Odds and Ends

by Zebra 3 and Me

These Starsky and Hutch stories contain a strong friendship and very, very bad men.

ODDS AND ENDS

BY TLR

Mostly What If stories, a few of not surviving, a few permanent medical situations.

::::::::::::

Contents:

1. The Interview—What if Starsky doesn't survive Gunther's bullets?

2. Preacher—The partners fall into the hands of a bad preacher.

3. Paper Doll—Is Starsky's new girl The One?

4. House of Mercy—A lesbian couple is viciously attacked.

5. Hearts—A What If scenario of not surviving and physical hearts.

6. Recall—H still needs S, based on "The Fix" episode.

7. Fifteen—A What If scenario for H at age 15.

8. Blackout—H. needs help recalling memories.

9. The Gun aka Johnny Carver—A teenage robber.

10. The Starlight Tour—A What If story based on the "Partners" episode.

11. The Kidnapping—A heartbreaking case about to unfold.

12. White Terror—A child sex ring hits close to home for H.

13. Kiko's Career—Kiko the cop.

14. Kiko's Career 2—Kiko on the verge of losing his partner.

15. Moonless—A tragedy about one partner not surviving.

16. Angel—Starsky's mother leaves a letter.

17. Coming of Age—Kiko is being bullied at school.

18. Midnight—An old flame comes calling.

19. Milestones—A chance at a happy ending.

20. Trace Evidence—A Halloween set just after "The Fix".

21. Survival (What if?)—A What If scenario for the episode.

22. Little Boy Lost—S helps an orphan boy have Christmas.

23. A Matter of Life and Death—Trouble at a basketball game.

24. Friends—Through thick and thin.

25. Love in Chaos—A hard case with a newborn baby.

26. Skin—When inner beauty is more important.

27. The Dead—Rookies Starsky and Hutch. (By TLR and Anonymous).

::::::::::::::::::

The Interview

By TLR

"Easy does it," Hutch said as he helped Starsky from the car. "Think we can get you up these stairs?"

"Compared to bullet holes? Piece of cake."

Starsky tried to smile, but Hutch saw the strain on his face. The strain of recovery, of change, of uncertainty.

It had been weeks since Gunther had him gunned down in the police parking garage. Progress had been steady, his mood positive, but Hutch saw his vulnerability when Starsky didn't know he was looking-in the therapy room when he struggled to regain his strength, in the bathroom of his hospital room when he looked beneath his bandages, on the grounds of the hospital when they took painfully slow walks for lunch.

"Don't worry about me," Starsky told him. "I'm just gettin' warmed up."

"Good," Hutch replied, but he wondered if Starsky really felt that way inside, or was just spouting some of his optimistic lines to make him feel better.

The shooting had changed Hutch, Starsky noted. It made him more watchful and protective, but also more guarded and mistrustful. Not of him; but of the world. The cynicism brought on by the job and their close calls had metastasized with Gunther's ambush, and Starsky wondered if it were possible for Hutch to regain some of the trust, buoyancy, and humanity he seemed to have misplaced along his career.

If he's going to reclaim himself, Starsky thought, I'm going to have to be the one to help him. No one else and no other thing seems to mean that much to him right now. I have to help him find himself again; help put him back in his place.

At his time of discharge in the hospital room, Hutch said in an almost offhanded sort of way, "So who's going to be staying with you while you recuperate?"

"I got a curvaceous brunette nurse who's gonna visit me and tend to me for a while."

Hutch looked at him. One year ago. Two years ago. Three years ago, he would have offered outright. Insisted. Demanded to come and take care of him. Now, for reasons that were unclear but seemed to have culminated with the Gunther shooting, he was hesitant.

Please don't let this change you, Hutch. We need to mend our friendship. We need to spend time together.

"But…"

Starsky let it hang…

"I'd sure like to come and help," Hutch finally offered. "If that would be okay. Especially the nights."

His blush made Starsky laugh.

Hutch laughed too. "I didn't mean it like…you know what I mean."

"Yeah. Always knew you had a thing for me."

Starsky stood with an overnight bag in his hand, ready to sign himself out. Pale, weak, but ready, and eager for life again, ready to tackle anything again.

A sob suddenly caught in Hutch's throat, and he hooked an arm around Starsky's neck before they left the hospital room, pulling him close.

"I almost lost you," he whispered. "I'm glad you're alive."

Starsky was glad to see the emotion in his friend; glad that he could cry, blush, and smile again. It told him that he still had heart and passion inside. He gave Hutch's shoulder a pat. "Me too, Blondie."

That's all it took to start the repairs. A look. A hug. A few spoken words. A few unspoken words.

They were both older and wiser. Neither of them could return to the innocence and freshness they had four years ago. They were entering a new phase of their friendship. Of maturity. As experienced, wiser men. And, as always, would face it together.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Hutch drove slowly as he started for Starsky's house, as if afraid each bump and corner would hurt him.

Starsky didn't seem to mind. He was busy looking out at the passing scenery, almost in reverence, looking at life through different eyes.

He had never taken life for granted before. Not since the professor's poison. But Gunther's bullets had increased the awareness of how precious it was. How the smallest thing, like a flowering bush, or a lovely lady, or kids playing in the park, was a beautiful sight. Hutch had been like that after he'd been sick with the virus, but seemed to have found it less golden as time went on.

"Think we could stop at Huggy's a bit before we go to my place?" Starsky asked as he turned his head toward Hutch. "It may be a while before I get out again."

"Sure, if you think you're up to it."

Starsky nodded that he was.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Huggy shook Starsky's hand and gave him a brief hug when they came in. He noted how close Hutch

hovered around him, how radiant he looked. The smile in his eyes. The peace on his face.

Things were okay with them again. Their beautiful friendship was still there. It showed.

"I'm honored to have your presence," Huggy said grandly. "What can I get for you two this fine morning?"

"Bacon and eggs for me," Starsky said as he eased onto a stool at the bar. He looked at Hutch. "You?"

"You said you were going to start eating healthy."

"Yeah, I did. So, you order."

"Are you serious?"

"I am."

"In that case, Huggy, we'll take cereal, fruit, and a glass of milk."

XXXXXXXX

Hutch helped Starsky into the passenger side of the car.

"I think you overdid it with this stopover."

Starsky held his bandaged chest and winced a little, but still wore a smile on his pale face. "Maybe."

Hutch closed the door, then moved around to the driver's side of the car and got in. As he pulled away from the curb, he said, "So what's your nurse's name, huh?"

"Gwen somethin'."

"Is Gwen somethin' the one who likes to take your temperature?"

"She's the one who likes giving me sponge baths."

"Oh, that one."

"She's comin' over this afternoon."

"Good. I packed a bag."

Starsky tried to turn so he could look in the back seat, but the effort made him wince.

"Brought some records," Hutch said. "Couple of books. Magazines. Picked up a few model cars and puzzles you can work right in your bed."

"Bring your guitar?"

"No, but I can, if you think you'd like…"

"Been a while since I've heard you play it. I'd like."

"Okay," Hutch nodded, then smiled. "Yeah."

XXXXXXXXXX

A few minutes later Hutch was parking in front of Starsky's house. Looking up at it, Hutch said, "Those steps could be a problem."

"We'll take it slow. One at a time. Got all the time in the world." Hutch laughed. "That we do."

They sat for a while; Starsky's hand on the door handle. He pulled, but found he wasn't quite strong enough to open the door.

"Let me help you," Hutch said getting out and coming around to Starsky's side of the car.

"Easy does it," he said as he helped Starsky from the car. "Think we can get you up these stairs?"

"Compared to bullet holes? Piece of cake."

Starsky saw the look on Hutch's face and said, "Don't worry about me. I'm just gettin' warmed up."

"Good."

Starsky's hand went to his bandaged chest.

"Think I need a pain pill," he said clutching Hutch's arm.

"First thing inside," Hutch said as he closed the door.

They stood at the car, Hutch giving him time to catch his breath. He looked worn out from the trip to Huggy's, but he knew the time spent there was good for his spirit.

"Glad you're helpin' me out, Hutch," Starsky breathed a little heavily as he gave him a smile.

I think this is what you need. Even though you're helping me, I think it'll help you more. I just know it. You'll do what you do best, and that's caring for me.

Just like in the back office of that restaurant when Joey shot me. Just like when I was checking out from the poison in my body. Just like when you tangled with Simon Marcus to find me.

They both stood leaning against the car and looking up at the stairs.

"Think we can make it?" Hutch asked.

"No problem."

"Ready?"

"One at a time."

Hutch took his arm, and his weight, wrapping an arm around him securely as they moved toward the steps.

"Got my medicine?" Starsky asked.

"In my jacket pocket."

They paused at the bottom of the steps.

"First one," Hutch said as he watched his face. "Ready whenever you are."

He noticed how heavily Starsky leaned against him, how he seemed to sag a little more from fatigue.

"I won't let you fall," Hutch said quietly.

Starsky raised a foot, but it was Hutch who did most of the lifting as they made their way up the next few steps, the blond cocooning him with both arms, watching for the faintest sign of distress.

"Hey," Starsky said weakly. "We're doin' great, huh?"

"We sure are. Halfway up. Once I get you settled in the hospital bed, I'll come down and get my clothes."

"Then when Gwen comes, you can run home and get your guitar. It'll be like old-"

The unusually slow speed of the car passing by on the street is what drew Hutch's attention around; the sight of the four guns sticking from the windows is what made him reach for his own.

"Down," he hissed to Starsky as he pushed him down amidst the shower of chattering bullets that toreup the stairs and into their bodies.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Hutch missed the funeral because he was in a coma for five days.

Huggy was at his bedside in the hospital, hoping and praying that he would awaken, but wondering how he would tell him what happened if he did.

The first words he spoke when he came to were, "Where is he? Is he here in the hospital?"

His eyes searched for another bed in the room, another face besides Huggy's.

"He's gone," Huggy said as he leaned over the bed. He wanted to make sure Hutch heard him and saw him, because he didn't want to say those two words again.

Hutch moved his head no on the pillow.

"Have to get out of here. Have to find him. Help him."

Like the Italian restaurant, the professor's compound, Simon, Gunther's hired killers.

That wasn't about to happen. Hutch was too weak and too injured to get out of the bed, but nevertheless Huggy found himself keeping his hand on Hutch's shoulder just in case.

Hutch searched his face as he had searched the room. For a mistake. A lie. A nightmare.

He's gone, Huggy's wet eyes told him again, and this time Huggy knew that his friend heard him andbelieved him, because Hutch's eyes closed against the knowledge, the truth, and the heartache.

Most of Hutch's friends said that was the day he stopped talking, but Huggy saw it as the day he stopped living.

XXXXXXXX

He recovered physically, though there was no purpose or joy in it.

Huggy stayed at the hospital most days, tried to coax him into conversation, but finally gave up and just settled for being a familiar presence.

"You may not want anybody here," he told Hutch, "but it's the only place I can be, dig?"

While in the hospital, he never watched television, listened to the radio, read a newspaper, and ate only a few bites of the food that was brought to him.

A therapist came in to talk to him, but Hutch refused to speak to him as well.

"I won't say I know how you feel," Captain Dobey said on his day of discharge, "but I will say that I know what it's like to lose a partner."

Hutch handed him an envelope containing a resignation letter, and Dobey told him he would be receiving benefits soon.

One of the three bullets that hit him left his left side partially paralyzed. Not enough to keep him from getting around, but enough to keep him off the police force.

XXXXXXXX

Huggy took his time helping Hutch up the stairs.

"Still got your gun?"

The faltering, struggling blond looked vulnerable without a gun; even more without his best friend.

Huggy didn't really expect him to answer, but he had to give it another try.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Hutch reached above the door for his key, then stood silently as he looked down at it in his hand.

"I won't bother you again, Hutch," he said. "But you know where I am if you ever want to talk."

Huggy gave him one last hug, swallowing a catch in his throat. It was like putting his arms around a big block of wood. The blond didn't return the gesture.

Hutch moved away from him, unlocked his door, and went inside, closing the door gently in his face.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She knocked on his door and waited. Huggy had told her not to expect too much, but she believed he was worth the effort.

"Hey, it's me. Abby."

Putting her ear to the door, she heard nothing. No TV, no music, no radio, no telephone conversation, no stirring around.

I know you're in pain. Believe me. I know. But this seclusion isn't good. Please talk to me. Please talk to someone. Anyone.

"I brought you a casserole," she continued. "Vegetarian."

She waited. A few more minutes passed.

"I…I'll just leave it here at the door, okay?"

Waiting. Hoping. Praying.

No stirring. No movement.

"Goodbye, sweetheart," she said tearfully as she set the casserole dish down at the door and made her way down the steps.

XXXXXXXX

Dear Ken,

I don't know if you'll get this, or read this, but I want to tell you how very sorry I am to hear the news.

I know how close you were. I can't imagine the pain you're in.

I wouldn't expect to be the person you would confide in at a time like this. About him. But know that if you ever want to, I'm more than willing to listen.

Take care,

Kira

XXXXXXXX

Kiko's spiral notebook was tucked under his arm as he took the steps to Hutch's front door and knocked.

"Hutch? Can you come to the door? I want to talk to you. Not just about Starsky. I'm really sorry that he died…but…"

He waited, opening his notebook and taking his pencil from his pocket.

"Will you help me? I'm writing something for my school paper about the Big Brother program, and I want to know if I can interview you for it."

Time passed. He listened, tapping the eraser-end of the pencil against his notebook.

He knocked again.

"Hutch?

He waited some more, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, patient but tired.

"Hutch? I'm still here."

He leaned against the wall, then sat down on the top step, waiting, looking down at the words he had written halfway down the page, then tapping the last half of the page, which was blank and waiting for Hutch's words.

"Hutch? I'm still waiting."

Sleepy, he leaned his head against the handrail, and closed his eyes.

When he woke up, it was dark. He looked at his watch.

"I have to go home for dinner, Hutch," he said rising to his feet. "I'll come back around to see you again."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Nick got out of his Porsche and carried the small cardboard box up the stairs of Venice Place. It was a small one, 12 inches long, 10 inches wide, 10 inches deep, with four flaps that could be closed if one decided to do so. A box he carried easily under one arm.

He was dressed in a new, jet-black blazer, crisp white shirt, new eel skin shoes.

He didn't really expect Hutch to talk to him, but he wanted to look nice just in case.

Nick rapped on the apartment door.

"Hutch!" he called in an upbeat voice. Time to move on. Time to come out of your cave.

"Hey, man! We could go for a beer at Huggy's! Or just hang out! Talk about…old times! You can tell me some stories!" I'll show you my new car, new threads, and you can tell me how materialism isn't your thing.

More waiting. More silence.

"Dobey closed the case, man. It was Gunther all the way. He will never see the light of day."

When only silence answered back, he said with a lower voice; more subdued, "Come to New York anytime, man. You're always welcome. Me and Ma would love to have you. Maybe New Year's, huh?"

Realizing he could stand here all night at the door with no answer, he set the box down.

"Brought you some of David's things," he said with a final soft knock. "Thought you might like to have them. They're right here at the door, okay?"

A few more minutes of waiting, and then Nick went back down the stairs.

XXXXXXXX

It was three in the morning. He hadn't slept well since the drive-by, but wasn't particularly concerned about it. He knew he would never sleep well again. Sleep and food meant little to him. Sometimes he forgot to eat at all. He slept only when his body demanded it. Otherwise he would walk the floors, or sit and remember. He was an unuttered prayer, an unfinished painting, an unlived life.

He opened the door and looked down, seeing the small box, leaning over to pick it up, with mostly his good hand. With trembling, loving fingers he lifted the flaps and looked in.

The piggy bank they had kept on their desk. Starsky's shield, medals, plaques, diplomas, certificates. A book of trivia questions. A book of magic tricks. His rings, necklace, watch. Baseball cards. A red bandana. Guitar picks. A few 45's; Fats Domino, Billie Holiday, and other favorites. Lyrics to two songs. One, Hutch's; the other, his own. Photos. His blue plush toy.

You're my pal, Hutch.

Hutch put the watch on, held the box to his breast, hugging it close, and shed tears for the first time since he had lost his partner.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Report card in hand, Kiko walked up the steps to Hutch's front door and knocked. It had been almost a year since he had seen him or talked to him.

"Hey, Hutch!" he called through the wood. "You should see my report card! All A's this time!" He waited, putting his ear to the door to listen, hearing the sound of glass against glass.

Maybe he was washing dishes, putting them away, or preparing a meal. Whatever he was doing, it was the sound of busyness. Of life. A healthy sound.

Smiling, Kiko knocked again. "Hutch?"

The sound of tinkling glass stopped, and then the door opened.

But it wasn't Hutch who greeted him. It was a young lady in a college sweatshirt.

"Hi," she said smiling. "Can I help you?"

Kiko looked past her, seeing all of Hutch's furniture and belongings.

"Can I talk to Hutch?"

"Hutch. Oh. You mean Ken?"

"Yeah. I'm his friend."

She smiled. "I'm afraid he doesn't live here anymore."

Kiko's nose wrinkled. "Huh? But his stuff is still here."

"He moved. Said I could have everything. I don't have a stick of furniture, so I was really grateful. That was really nice of him. I got all this, and he just left with a little box of stuff."

"Where did he go?"

"He didn't say. I sure didn't ask him. I don't even know him. He barely spoke to me."

Kiko saw Hutch's guitar propped against the piano.

"Do you play the guitar?" he asked.

"No. All I can play is a hi-fi stereo."

"Then…do you mind…can I take it?"

"Sure," she said going over to it and carrying it back. "I don't know what in the world I would do with it. I thought maybe I could get a few bucks for it at the pawn shop down the street."

Kiko took the guitar. "Thanks," he said, and walked down the stairs with it.

XXXXXXXX

Time, People, Newsweek. They had all asked him for a story, and it would be a big one. Attention cameto his name because of James Marshall Gunther's arrest, trial, and conviction, so a follow-up on the detective who took him down, only to lose his partner to him afterward, would mean a career-making story for whoever landed it.

Except that Hutch turned them all down. He didn't want the attention or the money. When he tried to avoid the press by changing his phone number, they came to his front door, sent him letters of requests, and followed him in vehicles, which drove him from Venice Place and onto the street, where he hoped to lose himself in invisibility. The press wasn't the deciding factor that motivated him to move out-he could no longer endure the heartache of living in a place that so haunted him with memories-but it was a factor.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kiko paced around on the sidewalk outside of The Pits, waiting for Huggy to come out. Eventually he emerged with a lady under his arm.

"Hi, Huggy."

Huggy found a wry smile for the gangly teenager. "That you, Kiko? Haven't seen you in a couple of years. What's up?"

"Not much. Just came by to see if you've heard anything from Hutch. I haven't talked to him since… well…you know. And then he moved. And now…it's been so long…"

"I hear you, kid."

"You don't know where he is?"

"No. I tried to talk to him, but he just don't have ears for it. Don't guess he ever will. I had to accept that. Maybe you should too. He's not the Hutch we knew. Starsky changed everything."

"How could we find out where he is?"

"Didn't you hear me, kid? I said I don't know, and evidently he doesn't want to be found."

XXXXXXXX

The young man sat in his car next to the cemetery, watching the headstone.

Hutch wouldn't come on the anniversary of Starsky's death. The young man was sure of this. But he would come on his birthday.

It was late evening. Moody. Not many people at the cemetery this time of night.

But sure enough, just as the sun was setting a dark red-orange, a man came walking stiffly, almost limping, to the headstone, his bad arm clasped against his chest.

He should be using a cane. He should have had physical therapy. But it's been so long, it probably wouldn't do much good now.

He wore old clothes and his hair was silver now, tied back in a small ponytail. The flowers he held brightened his face for a moment, but when they left his hand to grace the headstone, Kiko saw the loneliness, devastation, and grief return to his eyes.

Kiko got out of his car.

"Hutch?"

Hutch looked his way.

It's been years, Kiko thought. Does he even recognize me? Does he know who I am? I'm tall. My hair is short…

Hutch looked his way, then turned and walked away.

Kiko followed him for a few steps, but then stopped.

It didn't seem fair to overtake him when he was so slow, and so obviously wanted to be left alone.

Kiko got back into his car, watching Hutch as he crossed the cemetery to get into the cab.

He doesn't drive anymore?

Heart beating with the joy of just seeing him again, Kiko started his car and decided to follow the cab, just to see where Hutch was living now, but far enough behind so as not to arouse his suspicion.

He followed the taxi for blocks, far from the better part of town, until it pulled up alongside a homeless shelter to let Hutch out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hutch carried his tray of soup, bread, and juice back to the table that had the fewest people, against the wall in a dimly-lit corner, and sat down.

The potato soup was okay, but he'd had better; preferably his own. The juice tasted watered down, and probably was, to make sure that all thirty or so regulars got some, plus maybe some of the impromptus who came in off the street, if they were lucky. He gave the shelter some of his benefit once a month, but it never seemed to be enough. There were so many things to provide. Electricity, food, clothes, linens, and on good days, newspapers and magazines. Which made him look to the new magazine at his elbow, where he saw a familiar name on the cover.

"Big Brothers: Giving Back," by Kiko Ramos.

Hutch opened the magazine and read how his Little Brother was now a Big Brother.

By the time he was finished, he had tears in his eyes-the second time since Starsky's passing.

XXXXXXXX

The heart attack death of James Gunther in his prison cell brought with it a renewed interest in the case, and word was out on radio, television, and in the newspapers that, once again, Ken Hutchinson was the "it" interview to be had.

Ten years had passed, but the interest was still there. Rabid. Jealous. Competitive.

Stories were written around the story, but no interviewer had talked to him, or could quote him, or could get his thoughts on paper. He was a closed book, a closed mouth, a closed person.

XXXXXXXX

"Hello?"

Kiko sat on his sofa, girlfriend Kishonna on his lap, kissing her throat, trying to hold onto the telephone receiver as she was trying to take it away.

"Is this Kiko?"

Kiko froze, and stood up, his girlfriend almost spilling from his lap.

She gave him an odd stare, then stood to wrap her arms around his neck to nuzzle him back.

"Hutch?"

"Look, I…saw what you wrote. About the Big Brother thing. And…I'm proud of you. You're really making a name for yourself."

"Well, I'm trying. Climbing the ladder, you know?"

"I hear I'm a hot property these days."

"What? Oh. Yes. Of course. We all want to interview you."

"Was that you I saw at the cemetery last week?"

"Yeah, but…that wasn't why I was there. I hope you don't think it was because I was trying to follow you because of…"

"I don't."

"So…are you doing okay? I really missed you. I tried to stay in touch, but…"

"I know."

"It's good to hear your voice again. You're welcome in my home anytime."

The line was quiet. Kiko decided that either Hutch was too emotional for words, or had nothing else to say, but preferred to believe the former.

"So," Kiko said, "thanks for calling, Hutch. It means a lot."

Kiko started to hang up, but then he heard Hutch's voice again in the receiver.

"Kiko?"

Kiko put the phone back to his ear. "Yeah?"

"You know, there's one way to keep those bloodhounds off my case."

"You mean the…oh. What do you mean?"

"I could give the interview to you."

"What?"

"That is, if you're interested. You may not want…I mean…you didn't ask…"

Are you kidding? I didn't ask because it wasn't even on my mind. I was so caught up in talking to my old friend, my mentor, my hero. This would change my career. That's why you're doing it. For me. You're handing the most sought-after interview to me on a silver platter.

"Yes," Kiko said swallowing back tears. "I'd love to talk to you."

XXXXXXXXXXX

Kiko showed up at the homeless shelter in his best outfit, his only suit and tie.

Hutch had once told him to always keep one on standby for special occasions, and this was it.

The young man brought flowers and a drive-through cup of tea. He remembered how the flowers had lightened Hutch's face at the cemetery, and longed to see it that way again.

It was late, and the other residents had turned in for the night. Hutch sat in his favorite spot, the back table in the corner.

"Good to see you again," Kiko said setting the flowers and tea down on the table. He put his hand out, and smiled when Hutch reached forward with his good hand and gripped it. He sat down across from Hutch, no notebook, no recorder. Glancing around the shelter he said, "You should be running this place, Hutch. Not…living here."

"I help out, so I earn my keep. It's not so bad really."

"Yeah, but…" You deserve so much more. It's like you're punishing yourself for some reason. For being alive.

"You don't date. You never married. No children."

Hutch moved his head no. "I don't think I have anything to give anymore."

Tears came to Kiko's eyes. He looked away.

"I wish I had died on those steps with him," Hutch said softly. "I didn't protect him. I failed him. And I failed myself."

Kiko took a moment before speaking. He didn't want his voice to waver.

"They found you on top of him. Where you had pushed him down. Tried to…cover him…shield him. There was nothing else you could do."

Hutch put his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together, lowering his forehead to his hands, closing his eyes as if in prayer. As if begging.

Kiko put his own elbows on the table, covered Hutch's hands in both of his, squeezing and leaning closer across.

"Whatever wrong you think you did, you have to forgive yourself. He would want you to. He would want you to live. Thrive. Not just…exist. You helped me a long time ago. I'd like to return the favor."

The only movement Hutch offered was the slight turn of his head, no.

No, Hutch. It's not too late. There's still time to love and live. You still have so much to give. Do not sit here in this place and die like a wilting flower.

Hutch remained silent. Kiko waited, like he had ten years ago. Eight years ago. Five years ago. For him to speak.

But it was as if he were shutting down again. Growing mute.

For a brief time, Kiko had drawn him into the sunlight. Now he was retreating back into his dark room. He had fallen on his sword, and Kiko was beginning to realize the possibility that he may never get back up.

Kiko put a hand on top of his bowed head.

"Thank you for your time," he whispered, and rose to his feet.

He started for the door, shoulders heavy, heart sick.

Then came, "Kiko?"

He looked back.

Hutch had taken his hands down, and they were now flat on the table in front of him, almost imploring.

"Help me."

Kiko walked back to him and hugged him fiercely, weeping against his neck until his shirt collar was wet.

XXXXXXXX

"This is my girlfriend Kishonna," Kiko said making introductions. "But she doesn't live here."

"Not yet anyway," she smiled as she shook Hutch's hand.

Hutch looked around Kiko's apartment, admiring the classic art and decor. The lonesome duffel bag he clasped in his hand and small box wedged beneath his arm reminded Kiko of a youngster arriving at summer camp and uncertain about where to go and what to do.

"I have a guestroom," Kiko said gesturing toward the extra room. "Stay as long as you like."

Hutch nodded, and carried his bag quietly into the bathroom. "I'll just clean up a little."

Kiko kissed Kishonna and said, "Bring dessert around nine tonight, okay?"

"Sure," she said smiling almost sadly toward the closed bathroom door. "I understand."

After she left, Kiko went to the kitchen and called over his shoulder as he opened and closed cabinet doors, "I'm making a special dinner, Hutch! Fettuccini, homemade bread, and salad! Your recipe!"

XXXXXXXX

Freshly shaven and wearing clean clothes, Hutch looked as if he were dining in a high-end restaurant.

Kiko's table was set with the finest linen, silver, china, and crystal.

"Delicious wine," Hutch said as he drained the last from his glass. "Thank you. I've had it a long time. Waiting for a special occasion."

Hutch smiled at him, the candlelight no match for the soft golden glow on his face; the blue warmth in his eyes.

Hutch looked around. "You have a lovely home. Kishonna must have taught you some culture."

Kiko picked up the wine bottle and poured another glass for Hutch and himself.

"Actually it was you."

Hutch blushed a little, unable to hold back another smile.

"Well…"

"When my mother passed away, she-"

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"No, it's okay. She's in a much better place, believe me. She was very sick. She didn't leave much, of course, but she left me all she had, and that was a big envelope full of pictures. She could never afford the albums, so I bought some and gave them all a home. There are a lot of you and me and Starsky from way back. Would you like to see?"

Hutch nodded, and waited for Kiko to come back from the hall closet with a stack of photo albums.

In minutes they were laughing and reminiscing about old times and old friends.

A couple of hours later Kishonna arrived with a fresh strawberry pie.

"I'll make a pot of coffee," she said as she put a slice of pie onto their saucers.

Hutch picked up his fork, scooped up a bite, and looked at it before eating.

"One of Starsky's favorites," he said, then took a bite, savoring the tart, sweet taste.

When the coffee was ready, Kiko said, "Oh, Hutch, I almost forgot. I have a surprise for you."

"You've done enough already. This meal. The wine. Our time together."

"Just a minute."

Kiko smiled as he hurried away from the table.

Kishonna poured a cup of coffee for Hutch.

"Do you know what it is?" he asked her.

"I have an idea, but I'm not saying."

Hutch sipped his coffee.

Moments later Kiko returned with Hutch's old guitar.

Hutch looked up at him. "Where did you…how did you..?"

"I wasn't about to let that college girl hock it," he said holding it out to him.

Hutch smiled and took it. "Did you ever learn to play?"

"No, not really."

"I'd love to hear something," Kishonna said as she sat at the table. "If your hand…"

"I'll try," he said as he set the guitar on his leg and curled his stiff hand around the strings. "One Starsky wrote," he said remembering the lyrics he had found in the small box of belongings. "It's called 'Today'."

Kiko and Kishonna listened; Kishonna touched by the love in his voice as he gave life to the simple words; Kiko by his playing, poignantly elemental because of his stiff hand; if not made more beautiful by it.

XXXXXXXXXXX

They all dropped by to see him, but not all at once, to avoid overwhelming him.

First Huggy and his wife. Then the Dobeys. Then Abby and her son.

They thought he looked pale, but content. Not happy. Not like before. But content. At peace.

A man of clever words, but Huggy couldn't seem to find them as he stood in Kiko's doorway to tell the young man goodbye.

"Thanks, man," is all he could say, and clutched Kiko close to him.

Hutch was still volunteering at the homeless shelter, but not living there. He was looking for a place near the beach. Was even planning to open one of his own he planned to name Tuesday's Child.

"Hutch!"

Kiko jumped out of his car, waving the Life magazine around in the air like a schoolboy trying to show off a great report card.

"We did it! You have to see this! The sky's the limit now! I can do anything! I got more offers! They're talking about an award!"

He ran into his apartment, looking around for signs that his houseguest hadn't moved out yet. Hutch was supposed to move into his new place today; a nice little cottage he'd found close to the beach. Next door to a pretty art teacher he'd fallen for. A fresh start. New beginning.

"Hutch!"

Kiko went to the guestroom, but stopped in the doorway.

Hutch was still in bed, his back to him, the blinds still down.

"Hey," Kiko said as he carried the magazine to the bed to show him. "I want you to look at this. You made this possible."

He shook Hutch's shoulder, and when he didn't respond, took his arm and pulled him over.

The look of peace was still there, but the life and light he knew as Hutch was no more. His heart had stopped in his sleep sometime during the night.

"No," Kiko said as his eyes squeezed shut. "Hutch."

XXXXXXXX

Kiko, Huggy's family, Abbey and her son, and the Dobeys stood at the grave not far from Starsky's headstone.

The circle of friends was rather small, but just enough. Hutch's parents had disowned him years ago, when he was unable to rise above his grief.

Kiko now had two boxes of belongings to hold onto. He stood as weepy as a small child as he lay his head on Huggy's shoulder, Kishonna holding his hand on the other side.

"I hope they found each other up there," Mrs. Dobey said as she sniffed into the handkerchief Harold gave her.

"They did," the captain said quietly, and smiled through his tears. "They did."

The End

00000000000000

PREACHER

By TLR

His name was Jonathan Cole but everybody called him Preacher.

He used to be a popular television evangelist who had been betrayed by his wife four years ago when she turned him in to us for dealing drugs from their holier than thou mansion paid for by the generous donations of his television flock.

She didn't want it around their two little kids and thought they deserved a better father. I had to give her that. A lot of women look the other way, play dumb, run away, go along with it, or find a way to rationalize it. She had a lot of guts.

Now he was out of jail to start a new drug operation from the ground up, and the first thing he does is get me and Hutch, both of us from our apartments when we went home after our shift. He must have had a couple of henchmen at his disposal, because he preferred to have others do his physical labor.

It was all wrong. The whole thing. Where we were, how it looked, the lengths he was willing to take to locate his wife and kids.

I couldn't tell him where they were. We knew their whereabouts of course, but we weren't about to tell him they were safe in another state as protected witnesses, with new names, new identities, and new lives.

He didn't exactly want to find her in order to ask her forgiveness. He wanted to kill her. He never said it, but then, he never had to.

XXXXXXXXX

I opened my eyes to a sunny room that looked like a small attic, finding myself tied to a wooden chair which was nailed to the floor, with one window letting in all that sunlight.

Like I said, it was all wrong. The sun was too pretty. The room too nice and cozy. It was quiet. I deduced that it had been walled off from the rest of the attic. It was bare except for a heavy, long, intricately-carved and deeply polished desk in the middle of it, but the walls were a nice white. If my arms had been free, I think I could have touched both walls with them if I'd spread them out from my sides. The wooden floor was swept clean, and I was about five feet away from the desk. The window was straight ahead of me across the room, and the desk was between myself and the window. I was closer to the opposite end of the room, somewhere near where a door would be, but I couldn't turn my head far enough to look over my shoulder to find out where it was.

I felt a little groggy and confused, so I didn't know if I had been drugged or was just feeling the effects from being hit over the head. Maybe it was both.

