was I as bad as you are now?"
Hutch rolled his eyes comically. "Were you ever! You barely let me go to the john by myself. But you got over it. Sometimes it takes time, that's all."
"How much time?" the dark-haired man asked, resolve wavering. "Because we sure can't go on like this." He grinned crookedly. "You're going to have to let me fight my own battles sooner or later."
"I don't know, buddy." Hutch laid one hand on his friend's knee, squeezing tight- "But I hope you're going to give me a chance on this and not write me off too soon."
Starsky covered the hand with one of his own. "What do you suggest?"
"Couple months?" Blue eyes fixed blue with a hopeful look. "We'll get used to working together again, maybe get a little confidence back? I won't screw up like that again, Starsk."
"I guess we gotta try, don't we?" Starsky smiled, lighting the room with his warmth. "I sure don't want to go through the trouble of training a new partner, after all."
"Training .what?" Hutch sputtered, indignant. "It was me who.."
They hadn't argued like that in a long while and it sure felt good.
***
Starsky and Hutchinson regularly pulled patrol duty on the weekends, particularly now as the hunting season brought in the roughest of the transient crowd. There was the usual assortment of drunk and disorderly arrests now spiced with the added stimulant of having to deal with a group that was nearly 100 percent armed to the teeth. At least, when they entered town they were. All hunters were required to check their guns with the L.C.P.D. upon crossing the city limits, but this law was difficult to enforce with total certainty. Especially here on the outskirts, trunks and back seats often concealed heavy rifles loaded for large game. Thus, extra caution was displayed when making arrests, and even routine traffic stops rated additional back-up whenever possible. But on the whole, it was the same men who flocked to Langston County year after year. Some of these men, however, Langston could have done without.
"Looks like a washout here," Starsky grumbled, climbing wearily back into the car. It had been a long day. "Unless we can shake Brighton's alibi, we aren't going to be able to pin this burglary on him."
"That wife of his is pretty convincing," Hutch agreed. "But if we can--"
"Sierra-Bravo, Sierra-Bravo, come in please."
Hutch picked up the microphone attached to his dash. "Sierra-Bravo. What is it, Emily?"
Emily Church's dulcet tones caressed both men even through the imperfect medium of the police radio. No matter how often they were heard, they never failed to give either man a very warm rush. The warm contralto seemed to almost physically reach out and stroke - a more beautiful voice neither man had ever heard. Odd that it should belong to a grey-haired, over-weight grandmother of five, who always looked as if she'd slept in her clothes.
"Trouble coming your way, Hutch. Green Chevy, license plate MLU-375, headed south on Route 27. Got two cowboys in there taking potshots at bystanders, and you boys are closest. Subjects are armed, approach with extreme caution. Backup is en route, ETA ten minutes."
"Sierra-Bravo, we are responding." Hutch clapped the mars light to the roof of the Ford and hit the siren.
Starsky shoved it into a tight U-turn, headed at top speed down the dirt road they'd been following to reach Brighton's little shack. Route 27 was two miles farther on, a two-lane highway which cut a torturous path through the mountains before merging with busy Route 5 some thirty miles away. Route 27 was miraculously clear of traffic. Starsky braked to a halt at the edge of the road. "Which way d'ya think they are?"
"That way." Hutch pointed towards town. "They couldn't have made it this far since we got the--"
The sound of an approaching car cut him short. Starsky pulled out onto the highway, effectively blocking the road. "Here we go."
Then they saw it -- an older model green Chevy bearing down on them at high speed. Both detectives dove from the Ford, Hutch praying loudly that the drunken driver would stop before ramming his car. His prayer was answered -- barely. With a screech of tires, the Chevy skidded to a halt mere inches from the battered Ford.
Hutch breathed a sigh of relief before racing to the passenger's side. Magnum drawn. "Get out of the car with your hands up," he commanded tersely.
The Chevy contained two hunters, obviously having lifted more than their fair share of brew, but not so intoxicated as to want to risk spooking two grim men carrying guns. They obeyed slowly, hands in the clear.
"This way-" Hutch threw open the passenger door, stepping back several feet Starsky covered the men from the driver's side while they exited, then rounded the car to join his partner.
