Chapter 3

Starsky pulled up in front of Venice Place behind the battered Ford. He sat an extra minute, grappling with his thoughts. There were few things he didn't know about his partner, so he couldn't imagine that any of this was true. But with Hutch, you never knew. The door to his friend's apartment was unlocked so he pushed it open and peered inside. He was sitting on the back of the couch, lightly strumming his guitar. "Hey," Starsky said.

Hutch turned his head but only briefly made eye contact. "Hey."

Starsky moved inside and closed the door behind him. He walked to the refrigerator and took out two beers, then made his way back towards the sofa. Opting for the coffee table instead, he sat down and looked up at his partner, allowing an extra minute to take in the situation. It was surreal; listening to the strumming of the guitar as the light in the room slowly dissipated in the late afternoon sun. He waited for the tune to finish, although he suspected Hutch was just playing his mood. Finally, when it stopped, he waited patiently as his partner just stared off into space.

Looking at his beer bottle, Starsky asked, "Is it true?"

Hutch closed his eyes. Here it came, the conversation he never wanted to have. No matter how he answered, there was no good ending. There was also no way to avoid the question. He simply nodded once.

"Care to talk about it?"

Hutch started strumming again, a little harder, not as smooth as earlier, which prompted Starsky to reach over and put his hand around the neck of the guitar, stifling the sound. Soothingly, Starsky pointed out, "You can't hide behind this guitar. Talk to me."

Hutch didn't know where to begin; it was as if his soul was being ambushed with old emotions, strong ones and difficult to control. It took him a full minute to sort through his feelings. Starsky just waited patiently, feeling his partner's pain. He slowly lifted the guitar away and coached, "Just start at the beginning, partner."

Hutch held onto his beer bottle, but was reluctant to take a drink; instead he looked at Starsky, his partner and best friend. More than anything, he didn't want Starsky to be disappointed in him. For a living, they both put guys like him away, for very long times, and he wouldn't be able to stand himself if he disappointed his best friend. But in a minute, David Starsky was going to hear what Ken Hutchinson was really like, which, in some circles, amounted to nothing more than a petty thief. He pushed those thoughts away and turned his head so he couldn't look into Starsky's eyes anymore. Slowly, he began, "There's a part of my life that I've kept well hidden, at least I tried to keep it hidden. It was a period of time when I was about as lost as a person could be. There didn't seem to be a world under me, or even solid ground under my feet. Every day when I would wake up, I would feel the quick sand around my neck, smothering me, suffocating me. According to people I was supposed to love the most, I couldn't do anything right. My grades weren't good enough, my running wasn't fast enough, my friends weren't nice enough… the list never ended. My father was always telling me what a screw up I was and asked why I couldn't be more like Harry's kid, and my mother just turned her head, believing if she didn't see me, I couldn't be a disappointment. I became invisible.

"Then one day, I was on a class field trip to the Sioux Indian Museum. I must have been around eleven or so, and I watched a guard take out his key and open a special vault. I couldn't see inside the vault, but for some reason, I had an incredible urge to find out what was in it. When everything else in my head was jumbled, getting into that sealed room was as clear as a piece of my mother's crystal. Before the night was over, I was standing inside that vault looking at the most magnificent Indian artifacts. I didn't take anything, but for the first time since I could remember, I felt powerful… I felt in control.

"Afterwards, as I lay in bed, I thought about the security in the museum and how it stunk. I broke in and it didn't require much more of an effort on my part than a lie to get out of my house. But something really stuck with me and that was the feeling that I did something that would completely and utterly infuriate my parents. And you know what the worse thing about that was? I liked it. I liked the feeling of standing in the vault, knowing that I could take anything I wanted."

Starsky listened to the story, somehow making the pieces fit together of what little he knew of Hutch's teenage years. He figured they weren't great, but he also thought how hard could it be when your family was filthy rich? There was embarrassment in those blue eyes like he'd not seen since the days of Ben Forest. But it still didn't explain the interest by the C.I.A. "I saw that list of items you allegedly stole. Breaking into an Indian museum is a far cry from what was on that list."

Hutch looked away again, looking for his guitar, but it was safely out of reach behind his partner. He cleared his head by taking a deep breath, and then he began again, "After the museum break-in, I started looking at everything differently. I'd go to friends' houses and size up the place. I broke into my first house when I was 12 after studying it for a month. I got so good at breaking into houses that I could practically do it after only one visit. But I never took anything! I would just stand in the living room, in complete darkness and wonder what my parents would do if they saw me. After a year of houses, I got bored, so I began to look for other places. Convenience stores, pizza joints, dime stores became routine favorites. I usually just ate the food, but I didn't take anything more than that. One night I ventured out and I must have been feeling cocky because I went for a jewelry store. I didn't know about laser alarms and while I was looking through the glass at all the fine pieces, the police charged in. I was taken to the police station and they had to call my father to come and bail me out. I was so scared of my dad that I asked the police if I could stay the night in jail. They thought it was funny, but they stopped laughing when my father—" Hutch abruptly stopped and looked away, ashamed of the story. He coughed and scratched his brow, smiling nervously while formulating his speech and clamping down on his feelings.

Starsky reached over and soothed, "Just take it easy. Take a minute if you have to." But deep inside, Starsky was containing his own emotions. He never saw this story coming. Not in his wildest thoughts could he have put this one together. Now he realized that he only ever knew the surface story of his partner's father-son relationship; the generic story that people who don't want to talk about it tell. Little did he know that there was so much more to this than he could have ever imagined.