The worst part about the room wasn't being tied up. It was being tied up and unable to help Hutch, who was about six feet to my left, his wrists tied to a high bar in the doorway of a tiny bathroom.

His silence in the sunny room is what seized my heart. He just hung there with his back to me, his pale yellow T-shirt and hair matching the hue of the room. I couldn't see his face, but could see that his head was down. I didn't know if he'd been beaten or if anything was broken. I couldn't see any blood from where I sat. I had the sickest feeling he'd been drugged. Otherwise he'd be awake and trying to talk or fight.

"Hutch?" I called, and was surprised by the weakness I heard.

"Hey, Hutch?"

No movement. I looked up at his hands. We'd been here for a while. His hands were beginning to discolor from the stress on them and lack of circulation.

A darker fear crept into the front of my mind. Maybe he wasn't just unconscious, or drugged out of his head. Maybe he was dead.

I swallowed a cry in my throat as I called his name again.

"Hutch!"

I struggled against the ropes that bound me, determined to get free and go to him. His condition was worse than mine. Maybe he'd fought them before they overpowered him and they had to use extra

measures to quiet him.

That would be like Hutch. If he thought I was hurt or in danger…

I yelled toward the window.

"HEY! ANYBODY! HELP!"

I yelled a few more times, then gave it up.

"Terrific," I said as my aching head dropped back in frustration and I closed my eyes.

I fought against the ropes again. "I'll get us out of here. Hear me?"

"I'm afraid it won't be that easy," a voice behind me said.

I heard a door close, then lock, and then Preacher came into view, strolling in front of me with his hands on his hips like he used to do when he was a self-righteous thief preaching his greedy gospel on a stage in front of thousands.

"Because," he said looking down at me, "you're not going anywhere until you tell me where I can find my loving wife and adoring children."

"We don't know," I said as I twisted against the ropes. "And even if we did, we wouldn't tell you. If you think you had trouble over drugs, you ain't seen it until you're charged with kidnapping two cops."

"The charge will be murder if you don't tell me."

I looked over at Hutch. "Let him go. Deal with me."

"Not when I've invested so much in him already," he said as he walked over to him.

He was always a big, bulky man, but prison yard weights had made him even bigger and bulkier.

I didn't know what he was going to do, but it couldn't be good.

"No," I said. "Come here. Talk to me. He doesn't know anything. He wasn't in on the details. I want to hear more about this mission you're on, why you're so…"

He took Hutch's head between his hands and lifted it, looking at his face, more than likely his eyes to see how far gone he was.

"What'd you give him?" I asked.

"Something to keep him calm and quiet. So that you will be calm and quiet. Because, here is how this will work. When I ask you and you don't give me the answer I want, he'll be the one I hurt, not you. And I do have access to drugs and methods of torture I learned and used in Vietnam when I was in charge of intelligence gathering. Are you familiar with enhanced interrogation techniques?"

My heart pounded so hard and so fast I thought it would burst. I strained more against the ropes, but there was no getting out.

"Right now he isn't feeling much pain," he said. "But when the drug wears off and he comes to…" A small moan came from Hutch. Preacher patted his face.

Kick him, Hutch. Fight him.

I knew Hutch was in trouble, but he was alive, and I had to keep him that way, because this man had nothing to lose. His only goal in life now was to find his wife and kids, and he would kill both of us in his hunt.

"I've given you something to think about," he said as he walked away from us and toward the door. "If you believe in prayer, Sergeant, now would be a good time to pray for strength, because you're going to need it."

XXXXXXXX

I heard the door lock after he left. When he was gone, I said, "Hutch? You awake?" because the small noise he'd made told me he might be coming around.

He didn't answer, but I did hear sounds of distress in his breathing, like he was in pain but just wasn't able to say anything.

"Hutch, Preacher wants to know where his wife and kids are. We'll find some way to get out of here."

I didn't know if he could hear me. I could only hope. Maybe I was just talking to fill the yellow silence, and to help ease his mind a little.

XXXXXXXX

I thought I was mentally pacing myself, trying to brace my nerves and my brain for whatever plans Preacher had for us. I'd withstood some pretty tough situations before, so I set about gathering my wits. I'd need everything I had.

But when Hutch came to with his first moan of "Starsk, help me. Muh-my hands. Can't get down," I thought I would lose every ounce of will and heart I ever had, and actually did pray for strength to endure. Not my pain. But his.

I could take a lot of pain, but I couldn't take a lot of Hutch's.

Just like with Forest last year. I wished a hundred times it was me who'd had the needle instead of Hutch. Seeing him hurt just kills my heart.

"Hey, buddy. I'm behind you. Don't move so much."

His hands were turning a deeper pink. I wondered how much they could take before they would be

permanently damaged.

His fingers barely moved.

"Starsk-"

"I can't help you down, buddy. He's got me trussed up to this chair."

His shoes moved a little bit, but I could see that he was too weak to lift his legs or do anything else but make tiny sounds of pain.

His struggling slowed to a stop when he ran out of energy, and his breaths became small and labored. He wasn't breathing well. Short and shallow.

"Hands are killing me," he groaned.

"I know, buddy. He's gonna come back in here, and he's gonna hurt you if I don't tell him where to find his wife and kids."

"That's…" His voice was pitifully weak, but concern for the family kept him talking. "That's what he wants?"

"Yeah."

His voice was not only tinged with pain, it held fear, and that's something I hadn't heard in his voice since Forest. He sounded more like a scared little kid than a strong, capable cop.

I think he was afraid Preacher would string him out to get the information he wanted.

XXXXXXXX

The rest of the day passed in agony for both of us. For Hutch because he got no relief, and for me because I couldn't help him. All I could do was talk to him and tell him I'd try to think of way to get us both out of the situation we were in.

When the sun went down and night came, Hutch had a terrible time drifting in and out of pain, sleep, and some kind of twilight state.

I caught some rest in between the sounds that escaped him and the odd little breaths he took, but mostly I had dreams, of breaking free of the ropes and helping Hutch out of the attic.

XXXXXXXX

"Good morning, Ken," the man said when he walked into the attic and over to him the next morning.

"Preacher," I said as I began to twist in the ropes again. My chest and arms actually hurt from my constant struggle, and my hands were raw and bloody, but what choice did I have?

"Want me to tell you where they are? Come here. Untie me and I will."

"No games," he said quietly as he took Hutch's head and raised it up to look at him. "You're beautiful."

"Scum," Hutch and I muttered at the same time.

Preacher moved behind him, reached into a shoulder bag he had, and brought out a syringe.

"This doesn't have to be hard," he said as he jabbed the needle into Hutch.

For a few seconds Hutch tried to struggle, even more when Preacher wrapped his arms around him from behind as if in a loving embrace, his cheek against Hutch's back. "You know why I chose you, don't you? I don't want to hurt you, but I will if-"

"Stop!" I yelled at him. "Don't touch him!"

Hutch was too drugged to fight back.

"Okay!" I said, my chest heaving with fury and fear. "I'll tell you! Just leave him alone!"

Preacher walked over to me and jerked my face around. He was panting, a crazy kind of excitement in his eyes. He was enjoying this.

"You're sick," I told him.

"That's what they'll say."

"Starsk," Hutch gasped. "I cuh…can't…Plea…" His voice died out as he was overtaken by the drug.

"New Mexico," I said as I lowered my head. "They're in New Mexico."

"Name?"

"Nancy Monteith."

"The boy?"

"Kevin."

"The girl?"

"Jan."

It was enough to make him leave the room. With phony information, but maybe it would buy some time.

When he was gone, I looked over at Hutch, who was silent and unmoving again. The smell of urine was nasty where Preacher had marked his territory.

"Hutch? You okay?"

As I expected, I got no answer.

Who was I kidding? When Preacher had his people check New Mexico and found that I'd given him nothing but a big fat diversion, he'd be back to continue his pursuit, and maybe this time he would be too angry, go too far.

In any event, I was beginning to realize that even if I told him the truth right down to her house number, he would still kill us. He couldn't let us live to say anything.

I still had to find a way out of here.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The rest of the day was quiet, but by dusk the drug was wearing off and Hutch was moaning and struggling again.

"Easy, boy," I said as I looked over at him. "I sent him on a wild goose chase. I'm thinkin' there's been time for Dobey to get concerned, put out an APB, contact Huggy. They'll figure out Preacher got out of the joint last week and come looking for us."

That was the best scenario possible.

"I need some help," came his small voice. "You know?"

The weakness in his helpless voice made me try harder against the rope. I tried rocking the chair from side to side. If I could just pull it from the floor, topple it over, splinter it, maybe I could find a way to break it apart and get the ropes off before Preacher got back, because when he discovered I'd put him on, he wasn't going to be very happy about it.

XXXXXXXXXX

We spent another restless night in and out of sleep. It was hard to rest, but I did doze. I'd need every ounce of strength to fight Preacher if I ever got out of these ropes.

By morning the best scenario in my head was turning into the worst.

What if Dobey and the cops couldn't find out where this place was? What if Preacher decided to kill us today?

I wanted to yell toward the window again, but I didn't know what the crazy man would do to Hutch if I did.

It was probably nothing compared to what he would do once he found out New Mexico was a dead end.

"Hutch?" I asked as I looked his way.

His only answer was his short, faint breaths, now sounding a little shaky, as if he had the chills.

"Hey," I said. "You getting sick?"

The attic was warm. Almost hot. But Hutch was trembling, and I didn't think it was just from the hell Preacher was putting him through.

I prayed it wasn't shock.

"Hutch?"

I heard the sound of the lock, and then footsteps as Preacher walked in with his shoulder bag.

He didn't say anything to me. He didn't even look at me. He just stepped over to Hutch and stuck another needle in his throat, making him flinch.

"I think he's getting sick," I told him, even though I knew he wouldn't care. "Let him go. Take the pressure off his wrists. I told you he doesn't know anything."

Preacher ignored me as he gave Hutch another injection. Hutch was already so affected by the first one that he didn't even react to the second one.

"Lowlife!" I yelled at him. "What are you givin' him?"

"You lied to me," Preacher said as he took a hunting knife from his shoulder bag.

"Wait," I said straining forward against the ropes again. "I know. I'm sorry. I just want you to stop hurting him. Just…just stop!"

Preacher took a handful of Hutch's hair and pulled his head up and back.

I couldn't see his throat, but knew it was exposed, and he was too wiped out to do anything about it or

even know what was happening.

"Don't," I said, my own voice barely a breath. "Come here. Deal with me."

"I am dealing with you. Tell me where they are. Whose life do you value more, theirs or his? They're as good as dead and you know it. Are you willing to sacrifice your partner for them? You might be willing to die for them, but are you willing to let him die for them? You're causing him all this pain, yet you won't do what you know you have to do in order to stop it."

His words were beginning to make sense to me. He was going to kill them no matter what. Even if he killed both me and Hutch right now, he would still find them, through some other cop less willing to hold out.

How valuable was Hutch's life to me? Was the job worth it? Yes, we swore to serve and protect, and the Cole family's safety came first, but what about my partner's safety? I couldn't let him die. I couldn't let him be murdered. What kind of cop was that? What kind of friend? What was I doing to him?

I knew Preacher was playing with me. He knew hurting Hutch would weaken my will.

"Kill me," I finally said. "If you're going to kill one of us, kill me."

"That's not my plan. You're going to tell me where they are, or I'm going to hurt him again."

He raised the knife to Hutch's throat and held it there.

"I don't know if you can hear me," he whispered into Hutch's ear. "But I'm going to cut you down. And if you make any false moves, I'm going to kill your friend over there."

Hutch gave no indication that he had heard. He was in another world as Preacher reached up with the knife and cut the ropes on his deep red hands.

"Dirty coward," I growled. "You want to fight somebody? Let me out of this chair. Let's make it fair. Come on. Me and you."

Preacher caught him under the arms as he dropped, and carried him over to the heavy, polished desk and put him down.

I was glad to see him down from the bar, but it gave me a sinking feeling in my gut too. Preacher wasn't finished with him.

He picked Hutch's head up again and looked into his eyes, then looked at me. "What do you want me to do to him?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

"Nothing!"

"Snap his neck?"

"No!"

Preacher lowered Hutch's head back down.

"He's got enough tranquilizer in him to drop a lion," he said as he walked past me. "So he won't be able to get off the desk. I'll leave you to think about how much more you think he can take."

Preacher left me a broken man. With Hutch lying on his side toward me on the desk, crumpled like a big doll, I got a terrible view of his mangled wrists and his drugged eyes, which were pale blue slits in the bright sun. He was looking right at me but not seeing me or registering that he was now lying on a desk instead of hanging in a doorway.

"Buddy," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm here."

XXXXXXXXXXX

Hutch didn't move all day, while I, on the other hand, still tried to weaken the chair, break it loose, make it tip over.

If I could just get to the window.

I didn't know what was outside. I'd been unconscious when they brought me in. But it would be better than the attic.

XXXXXXXX

No food, not water. I was getting hungry and thirsty.

By evening the drug had worn off and Hutch was mumbling deliriously in his semi-sleep. His face was flushed with fever and he still quivered with chills.

"No fuh…false moves," he muttered with his fever-glistening eyes.

"Hutch? Can you hear me?"

"Get me down. My huh-hands."

"Say your name. Tell me your name."

He didn't answer. He just kept breathing, now a wheeze. His eyes rolled. He didn't see me. If his fever got too high…was it the flu or something in the shot?

I started to yell for Preacher. I didn't really want him to come, but I couldn't stand seeing Hutch this way.

"Hutch, can you move? Can you get off the desk? You're on a desk. You're not tied up anymore. If you can help me out of this chair, we'll go out the window, both of us. Did you see anything in the

bathroom we can use for a weapon? Huh?"

He moaned but still didn't move or say anything more.

As the night wore on, more of the drug wore away and Hutch was looking at me. Not all in the here and now, but still looking at me. I was surprised Preacher hadn't returned to give him another dose.

"Hutch, you with me? If you can get up, come over here, try to help me, we'll find a way to get us out of here."

"No," he said softly. "He said…"

"I know what he said."

"He said…"

"I know. But it's okay. We gotta get out of here. If we stay, we're both dead. We gotta try. Come on. What can you do? Is anything broken? Can you move?"

But it was too late. The attic door was opening and it was Preacher bringing in his shoulder bag of goodies, plus a hired hand to help with the questioning.

But the goon…when I looked at him…I saw it was no goon. It was Huggy, and it was clear he'd somehow worked his way onto Preacher's staff.

He almost blew his cover, though, when he took a glance at Hutch and almost lost his footing.

We'd both seen Hutch drugged once before, and it was something we never wanted to see again.

Hutch looked at him, but if he recognized him, certainly gave no sign of it.

"Devlin will take over for a while," Preacher said as he handed Huggy the shoulder bag. "Go ahead."

Huggy took a syringe from the shoulder bag and stepped up to the desk. Only I could distinguish the slight hesitation and dread in his eyes when he tied a rope around Hutch's arm and tapped a vein up to the surface to push it in.

Hutch didn't even have it in him to resist or say anything. He was trying to protect me.

XXXXXXXXXXX

After Hutch got the shot and Preacher was gone, I said to Huggy, "Get me out of this chair. He's sinkin' fast."

Hutch's breathing was now slow and shallow. So long between each intake of air.

Huggy stepped over to me with the knife to cut me loose, and that's when Preacher came back in.

Startled, Huggy backhanded me hard across the face.

"Quiet!"

"No, no," Preacher said as he came closer.

Damn. Huggy didn't look powerful, but my head rocked and I saw stars.

"I thought I told you," Preacher told Huggy. "Ken's the one."

Huggy moved over to the desk.

"Give him two more shots," Preacher said.

"One more and he ain't gonna tell you nothin'."

"Correct," he said as he nodded his head at me. "But this one will."

"Don't," I said with my head down and blood running from my nose. I wasn't acting, and Huggy could see that I wasn't. Hutch was close to overdosing and I was close to giving up the Cole family. It was the end of my willpower. And the end of my partner's life if I didn't tell Preacher the truth.

"I dig," he said to Preacher as he rummaged inside the shoulder bag for two more needles.

The rope was still around Hutch's bicep, so all Huggy had to do was lean down and slide the needle in, but before he did, he suddenly spun and hurled the knife at Preacher's chest so quick I almost missed it.

Preacher staggered back with a stunned look on his face; about as stunned as I must've looked. His hand gripped the knife as if to pull it out. Then blood started bubbling from his mouth and he crashed backward onto the floor.

Huggy hurried to the dead man, yanked the knife out, and cut me loose.

"He's got two armed dudes downstairs," he told me.

"Is there a gun in that grab bag?"

"Nada."

I wasn't about to take the knife away from him. He was much better with one than I was if we needed to use it again, and with my hands a little numb and stiff, there was no way I'd try to handle it anyway.

"Window then," I said grabbing the shoulder bag (the doctors at the hospital would need to know what Hutch was shot up with because I sure the hell didn't know), and together we helped Hutch off the desk, each putting an arm around our necks and carrying him toward the window, where Huggy opened it and we looked out, seeing the roof of the garage below us and a psychedelic van I recognized from Merle's that Huggy came in. It looked like a long drop, but it was our only chance.

"You go first," I said. "Try to catch him when I let go of him."

Huggy dropped the knife onto the roof before climbing through the window and jumping, landing hard.

I heard him cussing as he picked himself up and looked up at me.

"Now Hutchie boy," he said holding his arms up toward me.

"Come on, Blondie," I said trying to hold him up and put his legs through the window at the same time. "We're gettin' out of here."

But he couldn't assist with his own release. I doubt if he even heard me.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Once we were on the garage roof, it was easier getting down to the ground, but when we did, we heard gunshots from an upper window. The henchmen must have spotted us on the security system.

"Hurry," me and Huggy both said at the same time as we hurried Hutch over to the van, got inside, and drove away, Huggy under the wheel and burning rubber.

In the passenger side mirror, I saw the goons running down the paved drive shooting at us, but by then it was too late. Huggy had already crashed through the front gate and we were on our way out of there.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"There a police radio in this thing?" I asked as I scanned the dash.

"Sure is," Huggy said handing me the mike. "Merle set me up right."

"Merle? Doesn't Dobey know about this?"

"It was my idea, but he gave me the green light. He said he'd have backup on standby."

"Let's get him to the hospital. I'll tell Dobey to send some guys after our kindly deacons before they split."

XXXXXXXXXX

After I radioed Dobey and told him everything, the ride to the hospital was much quieter. Hutch sat in the middle, slumped against me, unresponsive and burning up. I didn't have to have a thermometer to know he had a dangerously high fever. My arm was around him and he was scorching me through my shirt.

"He gonna be okay?" Huggy asked as he reached over and squeezed Hutch's forearm.

"I think so," I answered in a heavier, shakier voice than I had intended.

Then it all hit me, and I looked out the window so Huggy wouldn't see my wet eyes.

"It's all right," Huggy said reaching over to pat my shoulder. "I love him too."

XXXXXXXX

At the hospital I stayed with Hutch in the emergency room while they examined him and helped him out. He was out of it the whole time, in and out of unconsciousness.

"There is a little nerve and tissue damage to his hands," one of the doctors said hours later when they had some news. "But that should return to normal in a while as circulation improves. He won't be able to use his hands much at first, but that's only temporary of course. We're getting his temperature down. We found painkiller and tranquilizers from the syringes in his bloodstream. If he'd had another round…"

"I know," I said.

"He'll be sleeping the rest of the night in recovery, so you won't be able to talk to him until morning."

"I know the routine. Thanks, doc."

I gave Hutch's sleeping form a long look before stepping out into the hall, where I thought I'd find Huggy, but saw Dobey instead.

"How is he?" he asked me.

"He'll be okay. But Preacher put him through hell."

"That's what Huggy said. We rounded up Cole's two hired hands. I called Mrs. Cole…I mean, Mrs. Monteith, and told her what he'd been up to. She was upset, but she's going to be okay. Her new fiance was there with her."

"So she really did start a new life."

Dobey glanced down at my hands. "I think you should get those looked at."

"I'm fine," I said. "Couple of scrapes."

"Then go to the washroom and clean your face. You look like a train wreck."

"Will do," I said as I turned and headed for the men's room.

"And," he said after me, "tell Hutch I'll drop around to see him sometime tomorrow."

"I will."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

As I stood at the sink wiping the blood off my face and washing my hands, I was reluctant to look at myself in the mirror. We'd been in the attic for a while. What would I have done if Huggy hadn't shown up when he did? How long would I have allowed Hutch to be hurt like…

My heart clenched up inside my chest and I shut the questions out of my mind before I lost it.

I told myself to stop feeling guilty, but it didn't work.

He would never blame me, naturally. It was part of the job. But he was this close to overdosing because of me. And I was this close to giving up that family.

XXXXXXXXXXX

I found Huggy standing at a window and staring out into the darkness of Bay City when I went into the waiting room.

He barely acknowledged me when I joined him.

"You okay?" I asked him.

He didn't answer for a long time. The wry and self-assured face he usually wore had been replaced by a sober expression.

"No," he finally answered quietly. "I killed a man tonight, Starsk."

Quite efficiently, but I'd never say that to him out loud. I'm sure when he showed up to help, chucking a knife into Preacher's chest was the last thing he thought he'd do. He thought he might have to play hardball with us, lend a hand in helping us get free, or leave so that he could give Dobey more information. But not take a man's life.

What was I supposed to say? You should have known what you were getting into? You should have known that was a possibility?

That's what cops say. We know there is the chance every day that we may have to kill someone or that we ourselves may be killed.

But he was no cop. He was a restaurant owner with some cool gigs on the side. That's all. But one of the best pals Hutch and me could ever have around. He had given us the shirt off his back, money from his own pocket, his upstairs room, pots of coffee, strong drinks, information that solved our cases and saved our hides, the blood in his veins, his unwavering loyalty, and now a little piece of his soul.

"You saved Hutch's life," I told him. "Mine too. We were gonna die up there. The Cole family would've died too."

"Yeah, I get it, but…"

We stood together at the window for some time longer, lost in our thoughts.

Hours later he asked me, "You hungry?"

"I could eat a buffalo."

So we went to the cafeteria to get something to eat, but when we got there and I saw all the food, in a

way I lost my appetite. Suddenly I didn't feel like I could eat unless Hutch could too, so I decided to wait until morning and eat breakfast with him.

I did have a cup of hot cocoa though, to help me sleep through the night in the waiting room.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Seeing Hutch awake and oriented the next morning was the most beautiful sight I'd seen in a very long time.

"Good to see you back on this planet," I said, and the horrible images I'd slept with the night before, of him doped to the moon on the desk, were slowly being replaced by his gentle eyes and golden smile trying to make their way back.

Since I couldn't shake his bandaged hand, I leaned down and gave him a hug.

He tried to hug me back, but he could only raise his arms halfway.

"Good to see you too," he said, then looked at Huggy. "Thanks, Hug."

"That mean I get a raise?"

Hutch smiled a little. "I think you deserve one. So how did you get on the inside?"

"Pretty simple once me and the captain figured out it was Preacher who toted you away. I found out he went back to his old place to reopen for business, so I called and asked him if he could give me a job, and in return I'd give him a line on a couple of new shipments of coke coming in. He only had two guys, so he was desperate. He fell for it, and the rest is history as they say."

When a knock came at the door, we saw that it was Captain Dobey.

"Well," he said coming over to the bed, "how are you feeling, Hutch?"

"Still in one piece," he answered.

"Good." Then he looked at Huggy. "Am I going to have to deputize you, Huggy?"

"Me a cop? No way. A nice vacation in Jamaica will be just fine."

The End

000000000000

Paper Doll

By TLR

She had something that Starsky fell for. That spark of life. A twinkle in her eye. A playfulness much like his own.

They met at the tennis court. He was showing me a few new moves, but when she walked onto the court with her friend, I was chopped liver. He dropped his ball and walked over to her.

"Hey," he said with a puppy-like grin. "Can't you see this court's taken?"

"I can," she answered with a smile that was just as charming. "We'll wait."

The two young ladies walked over to a bench and sat down, waiting for us to finish, but when they began talking to each other instead of looking at us, he decided to draw their attention again.

"Mixed doubles?" he ventured.

"Oh, no," the one he had his eye on replied. "We're just beginners."

"Then is this ever your lucky day," he grinned. "Hutch and I…he's Hutch. I'm Starsky. We'd be glad to give you some free tennis lessons."

"Oh, of course," I said walking over to the girls.

"What I mean is," he said hurrying to catch up and pass me, reaching the bench first. "I'm a far more experienced player than he is. So I'll be the one giving the lessons. I believe in a more…hands-on approach."

I rolled my eyes, but the auburn-haired girl seemed to enjoy his word games.

Her friend smiled at me. Somehow we both deduced with a single look that this was really about Starsky and her friend's connection, and that we were left to fend for ourselves.

"I'm Lorie," the auburn-haired girl said rising to her feet. "What's your first name, Starsky?"

"Dave."

"Nice to meet you. You know, I'm not even sure if I bought the right kind of racquet."

"Actually it may be a little too heavy for a beginner," he said as he brought an arm around her and covered her hand on the handle with his. "What you look for in a racquet is control, maneuverability, power, stability, and comfort."

"Hm," she smiled over her shoulder. "Same thing I look for in a guy."

It was Lorie's friend's turn to roll her eyes as Starsky led his newfound interest onto the tennis court.

I smiled and sat next to Lorie's friend. "I'm Ken. Hutchinson."

"I'm Beth," she said. "Michaels. Nice to meet you."

"Hey," I said as I twirled my racquet. "Are you free tonight?"

"Sorry," she said as she showed me a small diamond ring on her hand. "I'm engaged."

"I think I just struck out."

"If you're playing baseball. In tennis it's called 'love'."

XXXXXXXXXXX

It was on a Friday that they met, so I didn't see him or hear from him all weekend, which was his usual habit when meeting a girl on a Friday.

Sometimes we double-dated, but usually he just got really wrapped up in the girls and told me all about them come Monday mornings. I was the same way.

XXXXXXXXXXX

He was humming a song and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel of the Torino when he picked me up for work.

"Hey," I grinned as I slid into the passenger seat. "How'd it go?"

"Hutch," he said with a look close to wonderment in his eyes as he pulled away from my place, "this girl is really special. Lorie Benton. That's her name. She's in her last semester at a culinary school, and she's a part-time cook at a jazz club."

"How lucky for you, huh?"

He went on talking about her. I knew he was head over heels, because I had asked him how the weekend went, not for her whole life story.

But I was so glad to see him happy with a lady again. Six months earlier he had lost Helen, and I was beginning to wonder if he'd let himself fall that hard again.

I was relieved to see that it could still happen. Not that he was in love. It was too soon for that. But his heart was into her, and that's what made him smile. And me.

XXXXXXXX

That day we were mostly in the squad room typing up late reports, me parked firmly in my chair, he propped precariously on top of the back of his with his sneakers in the seat. He went on and on about her the entire time, so that left me doing all of the typing and him doing all of the talking.

I had skipped my morning health shake, so by noon I was getting hungry.

"Let's go," I said rising from my chair and picking up my jacket. "You pick the place today."

Starsky hopped off of his chair, and that's when we saw Lorie breezing in with a large covered dish.

"Hungry?" she asked as she carried delicious-smelling food over to our desk.

"You have no idea," he said as he lifted the cover on the baking dish and inhaled the aroma.

"Ahh. Lasagna."

"It's for a test at school," she said. "You're supposed to give it a grade."

"Are you kiddin' me?" he asked as he opened a file cabinet drawer to find some paper plates and utensils. "That's the kind of homework I'm talkin' about." He kissed her, then looked at me. "Why didn't I go to culinary school?"

"Probably because you'd do more eating than cooking. Now if they gave grades for eating, you'd graduate with honors."

The three of us had lunch together, and he and I agreed that it was the best lasagna we'd ever had.

The lunch hour turned into two, and it would have gone on longer if Dobey hadn't ambled through the squad room to go for his own late lunch.

"Hey, you two," he said. "You're supposed to be work…is that lasagna I smell?"

"Please have some," Lorie said as she scooped some onto a paper plate. He sat down with us, forgetting all about the late reports.

XXXXXXXX

When all of the lasagna was gone and Dobey had pulled Starsky aside to talk about a case, Lorie sat down in his chair and leaned across toward me.

"Ken," she whispered. "Dave said his birthday is next month. What should I get him?"

I stopped typing and thought for a moment.

"Cement shoes," I finally said.

She wrinkled her nose. "Huh?"

"He's on Cloud 9."

She smiled. "Me too. I think I love him. But don't tell him that."

"Okay, I won't."

XXXXXXXX

A few weeks went by, and I observed their relationship growing into something promising.

I was tempted to ask, "Is she the one?" but decided that I wanted him to tell me without any quizzing from me.

But when he asked me, "Hey, you want to go to New York with Lorie and me to visit my family?" I pretty much had the answer to my question.

"No, thanks," I told him. "You two go and have a good time."

XXXXXXXX

And a good time they must have had, because when they got back, he looked refreshed, relaxed, and eager to get back to work, which was a case Dobey gave to us in his office.

"A stripper is missing from a nightclub called The Cat's Meow," he said handing me a file folder. "Angela Black. Presumed dead, possibly murdered. She hasn't been to work this past week, can't be found at her apartment, and her stepmother doesn't know where she could be."

"Hey, " Starsky said taking the file folder from my hand, "that's where Lorie cooks. Maybe she can give us a tip."

I looked at my watch. "Would she be working this late?"

"If she's asked. Let's go talk to her."

XXXXXXXX

The Cat's Meow wasn't what I expected. I was under the impression it was your basic jazz nightclub, because that's what Starsky had told me, but once we were inside and making our way through the crowded tables of customers toward the kitchen, we saw that it was a strip club, with only one unclothed dancer on stage at the moment doing a show, and her name was Lorie Benton.

For a second I thought it was someone else. But the look on my partner's face confirmed the truth.

I didn't know what to say, and I don't think he did either. His mind was too busy trying to register what he was seeing.

A culinary student? A cook? What else had she lied about?

She saw him and stopped dancing, staring as if shocked to see him.

Didn't she think he would ever drop by? Or that he would find out?

Hand over her mouth to stifle a sob, she ran backstage.

Finally my mind snapped back to reality and I turned toward him.

"Starsk-"

But he was gone, pushing his way out the door before I was halfway through the tables to go after him.

XXXXXXXXX

When I got outside, I found him getting into the Torino.

"Starsk! Wait!"

But he took off with a squeal of tires, leaving me behind.

I went back inside to call a cab, but someone was on the phone, so I decided to go talk to Lorie backstage.

There was a bouncer guarding the dressing room area, but I showed my badge and that got me past. I could hear her muffled sobbing behind a closed door. "Lorie? It's Ken. Are you okay? Do you want to talk?"

But the only answer she would give was her continued sobbing, so I went back out front and called a taxi.

After thinking about it for a second, I decided I was glad I hadn't talked to her. What would I say? What was there to talk about?

XXXXXXXXX

I had the cabbie drop me off at my place so that I could get my own car, then drove to Starsky's to talk to him.

He didn't answer my knock at first, then must have decided to open it because he knew I had a key to the door, and when he did let me in, I saw what I thought I would see. An angry and wounded partner.

"Why?" he asked as he paced around the living room. "I thought…"

I did what any good friend would do. I listened as he spilled his heart out.

I was at his place maybe thirty minutes when a knock sounded at his door.

He opened it to see Lorie in the doorway, dressed in street clothes and a long sweater, but it was still hard to forget the image of how she'd looked on stage. Beautiful, but…

"Dave, please. Can we talk?"

"Nothin' to talk about," he said, and closed the door in her face.

I thought she would hang around and keep knocking, but she didn't. I heard her car start, and watched

through a crack in the door as she drove away from the curb.

"Just go home," he said picking up a throw pillow and dumping it onto the sofa. "I'm goin' to bed."

"Okay," I said as I went out the door. "But call if you need anything."

"What I need is a big eraser."

My heart went out to him. I wanted to stay, but he wanted to be alone, so that's the way the evening ended.

XXXXXXXXX

I didn't go straight home, I went back to the club to question the owner and manager in the office about Angela Black's disappearance, who told me no more than what Dobey had, and that was that she hadn't been to work in about a week and hadn't been seen at home or by her family or acquaintances.

"If you hear anything more about her," I said as I gave them my card, "give me a call."

The whole time I had been talking to them, they looked a little uncomfortable; I guess because they got wind that my buddy was the reason she ran offstage in the middle of her…dance.

"Do you think Lorie will quit?" the manager finally asked me. "That'll be two we lose in two weeks."

"Don't worry," I said on my way out of the office. "I'm sure you won't have any trouble replacing them."

XXXXXXXXXXX

It was after midnight when I left the club, so I headed for home, but stopped to talk to Huggy on the way.

"Where's Starsk?" he asked as he got himself a beer.

"Home. He and his lady had a falling out. I think it's over."

"Lady? I been meanin' to ask you who she is."

"Lorie Benton. You know her?"

"He didn't know she was a stripper?"

"He knew she was a culinary student."

"Yeah. I'm the one who turned her onto it. Who you think taught her to cook?"

