Chapter 4
Hutch hummed to himself as he looked at his shaving foam encrusted face in the mirror. Last night, after Starsky had left to go home, he'd had a phone call from Sarah, his girlfriend and they'd spent time chatting and making love down the phone wires. She was away in Tulsa for the next couple of days, her job as an air stewardess taking her away far more than either of them particularly liked, but they'd perfected the art of virtual sex and by the time he'd gotten off the telephone, Hutch needed a cold shower and a beer. He'd slept well after that, dreaming of her long brown hair and melting green eyes and he'd woken in the early hours of the morning with his arms wrapped around the pillow, a substitute for her lithe body. He grinned at himself. Crazy guy! Being so much in love with someone that he dreamed about them every night. But there again, he spent a lot of time dreaming dreams of himself and his brunet partner. Not sexual dreams, obviously, but since the shooting, when he'd spent long nights next to Starsky's bed while he fought for life, he'd often had nightmares about the curly haired man not being there. At the beginning he'd woken up screaming Starsky's name into the dark, shivering and shaking and wet with cold sweat. In those first months of the brunet's recovery, Hutch had spent nights refusing to go to sleep for fear he'd have that same recurring nightmare. And then Starsky had questioned him about the black circles under his eyes and the pale, pasty complexion, the long, straggly hair and the increase in weight.
It had taken Hutch a long time to admit to Starsky, and more importantly to himself that he was scared to death of losing his best friend. Almost too scared. It was almost unhealthy to be so close, he knew, but it couldn't be helped. They weren't lovers. They'd never wanted each others body, but they needed each other's touch, the sound of their partner's voice to be able to feel whole. Conjoined twins Dobey had once called them and he'd chuckled at the thought. Yes they were inseparable, and even Sarah, and Erin, Starsky's current girl knew they had to share their men. After Starsky's recovery, his dreams turned to the more gentle variety: dreams of them camping, fishing, chasing down the flakes on their patch, but always together. Never crowding each other, but never apart for very long.
Hutch without Starsky was like salt without pepper or day without night. It was wrong, unnatural and now, as he finished dragging the thin, sharp blade across his smooth tanned skin, the blond wondered whether his partner had slept well. When he'd left the previous night, Starsky had looked uncomfortable and Hutch had ribbed him about getting too spooked at a childish horo story. He'd almost been tempted to phone Starsky to see if he was OK, but thought better of it, knowing the brunet would be mad at him if he behaved in his "mother hen" mode, as Starsky usually referred to his coddling.
Wiping away the white, foamy residue from his face, Hutch walked back into his bedroom removed the towel from his waist and started to get dressed. Brown cargo pants, a cream coloured polo shirt and a deep brown over shirt to hide his holster and his soft brown desert boots. He regarded himself briefly in the mirror. After the months of self neglect when he'd concentrated on Starsky's recovery, the brunet had encouraged him to get back into shape and now, after his three times per week sessions in the gym, the swimming and the horse back riding, he was trimmer than he'd ever been, the muscles in his upper body and arms rippling lightly beneath his polo shirt and the belt cinching in his pants around his slim waist above the flat plain of his stomach. With his hair cut shorter, he looked handsome, toned and tanned and younger than his 36 years.
Checking his gun, he inserted it into his holster and with a final check in the mirror to make sure it wasn't showing, he headed for the door, picking up his car keys along the way. Gone was the battered brown LTD of his past. Starsky and Sarah had finally worked on him enough that he went out and bought something more modern. Surprising even himself, he came back from a shopping trip the proud owner of a bright red Ford Mustang which even Starsky was slightly envious of and so now, years after the brunet had told him he hated riding in his car, Hutch did almost as much driving as Starsky had.
Getting into the car, enjoying the feeling of the sun on his face with the top down, the blond started the engine and drove through the early morning sunbeams to Starsky's apartment. While he had a new car and the brunet had a new apartment, some things never changed, and Hutch was not surprised to see that the curtains were still drawn in the Starsky household. With a deep sigh of resignation, he got out of the car, knowing merely pipping the horn wouldn't work and walked up the short path to his partner's front door. He hammered on it.
'Starsky will you get your butt outa that bed. Dobey'll have out guts for garters if we're late again' he thundered, as he waited for the brunet to make his drowsy way from his bedroom to let him in. He waited a moment before knocking again, this time even more persistently.
'Yo, Gordo. C'mon!'
Impatiently, he waggled the door handle, surprised when he felt it give below his hand. It wasn't like Starsky to leave his door unlocked at night, he was the most security conscious guy Hutch had ever known. While Hutch's mid western upbringing had him happy to leave the door on the latch or the key on the lintel above his door, Starsky's tough childhood in New York made him more streetwise and cautious. Slowly he pushed the door open and went in.