Hutch cleared his throat before continuing, "I lay in the hospital bed allowing the hate for my father to consume me. My dad had managed to cover up the abuse with some lie, which nobody bothered to ask about, either because they didn't want to hear the truth or they were satisfied with his explanation. But just as soon as I had recovered, my folks sent me off to a boarding school for the next three years. I got a great education, but there wasn't a day that went by when I didn't think about breaking into places. I wanted that feeling of control and power that I never felt unless I was standing where I shouldn't be standing. When I graduated and came home, they welcomed me back like they would welcome back the family dog returning from a swim in the cesspool. Little did they know that while I was away, I was perfecting certain skills. I asked questions about banking under the guise of becoming a banker. I asked questions about safes, and vaults, and silent alarms and security systems and just about everything I could think of that might stand in my way of feeling in control. At 16, I began my career in earnest."

Starsky felt a strange sensation that Hutch was relieved to be telling his story. But there was still something he wanted to know, "So… the list of stolen items in the file… true?"

Hutch hedged, "I've never seen the list."

"But you were never caught?"

Hutch shrugged again, like the statement wasn't entirely true. "I was never technically caught because I never kept anything." Frustrated with himself for having to offer another explanation, he said, "I sort of viewed myself as a modern day Robin Hood. I took from those evil and dishonest and gave to those in need. The mob was big in Duluth and had their hands in just about everything. I became a runner for Tony the Weed. He was a small time hood with big time connections. I learned to make myself invisible, like I did when I was younger, and soon, Tony was taking me with him on errands. It didn't take long before I knew all the players. Once that happened, nothing could stop me. Over the course of the next few years, I broke into mansions that belonged to the biggest crime bosses in the Midwest and took paintings, jewelry, sculptures..., anything I could carry. The stuff I could fence, I did. The stuff that nobody would touch, I stashed. I broke into banks and nightclubs and warehouses owned by the mafia. You know, I gave over a million dollars to the Boys and Girls Club of America, anonymously of course." Hutch smirked at the memory. "But it wasn't about the money. It was about having control for the first time in my life."

Starsky hesitated, then asked, "So, how did you get caught?"

"I didn't, not really. I got sloppy on a bank job and didn't move the camera far enough. They caught a picture of me… it was grainy but it gave them an idea and once again I had the cops on my tail, only this time I didn't wait around to be put back in the hospital. I was almost 18 and had two years of college behind me. I knew my father well enough to know that he'd never let his political aspirations get tarnished by my actions, so, knowing that my dad would buy off the local authorities, I pulled up stakes and moved out here."

"What made you quit?"

Hutch leaned back and gave that question some thought. "I quit for three reasons. I was going to get caught and I was going to land in jail for a very long time. I didn't want that. The second reason was very different. Once I was out here, I didn't feel the need for power, or control. It no longer mattered… at least that's what I told myself."

Starsky waited patiently. Finally he nudged his friend along, "You said there were three reasons."

Hutch shifted, once again looking at his guitar and yearning to do something with his hands. "Yeah. I'm no shrink so it may or may not be a valid one, but being a thief is addictive— at least for me itwas. That sense of control that came with every break-in is a very powerful drug. I kept having to do riskier jobs just to feel it." Hutch allowed a mirthless snort to escape, confirming to Starsky that his partner was embarrassed at such an admission. Since Hutch had a way of avoiding topics he didn't want to discuss, Starsky decided to help him maintain focus and urged, "Go on, I'm listening."

After a few minutes of reflection, Hutch admitted, "Shortly after I arrived here in Bay City, I was casing the Federal Reserve Bank on South Grand Avenue. I learned that money was transferred through that branch every Tuesday, where it stayed overnight. I also learned that the one hole in the bank's security occurred during that transfer. As I stood across the street, leaning against the building, staring at the bank, it hit me. It hit me that this was the sum total of my 18 years on earth, a common thief, and that when, not if, but when I got caught, everything my father said about me would be true. I was good for nothing. And Starsk, more than anything, I didn't want him to be right. So instead of walking across the street and into the bank, I walked across the street and into the BCPD Recruitment office. I took the test, scored well enough to enter the next group of recruits, and reported to the Police Academy the following Monday. The rest, as they say, is history."

Starsky took it all in, from his friend's first words on the subject to his last. It was mind boggling to think that his partner of three years, his best friend, had managed to bury his past with such alacrity and care that it took the powers of the C.I.A. to uncover it. But something was niggling at his brain and as he sorted through his own feelings of betrayal, he felt his friend's eyes on him, and he didn't have to look at him to know that his eyes were pleading for acceptance. The problem was, he wasn't sure what he was feeling. He took another beer from the frig and popped the top, tossing it towards the trash and missing. But instead of taking a drink, he turned and faced his friend. "Have you stolen anything since then?"

Hutch shook his head.

It did little to assuage his feelings. There wasn't anything that Hutch didn't know about him, so why did Hutch keep this such a secret? It must have shown on his face.

"Starsky?" Hutch pleaded, getting off the couch. "There were so many times I wanted to tell you… but I couldn't." There was more to say, but in his head everything sounded trite. Just like he thought, there was no good ending to this. He hung his head and sunk down into the cushion of the sofa.

Starsky sat down next to him, so close that their shoulders touched. A good five minutes ticked off the clock before Starsky came to a realization. "It's okay. It might take me a little while to get used to the idea, but if the tables were turned, I probably would have done something similar." The truth is, he did do something similar, but now was not the time to compare notes. "All we gotta do now is figure out what to do about the C.I.A."