XXXXXXXX

On the beat the next morning, he was quiet and moody. Smile gone; and he wore a scowl. I knew it

was over between them and he was trying to press on, so the whole morning we just stuck to business and kept digging into the Angela Black case.

We went to Angela's stepmother's home and asked about boyfriends, enemies, any reason why she would be missing, if anyone would want to hurt her. We checked account activity at her bank and found that no transactions had taken place in the previous two weeks. Two weeks' worth of mail was piling up in her box.

It looked like the girl had just fallen off the face of the earth.

"She wouldn't just leave," her stepmother said. "Something bad must have happened to her."

XXXXXXXXX

At noon we went to the police station to talk to Dobey, and saw that Lorie was waiting in the hall just outside the squad room.

Starsk didn't give her time to say anything. He just took her arm and walked her to the end of the hall, where he stood telling her goodbye in a few short words, and when she left in tears, he slammed into the men's room.

I went down there to find him pacing.

"Hey," I said taking his arm to try to slow him down. "Come on. Let's go to Huggy's for a drink."

He turned tearful eyes away from me and punched a mirror.

"Starsky!"

I grabbed his hand and shoved it under the faucet, rinsing away blood and slivers of mirror; hopefully heartache too.

XXXXXXXXX

We went to Huggy's for lunch, no drink, but he barely touched his hamburger platter, and I did most of the talking.

While we were there, we asked Huggy if he had heard anything about Angela Black's disappearance, and he hadn't, but said he'd try to find out something.

XXXXXXXXX

For the next couple of days Starsky tried to focus on work to get his mind off of Lorie. He was talking again, but not about her.

We went back to the club to question some of the dancers about Angela, but found no new information. We did learn that Lorie quit the club, but the news didn't seem to affect him in any way.

XXXXXXXXXXX

That evening instead of dropping me off at my place, he asked me up for a few beers, so I said sure. It was as if he were putting a nightcap to his relationship with her, trying to wash away his feelings for her.

He went to the refrigerator for the beer, and that's when the phone rang.

"Will you get that?" he asked as he dug through the contents of his fridge for the case of beer.

"Sure," I said picking up the receiver. "Hello?"

A slurry female voice said faintly, "Dave? I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry."

"Lorie?"

I couldn't be sure, but it sounded like her, but was she drunk? High?

I must have looked as strange as I felt, because he yanked the receiver from my hand.

"Lorie?" he asked as he set the beer on the counter.

Then he stared at me.

"She hung up," he said in a bewildered voice. "What did she say?"

"She didn't sound good. She said she was sorry, and that she loved you, but…"

We both started for the door at the same time.

XXXXXXXXX

The ride to her house was eerily silent, both of our heads spinning with what ifs.

What if she passed out and hit her head? What if she got into her car and tried to drive?

He put the siren and Mars light on to clear traffic, and when we got to her place, we knocked a few times and shouted for her to come to the door, but when she didn't, he kicked the door open and we went in, finding her on the floor next to the phone, three empty bottles of sleeping pills on the coffee table.

He cried her name and started mouth to mouth and CPR. I called for an ambulance, even though I suspected it would be too late,

Her blue skin and lifeless eyes told me nothing could be done, but he kept at it.

"Starsk," I said squeezing his shoulder. "She's gone."

He ignored me and kept working on her, until the medics came and took over.

I pulled him away, and we watched hopefully as they made every effort to revive her.

"Sorry, Starsky," one of the attendants said as he looked our way. "We can't get her back."

We were both numb and silent as we watched them put her onto a stretcher, cover her face, and carry her through her front door.

Another love. Another Helen.

I found her suicide note, written on pretty stationery…

Dear Dave,

You were everything to me. I don't want to live if it means I can't have you. I want you to love me, but since you don't, I guess I'll have to say goodbye to this world, and you.

Love always,

Lorie

I didn't show it to him. He already felt responsible. So I wadded it up into a tiny ball and stuck it into my pocket.

He found a wrapped birthday present she had for him, and took it with him, but didn't open it.

For the next few days he moved around as if in a fog.

He was wooden as he questioned people about Angela, going on almost as though nothing had happened.

Then came the day of the funeral, and I showed up at his place to pick him up.

He was leaning against the wall, hand over his eyes. I went over to him to pull him into a hug, but he moved away.

"If I'd stayed with her…"

"It's not your fault, buddy. You didn't make her take those pills. She had a problem."

"Yeah," he said as he picked up his black sports coat. "Me."

XXXXXXXX

There weren't many at her small funeral. Her parents were dead, so that left her much older alcoholic brother, a few of her stripper friends, her classmate Beth Michaels, plus me, Starsk, the captain, and Huggy.

When I talked to Beth, she said she had no idea that Lorie stripped at the club.

Few words were spoken, but I think Starsky felt her loss more than any of them.

"She could have been so much more," he said as we left the cemetery. "We had something."

It was at my car that he finally broke down on my shoulder.

"I know, partner. I know."

I drove him home, gave him a strong drink, and sat with him the rest of the day.

By nightfall he said he felt like opening the present she was going to give him.

When he opened it, he picked up two baby-shoe size cement shoes on a chain, something to hang on his rearview mirror.

He looked at it, and me, with some puzzlement. Only I knew the significance, and when I told him, he nodded and smiled a little.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The next morning he arrived bright and early at my apartment to pick me up.

"Come on," he said as I slid into the car next to him. "Angela's case is still waiting for us."

The End

0000000000000000000000

HOUSE OF MERCY

By TLR

The four figures standing on the corner under the street lamp watched as the two young ladies emerged from the library and walked down a set of ten steps, then started down the sidewalk arm in arm laughing, books in hand, talking, their backs to the four, who now followed behind at a distance

"Who was that girl, Marcie?"

"I don't know. Something like...Toni...I don't know. Something. We met at the fundraiser last year." She moved a little closer to Kate. "Jealous?"

"Of course not. It's just...the way she looked at you...trying to pick you up...it was cute seeing you blush."

The four figures lunged forward as if in a football tackle, and wrestled the girls into a dark alley.

Kate rummaged in her pocketbook for mace, pulled it, and sprayed it at the pack, but it seemed to have little effect.

"Run, Kate!" Marcie screamed.

But Kate didn't. She jumped onto the back of one of the four. The man turned and held the scratching, clawing, shrieking Kate around her middle, pinning her arms to her sides.

"No!" Kate cried as she watched the other three men threw Marcie to the ground. "Stop it! Please!"

XXXXXXXX

In the sudden silence of the shadowed alley, Kate crawled over to Marcie, who lay still and bleeding.

"Marcie?" she whispered as she pushed long dark hair from her pulverized face. "I'll get help. I'll call an ambulance. Don't let go. Please don't let go."

XXXXXXXX

Kate sat stunned and trembling in the waiting room of Bay City Hospital as Starsky sat in a chair an arm's length away and handed her a cup of coffee.

"Take your time," he said gently.

"How is she?" she asked with a blank expression. "They won't tell me anything. I need to know."

"She's not out of the woods yet," Hutch said. "Still unconscious. That's why it's important that you give us all the details you can. If she doesn't make it..."

Kate raised her disheveled blond head, hand to her sore ribs. "She has to make it. The doctors can't let her die."

"They're doing everything they can," Starsky told her. "Just start from the beginning."

"There's not much to it really. It happened so fast. We left the library, started for home, and then we were jumped and pulled into an alley by four guys wearing ski masks. That's all."

"No," Hutch said quietly as he sat down next to her. "I'm sorry, but that's not all. We need to back up and go over it again. I know you've been through something horrendous, but we have to go over it point by point, from beginning to end. Let's slow down."

She closed her eyes. "You're asking me to relive that nightmare?"

"Yes," Starsky said. "It's the only way to catch them."

She relayed the attack, element by element, pausing when the detectives asked her questions or got her to clarify her answers. When she was finished, she said, "Now that I've had time to think about it...I don't know their names, but I think they're familiar to me."

"How so?" Starsky asked.

"Not sure. They didn't call each other by name, but...something about their voices. I've heard them before. Maybe talked to them before. The way they kept saying we were going to burn in hell...I think

they go to the church Marcie and I attended."

Hutch was still jotting notes in his small pad. "Name of the church?"

"The Holy Gospel Church."

"The Holy Gospel Church?" Hutch asked. "Brother Aaron?"

Kate nodded. "He asked us to leave last month when somebody told him that Marcie and I...live together."

XXXXXXXXXXX

Aaron Anderson was turning out some of the lights in the large, high-ceiling, multi-tiered church following a nighttime service when the detectives walked in with their shields out. Vases of flowers on narrow tables graced the long oak-sheen walls.

The voices of a man and a woman in polite conversation from a back room could be heard.

"Brother Aaron?" Hutch asked.

The handsome minister was collecting discarded tissues and stray pencils that the congregation had left behind in the highly-varnished pews.

"Can I help you?"

"Your church looks bigger on television," Hutch said. "I'm Detective Hutchinson. This is my partner Dave Starsky. We're here about the brutal beating and gang-rape of one of your members."

"Ex member," Starsky corrected. "Marcie Dillon. Her friend Kate was with her when it happened. She thinks the four attackers are members of your congregation. They wore masks so the girls couldn't see their faces, but they seemed familiar nevertheless, and we would like to ask you if you know of any members who would do something like that."

Aaron's fair complexion paled even more as he sat down in one of the pews, running a hand through his light brown hair. "Oh my God. That's terrible. Of course. I'll help in any way I can, but I certainly can't think of anyone in my own congregation that is capable of such a thing. That's...beyond words. I don't know what to say."

Starsky moved to stand in front of him. "Kate said you kicked the two of them out last month."

"I did. They're contrary to what we believe here, or teach and preach here. I think it's wrong, so yes, I asked them to leave, but I certainly don't condone any sort of attacks or violence toward people like that. This church stands behind traditional relationships and marriage."

"And four of your members drove the point home," Starsky said.

"I'll cooperate in any way that I can, but I shouldn't be held responsible for what my members do."

"Oh really?" Hutch asked. "Aren't you the leader of your church, don't you guide them in what to believe, teach them how to respond to the world, aren't you their example?"

"Yes, but I can't help what they do once they leave my church doors."

The door to a back room was opened by a man with ink-black hair, who held it open so that the woman could go through first.

"Hey," the man said approaching them and giving a concerned look to Aaron. "We heard the questioning. Are you all right?"

"It's okay," Aaron said. To the detectives he said, "Detectives Hutchinson and Starsky, this is my friend Alex Parker, and my wife Corelle."

"Good," Starsky said. "We'll question you two as well."

"When sin takes place in the church," Alex said, "it's up to the minister to call those people out, publicly rebuke them, and cast them out."

"Did you do that?" Hutch asked Aaron. "Declare their private lives to the congregation?"

"It's Scripture. My flock has a right to know."

Starsky asked, "You gonna do that for the rapists once we catch them?"

"They all know they're subject to the same procedure if they're found sinning."

"That's good to know," Starsky said. "You should see what your sheep did to that girl. I thought religion was supposed to be about love and compassion, not hate and judgment."

Alex bristled, but Brother Aaron said nothing.

"It is," Hutch said. "But his isn't."

"Now wait a minute," Alex said. "You got us all wrong. We're a church."

"Exactly."

Hutch looked at Corelle Anderson. "Do you know anyone in your congregation who is capable of a brutal assault? We're looking for four men. Young. Strong."

"No," she said as she looked around the empty pews as if searching for an answer. "We can give you a list of our regular members, but we have good people here. Maybe the girls are mistaken."

"Girl," Starsky corrected. "The one who was assaulted isn't able to talk."

XXXXXXXX

When the detectives arrived shuffling and bleary-eyed at Bay City Hospital again, they were met in the

hall by Kate, who wore a half-smile on her otherwise sad features.

"She's awake," she told them. "She's going to be all right."

"That's good news," Hutch smiled as he put his arm around her. "We didn't get very far with the preacher, so we'll need to question Marcie."

"Do you have to tonight? She's so tired."

"We know," Starsky said. "And we're sorry. But it's important."

XXXXXXXX

Kate held Marcie's hand during the questioning.

"Are you sure you don't know who they are?" Hutch asked. "One name. A description. Anything we can use for a sketch or a lineup"

Marcie spoke through split, swollen lips. "I don't know," she repeated for the fifth time. "They wore those masks. But it's like Kate says. It seems like we've spoken before, because their voices sounded familiar, but as far as saying which church members, I have no idea. Even if I did..."

Kate squeezed her hand. "Go ahead."

"Even if I knew, I don't want to press charges."

Kate stared at her. "Marcie..."

"I've forgiven them," she said looking at Kate. "Yes, they hurt me, but I have to forgive them, don't I?"

Kate closed her eyes. Starsky and Hutch exchanged a look.

"Marcie," Hutch said. "That's very kind of you, but I don't think you're thinking this through with one-hundred percent clarity right now. Why don't you think about it a little, and then we'll..."

"Can I talk to you?" Starsky asked Marcie. "In private?"

Kate looked at Hutch, then nodded. "I'll be right outside," she said to Marcie, then followed Hutch outside into the corridor.

When they were gone, Starsky closed the door and sat on the same stool that Kate had used next to Marcie's hospital bed.

"Look," he began quietly, looking around the room as if searching for the right words. "Some members of a cult held me prisoner last year. They roughed me up, gave me poison, and tried to kill me. I'm not saying my experience compares to yours, but do you know what would have happened if I hadn't testified against them?"

She looked down. "They would have gotten off the hook."

"To hurt someone else. The guys that hurt you...will do it again, if they're not stopped. You can forgive them for what they did to you, but could you forgive yourself if they do it to someone else?"

She twisted the sheet in her hand.

"No. I don't want anyone else to go through this sort of thing."

He picked up her hand and held it. "Forgive them if that's what you want. But forgiveness doesn't mean ignoring justice for yourself."

She started to pull her hand away from his, but when he squeezed it, she reached for him and he held her.

"It's gonna be okay," he told her. "A tough road ahead of you, but it's gonna be okay."

XXXXXXXX

Starsky pulled up alongside Hutch's place to let him out.

"See you in the morning, partner."

"Yeah. Goodnight."

XXXXXXXX

"Here," Hutch said handing his partner a health shake the next morning as he slid into the Torino next to him. "Made you breakfast. Mine's banana."

Starsky stared down at his and sniffed it. "What's mine?"

"Organic peanut butter."

XXXXXXXX

Later that day, Hutch showed Captain Dobey a list of names in his office. "Members of Brother Aaron's church. We're going to run every one of them through R&I."

"Maybe Ms. Dillon's medical records and lab reports will be of some help," the captain said.

When a knock came at Dobey's closed door, Starsky opened it to see a uniformed officer.

"There's a Brother Aaron on the phone for you two," he said.

"Thanks," Starsky said.

XXXXXXXX

Starsky and Hutch sat with Aaron and Alex in the back room of the large church. The room was

comfortable, with a desk, two couches, and several chairs, a refrigerator, table and chairs, and adjoining bath. More of an apartment than an office, accentuated with religious paintings and sculptures.

"I gathered the congregation this morning for a special prayer service," Aaron said as he looked from one detective to the other. "For the girl."

"To help with the investigation," Alex added. "To see if anyone said anything or acted out of place." "Did they?" Starsky asked.

"After the service," Aaron said as he handed Hutch a page of church stationery with four names and addresses. "I went to the restroom downstairs, and I overheard these four talking." His face blushed as he looked down. "About raping the girl. They were laughing about Kate macing them and trying to fight them off of her friend. I didn't want to believe it was them. They seem like good boys. But I guess I have to believe it. I heard them with my own ears. Saw them wash their hands and leave the bathroom."

"Did they see you?"

"No. I knew they would run if I made myself known, so I stayed in my stall."

Alex put a hand on Aaron's shoulder and looked at Starsky. "We don't want you to think that we're uncaring. We feel terrible about this."

"Because it gives your church a bad image?" Hutch asked.

"That's not it, Hutch," Starsky said. "They probably think those freaks did their church a favor."

"Now hold it," Alex said. "We already told you we don't approve of violence. How could we know something like that could happen in our church? We told you who these people are. Aaron will testify in court as to what he heard in the restroom. What more do you want?"

"Maybe a little prudence," Starsky said as he stood up. "If it hadn't been for your stance on the girls, maybe this wouldn't have happened."

Alex moved toward Starsky as if to grab him, and when Starsky moved to grab him back, both Aaron and Hutch pulled their friends back.

"Don't," Aaron said. "There's been enough upheaval as it is."

XXXXXXXXXX

With four confessions, the case was wrapped up sooner than the detectives expected. The four assailants were in jail before Marcie was even released from the hospital. Aaron and Alex worked overtime fielding questions from reporters about the case and their church.

"Thank you," Marcie said as she and Kate shook the partners' hands in the parking lot of the hospital. "No problem," Hutch said. "Hey, do you two like burgers?"

Kate looked at Marcie. "Do we ever."

"Good," Starsky said. "Next week Huggy Bear is having an all-you-can-eat burger fest at his joint, and you're invited."

"Huggy Bear?" Kate asked. "I don't think I know..."

"Yes, you do," Marcie said. "He's the one who gave us his spaghetti sauce recipe that day."

"Oh, right, now I remember him. Good spaghetti. Sure. We'll be there."

XXXXXXXX

In the squad room, Hutch was typing a report while Starsky was picking up the telephone receiver to order lunch.

"Hey," Starsky said, "you want-"

He was interrupted by a frantic, tense Alex Parker, who nearly stumbled into their desk as though a drunken man, leaning down to speak to them in a fearful, confidential tone.

"Aaron needs help. Can you do something?"

The perspiration on his face and wild look in his eyes were enough to bring the partners to their feet and follow him out of the squad room without asking for an explanation right away.

XXXXXXXXX

When the three of them arrived at the back lounge of the Holy Gospel Church, Hutch knocked on the door, which was ajar. The rest of the church was empty and still. Furniture polish hung in the air where housekeeping had cleaned the wooden pews.

"Aaron? It's Ken. Alex asked me to talk to you. Can I come in?"

The reply was silence. Alex took a step toward the door, but Starsky grabbed his arm.

"Aaron," Alex said trying to peer around the door. "It's going to be all right."

"I'm coming in to talk to you," Hutch said. "Put the gun down."

When silence still answered, Hutch slowly pushed the door open and stepped in, seeing Aaron sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, knees drawn up, a pistol to his head as he gazed at and through a stained-glass window across the room.

"Aaron," Hutch said going a little closer and holding his hand out. "Put the gun down. You don't want to do this."

"Corelle's going to the media," he said in a flat voice. "She saw Alex and me last night. Here in the

lounge. I've lost her, now I'll lose the ministry too, and my soul. I'm a hypocrite and a liar and a fake, because I condemned others for being..."

"We all make mistakes, Aaron. You're no different. I'm sure that God will forgive you. Isn't that what you teach?"

Aaron looked away from the stained-glass window and turned his red-rimmed eyes to him, voice rising with emotion, much like it did during one of his sermons on camera. "Don't you understand? I'm a sinner and will burn in hell. I struggled with who I was all my life, tried to deny it, tried to resist it, but I always gave in. Always. I hated myself, and gays, and even God sometimes for who I was. I always liked the guys. Even when I was young. My father, who was a minister too, caught me fooling around in bed with...Alex...when we were teenagers...we grew up together. Father beat the living hell out of me Sunday after Sunday. Forty lashes with a belt. Forced me on my knees to confess my wickedness, pray for forgiveness, vow to repent. I did. I did repent. Every breath. Every time. I tried to be good and be what my father wanted. But it wasn't enough. I still did it."

Aaron's eyes closed, his voice quieting now, the gun still at his temple. With his free hand he pulled his shirt up and turned his back to Hutch, who saw lines and lines of scars, too many to count but it looked to be in the hundreds, crisscrossing the preacher's back.

Hutch said nothing, but nodded, his eyes returning to the pistol.

Aaron pulled his shirt back down and turned his back to the wall again, pistol still to the side of his head.

"As I grew up, I tried to repress it, deny it, hide it. I married to cover it up. I tried to be straight. I hoped being married would turn me that way. I thought Corelle could change me. I really did. That's how confused I was. How much I detested myself. I never knew any gays growing up. I didn't know what to think, how it worked. There was no rule book. I didn't know what I was, what it was supposed to mean. I didn't want to lose my salvation." He wiped his wet eyes with the fingertips of his free hand. "I love her, but not the way I love...him."

"It's okay, Aaron. I'm not sure we can help who we fall in love with."

"I do love him. Why? Why did God make me this way if it's wrong? Why did He put that love in my heart for him? I couldn't get him out of my heart. Father couldn't beat it out of me. I ran away from home. Not so much to be with Alex, but because my father almost beat me to death one night. I was unconscious for two days. He never did anything to help me. Never said anything. Never called a doctor or took me to the hospital. Alex came and got me out of there. We moved here to California, went to Bible college together. We started a street ministry, tried to help people, did good things for them. We fed people, found homes for them, prayed with them, gave them money and clothes. Those were the good times. Then it grew, and grew. The donations, the attention, the books, the televised ministry. Yes, we accepted people's money. But we helped people with it. I still live in the same house. Still drive the same car. By choice. Alex and I...we made that vow, to stay humble, and we kept it, but...I guess it doesn't matter now. I guess it was all for nothing. It never meant anything."

"It's not over, Aaron. It's not too late. You can pick yourself up from where you are, tell the truth, dust yourself off, and move forward. That will make it mean something. You'll find that people have more forgiveness and understanding than you think. A real Christian will understand. A true child of God can

forgive. But I think it has to start with forgiving yourself."

"I don't deserve it. I deserve to die. I'm a failure. A phony."

"Be true, Aaron. That's all you can do. There is a world of healing in that. You can't expect everyone to accept it, and maybe you've lost Corelle and maybe you haven't. Only time will tell. But..."

"But you still have me," Alex said stepping inside and crouching down next to Aaron.

Starsky watched from the doorway.

"Please give me the gun," Alex said to Aaron. "I'll help you. We can start over. A new life. A real one. Isn't that worth living for?"

Aaron suddenly broke apart like a vase cracking into pieces as the gun fell from his hand, and Alex pulled him close, Aaron clinging to him.

"We have work to do," Alex said. "We'll do it together."

XXXXXXXX

"I was wrong," Aaron said to his congregation. A growth of stubble on his face. Bloodshot eyes. Crooked tie. "To judge people who live differently, love differently. It's not my job to condemn. It's my job to understand. Accept. Restore. I'm sorry for lying about who I am, I'm sorry for being a hypocrite, I'm sorry I wasn't a better leader. You're going to hear a story in the news in the next few days, and I want you to know that it's all true. I am a gay pastor and have lied my entire life. So at this time, I will turn in my resignation."

Because of the news stories surrounding the rape case, the congregation was down by half. The half that remained wore confusion and disappointment on their faces. A few reflected understanding and acceptance.

Aaron stepped away from the pulpit and walked toward the back door, where Alex put an arm around him and escorted him out.

"I'm free," Aaron said. "Whatever comes of this, good or bad, I'm free."

XXXXXXXX

Aaron and Alex were standing on the sidewalk handing out their new church flyers and tracts when Starsky and Hutch walked up to say hello.

"Morning," Aaron smiled as he handed Starsky a tract, who handed it to Hutch.

"Our new church," Alex said nodding toward the bulletin. "House Of Mercy. We accept everyone, ask no questions, never call anyone out."

Even though Aaron had lost his church, his salary, his position in his community, and most of his congregation, there was a spark of life in his eyes and a lightness to his smile that beamed from the

inside out.

"I started reading Jesus' words again," he said to Hutch. "And they speak to me in a new way. He loves me just as I am. He's forgiven the lies, and I'm learning to accept myself."

When news vans started to arrive, Starsky said, "Our cue to leave. See you guys around."

"Sure," Aaron said. "Come to opening day at our new church on Sunday."

"Maybe we will," Hutch said as they walked to the Torino.

XXXXXXXXXX

Marcie and Kate stared at Aaron as he stood in the doorway of their apartment.

"I didn't even visit you in the hospital," he said to Marcie as he looked down. "And I'm sorry for hurting both of you. Please forgive me."

"We already have," Marcie said. "We heard about your new church, and we want to know if we can join."

XXXXXXXXXX

The angry crowd that had gathered at the House Of Mercy church began to throw bottles, bricks, rotten vegetables, and Bibles at Aaron and Alex when they walked up the steps to go inside.

"Hypocrite!"

"Liar!"

"Two-faced!"

"Sinner!"

"Abomination!"

The media had gathered to cover the story, and a few black and white units were dispatched to control any riots that might erupt. The controversy had drawn heat from the religious community and gay community alike.

When the detectives arrived at the height of the storm and entered the church to shake Aaron's hand at the door, Hutch said, "You may want to think about carrying a gun for protection, Aaron."

"I've been getting some hate mail, and I do worry, but I don't believe I could shoot anyone. We have to continue our work. Especially now, since it means so much more to me."

"Any word from Corelle?"

Aaron shook his head no.

Starsky looked around at the new congregation, raising a hand to Kate and Marcie when he saw them taking off their coats as they spoke to Alex in the back pew.

"Think I'll go say hi," he said, and walked over to them.

"We're starting grassroots again," Aaron said to Hutch. "Like we did before. An outreach center. Just doing the Lord's work, you know? We-"

"Faggot preacher!" a voice rang from the pulpit of the church.

Hutch saw the gun and pushed Aaron down just as the shot rang out.

Several members of the congregation in the front pew tackled the gunman to the floor and wrestled his pistol away, while Alex and Starsky jumped over the back pew and dove through the small crowd that surrounded Aaron and Hutch. The uniformed cops pushed through and bounded down the center aisle to get to the shooter, radioing for backup on their way. Some people scrambled to get out of the way; some hurried to see what had happened or offer assistance.

"Are you all right, Aaron?" Alex asked as he helped Aaron up.

"Yes. But I don't know about Ken."

Hutch tried pushing himself to his feet, but stopped in a crouch.

"I'm fine," he said with his head down.

"You're not fine," Starsky said gently pushing him back down. "He shot you in the back. Just stay down." Over his shoulder he yelled, "SOMEBODY CALL AN AMBULANCE!"

Hutch grew quiet on the floor, his voice a faint pant as blood spread across his upper back, eyes glassy and drowsy.

"I'm sorry," Aaron whispered as he knelt down next to him. He put his hand on his shoulder and closed his eyes in silent prayer.

Starsky took his jacket off and covered his partner, leaning down to squeeze his hand and speak into his ear, pressing the palm of his hand against the bullet wound to stop the bleeding.

"Gonna be okay, buddy. Hold on. Help's on the way."

Alex stood and waved an arm at the crowd. "Make some room here. Move back." He saw that the handcuffed gunman was being escorted by officers through a door at the front of the church, and started toward him, but Aaron held him back.

"Slow down. They got him."

Even though the shooter was gone, the crowd was still loud and restless, from supporters and protesters alike; the only quiet thing in the chaos being Starsky's hand on his partner's back and his soft words of

comfort.

XXXXXXXXXXX

In a strange way, the attempted murder of Aaron Anderson and the publicity surrounding it grew to have a positive effect on his ministry. The House Of Mercy was so full of new people in the following days that Aaron and Alex had to relocate to a bigger building. Letters of support began to outnumber the letters of hatred.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"I can't thank you enough," Alex said when he gripped Hutch's hand as he lay on his side in the hospital bed. "For saving his life."

Hutch gave him a pale smile. "It's okay, Alex. I'll be out of here in a few days."

"Where's Starsky?"

"He went to get some raw honey for me to put on my wheatcakes."

"Wheatcakes?"

"You know. Pancakes. But wheat."

"Oh my God. Do you really eat stuff like that?"

"You have no idea," Starsky's voice said as he came into the room carrying Hutch's breakfast in a picnic basket.

End

000000000000000

HEARTS

By TLR

When I woke up I felt like I was floating somewhere out in black space, sort of disembodied somehow, but having enough sense to feel that I had to fight to wake up and get back to consciousness and life or I was gone for good.

Hutch.

Hutch would help me. He would explain what was going on and what was wrong with me.

"Hutch?"

I was surprised by the weakness in my own voice. What was going on? What had happened?

Movement. Able to move a little now, my fingers felt around, found a mattress, a sheet, bed rails that had to be from a hospital bed, and a hand. Long, thin, cool. Not Hutch's hand, which was a little bigger, and a little warmer.

"Hey, who..?"

My eyes felt like they were glued shut, so I forced them open, found things a little blurry, blinked to clear my vision, then turned my head to the left to see that it was Huggy who held my hand.

He gave a half-hearted smile, but his eyes didn't.

"My man," he said softly. "Back with us."

He looked worried, so I thought I should give him a little nod to show him that I was still among the living and still had all of my marbles.

"Hug."

Again, my voice so deflated it sounded raspy, almost frighteningly weak.

I looked around. A hospital room. A small light over the bed was on. Darkness at the window. It felt late. I heard the muffled, busy noises of the nurses and hospital staff somewhere down the hall through the half-open door.

My mind sought for a memory for why I was here, but my mind was hazy and couldn't snag on any details.

Hutch.

He could tell me.

"Get Hutch," I said to Huggy.

But he didn't move from his chair next to my bed. His hand gripped mine a little tighter. "You're in ICU. You don't remember what happened, do you?"

Of course I didn't. Why was he-

"Hutch!"

Enough of this. I pushed aside the top sheet and tried to raise my head, but it fell back to the pillow, and colors swirled in front of my eyes.

"Calm down," he said holding my shoulders down, even though he really didn't have to worry. I wasn't going anywhere in my condition. "Look at me."

Panting a little from exerting myself, I looked at him. Anything to get my partner here.

"A moving van lost its brakes at an intersection," he said. "Hit the Torino. You and Hutch..."

I gripped his wrist, my palm clammy on his skin, and lifted my head again. "Is he okay?"

His grip got tighter on me still, and his eyes grew shiny with tears that just sat there and wouldn't budge.

"Your heart quit on us a few times, boy. And it had some kind of...I don't know...life-threatening...arrhythmia...somethin'. It couldn't go on the way it was. We were losin' you too..."

Okay, so what? It'd quit before, with the Gunther hit. Hearts quit all the time and are started again. I took care of myself after my discharge from the hospital. With Hutch's help I got back everything I lost. So what was the big deal? I'd just get well, get out of here, and get back to normal again.

Tubes, needles, and machines were attached to me at the moment, and yes, I felt like...like I'd been hit by a truck, like Huggy said...but obviously my heart was fine now. The doctors brought me back again.

"And Hutch..."

His bright tears again, just sitting there without falling.

"He had problems of his own, Starsk. They tried to keep him going, but with the head trauma...they said he was...brain dead."

Time stopped. My breath stopped. My heart even stopped. But then started back up again, pounding loud and hard. My mouth was open but no words were coming out. The only word I wanted to say- Hutch-was stuck somewhere inside.

Then his words came to me in bits and pieces-"doctors can't tell you"-"Mr. Hutchinson told

me"-"donor card"-"his heart"-"your heart"-and I put my arm across my eyes, weeping like a baby.

XXXXXXXXXXX

They gave me a shot of something. I don't know how long I slept, but when I woke up again, it was daylight, I was in a recovery room, and there were doctors and nurses in the room, plus Huggy and Dobey.

The captain stood with his hands shoved in his pockets and his head down a little. I had seen that look before, whenever he lost a cop.

"He's waking up," a doctor said as he came close to examine me.

But I didn't want to wake up. I wanted to go back to sleep and stay gone forever. I didn't want to face life without my partner.

It had to be a mistake. Hutch had survived the hardest things imaginable. I had been there with him through it all. How could it happen just like that? Without me being there to tell him to hold on? I never got the chance to see him one last time, tell him goodbye, tell him how much he meant to me.

The heartache was physical. The pain in my heart real. The grief was a ton of cement on my chest, squeezing, crushing, killing. If my heart would quit again, it would be now. I wanted it to. I couldn't go on.

"Try to relax," a second doctor said. "We know it's hard."

The hell you do. You have no idea.

Helen. Terry. Hutch.

That's life.

That's death.

You change like an irritated grain of sand inside an oyster.

That one day becomes a pearl, Hutch had told me when Terry died.

They told me how the healing process would work, but I barely heard them. Why were they telling me this when Hutch was gone and I couldn't even go to his funeral?

"We'll have a special memorial service when you're strong enough," Dobey said.

I would never be strong enough. Not anymore.

"It wasn't me, was it?" I asked Huggy from my hospital bed. "My driving? My fault?"

"I told you the truck lost its brakes. You didn't even see it. It hit on Hutch's side."

My eyes closed again. "Why couldn't I have been conscious?" I asked him. "I could've helped him."

"No way. There was nothin' you could do, man. I know it's not the same to you, but I got the chance to tell him goodbye. Told him how much we...it's better you didn't see him...he never woke up, so I can only hope he heard me..."

He began to trail off, ramble, and for the first time I got a clear view of what all of this had done to him. He lost a friend too. Nearly two.

With a sudden twist, he turned and strolled outside in the hall to have a cry of his own.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The doctors told me that a positive mental attitude was critical to healing, but I just didn't feel it in my hospital bed. What was there to feel positive about? Hutch was gone, our partnership was gone. All I had left of him were memories.

XXXXXXXXXX

A couple of weeks later the doctors said I could go home, but I was in no hurry. The insulation of the hospital had been comforting. Now I had to face a world without my best friend, and it felt cold and empty.