'Starsky, are you ok?' he shouted, looking around the neat and tidy living room. It was always a source of amusement to Hutch that his friend was so tidy. He referred to him as a neat freak and it was an apt description. Even after the hardest day on the streets, Starsky would come back home and carefully fold up his clothes, dumping his laundry into the basket. And he always washed up immediately a meal was finished.
There was no answer and Hutch began to worry. The brunet had been quiet when he left last night. Was he sick? He walked through the living room, looking around him. All was tidy and in order. Nothing to indicate anything was wrong. He got to the bedroom door and paused. If Starsky was still sleeping he was going to be mighty pissed at Hutch for finding him asleep on a work morning. But a pissed Starsky was preferable to a pissed Dobey. He pushed the door open and walked in, crossing to the window to draw back the curtains. Sunlight flooded into the room and Hutch turned to the bed. It was empty, the sheets neatly arranged as though it had never been slept in. What the hell was going on? He pulled the sheets back and felt the bed. It was still vaguely warm, the sheets still smelling faintly of Starsky's scent, a mixture of sandalwood and herbal shampoo. So. He'd slept in the bed, and had only got up recently.
The blond rushed back into the living room and checked the coat stand that stood behind the front door. Starsky's jacket was there, as was his holster, minus the gun. Wherever the brunet was, he was armed. Ducking back outside and round the corner, he saw that the Torino was missing too. Hutch ran back down the path and reached into his car for the microphone. He pushed the button.
'Zebra 3 to control'
The woman's voice sounded across the airwaves.
'Go ahead zebra 3'
'Can you patch me through to Starsky hon? Hutch asked Elaine, one of the new girls in the patch room.
'Sure thing Hutch. Hang on'. He heard her punch buttons on her consol and her voice asking for Starsky to respond and then she came back on his line.
'No response from him Hutch. Is he ok. I thought you two were due on duty this morning'.
'So did I' the blond grunted. 'Can ya try again, just to be sure?'
Elaine worked her magic again, but the result was the same. 'Sorry Hutch, nothing. The mic. is live, but he's not responding. Can I do anything else for you?'
Panic grabbed at Hutch's chest. He ran his fingers through his short, flaxen hair. 'No. No thanks honey. I'm coming in'. He put the handset back on the cradle and took a final look around. There was no sign of his partner or his car and he started his own vehicle up, a V furrowing the otherwise smooth forehead. Where was Starsky? And what did all this mean? Swiftly he pushed the selector into drive and headed for the Metro, pulling up in the garage a scant 20 minutes later. He got out of the car and rushed up the stairs and along to Dobey's office. Nothing much had changed in the passing years. Dobey had been offered another precinct – a promotion of sorts, but he'd refused, enjoying the camaraderie and comfort of the familiar surroundings. Now, as Hutch walked into his office without the herald of a knock, the black man looked up, his face no different, his eyes still as bright and inquisitive and only a sprinkling of grey hairs to show the passage of time.
'Hutchinson will there ever be a time when you or that partner of your have the courtesy to knock?'
The blond cop snickered, but the mirth was short lived. 'Have you heard from Starsky this morning?' he asked without preamble.
'No, why?'
'I went out pick him up for work and he and his car are missing. I'm worried'.
Dobey's head snapped up. 'When did you last see him?'
'We were at mine last night. You know Starsk. He wanted to celebrate the beginning of Christmas. He went home about 11:00. I haven't seen him since'.
'And his apartment doesn't show any signs of a struggle?' Dobey asked, settled immediately into detective mode.
'No. Nothing. His rooms were tidy, as usual and his bed had been slept in, but he'd made it before he went out. Wherever he went he wasn't in too much of a hurry'.
'Well, you know your partner. Sometimes he gets the strangest notions into his head. Give him a while, he's bound to be in touch' Dobey said calmingly.
But Hutch wasn't so easily placated. 'I dunno Cap'n. I've just got a bad feeling. Something's wrong'.
'Hutch, ever since Starsky's shooting you have these feelings regularly. Its natural. After we nearly lost him, we all feel overprotective. But its only been a few hours. Give him a while an' lets see how this works out huh? If you still haven't heard from him by…' he looked at his watch 'six this evening, then we'll re-evaluate. That's 10 hours from now. Just you see, he'll come strutting back in here soon like a dog with two dicks looking for you and wondering what all the fuss is about'.
Hutch nodded, trying to feel reassured. 'Yeah, you're right' he said unconvincingly. 'He's probably in bed somewhere with the lovely Erin, tucked up nice and warm and comfortable' the blond said as he walked out of the office.
oOo
Across town, Starsky was indeed in bed, but not the sort that Hutch had envisaged. The brunet opened his eyes with a low groan. Or at least he thought he'd opened his eyes, but try as he might he couldn't see a damned thing and he realised he was either blind, or was lying in the pitch black.