"Come on, come on . Morrie." Starsky read the name emblazoned on the filthy cap. "You know the routine. " He yanked Morrie, a bearded bruiser weighing in at least 240 in his stocking feet, around roughly and shoved him across the hood of the car. He holstered his Beretta, giving the man a rapid, thorough search. "This one's clean." Hutch nodded, watchful eyes never leaving the prisoners.
"Hey, now, you ain't got nuthin' on us," Morrie blustered, alcoholic courage adding volume to his already too-loud voice + "And you ain't takin' me in, neither."
He turned unexpectedly and swung at Starsky, using his backhand as a club. The smaller man nimbly stepped back out of the way and slipped into a defensive kata ready for the next blow.
It never came. Quick as a flash. Hutch had holstered his weapon and closed the distance between them. "No," he muttered, almost a plea.
As Morrie turned to face this new opponent. Hutch swung into action. A quick right to the stomach doubled the big man up; Hutch brought his knee up and his clasped fists down, catching Morrie's face and neck simultaneously. Morrie dropped like the proverbial rock.
Starsky hesitated, stunned into immobility by his partner's actions. He unfroze when he noticed the smaller prisoner trying to slip away from the battling duo. The man broke suddenly, heading for the woods at a respectable clip. He didn't make it twenty yards.
"Uh-uhn-UH!" Starsky snagged the man by the collar, yanking him around and to the ground by the simple expedient of sweeping his feet from under him. Within seconds the man had been cuffed, searched and hauled back to the car.
Meanwhile, Hutch finished cuffing his own prisoner, then dragged him roughly to his feet. Seconds later a black-and-white screeched to a halt and two men leaped out. Hutch shoved Morrie towards one of the uniformed men, who expertly fielded him into the patrol car; his partner took the other prisoner from Starsky.
"Schmidt, Murphy, take care of these two, will you?" Hutch asked, brushing back a strand of blond hair. "These are the two Buffalo Bills who tried to shoot up the town."
"Come on, pal, watch your head." The smaller prisoner joined Morrie in the back seat, cursing loudly and in at least two languages. Murphy shook his head and turned back to Hutch. "Got quite a mouth on him, don't he?" he remarked with something approaching admiration. "I used to know this Marine recruiter who could cuss like that. She was a pretty little thing, too." He chuckled. "We're heading in anyway; we'll book 'cm for you and you can finish the paperwork when you come in."
"Thanks, Murph. We'll be in later to file the report." Hutch waited until the patrol car had disappeared around a bend before turning to his partner- "We still ought to see Mrs..." He trailed off at the expression on his friend's face. "What is it, Starsky?" The expression - Anger? Surprise? - faded into a neutral mask. "Nothing. Let's go see Mrs. Brighton long as we're out here." He climbed into the driver's seat of the Ford and refused to say another word on the subject the rest of the afternoon.
***
Hutch groaned and settled heavily onto the sofa. The warmth from the crackling fire seeped into weary muscles still tense from the day. Tired. He rubbed the back of his neck hoping to relieve some of the strain there, then twisted, hearing the bones crackle. He decided a beer would go over very well then, and made to stand again, albeit reluctantly.
The slamming of the front door gave him pause. "Hutch, we've got to talk," he demanded, entering the room and tossing his coat on a convenient chair.
The blond roused himself, more than willing to be distracted, sank back into the armchair with a groan. "What about?"
"About this arrest we just made."
A straight-forward enough arrest. Hutch thought and said as much. Starsky agreed instantly. "That's the point, Hutch. It was something we've done hundreds of times. Only..." He faltered before the blond's puzzled look. "Look, man, you screwed up big time on that bust." He spread his hands apologetically but not before Hutch's puzzlement had transmuted into astonishment mixed with a kind of wary anger. "If this is your idea of a joke, Starsk, I'm telling you right now it's not funny."
Starsky settled himself on the sofa and sighed deeply. When he spoke, it was softly, as if to himself. "You don't even realize what you did, do you?"
"Why don't you tell me?"
The other swallowed and forced his eyes up again. "Do you realize you turned your back on a possibly armed and dangerous criminal this afternoon?"
Hutch frowned, confused. "What are you talking about?"
"When Morrie swung at me this afternoon, what did you do?"
"What did...?" Light dawned. "Oh."