I didn't really know what to do, what plans to make, or even how I should feel. My feelings were mixed. I was alive, but I didn't feel like it inside, and I didn't know how to make that better. I didn't know how to pull myself out, because Hutch had always been there to help me out before.

I went home to my house, which felt so foreign. That first day I just walked around like a lost dog. I couldn't sit down, until the pain in my chest made me. Then I just sat and stared at the wall. Time stood still. Huggy tried to talk to me, but I sent him away, and Dobey too.

"I expect you back on the job asap," he said leaving my house.

XXXXXXXXXX

Since the Torino was totaled, I took a cab to Hutch's place, holding my chest and forcing myself up the stairs to his door and waiting to catch my breath before I went in, wondering if I could gather the strength to do it.

I thought I would feel him in the walls and in the furniture; his things. But I didn't. He wasn't there, and it felt lifeless and bare. Huggy said he would help Hutch's family take care of his things, and that was fine. The only thing I wanted was his guitar and his songs, so I picked them up and took it home with me.

XXXXXXXXXX

That night I sat and looked at his guitar and lyric sheets in my corner chair. A life gone just like that. I wasn't ready for it. A killer virus prepares you somewhat. Hunting for a missing partner sort of gives you an idea. A bullet in the chest can make you think about what ifs. But this time there was no warning.

How, Hutch? How can I go on? I miss you.

The doctor said not to have alcohol with my medication, but I did that night. I couldn't sleep, so I thought that a strong drink would help, and it did. My head was circling with dizzy fatigue when it hit the pillow.

I don't know how long I was asleep, but it was still dark when I felt rather than heard Hutch's voice, coming from...not exactly in the room. More like inside of myself.

It's all right, Starsk. I want you to fight, and live, and love. Promise me. I may be gone, but I'll always be with you. When you feel like giving up, just remember I'm only a breath away. Just say my name. I promise I'll be here.

Tears came to my eyes, hot and stinging. I reached out for his voice, hoping to touch him, but found only air.

It was then that I realized, with simple clarity, that he was right. I couldn't let myself shrivel up and die.

I couldn't do that to him, or our friendship. He had given me his heart, he was beating inside of me now, and I wasn't about to screw it up. He didn't have the chance to live, but I did, thanks to him.

He had protected me before. Would have taken a bullet for me. But this time...what he did couldn't be described. He had given me life.

For the first time I let my fingers trace up and down the stitches in my chest where they'd opened me up.

"You're still the best friend I got in the whole world," I whispered back to him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

I had to go back to the doctors every so often to make sure everything was going smoothly, to take medication to prevent rejection, look for infection, do checkups, rehab, and all that.

"There's no way I could reject his heart," I told them. "Not Hutch's."

They said it appeared as though that was the case, and that it was the smoothest case they'd ever seen, but even so, I was ordered to stay on the immunosuppressant for the rest of my life.

I think it was Hutch's heart that helped me handle losing him. If I'd been left with my own faulty heart, I think the grief would have literally killed it. It couldn't have withstood the pain.

The doctors couldn't say how long my new heart would last. Three years, five years, ten years, maybe longer. But if Hutch had anything to do with it, I would live to be a ripe old man.

I would run again, work again, do anything I wanted.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was at his memorial service that Hugh Hutchinson came up to me.

At first he just stood there without saying anything. He just looked at me. Especially my chest. To see if he could see Hutch in me. I didn't know what he would say, but he'd just lost his son-given part of his body to me. He finally put his arms around me.

"It gives me peace knowing his death isn't in vain, Dave."

My voice was steady most of the time while I said a few words for Hutch. I didn't say all I could have said. It would have taken days, and I wanted to keep most of it private.

XXXXXXXXX

The doctors told me I would have no sensation in my new heart, but they were wrong. I could feel Hutch in there with me, alive, pulling for me, so I did all I could to take care of it. I tossed out the junk food and began to eat the healthy food that he used to eat, and you know something, it's not that bad once you get used to it. I ran every day. Jumped rope at Vinnie's. Played tennis. Swam. Even did some meditation that Hutch showed me on occasion. Everything I could do to get back into shape and get back on the force.

"What's gotten into you?" Dobey asked one day not long before I returned to work. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're becoming more like your partner by the day."

"Don't worry, Captain. You won't see me driving around in a bucket of bolts."

"What kind of car are you getting, by the way?"

"Volvo."

"You're kidding."

"A tan one."

"You are kidding."

"In Hutch's honor. Merle's gonna spice it up, though, so it's somethin' both of us would like."

XXXXXXXXXXX

I returned to the force as an academy instructor. Most people thought I'd hit the streets again, and even I had trouble understanding where this draw to teach was coming from. It was something I would never have entertained before the accident, before losing Hutch, and before losing my first heart.

With Hutch's heart, I had a new lease on life, and I felt keenly alive and aware every day, even more than I did before all this happened. The only negative thing about it was the occasional nightmare I would have, and it wasn't about the accident, because I couldn't remember it. And it wasn't about getting Hutch's heart or about his death. It had to do with the heroin addiction that Ben Forest forced him into. I had had dreams about it before, but always from my perspective. In dreams from my point of view, I was running around Bay City like a crazy man and never finding him. Or finding him dead. Or finding him gone from Huggy's room. Or finding him dead up on the wall he climbed onto.

In my new dreams, I was Hutch, and I was strung out on heroin, high, low, begging, pleading, hurting, ashamed, afraid, broken. It was me getting tied up and injected. Me running from Forest's men. Me collapsing in the alley. Me kicking the needle. Me trying to hang on.

I would wake up in chilled sweats, find myself pacing around and rubbing my sore, itchy arms, calling "Starsk?" into the darkness of my bedroom.

I had felt his pain back then, when it happened, but never like this. His heart brought us closer than I realized was possible.

I started to mention it to the doctor, but didn't, because all the other times I said the words "Hutch's heart", he ignored me because he wasn't permitted to reveal or even acknowledge whose heart I carried around inside.

When I told Huggy about my dreams, he said, "My Aunt Minnie always says it's the heart that gives a person his personality, not his brain. She also told me she's heard of a couple of cases where the recipient takes on the characteristics of the donor, without ever knowing the donor's identity."

I was beginning to believe it. People started telling me I reminded them of Hutch, and I embraced it.

There was no other persona I loved more.

End

0000000000000

Recall

By TLR

"Hutch," I said sternly as I held him down in the bed by his shoulders. Sternly because his nightmare wouldn't let me get through. Not my voice. Nor my hands. He was lost somewhere, sweating, panting, fighting.

Strong as ever. If I'd let go of him, he'd have knocked me across the room. So I held on to him, digging my fingers in tight, trying to reach him.

Three days since Jeanie left. Three days since the heroin left. But it decided to ride back around to remind him of who it was.

His eyes snapped open in the low light of the bedside lamp, and he looked at me, saw me, sweat on his trembling upper lip; tears in his lost blue eyes. I thought I'd never have to see that look again.

"Starsk?" he whispered, his eyes hunting around.

He was ready to crack. My heart was ready to explode. He was okay, but he didn't know it until he saw it in my eyes.

I nodded to him.

"Just a dream, boy," I whispered back.

He looked around and laughed a little.

"Spooked, huh?"

"Guess so."

When I felt his muscles relaxing under my hands, I relaxed my grip and eased off the bed, reaching for a water glass and handing it to him.

"Wanna tell me about it?"

"No, just uh..." His thumbnail scratched at his forehead. Embarrassment. I'd seen him at his lowest, the secret moments that broke him but he gave me to hold. But he could still find something to blush about. "It wasn't really a dream. Just a piece."

I sat down on the edge of the bed and took the glass back, returning it to the nightstand. "The needles?"

Deciding to finger a loose thread of the sheet with his eyes cast down, he nodded. "The way all of them would just...hold me down. I couldn't move. Couldn't run. I tried. They just made it impossible."

The nightmare sacked him, and sacked me. He'd fallen asleep after the late movie we watched, and I had just decided to slip out the door and go home myself when I heard him cry out.

"You weren't going home, were you?"

Well, um...

"Actually, no. I was just gonna ring Huggy for a late-night pizza."

"Yeah," he said closing his exhausted eyes. "Sounds good."

Okay, Hutch. I'll stay a while longer.

End

000000000000000000

Fifteen

By TLR

He sat on the floor at his marble coffee table before an array of school books, pens, notebooks, and calculators, his eyes watching the girl go to the record player, lift the lid, turn a switch, and set the needle on the first groove of the single that was already there, Laurie London's "He's Got The Whole World In His Hands."

As the intro music started he said, "My parents don't normally allow me to listen to music until after I do my homework."

"Laurie London?" the girl asked lifting the needle from the record with an annoyed scratching sound. "Who the hell is she?"

"He. And what's so wrong with it?"

"Nothing if you're a preacher," she said with a shrug. She reached into her purse and pulled out her own single, then put it on the turntable.

When Bobby Freeman began to sing "Do You Wanna Dance?" he stared at her as she danced her way over to him.

He looked up at her, mouth parted.

"Well?" she asked as she undulated her hips slowly down until she was seated on his lap.

"Do you wanna?"

She took the book from his hand and closed it, then dropped it behind her with a thud on the floor.

"Do I wanna what?"

She unbuttoned the top button of his white shirt, then let her forefinger stray to the button of his white pants.

"Do you wanna dance?"

"I..." He took a deep breath. "I don't really know how. My parents don't allow dancing or that kind of music or..."

She unbuttoned the second button of his shirt and kissed him. "Or..?"

He cleared his throat and reached for another book. "I thought you came here to study. I'm supposed to tutor you. That's what you said today and..."

"Where do you come from? Originally?"

"Minnesota. Originally."

"How do you like Bay City?"

"It's okay. My father's business brought us here. He's a real estate developer. Large building projects. Courthouses. Universities. Office buildings. Apartment buildings. Restaurants. If you see a cornerstone with an H on it, my father probably built it but-"

He stopped because of the way she looked at him.

"Don't you understand, Ken? I'm not like other girls you know."

She stroked her fingers through his hair. "I'm not a cheerleader. I'm not a brain. I'm not a good girl. I'm not society. There's only one thing I'm good at, and I'm so good guys pay me for it."

"Denise. You said you were flunking. If you don't bring your grades up, you won't graduate."

She took that book too from his hand and tossed it over her shoulder, then grasped his hand and pulled him to his feet, positioning one of his hands on her shoulder and putting his other on her hip.

"Like this," she said as she slowly led him in a slow dance on the white shag rug of the parlor.

As they looked into each other's eyes and she pressed herself against him, he said, "You don't have to

be one of those girls. You seem like a nice person. And I think you're smart. You just need to try a little harder. Spend a little more time studying instead of...well, I mean...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply..."

Her lips pressed against his, and the kiss lasted until the record ended. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck in an almost crushing hug.

He felt the warmth of her tears on his shoulder and stroked his hand along her back.

"Why are you crying?"

"You really want to study with me."

A smile of confusion came to his face.

"Of course I do. That's what you said today. You said you wanted me to teach you."

She tried to kiss him again, her hands unzipping his fly, but this time he took her hands and pushed them away but still held them.

"No," he said softly. "I don't want to. You can do better for yourself."

Her hand snapped up to slap him. "You're so damn square."

He caught her hand and kissed it. "Oh, I want to. Believe me. I'm not some Puritan. But if I do...it's like...it's like I'm saying I approve of what you're doing to yourself, and I don't."

This time she did slap him, her eyes fired sparks. "What do you know? You're a rich boy sitting up high on a prince's throne looking down on all us peasants, morally outraged by my sin. You never had to worry about your mother selling you every night to whatever man came into the house just to make rent. You never had to clean up her sick from last night's drunken orgy. You never had to lie to teachers and preachers and tell them everything is just fine at home because if you tell them the truth, your mother will go to jail and you'll be put in a home. Why else would a girl like me come over here and 'study' with you, Ken? You wear expensive clothes, you'll drive a very nice car next year, you live in a fancy house with a gate, you'll go to any college you want and be anything you want, your dad is one of the richest men around, you get a huge allowance. You have MONEY, and I wanted you to give me a lot of it after I screwed you."

He put his hand to the sting on his cheek. "Screw? I call it making love."

"Love? If you don't know how to dance, I doubt if you know how to screw OR make love."

He zipped and buttoned his pants. "You're mixed up, Denise. If you need something..." He reached into his hip pocket for his wallet, then held some cash out to her. "I want to help you."

"How can you help me? Are you going to save me? I'm a prostitute."

She took the cash and slipped it into her purse as the parlor doors burst open and six armed men in ski masks spilled in.

XXXXXXXXXXX

He lay cramped and quiet in the trunk of the car, blindfolded, wrists bound behind his back. He tried to hear voices through the back seat, but with the loud tail pipe, it was impossible. The smell of the exhaust stung his nose, making him feel nauseous and sleepy, and his head throbbed from some blow he couldn't recall, but he suspected that was the least of his worries.

His ears strained to hear sounds. Motors. Horns.

Body attuned to the surface the vehicle traveled on. Smooth. Asphalt. Frequent stops. Traffic.

He smelled food aromas. Pizza. Deli. Hotdogs.

He moved his head in the darkness and whispered.

"Denise?"

His nose sought her perfume. She had been wearing something soft and spicy.

But no trace of it now except on his shirt collar where she'd cried on his shoulder and...

Memory.

Jarring. Painful.

"Run, Denise!"

One of the gunman grabbed her hair as she tried to flee, yanked her head backward, put the pistol to her forehead and fired a bullet.

Silencer.

She went down, blood poured out. He stood transfixed on the widening red pool that covered the white shag rug in front of the record player, unable to move or even pronounce her name.

"Deh...Denn..."

He had never stuttered before in his life.

An explosion of light in his head, and then black.

No memory of being bound or dumped in the trunk.

Why did you kill her? What do you want? Where are you taking me?

The trunk opened and he felt a cool breeze, smelled salt water, heard the lapping of the ocean.

His brain bolted when hands reached in for him. He kicked up at their heads.

A connection. Confusion of voices. Scuffling.

He tried to jump out of the trunk to run on stiff, numb legs, but was grabbed, picked up, the sting of a needle pierced his neck, then he was out, the same questions sliding from his disappearing mind like foam on the water...

Why did you kill her? What do you want? Where are you taking me?

XXXXXXXXXX

The next thing he was aware of, in one vague haze, was a bright sun washed room, white walls, yellow trim, an oval blue braided rug on the floor with the sound of the ocean and seagulls through an upper window, voices murmuring in a corner, someone on a phone, someone watching TV, another scanning radio stations, a potted plant on a table. The room calm and almost...comforting. Safe although there were guns. Non-threatening although one ankle was chained to the white iron bed rail at the foot of the bed.

He was aware that his mouth was open and cottony thick, but was unable to close it.

His right arm draped from the bed but he couldn't lift it.

He wanted to say something-Why did you kill her? What do you want? Where am I?-the words stayed lodged inside his mind.

His eyes stared at a crack in the ceiling, and he felt himself rising toward the crack as if to slip inside like a mist until a pat on his left cheek was a string drawing him down from the ceiling like a helium balloon, to where now he was lost in the numb softness of the pillow under his head.

They gave me something. Some kind of...medicine or something...I must be alive...or is this what dead is?

"Some tough punk you are," the voice said quietly as a tissue dabbed at a drop of drool in the corner of his mouth. "Sorry we had to kill your girl, but we didn't know she would be there, and we didn't want her interfering."

Sorry? What a strange thing for a murderer to say.

But whatever responses came to mind, they stayed snuffed in the folds of his brain, and soon even the inclination to think of anything at all melted away like candle wax.

It's okay. They aren't hurting me. I'm still alive.

-"he can't talk on the phone right now, he's a little under the weather"—

-"five million dollars"-

-"but it isn't about the money; it is about what we can do with it"—

-"money is power"-

-"we have demands that you must meet"-

-"follow directions"-

-"poverty"-

-"human rights"-

-"racial justice"-

-"prison reform"-

-"social causes"-

-"organize, assist, achieve"-

-"if you involve the authorities or the media you're going to bury your boy"—

The man held the telephone receiver to the boy's mouth and ear. "Say something."

When all that happened was the roll of the boy's eyes toward the crack in the ceiling again, the man smashed him across the mouth with the butt of his pistol, bringing a soft cry from bleeding lips.

"Dah...uhlllllllllll...mmmmm uh...ruhhhhhhhh... Tuhhhhhhh mmmmm ulllllllll ruhhhhh..."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ninety days.

Three months.

Chained to the bed except to eat and have bathroom privileges.

No calendar, no clock. Just the light at the window to mark the passage of time.

He knew their names. Eric, Zim, Redmond, Freddy, Hodges, and the lead man Anton. The names of their wives and girlfriends and kids, what kind of vehicles they drove, where they used to work and live, what they liked to watch on TV and listen to on the radio, their health complaints, their favorite foods, strengths, weaknesses, specialties, place on their ladder, what they wanted, why they would go to such lengths to make a point and get some results, the reasons why they fought so hard for their causes.

He was allowed to shower if he wanted, but he kept it to a minimum because he was under watch each time.

Meals consisted of rice and water.

He was allowed to walk around the room when at least 2 armed men were present. When only one was present, he had to stay in the bed.

Not that he would try to escape. They would kill his parents if he did.

Eric stopped him at the wall on the way to the shower one day, one hand holding a syringe, the other unbuckling his belt.

Anton put his book down and stalked over to Eric, taking his head and bashing it into the wall again and again until he dropped like a box of firewood to the floor.

"If you touch him like that again I will blow off your head."

Eric groaned up at Anton.

Anton reached down and picked up the syringe, tossing it into a waste paper basket. "No more injections. The first one you gave him almost brain-damaged him, and the last one nearly killed him. We can't negotiate with a dead boy."

Ken stared down at the suffering Eric as he climbed to his feet.

Anton looked at the boy and cupped his chin in his hand.

"Wash your clothes in the shower."

Ken turned his face away, out of the hand. "I...I won't have anything dry to wear."

The damn stutter again.

"There are towels."

After the shower when he came out wrapped in a towel, Eric was gone and Anton was smiling.

"What do you think of all this, Ken?"

The boy sat on the bed and wrapped the chain around his ankle, then locked it to the iron bed post again.

Anton tossed him an orange.

"Eat this," he said as he sat down at the table and picked up a guitar. "You look pale."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

The gravy boat trembled slightly in the boy's hand when it was passed to him by his father.

A drop of the gravy spilled onto the tablecloth.

"Sorry," the boy said as he set the vessel down.

His mother passed a worried look to her husband but said nothing.

"Where's the smile, son?" Mr. Hutchinson asked. "You've been home a week now and act like you're at a funeral."

Mrs. Hutchinson dabbed at the gravy stain with a napkin. "Now Kenton."

Kenton picked up his steak knife. "I paid five million dollars in ransom, and this is the thanks I get?"

Ken looked wounded. "I thanked you. Don't you remember?"

Mrs. Hutchinson looked at her son's full plate. "Aren't you hungry, dear?"

Kenton stood up, made a show of throwing his napkin down on his plate, and stormed out.

Ken's eyes went to his plate.

His mother came and sat in her husband's chair, cupping his chin gently.

"He just wanted you to be in a good mood for the surprise he has for you."

The boy turned his face away, out of her hand. "I don't want anything."

"You'll want this," she said taking his hand and leading him from the table. Toward the den she called, "Kenton, we're going outside to the garage!"

She continued to lead him toward the the front door of the house as if he were a five- year-old, past the parlor with the closed doors, his father tagging almost grudgingly behind, a slump in his shoulders his wife tried to ignore.

When they reached the garage, however, Mr. Hutchinson raised the fourth door, a real smile forming on his face.

"There it is. All for you, Ken." He handed his son a set of keys. "Happy Birthday."

Ken looked down at the keys, then at the 1958 Old English White MG A 1600 Twin Cam Coupe, which cost his father a lot of money.

"What gives?" Kenton asked. "It's what you said you wanted."

"I did. I mean. Then. Thank you. It's..."

Kenton and Maggie regarded him with confusion.

Ken gave the car a sorrowful look. "Do you know how many meals that can buy for...for impoverished families? Or how many months of rent it would pay for the aged or infirm? Medicine for the destitute?

Clothes? Shoes?"

Ken turned and walked back toward the house, his parents looking after him.

"He's going to have to do something about that stammer," Kenton said putting an arm around his wife's shoulders. "It won't sound very commanding in the political or legal arenas."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Maggie was reading Look at the kitchen table when Ken came downstairs to go to school. His hair, previously worn combed neatly back with a touch of Brylcreem, was now longer, dry, and swept to one side, almost in his eyes.

"Did you finish the essay, Kenneth?"

He didn't answer as he went to the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of cold water.

"Since when do you dress like a vagabond?"

He looked down at his blue jeans and white t-shirt. "I like it."

"I don't."

"You said I could do whatever I wanted with my birthday money."

"I see. You turn down a brand new automobile and buy yourself some clothes from the first drifter you see?"

He didn't say anything. He drained the glass of water, then poured a second.

"You couldn't have spent that much on those raggedy clothes. And look at those boots. You look like a truck driver. Your saddle shoes were much nicer. What did you do with the rest of the money?"

He kept drinking the water.

"Ken..."

He set the empty glass down. "I want to finish my education in public school."

"You're ridiculous. You're staying in private school."

"No, my last day is today. I'm saying goodbye to my instructors and that's it."

"Your father will make you stay."

"If he tries, I'll drop out. And I'm walking to my new school. Charles isn't driving me anymore."

"You don't have to drive. You have a car now."

"Not that one."

He picked up his satchel and walked toward the front door. Then on second thought, took the books from the satchel and carried them in his hand down by his side, dropping the empty satchel on the table. She followed behind, where she stood in the doorway and watched him walk toward a dented black pick-up truck parked at the front gate.

"Are you seriously telling me you bought that contraption with your birthday money, Kenneth Hutchinson?"

Over his shoulder he said, "Part of it. The rest I gave to the family running the flea market."

"What in heaven's name is a flea market?"

"It's where I got my new clothes."

For the first time since his return, he smiled.

XXXXXXXXXX

Mr. and Mrs. Hutchinson sat in their kitchen with cups of coffee, his hat between them on the counter.

He drank while she spoke.

"I don't like his lack of gratitude. I don't like this new serious look on his face. I don't like his attitude. He said he's trying to live in the real world with real people and be more understanding of others. My God, you don't have to be kidnapped in order to do that, do you? We give money to charities. We sit on boards. We're not blind to the squalor that is out there. Maybe we should think about moving back to Minnesota."

"Teenage rebellion, Maggie. It will pass."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

His last day of private school, he had been looking at the blank sheet of paper on his desk, pen in hand, for the last hour. His blank essay. Topic for the entire class: How I Spent My Summer Vacation.

Mr. Montgomery, his composition instructor, had been walking as silently around the room as a cat, as always, and stopped at Ken's elbow.

"I'll be sorry to see you go, Ken." With a hand on his shoulder he added, "If there is ever anything you'd like to talk to me about, you know where to find me."

Mr. Montgomery stayed a few seconds longer, squeezed his shoulder again, then walked on to the front of his desk looking at the clock on the wall above the chalkboard.

"Time is up, students. Turn your papers in and have yourselves a very pleasant afternoon."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Kenton stepped into the parlor where his son was seated in a chair staring at the floor where the white shag rug used to be.

"Why was she here, son? How could you like that kind of girl? How well did you know her? You can't imagine how embarrassed your mother and I were when the police came back and told us what she was."

Kenton stood as if waiting for him to say something, then when his son offered nothing but silence, shook his head and turned to walk out.

Long after he was gone, Ken rose to his feet and walked over to the record player, lifted the lid, and saw Bobby Freeman's 45 on the turntable, the only physical evidence that anything untoward had happened in this room. The only physical memory that told him it had really happened at all.

XXXXXXXXXX

Maggie opened the door to Ken's room and stepped in.

She wasn't one to snoop, but she believed she did have the right to look in her son's room once in a while.

The bed was made, so she walked over to the closet and opened the door, seeing worn, faded clothes on hangers; and the expensive, colorful clothes he used to wear in a pile on the floor of the closet next to a guitar, boots and sneakers and...

"My goodness."

She picked up a pair of rugged leather sandals.

"Kenton!"

As she carried the sandals past the bed, she spotted a stack of five books on the dresser: The Dharma Bums, Decamerone, Zen and the Art of Writing, Democracy in America, and the one on top, Teach Yourself Self-Defense.

Just visible from under the dresser where it had been stuffed, the wadded denim book bag he had carried through the front door upon his release.

Too much excitement in the air at the time to give the bag or its contents much notice. She and Kenton had gathered around him, looked him over, and ushered him to the dining room to eat.

The End

000000000000000

Blackout

By TLR

I can't think_can't find my way

out_Trying to write this down in case I die in

here_i

f only_Starsk_I'm

sorry_

XXX

I looked down at the note in my hands, my own handwriting, as I sat on the edge of my bed. Then at the vial, syringe, and tourniquet on the bedside table.

Starsky and I had been missing two weeks. I had been back one. But I still couldn't remember what happened, what the note was about, or where he was.

Dobey asked me a lot of questions. I drank a few drinks with Huggy hoping it would loosen my tongue and shake out some memories as to what had happened just before he found me wandering around in his back alley with the note in my hand, my clothes dirty and torn, minus so many pounds Huggy had to get me some new clothes to wear.

He tried to push food on me every day, but I couldn't hold it down.

XXX

I looked at the note again. My words. Was I writing from the heart or had someone forced me to write them?

I couldn't remember.

Huggy and Dobey had me do a thorough visual examination of my body for injection sites, but I found nothing. My clothes were sent to the lab for fluids and fibers. Nothing there either.

I felt an emptiness inside. Empty of time, of memories, of my partner. My body may have made it back, but my heart and my mind were back with Starsk, wherever that was.

A medical exam found nothing. Nor a psychiatric evaluation.

A hypnotist came up zero. I would do anything to find him. I was running out of ideas. The only thing I could cling to was hope.

I wasn't injured aside from rope burns and a few scrapes on my face, regrettably. I wanted some kind of physical proof that I had fought for him.

Dobey showed me mug book after mug book, but nothing triggered a memory.

I sat in front of my easel with a charcoal pencil in my hand, willing to sketch any fragment of a face or a name or a memory that came to mind.

I drove streets, walked alleys, and cruised bars to get some information.

I went to Joe Collandra but the new diner owner informed me he had died of a heart attack while I was away.

Away.

Where had I been? What had I done? Who had abducted us and why?

I sat on the edge of the bed, holding the note almost reverently, a sacred scripture that held the truth.

Truth.

What was the truth?

What had happened?

What had I done that I was sorry for?

I hoped and prayed I hadn't hurt Starsky somehow.

Maybe that's why my mind was blacking it out. Maybe something happened that was too horrible for my memory to contain.

Maybe that something was what killed Joe Collandra.

I picked up the tourniquet to tie it around my arm. However bad the memory was, it couldn't be as bad as losing my partner forever.

I wasn't good at tying the damn thing off. It kept slipping off and dropping to the floor. But once I got it on, I felt like a pro.

Then came filling the syringe. Then I pushed the needle in my arm and shot the amber serum in.

There was a sudden rush of drunkenness I hadn't expected, and I found myself collapsing onto the bed waiting for the truth to come back.

XXX

...tied to a pole...

...stone cave...

...you're going to watch...

...no, leave him alone, please...

...don't do that to him...

...don't make me watch...

...take me...

...let him go...

...you don't understand, Ken Hutchinson...

...he took your place...

...Simone dreamed he would...

...it can't be changed...

XXX

...my hands...

...if I could only get free...

...they bring him into the cave, robed, then strip him...

...he is out of it, drugged, blindfolded...

...they lift him, clamp his wrists to iron rings, apart...

...he stirs, mumbles, tries to move, doesn't understand...

...they have him captured like a helpless fawn...

...they can do anything to him and he can't fight back...

...does he even know...

...they circle him, chanting, torches gleaming, faces behind hoods and shadows...

...he is a bronze sculpture in the fire light...

...an ancient sacrifice offered up...

...their tongues trail him, their mouths take him, their hands caress him...

...I scream because he can't...

...Starsky!...

XXX

...I faint...

...I wake up to a goblet of blood to my lips...

...his blood?...

...I look for him hanging in the air, but he's gone...

...dead...

...we finally have him, White Knight...

...and you...

...Simone said killing one would be killing two...

...they hold my head, force me to drink...

...I refuse, choke, spit, retch...

...but finally have to swallow for air...

...they tell me they poisoned his blood, and leave me tied to the pole to die...

...the poison sends me into blackness...

...which is good...

...because I don't want to wake up without him, knowing this...

...but I do...

...they left me for dead...

...but I lived...

...I work on the ropes...

...sweat and blood helps them slip off...

...I run...

...try to find my way out...

...too many caverns, like a maze...

...I'm lost...

...can't think...

...can't find my way out...

...I find an old satchel, scraps of paper and a pencil stub inside...

...I want to write, say everything that happened...

...Marcus, poison, Starsky dead...

...I keep going in circles...

...I find a fresh grave...

...I scream his name...

XXX

I woke up to Huggy holding me down on my bed, talking in soothing rhythms, tears in his eyes.

How long had he been here? How much had he heard? Was there more locked inside?

I was back in the cave, fighting to get out.

"Hey, boy," he said planting a knee in the bed beside me to get leverage. "It's okay. They found Starsky alive."

I looked around.

He had taken the syringe and tourniquet from my arm.

"Thought you overdosed on junk. What is this stuff?"

I could only pant through chattery teeth. I was shivering.

The shot took me to the cave; now I was back on the bed, spent and scared. I heard myself whimpering, and bit my lower lip so hard to stop it that I drew blood; the taste of it making me nauseous.

"Shush now," he said pulling me to sit up.

"He...he can't be alive...I saw his grave...I drank his..."

The memory-real this time, not one called up by the shot-made me run to the bathroom and retch.

He came and caught me at the sink where I was crumbling to my knees.

I wasn't as strong as I thought I was. The most he could force down me the previous week was a health drink, but that came back up too.

"He's in the hospital. Pull yourself together so you can go see him for yourself. One of the Marcus girls ran away and called the cops. They found him tied in the back of one of their vans on the farm."

Had it all been one of Simon's mind games? Had there been an hallucinogen in the poison?

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. But it leaned more toward a laugh. Of joy. Of pure happiness and relief.

Huggy got me settled down and cleaned up. I have to admit I was in a weakened state, more from the returning memories than the abduction.

At times I thought maybe this was a dream too, and I would wake up and find that Starsky was still gone.

As I rode next to Huggy while he drove to the hospital, feeling pale and wrung out, a sense of warmth and peace washed over me like a warm ocean wave. My partner was alive. He had been through torture, but he was alive, and I was alive to be with him.

Huggy clamped a hand on my forearm.

"You okay, Hutchie?"

I nodded. I still felt like I was on a hell of a hangover-weak and befuddled-but a marvelous one. Maybe it was the injection. Huggy thought he knew people. I knew people too. This old guy with a long white ponytail who had everything from homemade bombs to tracking devices to concoctions that would make anybody talk during an interrogation. He went by Z because no one knew his name. I guessed him to be a retired cop or military man, maybe special operations, maybe CIA, but I never asked. Z told me to come back and see him anytime I needed anything. I told him I would, and I did. I told him I needed a truth serum, and he put a knapsack of something in my hand. "Try this. My own recipe. We'll call it Z Serum, uh?"

"I been worried about you, bro."

I nodded.

Put your worries away, Hug. It's going to be okay.

Huggy didn't take his hand off me. It felt good. I need his strength too.

"Look, man. I don't know what happened, and I'm not sure I want you to tell me, but if you ever need to lay it on me, you know where to find me."

I nodded again. So many times the week before, Huggy had taken care of me, just like he had on other occasions. He was very reliable and strong. Something I needed now and then. He lived between me and Starsk.

XXX

Dobey met us in the waiting room. He didn't say it, but I could see relief all over his face.

I felt stronger just being with those two guys. I could be weak with them. Look frazzled. Stumble. Cry. And they loved me through it.

XXX

-"He's not responsive."

-"Traumatized."

-"Needs time."

-"Maybe you can help."

I tried to explain what I could remember, but my memory was so patchy sometimes I doubted my own words. It was hard for me to believe them. Even harder for his doctors.

But they knew something terrible had taken place to cause my partner to stay curled up in a catatonic ball on the examination table in the emergency room.

They wanted me to try to reach him before they resorted to heavy tranquilization.

XXX

"Hi, Starsk."

I leaned down close so he could see me.

Had he thought the same as I had? Did he think I was dead?

He reacted to my voice by moving his eyes toward me.

They needed to examine him, treat him. By the bruising and swelling, he obviously had two broken wrists which he held crossed protectively against his chest.

"It's okay. You're safe now. In a hospital. I'm all right, and you're going to be all right too. We made it, buddy."

His eyes stayed with mine. I couldn't hold his hand, so I stroked his dirty hair.

"I'm right here. Try to talk to me if you can, okay? You need to let the doctors take care of you. I'll be right here."

He didn't say anything, but I saw it. I felt it. He was giving in to me. Trusting me. He blinked a little, gave a little nod, then closed his eyes, as if I had been the key that opened his door back to reality.

XXX

Days passed without much response from him, but I never left his bedside. Several times I felt like giving in to my own terror and his, but I knew he was locked inside himself much as I had been, and we needed to stay physically connected.

"Hey, buddy."

I cursed my voice that it was only a hoarser, weaker version of itself. Starsky needed me to be strong. I had to help him, be there for him like he'd always been for me. I couldn't let him think that they'd gotten the best of me. I had to be strong for both of us, because I knew it was what he needed most. I needed it too.

He gazed up at me from the hospital pillow like a sleepy puppy.

"Hey yourself."

Finally.

Coherent. Present. Real.

His voice was as weak as mine. I smiled as I looked him over.

Yes, he was thin. Yes, his wrists were in casts. Yes, his eyes held a fear caused by the cave. But he wasn't the shrunken form of torture anymore.

His return smile told me it was the beginning of being okay.

XXX

It wasn't easy, though. Where my mind had insulated itself from nightmares, he had them nightly. So much so that it interfered with his sleeping patterns. Until one night he was so exhausted he could do nothing but sleep through the night in my arms.

A psychiatrist came and asked him questions each day, and Starsky politely asked me to leave the room each time. Even though I knew more than he what had happened, he wanted to maintain his sense of dignity and modesty. Maybe to protect me more than anyone, I'm not sure.

But talking was healthy, right? Supposed to be anyway. He talked every day with the shrink, when all I wanted to do was forget it.

XXX

"Is it true what I heard about Collandra?" he asked one night soon after his hospital release.

We were having dinner at my place.

My appetite had returned along with Starsky, but it was nowhere near normal. Everything I ate, everything I drank, I tasted blood.

Starsky was eating for both of us, and it was good to see him on the mend.

I watched him making a point to eat everything I served. Tonight, chicken and oyster casserole, homemade bread, herbal tea, and roasted ears of corn.

His wrists still in casts, he had to hold his fork in a funny way, but I wasn't about to offer to spoon feed him unless he asked me to.

Maybe he was trying to send me a message that he couldn't say in words: I'm going to get okay so you can get okay. We're a team. You're helping me, I'm helping you. This way, we make it back together.

"Yeah," I said as I moved my slice of warm-baked bread from one side of the plate to the other. "Heart

attack."

I let the two words hang in the air, to see if he came to the same conclusion I had: Joe had felt the whole thing, and it killed him before he could tell anyone what had happened to us.

That's what Simon wanted. He had visions just like Joe. It was as much a psychic game between the two of them as it was a mind game between Simon and myself, and from behind bars the cult leader ended up killing the only person who truly knew his dream.

At times guilt nagged at the edges of my mind, but I was too concerned about Starsky's recovery to dwell on it.

XXX

We both gave all the details we could to Captain Dobey for the investigation.

The girl who had led the police to Starsky's location was given immunity for information that led to the arrest of other cult members.

Since Starsky had been blindfolded, he was of no help in identifying or describing his abductors; and my memory had been made so faulty by the poison that I couldn't honestly point anyone out no matter how hard I tried. Pointing fingers and naming names fell squarely on the girl's shoulders.

Megan was her name.

Dobey was having her placed in the Witness Protection Program, so I called her one night before she disappeared into the fog of a new life and thanked her for saving Starsky.

She said it was her early upbringing in church that led her to do the right thing. She had been a teenage runaway rebelling against a minister father, who had fallen into Simon's promise of safety, freedom, and unconditional love.

XXX

It was the morning of our return to our job.

I stood in his house watching him strap on his shoulder harness.

He looked good, sounded good, we both passed inspection with the precinct's shrink and Captain Dobey.

But still, I had to hear him say it.

"Man, you look fine. We need to get out there and do our thing again. But are you sure you're really, really okay?"

He snapped his gun into the holster and and turned to me, sincere and heartfelt.

"Come here, you," he said pulling me to him in a tight hug that lifted me off the ground.

At first it felt weird. I hadn't hugged him since he got back.

I think I was afraid that if I hugged him, I would hurt him, and the nice dream would be over and my old nightmare would be in its place: He would be dead, and I would be left feeling like I had done nothing to stop it.

He set me back on my feet and cupped my cheeks in his hands.

"What happened was their fault, Hutch. Not yours. You had no control over what they did. You couldn't have stopped it. I couldn't have stopped it. Yes, when they gave me a choice of who to pick on, I chose myself. You didn't make that choice. I did. Given the same circumstances, you'd do the same. I know you would. What we survived was a living nightmare. They hurt me. They humiliated me. But they don't have me, and they never will. Do they have you?"

Looking into his eyes, I thought about it, gaining strength from his survival as well as my own.

"No," I whispered. "I'm leaving it where it belongs. In the cave."

He smoothed my hair down.

"Good. That's what I wanted to hear."

"I...I just want you to know, Starsk...if you ever feel like talking..."

He smiled. Simon's attempts at destroying him hadn't diminished the mischievous intensity for life in his eyes.

"Same goes here, Hutch."

XXX

Later that day we were sitting at our desks filling out reports and going over files of new cases, and I looked at him when he didn't know I was watching.

I don't know. We have this way of bouncing back from anything. At least, we convince ourselves that we do. I don't think it would be possible if we didn't have each other.

Some friendships in this world are made. Ours was born.

End

000000000000000000000

The Gun (aka Johnny Carver)

By TLR

I heard shouts of "Freeze!" and "Don't move!" and "Drop it!" from Hutch inside the jewelry store, then I ran inside amidst the gunfire to back him up, but when I got inside seconds later, the attempted robbery was over and the place was weirdly quiet.

The owners of the jewelry store, a well-dressed couple in their forties, still stood where the would-be robber had ordered them, against the wall behind the glass jewelry cases. They looked at me in stunned disbelief. It was the first time their place had been targeted. Their alarm had malfunctioned and a shopkeeper across the street phoned it in when he heard loud verbal threats coming from the suspect inside the store.

Facedown on the floor was the young criminal, his brains a glistening red bulge from his open skull where Hutch had brought him down, a pistol nearby in the blood spatter and broken glass of the jewelry cases, diamond necklaces and bracelets still tangled in his gloved hand.

Seated on the floor against the jewelry case nearest me was Hutch, Magnum still in his right hand, his left over his eyes, shielding them from something he obviously didn't want to see or think about.

"Hutch?"

He didn't answer me.

Then the husband said something in a voice dry with leftover fear.

"He shot the kid. He had to. The punk had his gun on us."

I looked over at the guy on the ground. Hard to tell his age, but around sixteen or seventeen.

Lonnie clouded my thoughts for a second, but I shook them clear to focus on my partner.

"Hey," I said squeezing his shoulder and taking the gun from his hand. "It's okay."

I brought his hand down away from his eyes and turned his face toward me.

"Hutch."

His eyes were still closed. I gave him a few minutes to himself while I went over to the pistol the kid had used during the crime.

Hutch's soft voice came from behind me just as I saw the toy gun.

"Wasn't real," he whispered. "Just a toy."

I took a pen from my breast pocket and lifted the realistic-looking toy.

The kid had aimed the deadly-looking play-thing at the couple, and Hutch had reacted.

"It was just a toy," he repeated numbly.

I know, Hutch. Just a toy. Just a boy.

An inquest or Internal Affairs would find no fault in the shooting, but that wouldn't make it easier for Hutch to let go of it.

The boy had family, teachers, friends-a special needs kid who'd been goaded into it by some punks in a street gang he wanted to be a part of.

Johnny Carver was the boy's name. He was sixteen.

The End

0000000000000000000000

The Starlight Tour

(A "Partner" What If)

By TLR

"Hutchinson," I said to the nurse in a worried voice. "Ken Hutchinson."

My partner.

We were brought in to the hospital together after I wrecked the Torino chasing a wild screw on the street.

"Relax," she said touching my chest gently to ease me back to my pillow. "I'll see what I can find out."

Yeah," I mumbled as she left the room in quiet sponge soles.

My room was silent. I looked over at the empty bed again. The bed where Hutch should have been but wasn't.

Where was he? What happened to him? I hit my head on the windshield at impact, so it was hard to remember just what went down. I must have blacked out. I don't remember hearing or seeing Hutch after the collision.

Damn.

I buzzed for the nurse again, bellowing this time.

"Hurry it up, will ya?!"

They just didn't understand. Hutch was more than just a partner. He was my best friend. Closer than my brother, and I'm almost afraid and ashamed to say that. He has saved my skin more times than I can

count. Protected me in times when I couldn't even protect myself. It's not like some casual friend was with me in the car. He was the guy I depended on and looked out for, and he did the same with me.

I buzzed again.

"Hey! Come on! What's the matter with you people!"

My heart raced, my head buzzed. Mostly with fearsome thoughts about worst case scenarios.

He told me to slow down. He was always on me about my driving. But come on. The maniac we were chasing just asked for it, and he didn't leave us much of a choice. Well, I shouldn't say "us", because Hutch had no choice in the matter, and that's what kind of gnawed at the back of my brain like a damn termite. I just gunned it, whether he liked it or not. I never once considered that he may have been just a little spooked about crashing after Humphries had him knocked over the hill.

Hearing voices of the nurse and who I guessed to be a doctor, I sat up a little straighter and tried to lean out of the bed to listen or see if I could get a look.

"Excuse me!" I said rattling the bed rail. "I need some answers!"

In came the nurse and a doctor.

"Yeah?" I asked as I looked from one face to the other. "What'd you find out? Where is he?"

"Detective Starsky," the doctor said in that tone I hated to hear. The one I'd used myself at times, toward victims, families, witnesses. It said, "It's bad news, and I'm going to break it to you as gently as I can."

It wasn't the doctor I hated. He was just doing his job. It was his face. It held a truth I didn't want to know any more about.

"Your partner never regained consciousness," he said with the kind of cruelty only a skilled professional can deliver. Skilled at seeming to be as neutral as the monitors surrounding them. "I'm afraid he's in a coma. He's in intensive care."

I looked at the nurse, who also gave a sympathetic look.

"You sayin'..." A sudden knot in my throat made it hard to speak normally. "You sayin' he may not wake up?"

"He suffered head trauma, and right now it's too early to tell. If we can keep the swelling down, and if we can..."

His words faded out in my head, my fear swelling to the loud crashing sound of an ocean wave driving me under.

I had expected a broken arm. A bump on the head, like me. A few cuts. A good chewing out. A good guilt trip. Come on, Hutch. I deserve it. I want to hear it. I have it coming.

"Not this," I heard myself almost whisper.

"He could wake up," the nurse offered hopefully, and this brought a sharp look from the doctor.

Chastised, she glanced down.

"We don't know that," the doctor corrected. "We'll observe him, treat him, keep running tests, do all we can. If he-"

I'd heard enough. I pushed my cover aside to get up.

"Wait," the doctor said touching my shoulder. "You shouldn't be up."

"Have to see him," I said in a voice that floated just above my head like a detached balloon.

Did I say that or was it just in my head?

The doctor's grip became a little firmer on my shoulder, and I pushed a little harder, moving past him, then the nurse, then Captain Dobey and Huggy, who were just turning into the doorway to see me.

"Guess you heard," I said as I wrestled out of their hands and headed down the hall to find Hutch.

XXXXXXXXXX

I barged past a doctor and a nurse who stood in discussion just outside Hutch's hospital door, too quick for them to stop or even say anything, and went inside his room, my heart pounding a pulse that kept repeating "Hutch", "Hutch", "Hutch", each beat.

But the sight of him stopped me dead still in the middle of the floor; my mind only able to take in fragments: His head partially bandaged. Swollen features. Still body. Bruised face. Bloody hair.

Dizzy. I was dizzy. Light-headed. Knees threatening to buckle. It could have been from the knot on my head, but I knew what it really was.

Huggy and a doctor were there to catch me.

No way, my mind said.

My head moved no. My heart said, Please don't let it be.

"He'll come around," Huggy said squeezing his arm tight around my shoulders. Holding me up.

Holding me together.

Then Dobey. Then the doctor.

"Give them a few minutes," Dobey said to the doctor, and he nodded, sliding over a stool for me to sit on next to the bed and the machines.

It was hard to tell if Dobey, Huggy, and the doctor were still in the room with me. Their voices had faded. Their touch had gone. My focus had shut out everything around me, and was now zoned on my

partner, who looked as close to dead as I'd ever seen him, next to when he lay dying with the plague.

What if he never wakes up?

What if he dies?

I leaned closer to him and took the hand that wasn't in a cast, which lay bloodstained and lifeless in mine.

What had I done to my best friend?

Take my legs. My arms, my eyes. But don't take my partner.

XXXX

They let me stay in his room. Dobey and Huggy must have convinced the hospital that it was the best thing for both of us. I never asked, but I guess they knew I wasn't budging.

"Well," the doctor said in a resigned sigh, but more as if the idea belonged to him, "talking to a coma patient can be very beneficial."

Hours turned into a day. A day turned into a night. One into two. Two into three.

I didn't know what time it was and I didn't care. I just wanted to sit with him, because I wanted him to feel my presence.

"I'm sorry," I whispered for the first time.

Those two little words had been lodged in my head and in my throat. Even though I felt them, I couldn't say them. They seemed so empty and worthless. How could I be sorry now, when I knew chasing that dude was a risk. I risked Hutch's life, and we both were paying the price.

"Talking to a coma patient can be very beneficial."

Okay. I'd read that in a book somewhere before. And there was so much I wanted to say, I wanted him back so badly, so I kept talking.

I'd talk until he woke up. Until my words magically stirred him awake like a sleeping beauty.

"I got plenty to say," I whispered heavily. If I could just keep my voice steady. But I couldn't. I couldn't pretend that I was okay when I wasn't. Hutch could see through me, always. He knew when I was putting him on. He was right when he said I wasn't a good liar. Especially when it came to him. My voice couldn't lie. My tears couldn't lie.

"And I'm not gonna shut up until you come to," I said as I leaned up closer to his ear to make sure he could hear.

It was close quarters. But it had to be. I had to make sure he heard every word.

"Thank you, for one. For being my pal. Being there when I shot that boy. You never backed away from me. Never let me pack it in. I always knew I'd have to kill some people on the street. I just never thought it would be a kid."

XXXXXXXXXXX

The hours passed. The stories passed. What else was I supposed to talk to him about? The weather? Sports? Criminals?

When there is a possibility that your best friend could be lost forever, you say what means the most between the two of you. I had to let him know how much he meant to me, and I believed my words could bring him back.

Saying thank you to your partner can sound weird. You're not supposed to say that, are you? It's a given. You don't think about it. It just is. You're supposed to take it for granted in a way. That's what we do in life. We take things for granted. We live it. We waste it. We risk it. We screw it up.

I just wasn't willing or ready to lose it. I wanted another chance to goof off. Make it up to him with a steak dinner. Save his life again. Catch him if he fell. Make him laugh. Make him see I didn't mean to hurt him.

I talked for so long that my voice began to dry up.

Not the stories, or the reverence. Those would never dry up. I could talk into eternity about those things. It was my throat that was giving out. Stress. Heartache. Guilt. Love. Fear.

He was still out. Still motionless. The doctors and nurses came in and out, checking the machines, checking him.

Still I talked.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Five days passed. Endless stories.

"-kept me alive in the back office of that Italian joint-"

"-figured out it was Cheryl's pop who put the hypo in Bellamy's hands-"

"-outsmarted Simon and rescued me from the cult-"

"-kept me together when I lost Helen, and Terry-"

"-helped me through Rosey-"

"-but more than that-"

"More than that..."

Dobey and Huggy came by once a day, and when they did, it never interrupted the flow of my one-way conversation. I just kept talking. My one-way mirror. Whispering now, because laryngitis stole my voice one sentence at a time. Could he hear me? Was I getting through?

"Come on, man," Huggy said as he took my arm and tried to lift me from the stool. "Let's take a walk."

But Dobey shook his head no, and handed me a cup of hot tea with honey. Sometimes lemonade with crushed ice. He knew no person or no thing could pull me away.

So they sat with me and brought me food or drinks, and when I got up to go to the john, or when things got too heavy for me and I had to step into the hall for privacy, or when I took naps, they would talk to each other about Hutch so he could hear, or would talk to him directly.

Each day at the hospital I asked myself, Will this be the day he wakes up? Will he be able to speak? Will he recognize me? Will he remember me? Will he be the same? My life will be asleep as long as his is.

On the sixth day no sounds at all were coming from my throat. It was done for. Even when I tried to force words out, nothing came but silence. I felt like crashing the stool through the window or pounding my head on the wall. Rage exploded inside me.

It was the second time the tears came for Hutch. Frustration at my body and my will for betraying me, and in doing so, Hutch. Why couldn't I be one of those machines connected to him? Indifferent, efficient, and perpetual.

Huggy held out to me a small tablet of paper to write on. I ignored it. I had no words for him. My words were for Hutch, and they were supposed to be said out loud so that my partner could hear them. How could I stay connected without my voice?

~He can't hear me anymore~ I finally wrote on the paper, so downhearted my hand barely movedacross the tablet.

"Don't matter," he said. "He heard all he needed."

Right then I caved. Tears and all. Just spilled over the bed rail and clutched his forearm, praying, hoping, wishing, willing him to be whole again and not in some kind of twilight; here in body, gone in spirit.

One or the other, God. Don't let him exist this way. Give him back. I'll try harder. Do better. Appreciate him more. Take more care. Look out for him more.

My muscles ached. My mind was shot. I didn't know what to do or think anymore.

Huggy leaned over the bed a little, putting a hand over mine, which was still gripping Hutch's arm.

"Feel that, Blondie? Starsk is right here with you, and he ain't goin' nowhere. As long as you feel his hand on you, he's right here. It's him."

I would like to think that it was my words that woke him up, or my will, or our connection. I don't

know what it was. It was just his time, I guess. Time for one eye to open in a thin little slit. A crack of blue. A little movement on his brow. Not much. Barely there. But there.

Huggy started punching the call button for the doctors and nurses, and I stood up, turning Hutch's face toward me, patting his cheek, trying to get his attention, get him to open his eyes and look at me again.

For the first time in six days and nights, I felt a ray of sunshine softly beaming into my dark cave.

Please be whole. Please come all the way back.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

That day, he woke up a little at a time, staying awake only a few minutes and then going back to sleep. Each time he did this, my heart lurched all over again, wondering if he would sink back under and stay there. I was a rollercoaster, but better than before.

My appetite came back, but I still wouldn't leave the side of his bed; so nurses, Dobey, and Huggy brought me food that I happily ate.

I put tacos under Hutch's nose, hoping it would bug him enough to wake him up again so he could tell me to cut it out. I played guitar for him. Nothing fancy. Just a few little things he taught me. Practice, really. My voice was still gone, so I made sure I was within his sight whenever he opened his eyes, moving only when the doctors and nurses came in to do their thing with him.

I couldn't help my constant smile. Dobey and Huggy wore one too.

XXXXXXXXXX

Before, the only sleep I could allow myself was a nap here and there when my body gave out, or when the nightmares decided not to visit.

In the nightmares, I was fully awake when we crashed, and each time, I looked to my right to find a bloody, broken partner halfway through the windshield or crushed in the floorboard under the dash.

Now I could at least find some rest.

When Hutch finally did come out of it to give me a real look, he said, "Why am I here?"

The doctors and nurses were there to take care of him, so I didn't want to get in their way of helping him, but I did want to stay and lend him strength if he needed it.

Right now he looked a little scared and confused.

{You don't remember the crash?} I tried to ask, but the words couldn't come through my throat and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. What if he lost his memory? What if he couldn't remember me?

He needed me, and I couldn't communicate with him. I put my hand to my throat and tried to talk anyway, showing him I had no voice. Then, just when the doctor was about to explain my voice to Hutch, for some weird reason Hutch's eyes filled with tears and he clasped my wrist, pulling me down

closer where he hooked a weak arm around my neck.

I think the crash was coming back to him. Pieces of it anyway.

"Thanks, partner," his hoarse whisper sounded in my ear.

He sounded normal. He sounded like Hutch.

{Thanks?} I wanted to ask him. {For doing this to you? For carelessly risking your life? What the hell are you thanking me for?"}

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I could feel myself slipping away," he said quietly the darkness of the hospital room that night. His voice was weak, and he paused almost like he'd forgotten how to put words together. "Like a...I don't know. It's hard to describe. Like my soul was a helium balloon going higher and higher, farther and farther away from this world."

I couldn't speak, so I just nodded, listening to whatever he had to say. Just the sound of his voice, the life in his eyes.

He paused again, collecting his thoughts.

"But I kept hearing your voice, Starsk, and it brought me back down every time. I could hear you. It kept me here. Somehow."

I looked down at my hand clutching his. His clutching mine.

"I don't remember the crash," he said in a thready rasp. "All I remember is your words. I saw them in my mind. Each one. And I felt them too. Sort of, trickling through me like a stream."

His eyes got drowsy then, and he went back to sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Words.

While he slept that night, I wrote him a letter, saying the things I couldn't say with my mouth but I desperately wanted him to hear. I put it under his hand so he would find it the next morning, then went home to sleep but found it impossible, so I ended up back at the hospital in his room, the only place that felt right, and the only place I could find sleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

The next morning I felt a tickle at my nose and brushed it away, thinking it was a fly. Then when it happened again, I opened my eyes to see Hutch smiling at me like a big storybook fairy while touching the note to my nose.

"Not bad," he said patting my knee. "I just may keep you around. But I think I'll drive for a while once

we're back on the street."

His smile said it all. Friendship. Forgiveness. Understanding.

"And there is one way you can make it up to me," he said.

I nodded and mouthed the word, "Anything," certain he could understand that.

"Get the number of that pretty nurse Ellen that keeps bringing me ice cream."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Hutch recovered without any lasting damage. Any physical damage, that is. He did have a few problems with persistent nightmares for a while, and there were times when he broke into a cold sweat when we were in a high speed chase, but that didn't last very long. He has a way of pocketing the bad times in order to move forward with his life, because he finds much more good in the world than bad and he doesn't want to waste time dwelling on the negative.

As for me, I took my cue from Hutch. If he could forgive me, I had to work to find a way to forgive myself, and I'm still doing that. Not one hundred percent over it. I don't think I ever will be. But our friendship has never been stronger, and I thank whatever God there is that we're still in one piece.

The End

0000000000000000000

The Kidnapping

By TLR

XXX

He stood staring down at the 8 x 10 in his hands for so long, I thought he was in a trance.

His expression didn't change.

He knew little girl's face as well as he knew mine, but he couldn't take his eyes off the picture. The one the kidnapper had left under the windshield wiper of Captain Dobey's car, complete with a ransom note on the back.

Violence does something to people. To victims, of course. It robs their bodies, their minds, their spirits.

It does something to criminals. Makes them soulless, practiced, better.

But it does something to those who work in it too. It changes you. Hardens and softens you at the same time.

You read an article about a murder in the newspaper. Headlines. Front page. Any page. You

read about how the victim suffered; how the cop investigates. How justice must be served.

But you don't read about the nights the gaping throat of a little one jolts you awake or haunts your breakfast table. Or how it makes you want to be a monster yourself and kill the criminal-not just to balance the scales, but because he deserves it.

But that's okay. The fire is what drives us. The victim. The criminal. The cop caught in the middle.

"Let me take this one. You got the last few big ones."

He stared at me.

"Joanna?" he asked.

And Solkin. And Gillian. And Professor Jennings. And Forest. And Simon. And how many more? The weight was beginning to show in his eyes; they used to be so bright and optimistic and youthful. And now...

I couldn't let him do this one. Not now.

I couldn't tell Dobey. And Hutch didn't even know to tell him.

Gently.

I had to treat him gently.

He looked into my eyes, seeking truth. As always, seeing it. Trusting.

I just want some. You know where the stuff is. Just give me some help.

You got a ways to go, boy. Just give it to me. What do you think I'm here for?

He trusted whatever I had to say. Whatever I would do. This was always his way of letting me in a little deeper. Of saying, "Yeah, partner, I love you. I trust you. Just tell me whatever it is I need to hear, because I'm not sure I know right now."

His need was often unspoken, but I always knew what it was.

And people think he's the brains of this outfit...

I pinched the edge of the photo, and he slowly let go of it. And along with it, his defenses. His shoulders dropped a little as he leaned back against the Torino.

I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

He nodded; actually looked relieved.

I was about to contact Rosie Dobey's kidnappers and find a way to get her back.

The End

000000000000000000

White Terror

By TLR

A pounding came at my door.

His torn shirt, scuffed cheeks, and wild eyes told me he had just looked death in the face and lived.

I know that look. White terror. The kind that a few kind words can't really address. It was a look I never thought I would ever see on this boy's face. Not this boy. I had tried so hard to protect him, guide him. Not Kiko. Not ever. I saw to it. Wrapped myself around his life like a security blanket. A surrogate father. Guardian. And now...

Delirious, he both laughed and cried, his dirty, blood-caked fingernails clutching at my shirtsleeves. "I made it!" he screeched hoarsely. "I'm out of there!"

He started to fall. I scooped him up and sat him down on the sofa, sitting on the arm of it next to him, trying to calm him and fix his scrapes and get some information all at the same time.

"Easy now. Where have you been? What happened? Have you seen Starsky?"

"I wanted to help him, but all I could do was jump out of the car and run here. I should have stayed. I should have helped him. I'm sorry-"

Babbling. I pulled his head to my chest and shushed him.

"Sshh. Take it easy."

He clawed at me. Pushing. Pulling. Burying his head in my chest. "It was—they were bad people!

They hurt me! They took pictures! And they brought rich guys in so they could-"

I took my handkerchief out and wiped his dripping nose.

Twelve years old, but his eyes said forty.

Who could put a look like that into a little boy's eyes? Who would want to?

But countless case files flipped through my mind, reminding me of a number of people who had and would.

Child prostitution rings. White slavery. Child sex trade. Exploitation. Men trafficking in children's souls.

His tormented eyes were streaked with fear and old mascara that someone had applied in one of their sick games to his baby-shaped face. Whisker burns had chaffed his chin red. Hickeys on his neck.

We needed medical photos. My...(I almost said my little boy)...my Little Brother...was now a case.

"Kiko," I said with my arms wrapped around him, tears burning my own eyes. "I promise you I will bring those people to justice. I swear on my life." I kissed the top of his head, his pain soaking into my heart. I wanted the poison to come into me. I wanted to take the abuse for him.

"You'll be okay," I said in a shaking voice that I hoped sounded convincing. "It may not feel like it right now, but you'll be all right. You have people in your life that really love you. You need to get to a hospital so they can treat you-"

"No," he said lifting his head off my chest. "I want to show you where the house is. I don't know if the car will still be there. But I want to help. After leaving him, I just want to help him."

"Sshh. Baby. Listen to me. You are helping him. Leaving was the right thing to do. How else can I find him, huh?"

He pulled away from me and went to the door. I got one of my shirts and wrapped it around him, then got my jacket and gun.

"I'll take you home to your mother, and we'll talk to her."

"No. Not now. Later. We have to get Starsky back first."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Hutch, it's me. Got a call from Kiko's Mom. Said he didn't come home from school. You stay put while I check it out, okay?"

XXXXXXXXXX

Why did I have to be in bed still shaking from the damn heroin, Starsk? Why couldn't she have called me instead of you?

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Two weeks gone.

Captain Dobey reminded me the odds weren't good that we would find either one of them alive.

One down, and one to go.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"He was in the trunk," Kiko's voice said just above a whisper as he sat small and forlorn in the

passenger seat beside me. "They beat him up when they found out he was a cop. One of

the...buyers...said he recognized him. They put us in the car to feed us to the sharks. That's what they

said."

The ocean? Had they dumped my partner in the ocean?

XXXXXXXXXX

It was almost dark and the farmhouse was deserted. With Kiko escaping to be a live victim and witness, the ring decided to split in a hurry.

"There's the car," he said as we pulled up to the farmhouse.

I saw Kiko stiffen next to me as he gripped the door handle.

I squeezed his shoulder. "I think they all ran, buddy. But if there is anyone still hanging around, I have my gun and the radio, okay?"

I waited for his return nod, and he finally gave it.

"Stay here," I told him as I pulled out my gun and quietly got out of the car.

But he came anyway, walking beside me, leaning in close to my side.

I put my hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, Kiko."

The trunk of the car was ajar, and the two possibilities swung in my head like a pendulum: Was he in the trunk, or was he in the ocean?

Please be here. At least I can bury you.

I stood staring at the trunk for a long time, the silence unbearable, part of me never wanting to raise the trunk and look in, wanting to stay rooted in the quiet twilight forever.

Can I go on if he's dead? Will I ever feel the same? Will I be able to hold myself together?

"Damn right" I heard his voice in my head. "You'll march on and get the psychos who did this to me and the kid."

My hand pushed up on the trunk, and I saw that it was an empty space.

"He's gone," I heard myself whisper.

It was Kiko's hand squeezing my forearm that made me blink. I think my heart stopped. Froze, at least. It would never beat the same way again.

"I've got to call it in," I said numbly as I made my way back to the car.

How the hell do I find him in the ocean, dead or alive?

A cynical answer came back:

You don't.

I don't know what I said to Dobey over the radio, but I said some words: Starsky. Dead. Ocean. Child sex ring. Investigation.

Maybe he asked my location. Maybe he said he was on his way. I don't remember.

I don't even remember getting into the car and driving away from the farmhouse. Some muscle memory, some internal guidance system took over.

I don't think Kiko said anything either. I'm sure the car was silent as I drove quite detached along the two-lane highway that would lead back to the freeway.

And then Kiko's voice, sharp and clear, did slice through my fog.

"Hutch! A deer!"

But it wasn't a deer hobbling alongside the road.

It was Starsky.

Now my heart rebounded in a flurry of jackrabbit beats as I pulled the car over and jumped out, leaving the headlights to shine on my fleeing friend.

"No!" I shouted at his back as he tried to scramble over a bank. "Starsk, wait! It's me! It's okay!" Kiko ran with me, and we caught him just before he plunged headlong down into a ravine.

"Here," I said wrapping my arm around him and helping him up the thorny brush. "I got you. It's me. It's okay. Kiko's okay too. Come on. I'm taking you both to the hospital."

He didn't say anything. He just leaned against me and let me take him up the hill to the car.

He kept holding his ribs, which told me that could be one reason why he couldn't speak at the time.

But at the emergency room, where he and Kiko were both treated, he clasped my hand and gave a small smile.

"Kicked the trunk open," he gasped through the pain in his chest. "I'll be okay."

"Sure you will," I smiled as I pushed my fingertips into his hair.

At the moment he looked like a boxer who'd taken a bad beating, but the doctors said he would make a full recovery and there was no life-threatening damage. With his swollen black eyes and puffy lips, he looked worse than he actually was.

I think his emotional state was worse than his physical, because in the presence of the doctors and nurses who tended to him, he allowed a tear to slip down his cheek.

"Sorry about Kiko," he whispered. "I tried to get him out of there."

I squeezed his hand again.

"Thank you for going for me," I said. "It would have been me in that farmhouse. You saved his life. He's alive. He's going to make it through this."

As if those were the words he needed to hear, Starsky's eyes finally closed, no longer able to fight against the pain and the fatigue and the medication.

"Rest," I said as I watched him sink into sleep. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

XXXXXXXXXX

Kiko needed me too, for his exam and for the questioning and photographs.

"I don't want my mom in here," he whispered to me from the gurney. "Just you. Okay? Will you tell her?"

"Sure," I said as I stepped out of the room to speak to his mother, who stood with two detectives and a medical photographer.

She looked relieved to see me. I put my arm around her and began to explain.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dobey gave the entire case to Herman and Rose-Starsky, Kiko, the ring-there were other victims-but I didn't really mind. It left me open to be there for Kiko and Starsky, as well as Mrs. Ramos.

But when I sat through the questioning with them and read the case file, I got a better understanding of why Dobey gave it to them.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Snatches of Kiko's testimony:

-"They played loud music to cover up my screaming."

-"They had this satchel with different kinds of things in it that they used."

-"They gave me shots that made me sleepy."

-"They sprayed me with a water hose when I got bloody."

-"They dressed me in weird clothes and put girl's makeup on me."

-"They made me say stuff I didn't want to say."

-"They took my clothes off."

-"They gave me pills that made me see weird stuff like nightmares."

-"They had a movie camera."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Herman and Rose found evidence at the farmhouse to support all of Kiko's statements.

It's a good thing they got the case, because if I hadn't been so wrapped up in taking care of my loved ones, I think I would have gone and murdered the perpetrators in the middle of the night. I'm sure the good captain knew this too.

The End

000000000000000

Kiko's Career

By TLR

Hutch and a few of our fellow officers were waiting at his apartment for Kiko to show up, since he was the guest of honor and we were celebrating his first year anniversary as a cop.

We didn't know if he was gonna make it. Well, let me re-phrase that. Hutch knew he was gonna make it. I had my doubts. He had such a tender heart, I thought that it couldn't withstand the pressure. But Hutch said, "He's got that balance. He has a heart, but he's tough too. A lot like you. He's going to make it."

And he did. The honeymoon was rough. Kiko almost quit a couple of times. But it's not like he would come to Hutch with his doubts. Hutch could just sense it, and talked him through it each time.