Starsky nodded solemnly. "You didn't even think about it, Hutch! You just... dived in. We hadn't even searched that other guy yet!"
Hutch shifted uncomfortably. "Screwed up pretty bad, didn't No answer. "Starsky, I'm sorry about that. But you could have said something at the time. We've both done it enough in the past. And Morrie had to be stopped."
"You still don't understand, do you?" the other retorted, throwing up his hands.
Hutch's irritation flamed. "Then make me understand.
"You.... Oh, man." Starsky ran a hand through his unruly curls. "Okay, I'll spell it out for you in plain English. You ignored an unsearched, possibly armed and dangerous criminal to jump into my fight."
"The guy had to be stopped," Hutch insisted stubbornly.
Blue eyes flashed. "I was stopping him. It was me he was attacking! "
"But--"
"But nothing." Starsky stabbed a finger at the other man, driving home his point. "You didn't even stop to consider that I might be able to take this guy. I could have, you know," he added more gently. "We were lucky this time because that other guy wasn't armed, but if he had been, you'd be dead right now. You'd be dead because of me and I don't think I appreciate that concept."
Hutch stood up and crossed to the hearth, mulling the words. He paced once while a pair of determined blue eyes bored into his back. "You're right," he said suddenly. "You're absolutely right. "
Starsky blinked at him. "Just like that? No arguments?" He sounded disappointed.
"Oh, I wouldn't go that far." Hutch returned to the sofa but sitting instead on the low coffee table opposite the other man. "You're right in that I over-reacted to that guy threatening you. Dr. Marsden said I would. I don't want to lose you again, buddy."
Starsky sighed deeply. "I know. But we can't work like this, Hutch. I won't risk you putting your life on the line every time it looks like I'm in some kind of trouble." He brought his clenched fist down on his thigh with a little smack.
Hutch chuckled softly. "We're starting to sound like a couple of old maids."
That won him a half-smile. "Really."
Hutch patted his arm. "We can work it out," he said confidently.
"Before or after one of us gets blown away?"
Anger flared, darkening Hutchinson's sky blue eyes. "That was a cheap shot, Starsky, and you know it."
"It's not and you know it," the other returned evenly. "It's the whole point of this discussion."
That set Hutch back a moment. "Okay, yeah, maybe it is. But Dr. Marsden did say this would happen."
Starsky shifted around until he could rest his back against the arm of the sofa, his expression very thoughtful indeed. "You spent a lot of time talking to her, didn't you?"
Hutch squirmed uncomfortably. "You're off the point."
Dark curls bobbed in a defiant shake. "Not really. The point is whether or not you're going to be able to handle the possibility of my getting hurt... or killed again. If you can't, Hutch...." There was no need to finish the statement; the meaning hung heavy in the air between them.
The brand new clock on the mantle ticked off a full sixty seconds during which each man maintained a pensive silence. Hutch picked up a newspaper from the walnut end table Kathy had so painstakingly selected from the inventory of Ye Olde Antique Shoppe. He sat folding and unfolding it, his eyes unseeingly scanning the headlines. Finally he replaced the paper and raised his head.
"Starsk, do you remember back when I had that trouble with Monk? Do you remember how you were after that?"
Starsky grinned crookedly. "Was I as bad as you are now?"
Hutch rolled his eyes comically. "Were you ever! You barely let me go to the john by myself. But you got over it. Sometimes it takes time, that's all."
"How much time?" the dark-haired man asked, resolve wavering. "Because we sure can't go on like this." He grinned crookedly. "You're going to have to let me fight my own battles sooner or later."
"I don't know, buddy." Hutch laid one hand on his friend's knee, squeezing tight- "But I hope you're going to give me a chance on this and not write me off too soon."
Starsky covered the hand with one of his own. "What do you suggest?"
"Couple months?" Blue eyes fixed blue with a hopeful look. "We'll get used to working together again, maybe get a little confidence back? I won't screw up like that again, Starsk."
"I guess we gotta try, don't we?" Starsky smiled, lighting the room with his warmth. "I sure don't want to go through the trouble of training a new partner, after all."
"Training .what?" Hutch sputtered, indignant. "It was me who.."
They hadn't argued like that in a long while and it sure felt good.
***