The time Kiko found three kids dead who had been shot by their father.

The kids who found their parents dead in the back yard of a murder/suicide.

It was the kids who always got to Kiko the most. The ones who took him to the brink and almost pushed him over into helplessness and surrender.

Kiko had been on the brink himself a few times as a kid. That's why it was so hard for him to see it. I think it brought back a lot from his own childhood.

But he found a way to pocket those sensations, and use it. Turn it around into something positive in his life that he could use for others.

It's not everybody who can be a cop. It takes someone from a special cloth. Not a better cloth. Not a superhuman cloth. Just a unique one. You always have to walk a line. Hutch and me were familiar with that line, and Kiko was too, now. He had the desire, the fever, the perseverance. The kind criminals and the system had to look out for. Because he wasn't a cop who could be bought, intimidated, or persuaded to be a bad cop for the system or a good one for the bad guys. He was his own man. He was paired with an blond-haired guy named Renny who loved him like a brother. Renny had this intense fire that was hard to contain. He wanted to kill all the criminals and save the world, and Kiko said that he'd have to keep an eye on him or he would get burned out or blown away.

They had been friends since junior high. They stuck together and decided to take on the world.

It would be interesting to see where life would take them.

End

00000000000000000000

Kiko's Career 2

By TLR

When Starsky called me from the hospital, I drove there as fast as I could. He was quick to tell me that he wasn't hurt and that Kiko wasn't hurt, but I needed to be there just the same.

Something about Kiko. With Kiko being a cop, a number of possibilities displayed across my mind like a fan of Tarot cards.

God, don't let him be hurt. Starsk wouldn't lie to me about a thing like that, would he?

Although my drive to Memorial broke the speed limit, my trip from the car and inside to the front desk was slower, giving myself time to compose and brace at the same time.

I was directed to ICU, when all composure flew out the window. I threw the door to the hallway open and ran in, then skidded to a stop at the sight my eyes took in at the far end of the hall.

Kiko standing at the observation glass, gazing as if in a trance.

My partner slouching his shoulder against the wall some distance away, looking down at a gum wrapper he toyed with in his fingers.

It wasn't hard to put two and two together, because I had stood in Kiko's shoes.

His partner Renny had been seriously wounded, and hung between life and death.

Starsky lifted his head and our eyes met, then I slowly walked toward them, Kiko's head never turning toward me.

As I approached the glass, I looked in to see the doctors and nurses working on the blond-haired kid

Kiko called his best friend. He was on life support.

Starsky's voice was low, even though Kiko was too far away to hear him.

"Four bullets."

Starsky pinched the gum wrapper into a tiny ball between two fingers.

"I tried talkin' to him, but he ain't hearin' it."

I nodded, then stepped over to Kiko and put my hand on his shoulder.

I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say.

Even though he was a young adult now, I still saw the little kid I once mentored.

And, like the boy he used to be, he turned into my arms and cried.

End

0000000000000

Moonless

By TLR

It was a beautiful day, and not just because I was taking the day off. When you own and run a bar and grill, you get to take off when you need to. Maybe not when you want to, but when you need to. I depended on Diane to maintain the rhythm whenever I was out. Today was one of those days.

It was also my best dudes' day off too, twelve months to the day since Starsky was hit in the police garage, so me and Hutch had an impromptu celebration planned for him. The boy liked surprises, and he was gonna get a good one today. He worked his rump off getting back into shape, and he was ready to hit the streets again. I don't know which one felt more hurtin' during the rehab part, Starsk or Blondie, but together they pulled it off.

Hutch tried to hide his worry, but it showed. Even Starsky could see it. and that made Starsky work that much harder. Something inside drove them to put life back the way it was before. I wish I could say I helped out, but Hutch wouldn't let me do much more than go to the grocery or the pharmacy or do a little cooking. It was like he had to do all the helping, like Starsky wouldn't heal right if Hutchie boy wasn't the one doing it.

If I can be straight about it, I was wishing they would decide to stay out of policing and do something safer for a living. I didn't care what it was. I'd even give them both a job, or get them both a job. Anything to keep their heads on their shoulders and their guts inside where they belonged.

But. Those two. Couldn't be persuaded to do otherwise. It's like they had something to prove to the world, themselves, and each other. They weren't quitters. Man, put a few bullets in me, I'm outa here. Put them in those two, they just get back up again and go for another round.

Yeah, it did kind of remind me of boxing, the way they punched, ducked, and weaved their way through life's matches. What else was a man to do except get back in the ring?

I was right there with Hutch when he was hot after James Gunther in a suicidal pursuit. No, I don't think he wanted to die, but I don't think he much cared about his life at the time either, because he thought his boy was dyin'. He was in an honest pit of darkness, and never once surfaced until he saw Starsky coming around.

Now the bright sunshine and the funky music and the cool Caddy I was driving helped me to put those dark days away too. For the past year I'd been the umbilical cord between them, through which errands, meals, and friendship passed back and forth. There were days when Starsky hurt so much he passed out. There were days when Hutch hurt so much he wept out. And there was me, in the middle holding them both up, minding their secrets, hugging their necks, making them laugh.

Now we had the future spread out ahead of us like a big road map, routes red and blue veins of life and veins of choices, and any of them would be fine, because we all three were alive and well.

Alive enough for Starsky to have his first real date in a year. And for Hutch to be grinning from ear to ear every day now, beaming like a yellow spotlight at the sight of his buddy raring to go.

Starsky was proud of himself. Me and Hutch were proud of him too. He could have given up and packed it in. But not once did he let that thought enter his head.

This woman. Sonja. Classy and independent at the same time. Kept coming into my place over the past year asking about Starsky. She wasn't a nurse. Wasn't a shrink. She was a police woman who'd transferred from Sacramento just after he'd been shot, had seen his picture and heard about the shooting at the precinct, and decided she just had to meet him.

But when Sonja came to the hospital to meet him and check him out, he sent her away, but not before something fired up between them. An attraction was definitely there, on both ends, but he told her, "Go home. Come back in a year if you still want to."

The lady backed out with her eyes still glued to his, not intimidated or disappointed one bit. She had a life. She was busy. She'd come back in a year.

Hutch saw the magnetism too, and even used it to keep Starsky going until he could get back on his feet and go after her.

Sonja.

They would be good for each other. She would understand the job, and they would have a lot to talk about.

She had a soft side too, a listening side, and it showed in her eyes when she leaned over my bar to ask about him.

Me, Hutch, and Starsk were meeting at my cousin's beach house to stay the weekend before they hit the station Monday morning. Desk duty at first. But real work. Not home recuperating, counting pills, and pacing the floors like unruly ponies. Nothing fancy. Just a barbecue on the beach. Music, sun, ocean.

Sonja was going to show up later as the surprise.

It would be Sonja and Starsky's first date, and it was my prediction that they would have one fine time.

But when I pulled into the parking lot that overlooked the beach house and got out of the car, everything looked weird. Too quiet.

Hutch's car was here, the driver's door wide open, but no sign of either of them.

I had a good look down the shore in both directions, and they weren't on the beach, they weren't on the deck, and they couldn't get in the house without a key.

I looked in Hutch's car, front seat and back, even though I knew they weren't in there, careful not to touch anything like they told me a hundred times.

It was when I was pulling out and straightening up..."Hey!" I called as I looked around..."Hutch? Starsk?"...that I saw Starsky lying on the new black pavement in front of the car. On his side, like he was taking a nap. Not exactly in a fetal position, but more like a kid would do when he was tired and fell asleep reading a book. Without his jacket and holster on...in the new outfit I got him because his other clothes were a little big...black jeans and white polo shirt...he almost looked like a different man.

But why was he so still? Why was he on the ground?

Man, they had played some dirty tricks on me before, but this was downright nasty.

I took a step in his direction, and something told me it wasn't a joke and he wasn't going to get up.

A second step and my brain confirmed it when I saw the pool of red under his head.

Still.

His body was completely still. Like I said, taking a nap.

My body reacted before my mind did. It tensed into a vise that clenched my muscles hard and kept my shoes rooted to the asphalt. My lungs squeezed so tight I could barely breathe. Colored dots floated past my eyes. I tried to say his name, but it stayed somewhere inside me.

My legs felt like concrete. I forced them to move.

A third step and I was in front of Hutch's car, where I looked down to my right and saw Hutch sitting on the ground with his back against the front bumper, his .357 loose in his hand, legs stretched out in front, eyes staring far out into the air.

He looked dead too, except that his chest was moving up and down, his pupils dilated so wide they looked black instead of blue.

He didn't see me. He didn't know I was there. Even when I crouched down and dug my fingers into his shoulder.

I couldn't speak. Something or someone had to speak for me.

No one else was around. No other guns were lying around.

Starsky didn't wear one. No need whenever Hutch was around. Hutch wore his gun most of the time before Gunther. All the time after. Determined no one would ever get that close again.

But now. The pieces were there, but they weren't fitting together. Nothing fit or made sense.

I took his other shoulder and shook him hard.

"Hutch! Talk to me!"

But he didn't. He just stared into space.

I shook him again, shoving his back hard into the bumper so it would snap him out of it.

"Hutch!"

His face was white. Lips pale. His hair looked like it was almost white.

Then his voice came, weak and small, (Starsky's gonna die, Hug, and there ain't nothin' anybody can do about it), speaking while still gazing forward.

"I shot him, Hug. I didn't mean to. I killed him."

A few glances around, then I saw the feet belonging to a body that lay on the ground at the passenger side of the car. The gun between his feet told me he was dead.

"He had Starsky," Hutch said as his hand closed tighter around his gun. "Jumped him from behind the tree. I think...I think it was one of Gunther's men. I'm not sure."

He brought the gun up. I didn't want to touch it. Prints and all. But I didn't like the fact that his grip was getting tighter and his voice was getting fainter.

"The guy. He had a gun to Starsky's head. Starsk told me to shoot the guy. I didn't want to. He

said...Starsk said I had to. They were struggling. Too much movement. I thought I had a clear shot..."

Hutch.

It sounded like a confession, and a final farewell.

"Please forgive me," he whispered. "Starsk. Please forgive me."

He was in shock. Didn't know what he was doing or saying.

Somehow the instinct I had always had with them kicked back in. When to speak. When to shut up. When to help. When to back off.

Right now it said to take his gun before something else happened, so I put my hand around it and slipped it away from him.

Hutch wasn't a careless man, especially when it came to Starsky. He took a calculated risk to try to save his life, and it didn't work.

What could I say? What could I do?

It wasn't on purpose, man. It was a freak accident.

"Come on," I said taking his arm and trying to pull him up to his feet. "Let's call it in."

The End

00000000000000

Angel

By TLR

Twice I read the letter Starsky's mother had left for me. She had written it a couple of months before, when the doctors told her she only had a few weeks left in the world.

A kind woman my partner adored, but she didn't have the heart or the guts to tell him the truth herself, so she asked me to do it after she passed on.

I sat with the truth about his father for weeks, giving him room to grieve, not knowing how to tell him, if I should tell him, what it would do to him.

Joe Durniak paid for his funeral. That much Starsky knew.

"So what gives?" he asked as he came through my front door, looking around as if he expected to see a nice surprise like a girl jumping out of a cake.

I held the letter in my hand. I would need it as proof that his mother said the things I was about to say to him.

Nick didn't know, and Starsk didn't know.

When my head dipped, his smile faded. He knew something was wrong.

He put his hands on his hips. "Hutch, what's goin' on?"

I started to hand the letter to him so he could read it for himself, but I decided he deserved to hear it from me.

"I know how much you loved your pop, and there's no good way of telling you this..."

My slight hesitation caused him to snatch the letter from my hand. I snatched it back, and the paper ripped when we both yanked.

I tried to grab the bottom half out of his hand, but he was quicker, taking a couple of steps backward so he could read it before I took it back.

He couldn't read it all; not with the top half still in my hand. But he read enough that his hand dropped and his shoulder slumped, and the paper drifted to the floor.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry and tight.

"Starsk," came my whisper. "I did some checking with New York. It's not something on the books, but it's true."

He reached down for the edge of my coffee table and sat down, his head lowered.

"Everything?"

Joe Durniak hinted at it in the back of the truck before he was wasted, but I was too naive to catch it.

To his family and friends, Starsky's pop was the charismatic policeman and devoted family man, but to the mob that ran that neighborhood, he was known as Angel, a handsome, charming hitman with ice water in his veins. Except for women and children, no one was off limits when it came to a contract. It was business, and his specialty was hitting mob bosses and cops. So the mob bosses and the cops got together and decided he had to go. Up until his own murder outside his home, he had been well-protected and well-respected, having killed over 150 people. Some by gun, some by stabbing, some by poison, some by fire, some by explosives, some by other creative means. He was a grisly and dangerous monster who took his first life at the age of seventeen and never looked back.

"I'm sorry," I said as I put my hand on his shoulder and handed him the other half of the letter.

He didn't read it, though. He'd read enough.

"It's no consolation, but evidently he was raised in terrible conditions in an orphanage until he was adopted by the people you knew as your grandparents."

His father. A double life. A secret life.

Too much for Starsky. He got up and walked toward the door.

"I'll be at my place," he said without a look over his shoulder.

I took the two pieces of letter, crushed them, then put them in a waste paper basket.

Poor Starsk. A sweet guy like him had lived with instability and secrecy his entire life: His mother shipping him to California, to protect him and get him away from cops and gangsters I now realized.

The fractured relationship with his brother. John Blaine. And now his father. On top of that, I had betrayed him with Kira. How much is a man supposed to take?

When he used to tell me you come into this world alone and you go out of it alone, I thought he was just teasing me or trying to get a rise out of me because we were so close. Now maybe I think he could have meant it.

End

000000000000000000

Coming Of Age

By TLR

When Starsky and Hutch arrived on scene at the high school, a crowd of students had gathered to look up at Kiko, who stood on top of the roof with an expression of torment on his face.

A couple of teachers were hovering near Kiko on the roof.

"Back off!" he yelled at them, and they did.

"I've never seen him like this before," Hutch said in a half-whisper to his partner as they got out of the Torino and walked toward the building.

"See if you can get these kids out of here," Starsky said to a few of the teachers who were already trying to send the kids away.

"Kiko!" Hutch said shading his eyes from the sun as he squinted seven stories up. "I'm coming up!"

"No!" he said stepping closer to the edge. "Stay away!"

Hutch looked at his partner, mind racing for help.

"I'll go," Starsky said, then looked up at Kiko. "I'm comin' up!"

When Kiko didn't protest, Starsky headed inside the school building while the blond paced below.

A teacher approached Hutch.

"I called his mother. She's on her way from work."

"Did he say anything? Did anything happen?"

"I think he's been harassed recently. Did he say anything to you about it?"

"No. What was he being harassed about?"

"I'm not sure. You know how kids are. They pick on each other. Sides are taken. They're talking to each other one day; the next they act like mortal enemies. Then a week later they're all buddies again."

A blond boy with collar-length hair who was a good friend of Kiko's approached them.

"Hutch, you gotta make him come down."

"We're trying, Renny. Do you know anything about this?" Renny looked down sheepishly. Hutch took his arm.

"It's important."

Renny looked around at the crowd, then pulled Hutch aside to talk to him.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Leave," Starsky said as he stepped onto the roof of the school and displayed his badge to the teachers and staff. "Now."

Reluctantly they did, leaving Kiko and Starsky alone on the roof.

Kiko had a sneaker on the concrete barrier one step up, arms out as if to spring off at any moment.

Starsky stopped six feet away from him, off to the side so that Kiko could see where he was and what he was doing.

From where he stood, Starsky saw that Kiko had a black eye and a cut lip.

"Want to talk about it?"

Kiko looked down at the crowd that had gathered.

"I wish they would go away."

"They're not goin' anywhere. Hutch and me. We're not goin' anywhere either."

"They want a big show. I'll give them one."

Starsky kept the panic off of his face, but his shoulders still tensed as he forced his hands to stay at his sides.

"They all don't want a big show. Some of them care. Like Hutch. And what's that kid's name…your buddy?"

"Renny. It's all over the school. I tried to ignore it. They cornered me in the bathroom, then on the way home from school, then again this morning."

"What's all over school? What are you talkin' about?"

For the first time, Kiko lifted his eyes from the crowd below to look at him.

"I didn't want anybody to know. I didn't want Hutch to know."

XXXXXXXX

Renny took a folded letter from his pocket and handed it to Hutch.

"Kiko gave this to me, but it fell out of my pocket in the locker room. Then it got passed around to everybody at school and the guys beat him up this morning when he got here."

Hutch opened the letter and read it:

Renny,

The other day when you told me what

you felt about me, well, I have to say

that I feel the same way, but it's not

as easy for me as it is for you.

Kiko

"My mom knows," Renny said as he took the letter back from him. "I mean, she knows me. She understands. She and Helena raised me. I can talk to her. But Kiko…"

XXXXXXXXXXX

Starsky sat down on the edge of the roof with his back to the air so that he could see Kiko, and so that Hutch could see from below that he was talking to the boy.

"I'm not Hutch," he said quietly as he looked down at a gum wrapper he turned between his fingers. "I'm not gonna pretend to be. But I can tell you about a friend I had. A good friend. Who lived a double life. And how I think he could have been happier if he'd been honest with himself and the people who cared about him. He cheated his friends out of the real person he was inside."

"My mother wouldn't understand."

"You don't know that. You haven't told her."

"Hutch wouldn't understand."

"He would. You could talk to him. He wouldn't judge you. Why do you think he's down there worrying his head off? He always said you could talk to him."

"This is different."

"It isn't. It just seems that way to you. Look. You're seventeen. You got a lot to think about. But before anybody else can like you, you have to like yourself. There's always gonna be somebody who says somethin' or who gives you a hard time. Forget them. There's gonna be good people in your life too, who will love you for who you are. Those are the people who count. We can talk to the teachers here if you want, or whatever you want to do."

"I wasn't ready for it to be out."

"I get it. But it's out, so you gotta decide how to handle it. You can run from it, or you can face it. And you know what Hutch would want you to do."

Kiko looked torn, but he didn't remove his foot from the concrete barrier.

He saw Starsky look toward the door of the roof, and turned his head in that direction, where he saw Hutch and Renny standing, Hutch's hand on the blond boy's shoulder.

"And what about Ren?" Starsky asked. "How's he gonna feel if you do this thing?"

Silence hung in the air again.

"Someone here wants to talk to you," Hutch told Kiko.

Renny took a few steps closer to Kiko.

"You're my best friend, Kiko. We can get through this. Come on."

Kiko looked down to see his mother's car pulling into the parking lot. When she got out of the car and ran toward the building with a look of tearful horror on her upturned face, he took his foot down and walked toward Renny, who ran to him and clutched him in a fierce hug.

"I'm sorry!" Kiko cried as he hid his eyes with one hand.

"It's okay," Renny said. "It's gonna be all right."

Starsky walked over to Hutch, whose face was pale and strained.

"Thanks, buddy," Hutch said leaning against the doorframe.

Starsky wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him in for a brief hug.

"Gonna be okay?"

Hutch nodded.

Kiko wiped his eyes and looked at Hutch.

"My mother's coming. Will you help me talk to her?"

"Sure," Hutch said squeezing his shoulder.

The End

00000000000

Midnight

By TLR

The club was dark except for the smoky red lights on the stage where I sat on a stool with my guitar. The buzz of the crowd was muted. They were either drunk or in deep conversation, which was good because it meant they were too distracted to pay too much attention to me, the new fill-in for Huggy's folk-singing buddy, Art, who would be in jail a few days on a minor drug charge.

It was my third night here at The Living End, and I was just getting over the jitters. Well, not all the way, but well enough to enjoy what I was doing.

Starsk came along as my good luck charm and cheerleader. He always liked my singing.

Why, I don't know. Bad taste in music I guess.

It was about midnight and we were in between songs when I looked out at the crowd and saw him standing with a drink in his hand, his eyes and mind cast across the room toward her.

He was losing himself in her, and she hadn't even looked his way, so I started strumming something Spanish to try to draw his attention, but it wasn't working. It seemed to only deepen his trance.

She looked dazzling in her all-white form-fitting jumpsuit. Her hair flowed like a waterfall. Her eyes danced.

How long had it been?

He looked like it was yesterday. The strange part, he couldn't hide it. At least, not from the eyes that had known him all these years. Mine.

Her eyes slid up over her own drink, and their eyes met, then she looked around at the guy she was standing with like the eye contact never happened, and started laughing at something funny he said.

Some guy in an open-necked shirt we didn't know.

Too much for Starsk. He turned toward the bar to set his drink down, get his eyes away from her, and then she moved through the crowd to reach him.

"David," she said with her hand on his arm. "How are you?"

I could smell her perfume through the smoke, could almost see them lying in each other's arms. Felt her in mine. Me in her.

Suddenly I wasn't strumming anymore. The stage was disappearing, and Kira and I were in her bed. The curve of our bodies fit perfectly.

I felt sick with desire and jealousy and shame. It had to be the wine. I hadn't thought about her since we left her standing awestruck at Huggy's, and Starsk and I never talked about her. It was over.

They say the color of envy is green. But I say it is red. Red, red, red. Red like a rose. Red like love. Red like blood.

He wasn't responding to her. Not physically. He never even touched her. But I could see it in his eyes.

Then she gave a brief smile to me, walked back to the guy she'd been with, and left with him, looking over her shoulder at both of us to make sure we saw.

My blood froze. My throat choked. I felt like I was on the ropes. Maybe we both were. I didn't think I could sing.

The harmonica player touched my shoulder.

"Ken, what's wrong? You're white as a ghost. What's the next number?"

The crowd, the soberest ones anyway, started to look at me. But not Starsk. He stood leaning over the bar on his elbows, eyes down on his drink. Any lower and he'd disappear into the wood.

I wanted to get down off the stage and talk to him, but I didn't want to make a scene, and didn't want him to bolt. Maybe after her.

"Ken? The next song?"

It should have been something about midnight. That's when your defenses come down and the truth comes out like wine. Your grip on the real world and your emotions is a little looser and it doesn't seem to matter so much if something strange should happen. You almost expect it. And afterward, you can always blame it on the time. (It was midnight. I was tired. It was late. I was drunk. It shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry). You almost understand.

The crowd was really starting to notice the silence on the stage now, me sitting like a totem pole on the stool.

Then, he was at the stage, smiling up at me through sparkling tears. I hadn't noticed his movement through the audience.

"Taking requests?" he asked.

His voice brought me back to reality, to what I was supposed to be doing.

"Oh. Oh yeah. Sure. Whatever you want."

He motioned for me to lean down so he could whisper it in my ear, then I laughed as I rose back up on the stool and started to play his request.

The harmonica player and the accordion player looked at me like I'd lost my mind.

"Love Me Do".

But I did the song. For him.

End

000000000000000

Milestones

By TLR

"Abby, wait!"

He scrambled down the stairs of Venice Place after her, taking her arm just as they reached bottom.

"I mean it, Hutch!"

"I do too! I'm not letting you get away this time!"

She turned and looked up into his sincere and desperate face.

"There are two things you have to do if you want me to marry you, Mr. Hutchinson. Number one. I can't live in that apartment up there. Every time I walk in..."

She turned her head to hide the tears. He pulled her close and stroked her hair.

"I know. I'm sorry. I understand. We'll live somewhere else. It's not a problem, really."

He took a handkerchief from his hip pocket and dabbed at her cheeks.

"What's the second thing?

She lifted her head from his chest and took his hands. "I don't want to sound demanding or unreasonable, but this is it for me. I can't marry you if you're still in police work."

He gave her a long look with no expression. She squeezed his hands and kissed them. "I know what I'm asking isn't easy, and if you say no, I'll understand, believe me. There is your partnership with Dave to consider, and all the years you've put in. But I can't be one of those wives who walks the floor or jumps every time the phone rings thinking something terrible has happened to you. Enough has happened to you already, and I can't bear to see it again. Please, honey. Not just for me. For us. Remember when we talked about how nice it would be to open a health food store together? Since Dave was shot, your daily trips to the hospital to see him, watching his struggle to recuperate, I know you feel differently about police work now Maybe it's time to move on. Dave too. And I will move on, with you, if you do those two things for me. Please. I want a life with you so badly. Please try to see it my way."

He hugged her again. "All right. Maybe you're right. Maybe it's time."

XXX

Dave too.

XXX

Hutch rapped lightly on Starsky's closed hospital door before entering. Starsky wasn't keen on visitors walking in while he was dressing or undressing or having others see his jagged healing scars while they were being taken care of by the nursing staff.

The bullets from James Gunther's hired guns practically mutilated his body in places. Starsky pretended to his partner that everything was okay, and that made it even more heartbreaking to Hutch.

Maybe Abby is right, Starsk. This could be your time to get out too, before they take more of your flesh or put you in the ground. Haven't we had enough?

"Yeah?" came Starsky's voice.

"It's me."

"Come on in."

Hutch walked in and closed the door again.

Starsky was finishing dressing in gym clothes to go to physical therapy, zipping a red warm-up jacket, turning halfway to hide the scars on his chest. He would be released in a few days.

"How you feeling today, buddy?"

Starsky almost glared at him.

"Do you know how many times a day people ask me that question? I get sick of hearing it. You don't ever ask me what I thought of the game the night before, or where I want to go next on vacation. It's all about me here in this room."

Hutch stared at him.

"I'm sorry. I guess I don't think sometimes. I just worry about you, that's all."

Starsky waved a hand at him.

"Hey. I'm sorry. I just have to snap at someone. Shouldn't be you."

"So, okay, where are you gonna go on your next vacation?"

Starsky shrugged. "Beats me."

Hutch smiled. "Well, at least you know that there is a life beyond this room."

Starsky moved a little stiffly around the bed, wincing a little when he bent over to pick up his sneakers.

Hutch got them and handed them to him.

"Why don't you sit down for a minute?"

Starsky did, working his feet into the sneakers.

"Before you go to therapy, Starsk, there's something I want to tell you, and something I'd like you to consider."

The tone of Hutch's voice made Starsky raise his head to look at his face.

"Okay. What is it?"

"Abby and I are going to get married, I'm resigning from the department, and I want you to consider resigning too."

Starsky's mouth opened a little. "You putting me on?"

"You know I'm not."

Starsky leaned down to tie his shoes, then froze with one hand over his chest, the other on one sneaker.

"Easy," Hutch said sitting him back up. "Let me do that."

While Hutch stooped to tie his shoes, Starsky leaned back on his hands to catch his breath, face pale and clammy from exertion.

"The decision is out of my hands, Hutch."

Hutch looked up from his crouch.

"What do you mean?"

"Docs say I can't do it. I'll never pass the physical. My heart, my lungs, the damage. I should've told you sooner, but I kept hoping I'd make a miraculous recovery, or my body would prove them wrong, or something. It's not gonna happen."

"Sorry, Starsk. It's one thing to quit voluntarily, but to have someone else tell you that you have to...I don't know. I'm kind of glad you can't go back."

Starsky smiled a little. "You'd worry your head off with me on the street without you."

"Damn right I would."

Starsky stood upright, ready to go to physical therapy. He put his hand out to his partner. "Congratulations on your future marriage to Abby. You gonna wait till I'm out of here so I can go to the wedding, right?''

"Of course. Can't have a wedding without my best man."

XXX

Easier than I thought. Things have a way of working themselves out.

Talk about changes. Marriage. Resignation. New careers.

Maybe a little scary, but not as scary as your partner bleeding to death in your arms, and having a future without Abby.

In fact, it's a little exciting too.

XXX

Starsky stood in his kitchen with the telephone receiver in one hand, and the obituary column in the other.

Maybe she's not there. Maybe she moved. She's probably mourning with family.

Her voice, nasal from crying, brought back a rush of memories, and he had to close his eyes, but it didn't erase the image of her smile, the feel of her body wrapped in his arms, the taste of her.

"Hey...Rosey...I want to tell you how sorry I am to hear about your father's passing..."

She cried and talked as he listened.

After pouring out her tears and grief, she finally said, "Dave, I need you."

"Okay," he told her, "I'm on my way."

XXX

The four of them stood together at Mr. Malone's funeral. Hutch, Abby, Starsky, Rosey.

XXX

Rosey wasn't up to any more family.

"Please, Dave," she whispered as she clung to his arm on the way to his car. "Just take me home."

He covered her hand with his and opened the passenger door for her.

With a nod to Hutch and Abby, he got in and drove her away.

XXX

Starsky led her inside her apartment, guided her to the sofa, sat her down, then crouched to slip off her shoes.

Looking drained and numb, she let him massage her feet for a moment, then sat up and cupped his face in her hands.

"Thank you," she whispered.

His hand slid up her calf, caressed, then along her thigh under her dress, then up to her hair, stroked it, inhaled it, kissed it.

When her fingers moved to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt, he stopped her by covering her hand with his.

She looked at him, and he glanced away.

"You don't want to see that."

He put her hands back in her lap, but still held them.

"It's okay," she whispered as she put her fingers back on him and continued to unbutton his shirt. "I want to see."

He watched her eyes, gauging, interpreting.

Her fingers tenderly moved over each scar, and she kissed each one lovingly.

XXX

A double wedding in Hawaii. The beauty of it all helped wash away old pains and usher in new hopes and dreams.

"Are you happy?" Hutch asked Abby once they were inside their hotel room.

"The happiest girl in the world," she said as she put her arms around him.

XXX

Starsky moved her onto the bed and began to undress her.

"I never dreamed this would be possible again," he whispered as his head bent to kiss her.

XXX

Rosey stood holding Starsky's hand on the beach, watching his eyes shine as they followed Hutch and Abby along the shore.

He wants to run with them, but he can't. Not yet.

"Hey," she said pulling him down to their blanket. "Show me how to build a sand castle, okay?" He sat down with her, his smile still on, and scooped up a bucket full of sand.

He was the only guy on the beach wearing clothes. Yesterday it was shorts and a T-shirt. Today it was shorts and a light windbreaker zipped halfway up to hide the angry red scars.

She watched him build for a while, then said, "I love you, Dave."

"I love you too."

The two married couples enjoyed the rest of the day, full of possibility and promise and future.

End

000000000000000000000

Trace Evidence

By TLR

Life around the cottage was quiet. An orange full moon. A few trick-or-treaters. The darkness folded around him like a soft jacket as he sat there on the canal watching and listening to the

hypnotic movement of the water, and for a little while he could hide from the world, and himself.

He wore his gun outside of a yellow T-shirt. His brown corduroys were a little loose, but he cinched his belt a little tighter.

The shakes came less often, but now randomly. Nightmares almost gone, but when they came, intense. Chills disappearing, but still noticeable. Insomnia still there, but not as bad. Sometimes he actually felt tired, but refused himself sleep to avoid the harrowing images that invaded his mind.

He forced a health shake and vitamins down to rebuild stamina. Joints still sore, but easing up. Restless. Pacing. On edge. What he couldn't seem to do much about were the small and unexpected waves of blueness that lapped at his insides. Of loss, of helplessness, of flashbacks-the abduction came and went that quickly? Talking to Jeanie on a Friday night. Strung out over the weekend. Struggling in Starsky's arms a few more days. Now deposited back home, wham, bam, it's over?

(I have to get back to work. The world around me goes on like nothing happened, because no one knows what happened except Dobey, Huggy, and Starsky. No one should see a blip on the radar, a scratch in the record, a hole in the apple. Especially them. The sooner I put it behind me, the better off I'll be. That's me, right? That's Hutch. That's the big cop I am. It wasn't that bad really. People get addicted to heroin all the time. I see junkies every day, and I sure the hell am not one of them, nor ever will be).

"Hutch?"

Hutch startled so badly he nearly fell into the canal.

Stuffing a hand into his hair, he closed his eyes and let out a big sigh.

"Kiko. You scared the hell out of me."

Kiko stood there with a plastic green pail in his fist, smiling a little at what he thought was Hutch's exaggerated response.

"I wanted to know if you would go trick-or-treating with me."

"Well..." Hutch looked at the little boy, not wanting to let him down, but deciding there was no way on earth he could do this tonight.

As if on cue, the Torino drove up and parked, Starsky got out with his own bag filled with chocolate candy.

"Hey!" he shouted to Kiko as he tossed him a few. "Where's your costume?"

The kid shrugged. Starsky and Hutch exchanged a look, then Hutch reached for his hip pocket and took out his wallet, handing Kiko some money.

Kiko took a step back. "No. That's not why I came."

"I know, Kiko. Just take it. Next year you may think you're too big for Halloween."

The money trembled like fall leaves in his fingers. Kiko didn't notice, but Starsky of course did.

Starsky took the money. "Never too big for Halloween."

Kiko snatched the money from Starsky.

"Okay," he grinned as he grabbed more candy from Starsky's bag and trotted away. "I'm going to buy a mask. Thanks, Hutch."

The cops watched the boy walk happily away, then Starsky settled down cross-legged next to his partner with his bag of candy.

Hutch reached for a piece, opened it, and chewed slowly.

"Ready?" Starsky asked him.

"Yep."

Hutch jumped to his feet and they walked to the red car.

Just two days ago the question sat un-asked on Starsky's tongue, because they both knew the answer was no. Starsky spent the last couple of days babying him. Making him scorching herbal tea. Doctoring the razor nicks from a couple of bad shaves. Bringing him a new poetry book. Strumming his guitar. Humming a soft song.

Tonight wasn't full duty. More of a practice run. Paper work in the squad room. Catching up on a few reports. Making a few phone calls.

"Here," Starsky said as he shifted into drive and they eased away from the cottage. He reached into the back seat and handed Hutch a light blue button shirt with the picture of a guitar on the back, the price tag still on it. "Got you somethin'."

Hutch held the shirt up and looked at it. "Very nice, Starsk," he said pulling it on over his yellow T-shirt. "Thanks."

As Hutch settled back in the seat, his trained eyes surveyed his side of the street, the small routine somehow settling him.

Without looking away from his side of the street, he reached for another piece of candy, but abandoned it in the bag.

"What the-how did he get out?"

The man strolled confidently down the sidewalk. Nice hat. Expensive suit. Lizard loafers.

As the Torino passed by him, Ben Forest turned his head and looked at Hutch, who sank a

little lower in his seat, his left hand gripping the dash, the other going inside his new shirt for his gun.

"Starsk, get me out of here."

Starsky glanced in the rearview, then swiveled to look behind.

"Hutch, who is it? I don't know the guy."

But he sped up nevertheless, reaching for his own gun.

Hutch looked in the side view mirror.

"How'd he get out?"

A film of sweat made his face shine. Starsky turned a corner and pulled over.

Hutch opened the door and leaned out over the gutter as if to retch. Without looking, he reached for the mike. "Somebody has some explaining to do."

Starsky grabbed the mike, then gently turned Hutch around and looked at him. "What are you talkin' about?"

Even though the Torino had passed the guy blocks ago, Starsky still looked over his shoulder in his general direction.

"The guy!" Hutch shouted as he looked over his shoulder too. "The guy! Kidnaps and drugs a cop, then he's walking around free as a bird?"

Starsky stared at him.

"Ben? You think that was...buddy, you need your eyes examined. Are you talkin' about the guy we just passed? In the suit? That wasn't him."

Hutch got out of the Torino, peering far down the sidewalk as if he expected the guy to come into view any second.

"Hutch? Are you hearing me? It wasn't him."

Starsky leaned across the seat and looked out the passenger window.

"It wasn't him."

Hutch's shoulders dropped as he leaned exhaustedly back against the Torino. He ran both hands down his face, moving his head no.

Starsky got out of the car and joined him on the curb, leaning back beside him.

A soft chuckle from Hutch.

"Weird, huh?"

Starsky shrugged a little. "Hey. Halloween. Full moon. Buy us a cup of coffee, huh?"

Hutch nodded and turned to get back in the car.

"Hey!"

They looked to their left to see a snitch friend Chickie approaching them.

"Hey, man," the young man said as he shook their hands. "Got some info for you, Starsk."

"Yeah?"

He nodded toward an alley. "Step into my office."

The partners followed him a short distance and turned into the alley, where a couple of homeless men were congregating in a doorway.

Chickie led Starsky to the end of the alley and started talking while Hutch paced back and forth on the sidewalk at the mouth of it.

Only a fraction of Starsky's attention was on Chickie's information. Most of it was on Hutch.

One of the homeless men left, leaving the other one sitting on the doorstep.

"Here, boy," the old whiskered man said as he held out his hand, displaying a hypodermic needle that winked a glowing silver in the light of the street. "One sweet pop."

Hutch turned stumbling (where we goin'?) (dreamland, pally), shaking his head, causing Starsky to run for him and catch his arm just as he fell to one knee, giving only a brief glance at the old man holding out a foil-wrapped sucker on a stick.

XXX

Starsky carried the two cups of coffee to the car and got in, handing one to Hutch. Hutch's hand tremored but he took a drink anyway, hissing "Damn it," when the scalding liquid sloshed onto his hand.

Starsky took the cup from him, poured some of the coffee out the window, then handed it back.

XXX

This evening, the Halloween streamers were the liveliest things going on in the squad room.

Hutch sat at his desk, head resting in his left hand, eyelashes drooping drowsily, pencil lax in

his right hand.

Starsky moved the near-empty coffee container away from the report his partner was working on.

"I'll be with Dobey," he said quietly. "If you wanna catch a few Z's..."

Receiving no reply, Starsky went to the captain's office door, where Dobey stood with his own cup of coffee, watching Hutch but pretending to be busy with a case file he held in his hand.

The office door was left ajar when he and Starsky were inside.

At Hutch's desk, the distant tapping of typewriters, the muffled ringing of phones from down the hall, and the low buzz of his captain and Starsky's conversation lulled Hutch closer to sleep, along with the faint smell of Jeanie's perfume and her arms around his neck as she leaned down from behind to kiss his ear.

She felt so soft, so comforting.

(Oh, Hutch. I love you)

He put his hand over hers, turned to kiss her, but found no one there.

XXX

Captain Dobey watched from the doorway of his office as Starsky gently woke Hutch and helped him from the desk and out of the squad room.

Going over to the desk, Harold discovered that he had managed to finish one report.

XXX

Huggy's costume party was in full swing, from vampire queens to wolverines, the music bumping along with the serving of food and drink.

In the back booth, Hutch was a peculiar still life amidst the swaying hips and boisterous laughter, lounging almost comfortably in the corner, back against the wall, head dozing on one shoulder.

Diane chatted and flirted with everyone she served. Her costume: A police uniform.

Starsky stood with Huggy behind the bar; this time Huggy's eyes on the blond across the room.

"How's he doin'?" Huggy asked bringing a glass of beer to his lips. His costume: A wizard.

"I don't know," Starsky shrugged. "Better the last few days. Needs a little more time I guess."

Through the sea of bodies, they saw Hutch's hands twitching in his sleep, saw his head turn

into the dark corner of the booth.

They made their way through the crowd, Huggy blocking the view, Starsky planting a knee onto the seat and leaning toward Hutch, his hand reaching out for his face.

Hutch's eyes opened, tears on his cheeks.

Without words, Starsky and Huggy carefully helped him out of the booth and guided him upstairs.

"What you need is a good night's sleep," Huggy said turning down the bedspread and fluffing the pillow.

Starsky tenderly pushed him into the bed and covered him. "Yeah," Hutch murmured as his wet eyes closed. "The bed."

The heartbeat thump of the insulated music downstairs had an almost womblike effect on him-the safe familiar. Biological and eurhythmic.

Starsky pulled up a chair to rest too, watching sleep pull his friend like an undertow into an underworld, where he was in a dark room, a flashlight in his eyes, ropes around his wrists, broken glass in his head, scorpions in his veins; where Ben was asking him, "Where's Starsky? Where is he?"...where Hutch said "I don't know, I don't know" over and over, but still Ben asked, slapping and pushing and threatening to leave him alone with his maddening craving and his eroding sanity.

"Where?" Ben asked.

"Seaview Point," Hutch gasped. "I…I mean...downstairs."

Ben grabbed his shirt collar. His new blue one. Jostled him. Then shoved him aside.

"Pathetic," he purred, then walked out.

"No!" Hutch yelled as he reached for him. For the only man who could save him from drowning in his raging ocean. "Help me!"

Ben came back to grab him with strong arms.

"It's okay, baby," he murmured stiffly as he took him in his arms, but when Hutch opened his eyes and looked up, he saw his partner's eyes and felt his partner's arms around him, squeezing hard. Heard his partner's voice, cajoling.

"I'm right here. It's okay. I got you. See?"

XXX

Hutch climbed out of bed the next morning to find Starsky asleep in the chair, tousled his hair

a little, then trudged his way to the bathroom, where he avoided looking in the mirror as he took off his new blue shirt, unbuckled his belt, and stripped off his pants.

Under the cool shower, he began to wake up.

XXX

When he stepped out of the shower fifteen minutes later, Starsky had a breakfast of bacon and toast and coffee for the both of them.

"How you feel this morning?" Starsky asked as Hutch picked up his cup of coffee. No sloshing this morning, but he did use both hands to steady it.

"Better than yesterday."

Starsky knew it was true, because he picked up his toast without any coaxing from his partner.

A bite of egg, a slice of bacon, half a slice of toast. Better than the last few mornings. Better than the days he tried to escape this same room and begged for heroin.

"Good," Starsky said, his voice low with fatigue and undying devotion. "Couple more days then."

A couple more days of watching, guarding, tending. Until his mind games subsided. Until his nervous system calmed. Until the monster was destroyed.

The door opened and Huggy came in carrying a new potted plant tied with a big purple bow.

"Hey, my dudes, I think I know why Hutchie boy's been trippin' since last night."

Starsky and Hutch looked at each other.

"Why?" they asked in the same voice.

"Heard on the news there's some tainted candy goin' around, causin' hallucinations. Authorities are lookin' into it."

Starsky reached for a few pieces of candy on his table to inspect them. "It didn't affect me." Then he looked at Hutch. "You think...?"

"That would explain it," Hutch said. "Let's have yours analyzed."

Huggy set the plant on the table in front of Hutch. "Somethin' for you to take care of, dig?"

The End

000000000000000000

Survival (What If?)

By TLR

"Don't go over! Don't go over!"

XXX

Hutch shielded his head with a bent arm and turned sideways in his bed, clenching his pillow hard, panting and growling into it

Starsky ran into the bedroom but tripped over the corner of a dresser because in the fog of sleep thought he was still at Venice Place.

"Son of a-"

He hobbled his way to the bed, one hand squeezing Hutch's shoulder, the other stroking

his damp hair as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Hutch wouldn't let go of the pillow.

"Hey. Come on. You're all right."

All right? How is he all right?

The nearby chair gleamed a wink of silver in the moonlight of the room. It was always within arm's reach, hanging around like a dutiful attendant.

Starsky rattled it aside with his bad foot, which now yelped twice the pain.

(Good. That feels great. I love it. I want to shatter my fist through the window, but I can't let him know how incensed I am. He will feel bad for me, and we can't have him blaming himself. He has enough to wrestle. I have to be cool-headed for him).

"Suh-Starsk?"

Hutch's eyes sparkled with dream fear-blinking-not quite back in the real world.

(Which one is worse, Hutch? Your dream life or your real one? God, I'm sorry. I tried to get there in time. I tried to save you. I saved your life, yes. But I wasn't there in time to save you from this-I'm sorry).

Hutch clutched Starsky's arms in this new, desperate way he had done only once before, when he was sick in withdrawal, a drowning man trying to hang on to a life saver.

"Where am I?"

"You're okay. It's your bedroom."

(Not the bottom of the canyon. Not in the hospital. Not in your old Venice Place bedroom packing up your stuff for the last time)

Hutch looked around, his eyes going to the silver wheel closest to him.

He swallowed.

"Yeah," he whispered with a small smile that he mustered for his buddy. "I guess I am."

Starsky gently took the pillow from him and pushed some hair out of Hutch's eyes. "I'll get you some water."

"Thanks. Need the john too."

Hutch reached for the wheel to pull the chair over.

Starsky's hands squeezed into the light quilt to keep from grabbing the chair. He hated the contraption. Touching it. Seeing it. Seeing Hutch in it.

It was supposed to be a good thing. Everyone said so. Doctors. Friends. Others who had them and used them.

Hey. Your new life, Hutch. Enjoying it yet? Love the chair yet? I'm supposed to be happy you're alive. And I am. God knows what I would do without you. But I'm supposed to be your partner. Not to mention your best friend. If I can't save you from something like this...that's my job in this world. And I failed.

(Not there yet, buddy. I want to heave that chair out the door)

Hutch tugged at the chair, it tipped sideways, and he tumbled over the edge of the bed, but Starsky caught him to put him back.

Hutch shoved his arm away.

"Go get the water."-Low and rough.

Starsky got up to get the water, avoiding a second collision with the dresser. "Hey, Starsk?"

Hutch was still in his precarious position, one palm on the floor, the other hand around the wheel.

Starsky's head turned toward him, tears glistening in his eyes.

"Yeah?"

Hutch's look. Mournful.

"I'm sorry."

Starsky nodded and walked from the room, across the new open-plan house toward the kitchen, got the ice bucket from the freezer and a glass pitcher of chilled water from the refrigerator, then a glass from a lower cabinet.

Everything about the house was low now. While Hutch was recuperating in the hospital, Mrs. Dobey went house-hunting and found a pretty little house close to Starsky's that had belonged to a disabled vet who had passed away a few months before. Wide doorways. Grab bars everywhere. A hand-held shower nozzle. Even a sunny screened-in back porch for a plants and painting. She had set up an easel at his eye level, but Hutch had yet to touch it.

Starsky poured slowly, pretending he didn't hear the little metallic sound of the wheelchair, and never looked Hutch's way as he made his way into the bathroom and closed the door.

(This is changing you. Us. How do I stop it? You won't let me help you the way I want to help you. You are hellbent on doing everything yourself. You let everything build up and come down on you like a ton of concrete. But the weight of it crushes me too, see. When you hurt, it kills me. I want to take this bull by the horns, for you, but you won't let me).

A string of damns and hells floated through the bathroom door. The room was supposed to be big enough to accommodate a chair, but it was still on the smaller side, and Hutch was still struggling to learn how to navigate. Hutch hadn't rebounded from his mangled steel trap yet, especially the upper body strength so many gain when living with a wheelchair.

The hospital staff, especially the nurses, had been good about working with him on rehabilitation and education about independent living skills at home.

They included Starsky in the aftercare plan too. But instead of Hutch tackling his situation with a determination and a positive attitude, the light inside of him went down like the sun. Now he was a gray, indifferent cloud on good days. A stormy, petulant sky on bad. That was supposed to be "normal", they all said. But that didn't make it easy. Seeing his partner shift into an unrecognizable, heartbreaking distortion of himself was a simple agony he couldn't escape. It was altering Starsky into a different shape too. He could only cry out to the universe for Hutch not to turn hard and bitter.

The thought of riding in a vehicle so terrified him he couldn't keep doctor visits, so nurses came to him.

He had a few pressure sores because he couldn't move around as often as needed, or simply forgot.

He closed the blinds to keep the light out.

He had a few new lumps and bruises from falls that had occurred while transferring himself from the chair to other places like the bed, the john, the shower, or the sofa.

The brief sound of running water in the bathtub came, then the shower kicked on. The door opened, and Hutch slowly rolled out and headed back for the bedroom.

Starsky poured water over the ice in the glass.

Midnight, and he was going to take a shower because he hadn't made it in time to urinate.

Starsky heard him rummaging through some of the moving boxes for stuff. Clean boxers. Sheets for the bed. A fresh blanket.

Starsky had wanted to put it all away for him the first day, but Hutch said he would do it himself if it took a year.

The first night in the new place, Hutch had told him to go home.

"Kidding me?" Starsky said. "I'm wiped out. How about I crash on the couch and make us a big breakfast in the morning before I hit the station? Whole wheat waffles with blackberries on top, with some yogurt and-"

"I don't need a nurse. You can sleep in your own house."

"I tell you I'm exhausted from moving your stuff and I can't even have your couch?"

"I never asked you to do it. I told you I'd take care of it."

"Well then, how about I just help you into bed before I leave? Got any objections to-"

"I don't need you!"

Hutch's hands were on the wheels of his chair in a vicious grip, his chest starting to rise and fall a little quickly.

"Sure. Gotcha."

Starsky picked up his jacket and went to the door.

"Call me if something comes up."

Hutch sat amidst his moving boxes but didn't reply or even look his way.

Starsky went out, walked down the ramp on the front porch, and across the street to the Torino, where he stood at the driver's side looking back at his partner's front door.

He drove around but he didn't go home. He circled the area several times, until a little before midnight. He wanted to talk to somebody. Huggy. Maybe Mrs. Dobey. But this was between the two of them, and he doubted anyone could sort it out or had any advice that would do them any good for what was going on.

Two hours later he finally decided he had only two choices-go home or go back to Hutch's-he turned around and drove back to Hutch's, going up the porch again and knocking on the front door.

Hutch didn't answer or come to the door, so Starsky quietly turned the knob and went inside.

"Hutch. Why didn't you lock the damn door after I left? You want some thugs comin' in here and-"

Hutch's back was turned to him and he was slumped to the right, a pistol dangling from his hand.

"Oh my God."

Starsky ran to him and snatched the gun, sliding it under the sofa.

A slurred mumble came from Hutch's lowered head.

"What the hell do you want?"

Starsky knelt in front of him and tenderly took his head and lifted it, blinking back tears.

An empty wine bottle lay in his lap, the front of his shirt damp from some spills.

Starsky whispered.

"Are you crazy?"

For the first time since the canyon, Hutch put his hand on him.

You have to be drunk to reach for me now?

"Scared," came Hutch's little whisper.

You have to be drunk to say you're scared?

"Heard some punks makin' some noises outside. Got m'gun."

Starsky nearly collapsed with relief. His forehead lowered to the arm of the wheelchair and his muscles sank with fatigue. He felt a hand in his hair.

"I lied," Hutch muttered. "I do need you. I just don't want to need you."

Starsky hugged him. Tightly. Realizing it could be a very long time before Hutch could talk to him like he used to. If ever.

"Just lock the door from now on, huh?"

Hutch seemed content with his head resting on Starsky's shoulder.

"Think I'm gonna be sick."

Starsky jumped to his feet, eyes darting around the boxes for something to use, saw nothing, so he wheeled Hutch toward the bathroom and inside, where he wrapped his arms around his chest and leaned him over the toilet to hold onto him while he heaved.

The bathroom wasn't roomy, but Starsky could always work with the circumstances presented.

Because Hutch was too intoxicated to help, he was extremely heavy. Starsky struggled to hold his weight but managed, making sure he was finished before hefting him back into the chair.

Starsky wet a hand towel and cleaned his face, gave him a drink of water, took his shirt off and put a white T-shirt on him, then backed him from the bathroom and into the bedroom, where he lugged him into the bed and covered him with a light blanket.

Starsky wet another cloth and wiped the wheelchair.

Hutch gazed at him with a smile. Another first since the canyon.

"We could get Merle to customize it."

The sweetness of the smile softened Starsky's hatred of the chair, and for a moment he could forget that Hutch would be trapped by the chair much the same as he had been trapped by his car. That life, women, and everyday activities would be different now and Hutch would have to find a way to live in his new world.

"Sure," Starsky said as he continued to wipe. "Mag wheels. Nice stripe. Stereo. Fuzzy dice. Personalized license plate."

He looked over at Hutch, whose eyes were closed.

A soft snore came from him, but he still wore the same little smile.

It was the most normal and closest moment they had had since before Hutch's injuries.

Neither of them spoke about it after that. Three weeks passed. Awkward silences. Offers of help. Refusals of help. Hurtful words from Hutch. Hurt silences from Starsky. The tie between them fraying into a thin thread.

It was okay if external forces tried to fray it. They could handle that. It never fazed them.

But the internal forces were harder to manage, and much more damaging.

Then tonight, when Starsky dropped by to invite him to dinner at Huggy's, Hutch said he was too tired to go, it looked to be the truth instead of an excuse. He was pale, and looked as if he were losing weight instead of gaining it.

"I have to turn in," he said only fifteen minutes into Starsky's visit.

Hutch went to the bedroom and closed the door, leaving Starsky to his own devices, which led to him getting a blanket and pillow for the couch.

He would make a decent breakfast for him in the morning, and try to get him outside in the sun a little, even if it were just down the street and back; preferably to Huggy's for a change of scenery or just hang out.

But Starsky doubted it would go that way. Nothing was as it was before.

Would it ever be the same?

Now there was just one more thing to mourn. The death of their friendship.

Congratulations, Dave Starsky.

XXX

"I dream I'm running again."

Starsky startled so badly from his thoughts he almost dropped the glass of ice water. He let a fleeting glance meet his partner's eyes, then looked down at the water.

Starsky: "I dream it's me in the chair."

Hutch wheeled over to him, took the glass, took a long drink, then set it on the counter.

A couple of towels and the change of clothes were in his lap for after the shower.

This time there were tears in Hutch's eyes as they stayed on his partner's bowed head, who looked about as sick and troubled as he had when he knew he was dying from the professor's compound.

He was dying again.

(You're my pal, Hutch)

"Starsk..."

Starsky didn't raise his head.

Hutch gripped the front of Starsky's shirt and gently pulled him down into a hug. "It isn't your fault."

Starsky squeezed him around the neck. Hutch heard a quiet sob; felt hot breath.

They clung to each other until the cloud passed.

End

00000000000000000

Little Boy Lost

By TLR

The yellow crime scene tape looked extra obscene around the beautiful rose garden of the Carltons' estate, where renowned husband and wife chemists and lecturers Jules and Martha Carlton were found.

Hutch and I watched as the bodies were covered and taken away. Captain Dobey and two uniforms came over to us.

"Murder-suicide," I told the captain as Hutch handed him a plastic-baggied note Mr. Carlton had left. "Average crime of passion. He discovered she was having a fling with a colleague." I looked at Hutch. "No mystery here, huh?"

"Guess not." We started toward the Torino, parked just outside the wrought-iron gate.

"Looks like we'll make Huggy's Christmas party after all."

"We'll get the report to you by the end of the week," Hutch said to Dobey over his shoulder.

Dobey called out, "Did you talk to the kid?"

Both of us stopped and turned halfway around.

"What kid?" I asked.

"The Carltons have an eleven-year-old boy named Indi."

:

The private school was alive with boisterous activity and conversation among the students.

The smell of baking gingerbread wafted from one of the buildings.

It looked right-happy boys running around getting ready to leave for home for the holidays.

But felt wrong-holidays would never be the same for one of them.

"No relatives," I said as we walked down a hall of a dorm toward the boy's room. "Where's he gonna go?"

"Same as any other orphan, Starsk. Foster care."

"Gonna be a culture shock for sure."

We turned a corner and knocked on the door to the boy's room.

"Indi?" Hutch asked. "We're the police."

The door was half open. We saw a boy with light hair seated in the window looking down over the grounds of the campus. A pastor with a Bible stood praying quietly for him, but the boy seemed to have his mind elsewhere, his eyes fixed on a bird on a branch just outside his window pane.

The pastor opened his eyes, saw Hutch's badge, then nodded and moved past him.

"He hasn't said a word since we told him," the pastor said. "He'll go to a good home?"

"Hopefully," Hutch said.

The pastor left.

I spoke in the boy's direction, "Indi, huh? Cool name."

"Not really," the boy said with his eyes still out the window. "It's short for Indium. My parents named me after a chemical element." He finally did look at us with a cool expression on his face. "Where am I going, into the foster care system?"

"Since you have no relatives, yeah," I answered. "I'm sure it'll be no time before you're adopted by a nice family."

Hutch walked over to a set of expensive luggage and lifted one of the suitcases.

"We'll need to ask you some questions on the way. I'm Detective Ken Hutchinson and this is my partner Dave Starsky."

Indi looked from me to Hutch. "I can't say it's a pleasure to meet you. Perhaps under other circumstances it would be interesting. Starsky? Now that's a cool name."

The boy picked up a suitcase in each hand. Me and Hutch picked up the rest.

Accustomed to being independent, Indi led the way from his room.

"If you want to know if my parents had a reason to hate each other," he said as he walked down the hall in front of us, "they did. They fought a lot when I went home on visits. Both of them cheated on each other, but divorce was out of the question because Father didn't want to pay alimony or give Mother half of everything. No other enemies that I'm aware of. They threatened each other all the time, in my presence. If you must know."

As we reached the wide, double front doors, Hutch and I exchanged a look.

The director of the school and the pastor met us at that exit to show us out.

"Indium," the director said extending his hand toward the kid. "Good luck in your future."

Indi walked out the door without acknowledging either man.

"Red car with the white stripe," Hutch said as we followed him out.

"It's called a Gran Torino," Indi said.

I smiled. "You like it?"

"Not particularly. But it is unique."

I opened the trunk so we could deposit the luggage.

Indi climbed into the back seat and waited for us.

I lowered my voice to Hutch so Indi wouldn't hear.

"Kid loses his folks and hasn't shed one tear. When I lost my pop...well..."

It was like my world came to an end. At least for a while anyway. The tears wouldn't stop, even when I tried to be grown up and hold them in.

I remember pouring cereal for Nicky for breakfast the next few days. Ma was too upset to even get out of bed, so I had to take over. But even then. The tears were there.

Indi's eyes were dry, and carefully mature and aloof, but I could still see an almost lonely look in them, like he longed for something he missed and would never have.

"Yeah, well, Starsk, you have to remember he grew up away from his parents for the most part. Appears as though very little bonding took place. Only child. Infrequent visits. It was difficult for me too."

Hand on the raised trunk, I stared at him. "You never told me you went to a boarding school."

Hutch smiled. "You never asked," he said closing the trunk. "I did for a few years."

:

Hutch talked to Indi as I drove to the station, trying to get the kid to warm up by telling him about the boarding school he'd attended as a kid.

But the boy sat still and solemn in the back seat. The only time any light at all came to his eyes was when we passed by Christmas decorations on the street and in shop windows.

"You like Christmas?" I asked looking at him in the rear view mirror.

He gave a little shrug. "I don't know. I never had one. My parents didn't believe in celebrating it."

"Against their beliefs?" I asked.

"Not that I know of. They just didn't celebrate it. They said it was too commercialized and disingenuous and I shouldn't bother with such childish pursuits."

:

While Hutch was with the foster care worker trying to locate a home for Indi, I waited with the kid in the squad room.

He held my snow globe in his hand, turning it slowly, mesmerized by the floating white flakes that fell around a family in a frolicking pose around a whimsical little gingerbread cottage.

"I wish I could get inside there and live with them," he whispered.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "It looks so perfect, doesn't it?"

He looked up at me. "Are there families like that in the world, Detective Starsky?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, no family is perfect, but there can be a lot of perfect times that mean a lot. Got any good memories of your folks?"

The question was too blunt. He put the snow globe down and stood up, going over to the coffee maker and pouring himself a cup.

The door to the squad room opened, and Hutch announced, "All the homes are full right now. We have to go with a shelter until something opens up."

Indi drank his coffee, then looked at me, a resigned look on his face. "Will you take me to their funerals? I would like to pay my last respects."

:

Even though the kid had four big suitcases, three of them were full of clothes that the school had provided-starched uniforms with the institution's emblem on the breast pocket.

"I'd rather not wear clothes that represent my former life," he said as we carried his one remaining suitcase inside the emergency shelter, which held undershirts and shorts, pajamas and shoes. "I'll draw attention to myself from bullies, and I'm not in the mood for that. Neither do I want to wear them to the funeral."

"I'm sure the shelter will help you out with some clothes," Hutch told him.

Once we got him signed in to the shelter, Indi turned and put his hand out to us in a goodbye gesture.

"Thank you for monitoring me. Have a nice day."

We shook his hand. The shelter director made a face like he didn't know what to make of the kid.

As we watched Indi carry his one suitcase down the hall to the room he would share with three or four other kids, I said, "Hey, wait a sec."

The kid and the director turned around.

There was no way I could leave that kid at that particular moment.

"I can arrange to take emergency custody," I offered. "He can stay with me for a while."

Hutch stared at me.

"Well," I said, "I mean, until a foster home becomes available. Seeing as how it's Christmas and all."

That kid's face lit up like a spotlight.

"Really?" he said walking toward me. "Do you mean it?"

"A little unorthodox," the director said. "But it'll work."

Indi's walk got a little faster, then became a skip. "What a surprise!"

"First things first," I said as we made our way to the front door. "Paperwork, new clothes, and Christmas stuff."

:

After the paperwork with the family court judge, we drove to a department store to get Indi some clothes, and along the way we sang Christmas songs with the radio.

The boy was finally acting his age, his head swiveling around at the Santas and the decorations and the lights.

Once at the store, we went to the clothing department in search of some clothes. His eyes were big and eager as he picked out a bunch; shirts of different colors, some sneakers, and a jacket.

"I want one like yours," he said to me.

I smiled and threw a look to Hutch. "I knew the kid had good taste."

We picked out a bomber jacket, then went to the formal wear to find a suit for the funeral.

That's when his head went down a little.

"They look like my father's clothes," he said quietly as he pulled out his wallet and showed me a picture of he and his parents together. His father was indeed in a suit, his mother in a tasteful dress.

Indi's fingers lightly touched a tie, then his shoulders slumped and he almost collapsed in tears.

I caught him and sat him on a bench for trying on shoes, then sat down with him and put my arm around him.

"I do miss them," he sniffed. "I just wish they loved me like I loved them. They never had time for me. I worshiped them. But to them I was just their...offspring. Someone to leave money to and carry on a name."

"Sounds like they missed out on one great kid."

He looked up at me with tearful blue eyes. "Thank you."

We sat that way until he pulled himself together. Then he returned to the task of choosing his funeral suit.

Once that was taken care of, I said, "We can't leave here without going to the toy section."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Kiddin' me? It won't be Christmas until we get some toys for you."

He got this really pained look on his face and sad, "But I don't like toys."

Hutch and I exchanged a look. Mine exaggerated.

"Who doesn't like toys? Will you answer me that? I'm a grownup and I STILL like toys."

"Grownup?" Hutch asked. "Do you want to argue that point?"

Indi grinned. "Okay, Dave. Name a toy that you have."

"A train set."

"A slinky," Hutch added.

"Well," Indi said slowly, "it isn't that I don't like toys. I should instead say that I don't know if I like toys because I never had the opportunity to play with them."

Instead of feeling sad or showing the anger I felt, I put my hand over my heart in mock shock.

"We have to rectify that this instant," I said taking his arm. "Come with me."

The three of us went to the toy section. I went to the bikes and picked out a blue one.

"Here," I said wheeling it over to the kid. "Just right."

"No," he said. "I can't."

"Sure you can," Hutch said. "Starsky and me will buy it for you."

"No," Indi said. "I mean, I really can't. I can't ride one. I don't know how. I'll..." He looked around to make sure none of the other shoppers-especially the kids-were in earshot. "I'll fall off. I've never owned a bicycle before. I've never sat on one."

Without a word, me and Hutch started tossing toys into a cart someone had abandoned. "Come on," I said to Indi, "put some stuff in here."

He was reluctant at first, but when he saw how much fun it could be, started finding things he really liked and put them in the cart.

The biggest smile was reserved for the bike, which he asked to trade for a red one with a white stripe in honor of the Torino, then pushed it proudly up to the checkout counter.

:

The back seat and trunk of the Torino were stuffed with toys and Christmas decorations.

I was glad that this year I'd been too swamped with cases to decorate. Now the kid could help decorate his very first Christmas.

On the way to taking our load back to my house, we stopped by Huggy's for burgers and shakes-something else Indi had never had before.

"So," Indi said as we sat in a booth and listened to the snappy Christmas music Huggy had on the jukebox. "You really do have a real train set?"

"The works."

"Can I see it when we get to your house? I've always had a love affair with trains. Since the first time I read about them. I always imagined they would take me to far away places, where I would meet new people and encounter new cultures and customs. The mountains, and valleys, and deserts, and canyons."

:

We left Hutch at Huggy's, since he was staying for Huggy's party that night, then we headed for my house but made one more stop on the way, and it was at the park, where I taught him how to ride a bicycle, first by riding it myself, which brought laughs from him. Then by showing him step by step.

He took a couple of spills but ignored the scrapes, determined to master the bike. In about five minutes he had it down, and was flying across the park with the wind blowing his hair and happiness in his eyes.

:

When we got home, first thing he wanted to do was walk around and check out my place. Then he wanted to see my trains, so we ran them around the tracks as he asked a million questions.

Then it was time to decorate the tree and the house.

I made him some cocoa and got the sofa ready for his bedtime with a pillow and blanket while he washed up and changed into some damn fancy monogrammed pajamas and robe.

While we drank cocoa, I got my old copy of "Twas The Night Before Christmas" and read it to him.

As he sat next to me on the sofa, he looked more like five than eleven, a childlike fascination in his sleepy eyes as they stayed on the Christmas tree lights, a stuffed teddy bear under one arm.

I noticed his head getting lower and lower, until finally it rested on my shoulder and he was snoring lightly.

Trying not to disturb his sleep, I moved him down onto the sofa and covered him, then went to my bedroom to turn in, noticing on the way that he had draped a string of lights on his bicycle, making it look like an oversized magical ornament.

:

When I woke up the next morning, I found Indi sitting up on the sofa and looking at the Christmas tree. He had traded his robe for my big cardigan sweater, and he was plucking gently at my guitar.

"Let's eat breakfast," I said. "Then I'll take you somewhere to do something you'll never forget."

He came into the kitchen.

"Like where? What?"

"You'll see."

He sat at the table and watched while I searched the refrigerator.

"Breakfast is served," I said as I pulled out a pizza box and set it on the table, along with a bottle of orange juice and a box of donuts.

"If this isn't enough," I said as I sat down to join him, "I'll whip us up some scrambled eggs."

"It looks fine," he said taking a slice of cold pizza. "I've never had pizza for breakfast before."

A knock came at the door, and then Hutch came in.

"Morning," I said to him.

Indi nodded politely to him.

Hutch came over to the table holding his head in one hand; his morning health drink in the other.

"Got any aspirin?"

"Huggy's party, huh?"

He got a bottle of aspirin from my cupboard. "Somebody spiked the eggnog." After he swallowed his aspirin with a drink of his breakfast potion, he poked my shoulder. "You're not teaching him bad habits, are you? Pizza for breakfast?"

"It's good," the kid told him. "Would you care for some?"

"No, thank you. I'm having my breakfast. A healthy one."

"Actually, Mr. Hutchinson, pizza is astonishingly nutritious. It has all the food groups, and, eaten in moderation and with the right toppings, can be considered beneficial. Consider wine and chocolate. Are they good for you? Yes and no."

I smiled at Hutch. "See? Pizza is a yes and no. Your slug shake is a definite no."

"Slug?" Indi asked.

"Actually," Hutch said pouring a little into a cup for him, "it's banana, walnut, coconut, and vitamins mixed in with some goat's milk. Give it a taste."

He did, and licked his lips. "Not bad."

Hutch smiled at me. "See?"

"But I prefer the pizza," Indi said.

Hutch looked around the house at all the decorations.

"Looks like you two had fun yesterday."

"Yep," I said. "And even more fun today. Want to join us?"

"Depends on what you're doing."

"It's a surprise."

"Well, why not? I'm not doing anything else today, and tomorrow is..."

Well, it was the Carltons' funeral, but it was also...

"...Christmas," Hutch finished.

:

The surprise was a Christmas-themed tour-guided train ride, and Indi was speechless when the three of us boarded for a trip that would take all day, with stops at shops in between, and bits of live music and Christmas stories from Mrs. Santa and some elves.

Indi took pictures with a camera I got for him, and we stuffed ourselves with all kind of holiday goodies, from candy canes to fruitcake.

:

Indi was stoic during the funeral, showing his groomed, well-mannered self to those who attended-acquaintances and colleagues of his parents, and some personnel from the boarding school.

None of them asked him how he was doing or where he would be living. It was as if their presence was out of duty or appearance instead of concern or support.

A couple of people-one of them a lawyer and one of them an accountant-came over to Indi and said they could make arrangements to adopt him, but he didn't know them, and politely turned them down.

"They don't want me," he said as he watched them walk away. "They just want my parents' money."

When the funeral was over and we were on our way to the Torino to go home, we were met by the foster care worker.

"We found a nice home, Indium," he announced. "Wealthy entrepreneurs who own a chain of bookstores. World travelers. The wife is traditional. Likes to bake cookies and make clothes. They grew up in boarding schools and detest them, so they won't be sending you back to one. They would like a six-month trial basis, and if it works out, and if you like it there, they'll adopt you. Let's go get your clothes from Dave's and I'll drive you over there."

The kid nodded. Noncommittal. Resigned. I looked at Hutch. By the look on his face, we were thinking the same thing. The caseworker sounded like he'd just found a new home for a puppy.

:

As Hutch and I gathered together all of Indi's presents and new clothes into shopping bags, I said, "Kiddo, if you ever need me, just whistle."

He didn't reply as he carefully packed his things.

The caseworker was telling the boy more about the Andersons, the foster home and potential adoptive home he'd be going to.

It was hard to tell if the kid was listening. He just kept packing with that quiet look on his face.

The caseworker picked up the bags, and Hutch picked up the bicycle.

"Let's go," Hutch said to the man as he opened the door, creating some space for a private goodbye.

The caseworker nodded.

"I'll wait for you in the car," he said, and left with Hutch.

I put my hand out to Indi.

"It's been really nice knowing you," I told him. "You're a good boy. I hope the family works out."

Instead of shaking my hand, he flung his arms around me and held tight.

"I don't want to leave you," he sobbed into my shirt. His voice cracked with emotion.

"You've been so good to me. I think I know what love is now."

I smoothed the back of his hair. "If things were different, Indi, you could stay here with me. But they aren't. You need a family."

"You and Hutch will always be my family. I don't care how right the Andersons seem. The last few days...you could adopt me."

"I can't, buddy. I'm sorry."

He squeezed me even closer, then let go and stepped back, fishing in the pocket of his bomber jacket.

"Here," he said taking out a red envelope and handing it to me. "A Christmas present from me to you."

Through watery eyes I opened the envelope and read the poem he had written:

Twas the night before Christmas

And all through Dave's house

There was love and laughing

Many joys to count

I lost my parents

But gained a friend

Christmas Spirit

Knew who to send

Bikes are great

Trains are a ball

But you are my favorite

Present of all

:

I folded the poem, took out my wallet, then put it inside.

"Thank you, Indi. That's probably one of the nicest presents I ever had."

On our way to the door, I picked up the teddy bear and gave it to him.

"We can have visits sometimes, right?" he asked me as we went outside.

"Of course. Me and Hutch will come by and see how things are goin'."

"Okay," he said, finally smiling again, as if that were all he ever needed to know in the world. "And if you ever want to talk about losing your father, I can relate."

We went to the caseworker's station wagon, which was loaded down with Indi's belongings.

When Indi was in the front seat, I leaned in and buckled his seat belt, wondering where life would take him and what he would be like when he grew up.

"Don't change, huh?" I said as I gave him a quick kiss on the top of his head.

Hutch handed him a Christmas card. Indi opened it, and out fell a photo of the three of us together.

The boy picked it up and gave it a good look.

"Thanks, Hutch," he said with a smile, then gave me one last look as they took off. "Merry Christmas."

We watched the caseworker's car as it went down the street, Indi's blond head turned all the way around to watch us until they took the corner.

When the car was out of sight, Hutch squeezed my neck.

"Okay?" he asked me.

"Yeah," I said as I swiped at my eyes. "I'm okay."

End

00000000000000

A Matter Of Life and Death

By TLR

Hutch threw the basketball to me and I made a spectacular jump to sink it like a pro.

Using my lungs and muscles like a jungle cat again was intoxicating. Hutch had a beaming grin on his face like I hadn't seen since before the shooting. At first the doctors had told me it didn't look good for returning to the force and to consider another line of work, but damned if I didn't prove them wrong.

If they didn't know me by now...

At first Hutch was...well, let me see what the right words are...over-protective? Afraid I would break or fall at every turn. Worried? About my mental health, always doing something or saying something to keep my spirits up and in the positive. Doubtful? That I would make it back to the force.

He wanted the best for me and pulled for me, but still fussed over me like a mother cat, all the while helping to prepare the Gunther case. He took care of things.

J.M. Gunther's trial was one reason to get better. I had to get back on my feet to nail it to him.

Life was a second reason. I just wasn't ready to call it quits.

I'd been given another chance, and I was going to take it.

Hutch loved seeing me well. He would throw his arms around me and just hug me tight, holding on like no tomorrow, all the while wearing the sappiest smile.

"God, you look so good," he whispered. "You're doing so well."

It sounded something like a prayer of thanks. His big tears brought a lump to my throat every time, and he'd look away quick to blink them gone.

I didn't mention the secret things I heard him say in his sleep as he sacked out night after night on my sofa-"get down"-"please hold on, Starsk"-"don't die on me"-"here, let me help you with that"-"I'm sorry"-

Hutch was the third reason, and the best reason, to get better. I think my bullets disabled him more than they did me.

He worked so hard on the case, and when I was stronger, I worked on it too. We were a team again. Look out, world, here we come.

The doctors gave me a clean bill of health, Hutch and I would return to duty in exactly two weeks, and we were celebrating at the captain's with a barbecue and an impromptu game of basketball with Cal and Huggy.

Rosie had invited one of her little friends over to play with her new dollhouse on a blanket under a tree.

Dobey was manning the grill, and Edith was setting the picnic table.

Then it was Hutch's turn with the ball. He started to jump, but when his sneakers were up off the concrete, he froze in the air, clutching the ball to his chest in a fierce hug, and collapsed to the ground in a heap on his side.

We all ran to him at once. He had such a fierce hug on the ball that Huggy had to pry it away from him.

"Cuh..." his whisper was breathy and cold, eyes big with fear and pain. "Can't move. I...Starsk..."

I felt helpless. Didn't know what to do.

Edith ran for the phone. Hutch gasped for breath, and hugged his chest where the basketball had been.

Blood I could stop. I almost wished I'd have found a wound, but there weren't any visible. But this? I opened a few buttons, my own chest aching with his. I stroked his hair and gave him my hand to clutch. "Just stay calm. Keep breathing."

"I think it's a heart attack," the captain said.

XXXXXXXX*

It was a heart attack.

Hutch was in the ER, I was just outside it, pacing while Huggy watched me. Dobey was on the phone to the station telling them why he wouldn't be coming in that evening.

"Oh my God," I whispered. "It's my fault."

"Your fault?" Huggy asked squeezing my arm tightly. "You puttin' me on?"

Good. At least he wasn't treating my body with kid gloves like Hutch had done long after it was necessary.

He shook me a little. "You mind explaining how it's your fault?"

I turned and walked away.

If Huggy couldn't understand how this had happened...how I had hurt Hutch by sucking all the health, strength, and heart from him with my recovery...then he didn't understand Hutch and me, and he wasn't the friend I thought he was.

Huggy ran after me, snatching my arm again.

I shoved him away hard, and if his crashing into the water fountain with a loud clang didn't tell him I'd recovered enough to kick anybody's ass, then I didn't know what would.

XXXXXXXXXXXX*

I was in a daze when Dobey and Hug found me standing just outside a waiting room.

I don't remember going there, or anything they said until I heard the captain say, "Doctor says he's going to be all right. You can go see him."

I couldn't look at them. Why couldn't they understand?

"You're both stubborn asses!" Huggy blurted in a rare show of passion. He actually had angry tears in his eyes. "He blames himself for the shooting, and you blame yourself for his heart attack! When are the two of you going to wake up?"

My head lifted and I stared at him. "He blames..." The last word was a whisper. "...himself?"

He glanced away like he had let something slip.

My stomach dropped. I felt dizzy. The hallway seemed to go gray. It was pretty clear this was something Hutch had confided to him. But not to me.

He blames himself?

His voice in the night, talking in his sleep: "-Starsk, I'm sorry-"

Why didn't I put two and two together?

I ran for the ICU.

XXXXXXXX*

He looked so pale and quiet in the hospital bed when I took his hand and squeezed it. He was asleep, so I couldn't talk to him about things. I sat in the chair next to the bed. We'd talk later, when he was stronger. For now I just had to be with him.

XXXXXXXXXX

The doctors said he was making a quick recovery and everything would be okay, but they didn't know he would never make a full one until I could talk to him about me.

He was up walking around in almost no time. The doctors were telling him what to do, what not to do, and what to expect after discharge.

He took it all in without many comments or questions. I knew why. Like always, my welfare was more important than his own. Especially after Gunther. He even denied his own feelings. Everything was Starsky, Starsky, Starsky. Lifting, pulling, carrying, feeding, pacing, crying.

XXXXXXXX*

"It's been a while since you had to stay with me, Hutch. But when you did...now I realize the truth...your fears...your love... came out in your sleep. You couldn't hide it there. I should have told you this before, but I didn't think I needed to. Guess Gunther was a little different than the other times the bad guys got us."

Wearing a new outfit I got him for going home, a peach-colored shirt and some cream-colored jeans-he sat in a chair next to the hospital window but didn't look out. He rubbed the place between his eyes, almost hiding them from the world; maybe even himself. Definitely from me.

I walked over to the chair and knelt next to it, placing my hand on his forearm.

"Listen to me. You had no way of knowing what would go down in the garage. They were just faster, that's all. I can't let you believe for a second that you could have prevented it."

He slowly moved his head no and refused to look at me, almost as if...ashamed.

I slipped my arm across his shoulders and kept it there. I could not let my best friend slip away like a stranger.

"It's because of you I'm alive," I whispered to him. "Don't you see that? You did it all. You gave me everything you had." I moved my hand from his forearm to his heart. "Your life."

When he spoke, it was in the small mumble he had when dreaming out loud.

"I almost lost you."

I kept my hand on his chest, feeling each beat.

"And I almost lost you."

What I think we were trying to say was that we almost lost each other, and that we were glad to have each other back.

He finally looked at me, with the saddest eyes in the world.

"Please forgive me."

Oh, Hutch. There is nothing to forgive.

"Nothin' to forgive, Hutch."

We hugged each other, both murmuring "It's okay, it's okay," over and over.

Sometimes we fought like cats and dogs, but right now we were as close as Chip and Dale. One of those snapshots that would look so screwy to others; but to us it was just...us.

End

000000000000000

Friends

By TLR

Hutch was lying back against his pillow, trying to read the new book Starsky had checked out for him at the library, but his mind was only half engaged. His eyes strayed from the page to his partner, who was wandering around trying to be quiet and invisible.

The quieter he was, the more Hutch watched him.

Starsky checked the door to make sure it was locked. The window. Then the back door. Then the closet.

"It's been three days, Starsk."

Hutch didn't put the book down, but his eyes stlll stayed on his friend.

"Yeah," Starsky said almost too lightly. "I know."

"You can go home, y'know. I'm all right."

"Yep."

Hutch closed his book and set it on the floor, then folded his arms behind his head, watching Starsky roam.

Hutch smiled. "Hey."

Starsky stopped and looked at him with the touch of a smile in return. "When I opened that closet door and saw your gun, I knew something was wrong."

"Yeah, well," Hutch said with a look at the door. "It's over now."

Starsky came and carefully sat on the edge of the bed. "You yelled out in your sleep last night, you know that?"

Hutch shrugged a little. "No, I don't remember."

Starsky reached for Hutch's guitar and leaned back against the other pillow, looking comfortable.

Hutch arched a brow. "You serenading me, Romeo?"

"Want me to?"

When Hutch didn't reply, Starsky said, "I think I'll stay one more night."

Hutch watched his fingers on the strings, then closed his eyes, listening. "You're getting better."

Starsky nudged Hutch's arm. "I have a good teacher."

Hutch reached down for the edge of the bedspread. "Just think," he said pulling his half over himself. "If we hadn't met in the guitar shop that day...what year was that anyway?...we probably wouldn't be partners today."

Starsky shrugged. "Or maybe we'd have met some other way."

"Maybe."

Starsky thought he saw him tremble with a chill.

Hutch slowly moved his left arm from under the spread and then left it on top of it. He gazed at the injection dots.

"And you still want to be my partner?"

Starsky's fingers stopped playing.

Hutch looked at him.

"You saw me like that...like I was...weak...scared...and...I would understand if you didn't want me. We can talk to Dobey..."

"Hey..." Starsky placed his left hand over the injection holes and gently squeezed. "You were weak but you got strong. And you were scared but you were brave too. Nothin' could make me want another partner, Hutch."

Hutch closed his eyes again, a sleepy smile on his face.

"Just making sure, Starsk. Keep playing, okay?"

End

0000000000000

Love In Chaos

By TLR

It was chaos of the usual kind.

The adrenaline gets into your bloodstream and sometimes you miss it when it isn't there. Of course no one likes working in crime and death all the time. But if you're cut out for it, like Hutch and me, you learn to like how you fit into the world of it. You learn to love that you can stop a criminal, save a life, do something good for somebody. The chaos shows you who you are, who your partner is, and in a crazy way, you find your serenity in the challenges.

It's then that we feel an extremely strong connection, because it's life and death. Life and death shows us what the love is all about. Like the time Joey got me at Giovanni's. It was that life and death situation that showed how far my partner would go and what he was made of. It

shapes you as a person, a cop-your partnership and friendship-but that isn't to say that it controls you. On the contrary. If you don't control it, it controls you, and you die.

And through every case, every bullet, trial, wound, and fear, the love is there to shape us too, like clay. My partner and I would be dead without the love.

If you want to call me an action junkie, go ahead. I'd call it a life junkie. But more than that, I'm a love junkie. When Hutch and I are in the trenches together, up against the bad guys, I would swear that I love him a million more times than I already do. How we could be any closer, I don't know. There is something very satisfying to know he loves me as much as I love him and we'd do anything for each other.

When you think you're losing your best friend to a bullet, poison, or plague, life gets real, and that's when the love gets real. We get off on that.

Back to the chaos at hand.

We scrambled up three flights of hotel stairs, guns out, responding to a domestic disturbance the day clerk called in.

A young couple going by the name Brown, late teens, threatening to kill each other. Shrieking and crashing sounds.

"Police!" I yelled as we reached the top and plastered ourselves on either side of Room 315.

I pounded on the door.

"Open up!" Hutch added. "Let's talk about it! You don't have to do this!"

They kept yelling and fighting. I kicked the door in and we entered.

The young guy shot the girl, then himself, both dropping in a bloody heap together.

Panting and sweating, Hutch and I looked at each other, then put our guns away.

While Hutch crouched next to the bodies to check for pulses, I checked the bathroom to make sure it was empty and to see what was in there.

"Closet?" I called out.

When I stepped back into the other room to call it in on the bedside phone, I saw that Hutch was still down next to the couple, but he was moving the girl's arm aside because a toy baby doll wrapped in a white plastic trash bag was wedged under it.

"Check the closet?" I asked again lifting the receiver.

He didn't look up or stand up, he just groaned "Oh my God" and picked up the trash the girl had been hanging onto.

I froze in the middle of dialing, then slowly hung up.

It was a newborn baby just a day or so old that was wrapped in the garbage bag. From where I stood halfway across the room, I could see it shaking. Sticky afterbirth still clung to its tense little body in some places. Mouth open as if to cry, but it was too weak to make anything but little snuffling, coughing sounds.

One look at the tracks on the dead mother's forearms told me why.

I didn't know which to do first-go to my partner or call an ambulance for the baby.

"Hey," I said gently in his direction as I dialed for an ambulance.

He went from crouching to sitting on the floor next to the dead bodies as he unwrapped and discarded the plastic, took off his jacket, and swaddled the naked newborn inside it, holding the bundle close to his chest.

Hutch was white. His lips were white. Tears stood in his eyes.

After my call, I hung up and walked over to him, bending to one knee and pulling them both against my chest.

XX*

Hutch didn't leave the Brown baby's side, and I didn't leave Hutch's; at least until Captain Dobey came to the hospital with information on the deceased couple.

I squeezed Hutch's arm. "I'll be right outside the door with Dobey, okay?"

The baby was hooked up to IV's and monitors. With his eyes still on the baby and holding its tiny hand between his thumb and forefinger, Hutch gave a little nod.

I wasn't real happy to see him so silent and affected.

"No relatives on the books," Dobey said. "Welfare is arranging placement in a medical foster home. You gonna make it?"

"Huh?"

"You're white as a sheet. Look at your hands."

I looked down at my hands, noticing for the first time that they had a slight tremble.

"Uh...yeah," I said shoving them in my pockets. "I'm fine."

"Caseworker will be here in a few minutes. Why don't you take that partner of yours home for some rest?"

I nodded, then watched him leave.

It wasn't like this was the first addicted newborn we'd found. But it was the first since Hutch was shot up.

XX*

After the caseworker came to the hospital with the foster parents to speak to the doctors about everything, Hutch was dismissed from the ER, but he didn't want to leave the kid.

"He'll be okay," I told him quietly as I put my arm around his shoulder and walked him out into the hall. "You heard them. We can check on him anytime we want."

He felt a little stiff under my arm.

"Wanna talk to me?" I asked as I pushed the elevator button.

"What can you say to that, huh?"

The elevator doors slid open and we got inside. I pushed the "lobby" button as he leaned back against the wall, absently rubbing the inside of his arm as if he had phantom tracks.

XX*

"I could use a drink," he said as we got into my car.

"Me too."

I drove away from the hospital, but instead of going to Huggy's for a nightcap, I drove toward Hutch's cottage. I had a feeling he'd prefer it be just the two of us.

"Poor kid," he said rubbing the place between his eyes. He still looked tired and pale, even though it was just sunset.

The car was quiet a few moments longer, then he just rammed his elbow against the door.

"Damn it! Why the hell!"

"I know, buddy, I know. But the kid'll have a fresh start now. I'm not glad his parents are dead, but what chance did he have with a drug dealer for a father and a junkie for a..."

The car got quiet again.

"We're almost home," I said.

XX*

He called the hospital to check on the baby as soon as we walked through his door.

I got a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"Hospital named him Daken," he said as he hung up.

"Daken?"

"Combination of our first names."

"No kidding? How about that."

"They'll monitor his weight, temperature, sleep patterns. They said not to call again until tomorrow."

"He's in good hands."

"I know. But he's just...so little. And alone."

"He'll have a real family now."

"I know that. But what if they..."

"They know what they're doing. They've fostered addicted babies before."

"You didn't hear the doctors, Starsk. They said they didn't know how he survived as long as he did."

After recalling the messy blanket in the corner of the hotel room where the young mother had given birth, the trash bag, lack of bottles or formula or other baby stuff, I didn't either.

I poured the wine and gave him his glass, then we sat down. After a few minutes and a few sips, he seemed to relax.

I put his new classical record on the turntable. Not to try to dismiss the baby, but to try to bring a little peace to his mind.

We talked until late in the evening. When he saw me getting the blanket and pillow from the closet he said, "For crying out loud, I don't need a nanny."

"Who said you did? I'm beat. See you in the morning."

He stared at me while I kicked my sneakers off and made myself comfy on his sofa.

Then he smiled at me and turned out the light.

XX*

I fell into a deep and restful sleep for a few hours, but then the sound of Hutch's voice crying out startled me awake, and I tumbled off the sofa and hurried to his bed, where he lay hugging his pillow, panting and whining something in a small voice.

"No," he whispered into the pillow. "Don't leave me. Give me some."

"Hey," I said as I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled him and his pillow into my arms, letting his head lie in the crook of my arm. "Sshh. It's okay. Come on. Wake up for me."

I stroked his hair, patted his face.

"I got you. Won't let anything happen to you."

He stopped struggling, but still clung to me and the pillow, as if too afraid or too weak to move.

"Starsk?"

I rocked him a little, found his hand and squeezed it.

"You okay?" I asked him quietly. "You awake now?"

He squeezed my hand back but didn't offer to move or say anything, so I kept holding him and rocking him, waiting for the dream to leave his system like the drug had.

We sat in silence for a few minutes longer, then he whispered, "First time I've dreamed about Ben and all that since it happened. I was...back in their room. He wouldn't let me out, and he wouldn't...give me anymore."

"Yeah? Well, it's only been a month. You're entitled to a bad dream or two, huh?"

His muscles tensed up against me for a minute, his hand covering the inside of his arm where the needle marks had been.

I covered his hand with mine, then felt the tension leave his body again.

"Better now?"

"Yeah."

"Want some warm milk?"

"Are you trying to make me sick?"

I would hold him until the fear was gone, all night if necessary, but it was only a few minutes later that he rolled over onto the other pillow.

I got off the bed and took the top sheet, shaking the wrinkles out of it and covering him.

"Gonna be okay?" I asked him.

"Yeah, Clara Barton ," he said with a little smile. "Thanks."

"Okay," I yawned. "See you in the morning."

I shuffled back to my sofa and covered myself with the light blanket.

XX*

A couple of hours later, though, I woke up to take a leak because the wine was doing its number, and I noticed Hutch was gone from his bed and there was a note on the pillow:

Went to the hospital. See you tomorrow.

There was no way I could sleep now. I had to be with him. So I used the john and drove to the hospital, where I found him in the nursery, sitting in a rocking chair and humming a soft lullaby as he gently rocked the baby.

"Want some coffee?" I asked from the doorway.

He looked up at me and smiled.

"Sure, Starsk. Thanks."

It's what I was saying about love. It can shine meaning, hope, and happiness into the darkest of corners.

Hutch is love, so he shines too.

Love isn't some abstract thing. It's people. It's action.

XX*

We visited Daken often during those first few months. Hutch just had to make sure he was okay, and I had to make sure Hutch was okay.

We were there for a few of his checkups and evaluations, which showed that he had some slight delays that needed attention, so we made sure he got the best help available. The foster parents who took him in decided not to adopt him, so he spent another year in their home while home studies were done on couples wanting to adopt.

During those two years, the kid grew a big mop of curly blond hair. One day when we took him to Huggy's for a milkshake, Huggy joked, "I know you guys are tight, but come on."

Hutch laughed.

I ruffled the kid's hair. "We'd adopt him if we could."

Y'know, he did kinda look like a hybrid of me and Hutch.

Diane and the other waitresses flocked around him, kissing and cuddling.

With his easygoing charm and mischievous twinkle in his eyes, girls would never stand a chance.

XX*

Hutch and I stayed in touch with Daken even after he was adopted by a couple who couldn't have kids of their own. We were there for a few holidays, and special days like first day of school and Halloween parties.

Even though he had had early delays, he seemed to overcome them enough to earn good grades and excel in music and art. He drew cute pictures and learned to play a flute, which he liked to do when we visited. He always reminded us of a pixie perched on the corner of a table, a stair step, or windowsill.

Thinking back to when he was just a sick, trembling statistic in Hutch's arms, it was astonishing to see how far he'd come.

Yeah, police work has its chaos. But out of it can come the extraordinary.

End

000000000

Skin

By TLR

"Move! Let me through!"

I was a disembodied spirit watching myself shoving bystanders and uniformed cops out of the way to get to Hutch. My head had just hit the pillow back at my place and my eyes closed when I got the call: Hutch had been broadsided by a moving van on his way home to Venice Place.

Red alert, I jumped back into my jeans and pulled the first shirt I could put my hands on, then ran out, half-buttoned and pumping with adrenaline.

When I arrived on the scene and bullied through the barricade of humans, my spirit, body, and mind became one again in one blunt force-Hutch lying on a stretcher, blood on his torn shirt, hands pawing at the red-stained bandages over his face.

"Just stay calm," one of the medics told him.

Another tried to keep the bandages on-applying pressure-while a couple of uniforms helped lift him into the back of the ambulance.

The bandages left a little opening so he could breathe. His arms, so strong even now, fought with the paramedics.

"Hey," I choked as I reached him and clasped his hands, partly to let him know I was there, partly to keep his hands where they belonged. "I'm here. Easy. Don't do that."

My hands were instantly red from the bloody bandages and his hands.

"Door frame cut him pretty bad on impact," one of the medics told me.

I didn't take my hands from Hutch's as I moved inside with him, giving the guys room to work.

His voice sounded muffled through the bandages-bewilderment, shock.

"Starsk? What happened? What are you doing here?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I paced as close as I could get to the emergency room where they were working on him.

The other driver wasn't hurt, but there was damage to his truck. It was just one of those things that happens-guy falls asleep at the wheel-the next second Hutch's world, and mine, lands upside down.

"Hey, man," he said as he approached me in the hallway. "I'm sorry. I was up thirty straight hours trying to make my time and-"

I grabbed the front of his shirt, and somehow Huggy was there to pull me around, politely send the guy on his way, and keep me grounded.

"Hutch gonna be all right?" he asked me when the man was gone.

A doctor came around the corner to talk to us.

"Good news," he said quietly. "He's going to be all right."

Every muscle in my body weakened with relief. I had seen his car. The driver's door was caved in to a near point. It should have killed him.

"Extremely lucky," were his next words. "No broken bones, no internal injuries, but there are severe lacerations to his face."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

In the beginning, the main thing was that he was alive and would be okay. They had to literally sew his face back together with stitches, so many haphazard rows of them crisscrossing- across his cheek, down his forehead, around his chin, under his eye-so red and raw it hurt my stomach and my heart to look at him.

"I look like Frankenstein," he said softly one day as he looked in a handheld mirror he kept on the hospital stand next to his bed.

That's the only time he said anything about his face at the hospital.

"You look beautiful to me," I told him.

He rolled his eyes like he thought I was just saying it to make him feel better. I was always kidding him about how good-looking he was to me and the ladies. He knew I meant it deep down. But still...

XXXXXXXXXXXX

They gave him painkillers to take home. He was sore from the accident, and his face hurt terribly, so all he wanted to do was rest.

I stayed with him the first couple of days. Friends dropped in to bring food, drink, books, and company, but the only ones he'd let in were Huggy and Captain Dobey.

"I don't want to see anybody else," he said as he walked around his apartment putting dark towels over the windows. "I just need some quiet."

I could understand that. Sometimes when you're recuperating you just want to be alone.

He talked to his parents on the phone, told them he was banged up but fine so there was no need to come all the way to California to see him.

When Dobey visited, he was all business, bringing case folders over to discuss with the both of us.

But Hutch looked only halfway into it.

"He's still handsome to me," Sweet Alice said at the door when she brought by some flowers and a box of candy. "Maybe if I just talked to him for a few minutes?"

"Sorry, sweetie," I said kissing her cheek. "He said no."

He wasn't feeling sorry for himself, and he wasn't being vain. He was just severely self-conscious about his face.

He never once wanted to go outside. Not for a walk around the block, or for a drive to the beach or to the country.

The only time he was up for an outing was when I took him to get his stitches removed, and even then he wore sunglasses and a cap.

Removal of the stitches perked him up a little. The fresh red scars were glaring, but not as noticeable as the stitches had been. But he still wore his sunglasses and cap home.

When I asked if he wanted to stop off at Huggy's for a bite to eat, he said no.

I hated going back to his place. It wasn't the same anymore. It was a dark cave.

I worried that he would take too many pain pills and develop a habit, but it never happened.

Something told me he must have figured that dealing with one medical issue was enough.

"Oh well," he shrugged one day at the bathroom mirror when he dabbed some scar cream onto the red lines. "At least nobody can call me pretty boy anymore. Kind of gives me a little character, don't you think?"

I gently took his shoulders and turned him around to face me.

"Did you see the way that hot girl looked at me in the elevator, Starsk? And no, I'm not worried about how I look. It's how I feel. Like a damn..." His firm mouth dissolved into a sob, and he reached for me.

I hugged him close and patted his back.

"Monster," he finished. "It's just skin. It shouldn't matter."

"Doctor said plastic surgery can help."

"I know."

I stepped back and looked at him, brushing his hair down and cupping his cheek.

The doctor also said that scars could alter self-esteem and cause psychological trauma.

It wasn't enough to say, "At least you're alive" or "It could have been worse" or "Some people have it so much worse" or "You're very lucky". He needed, and deserved, more than that.

I would let his honesty, and his good nature, lead us out.

"Whatever you want to do, Hutch, I'm with you."

Some people think a small blemish is the end of the world. Some think a distorted face is a blessing in disguise.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Little by little he rebounded. The first trip out that made him actually smile was to get a new car. He missed his old one, but it was demolished, so car hunting was one thing we had fun doing.

As the weeks went by, he stood taller, held his head up a little more, and even dropped the hat.

That was my old Hutch, and an even bigger turning point came after a trip to the doctor for a checkup on his healing.

When we were finished, he bought a bunch of toys and books from the gift shop with some of his insurance money, stuffed some cards and envelopes with cash, and took them to the pediatric ward, where there were kids with various burns and wounds. He talked to the families and visitors, completely forgetting his own problem.

He left with tears in his eyes and a smile on his face, and I was proud of him for so many reasons.

My partner was still beautiful.

On the way home, we stopped off to talk to Sweet Alice.

The End

0000000000000000

The Dead

By TLR and Anonymous

A few curious onlookers were in the park while the police were cordoning off the crime scene, but for the most part everyone went about their business, strolling by like it was part of the normal landscape.

Officer David Starsky adjusted the neck of his tight uniform collar with a finger while interviewing a potential witness. It was hot. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple.

The woman was prattling on about how she didn't really see anything but thought she'd seen the victim, a young teenage girl, in the park the day before with a young guy about her age, probably her boyfriend.

"Thanks," Starsky said, not at all into her story but made a mental note to take a more thorough statement later. His eyes, and most of his attention, were on his partner, who stood under a tree and looked down at the partially nude body of the dead teenage girl while detectives collected evidence, took photos, and talked to bystanders around him.

"Hutch!" Starsky called out.

The blond head didn't move, it was still bowed a little as he looked down at the body.

He had no way of knowing this today, but Starsky would see his partner in this posture many times in the future.

"Excuse me," Starsky said to the lady as he started across the park. Over his shoulder to her:

"Don't go anywhere."

The lady stood patiently.

"They know anything yet?" Starsky asked him as he approached him, stuffing his pad and pen into his left hip pocket.

"No," Hutch said quietly, still not looking at him.

Then realization dawned on Starsky. "First dead body?"

Now Hutch's head came up. How'd you know? his eyes questioned. But his mouth said, "You've seen a dead body before? We've only been on the beat a month, and neither of us…"

The look on Starsky's face made Hutch trail off.

Now it was Starsky's head that dipped down. He gave a small shrug.

"My pop," he said quietly. "He was gunned down in the street in front of our house. We were playing ball."

Hutch turned his head away.

"Damn," he breathed almost inaudibly.

"Hey, didn't mean to be a downer."

Hutch's head turned back.

"No," he said touching Starsky's arm. "It's not that. I mean, that's a hell of an introduction to death, huh?"

Now Starsky's head was down, reminding Hutch of a little boy.

"I thought he was gonna come back home, Hutch. I really did. I thought he was gonna get up from wherever they had taken him and left him, and come back home."

The coroner's team lifted the corpse onto a gurney and rolled it over to their vehicle.

Hutch offered an uneasy smile. "I feel stupid."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a cop and this is the first time I've ever seen a dead body."

Now Starsky looked toward the coroner's vehicle.

"It makes you wonder who's going to miss her, who's gonna be at her funeral, who's gonna struggle to live without her."

Hutch took a breath.

A detective walked over to them.

"We're going to talk to her family. Want to go?"

The rookies looked at each other.

Hutch nodded.

It wasn't the nicest part of the job, but part of the job, and he had to get used to it, or at least learn how to do it.

End