Library
Hutch
"This isn't police work."
"What are you talkin' about, Starsk. Of course it's police work."
My partner gave me a look of disgust that was worsened by the bloodshot eyes and running nose. He sniffed and squeezed his eyes shot for the umpteenth time that morning then let out a whopper of a sneeze.
I waded through another mold covered, reeking stack of old books, tossing each of them into the dumpster behind me with practiced precision, waiting for him to recover.
"These are books. That's a dumpster. This is a back alley. And that's a private library." Starsk muttered grumpily. "There are no bad guys or guns. We're not going to find any clues in here. Just mold, and dust and-achoo!"
I waited, wincing sympathetically. Starsky was having a severe reaction to the books we were assigned to pick through. Unfortunately it wasn't our gig, and therefore not our decision to be here.
"-and I'm gonna blow my brains out my nose."
"You know if you quit talking, you'll breathe less of this into your lungs."
That little gem of advice earned me a glare. The truth was this wasn't the first day that we'd been stuck at this job. And we weren't the first to fall victim to its charms either. Half the DA's office had been out sick because of these books, and the private library they had come from.
Of course the guys before us had stayed in the building where the fumes of cat pee, mold, dust and ammonia could knock out a rhino. It was Starsky's idea to drag the books into the alley a wheelbarrow load at a time and sort through them there. I'd provided work gloves and masks but Starsky was so certain of his plan he refused to wear his.
Now he was regretting it, but I knew better than to gloat about it. I allowed myself a satisfied smirk behind the mask and tossed a copy of Charles Dickens' Little Dorrit into the dumpster. The book came apart at the spine mid-flight. Starsky watched it disintegrate in the air and pointed miserably at the dumpster.
"Anything we find is gonna fall apart the minute we touch it anyway. That DA is punishing us."
"We aren't the only ones on this job, Starsk."
"We're the only sergeants on this job."
That much was true so I kept my mouth shut, quickly emptying the wheel barrow. Starsky, working at half the pace, noticed the end drawing nigh and groaned. "Three days of this, Hutch. Three days." He coughed and I winced for him.
"Come on, buddy. We're almost to the A's."
"And then we can go home?"
"And then we can go home."
Starsk picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow and eyed the gabled entryway that provided the shortest route to and from the fiction section inside the condemned building. The windows and doors were open, and remained that way for every hour that we were at work, but it'd only done so much to the toxicity of the fumes.
The interior was like a mustard gas factory populated by bats and pigeons and mice. Starsky had sworn he'd seen a fox in the Hal to Kin aisle. I chalked it up to delusions and Starsky's top notch imagination, but even I was beginning to see something bigger than a rat scurrying around corners.
"I like books, Hutch. I..I mean I like books. I've read some of the classics. Crime and Peace, War and Punishment-"
"That's "Crime and Punishment" and "War and Peace"." I corrected.
"What are those? Sequels?"
I couldn't tell if Starsky was serious. He ignored the look I gave him and continued to prattle about his favorite tomes, shuffling down the aisle using a manure shovel to scoop up piles of dumped books coated in pigeon guano.
"You know I once read a book that was all about this great guy called R. T. Barnum."
"Starsk-"
"He was a great guy. He invented the mermaid and the great white whale. And he had this terrific museum in New York that I visited when I was real little-"
"Starsky.."
The first time I might have considered it a delusion. The second time I was beginning to believe my own eyes. The third time I slapped a hand over Starky's mouth to get him to shut up.
Starsky
A slap in the mouth I can handle, but Hutch was trying to rattle my sin-yuses outta my head with that move. I swear I saw stars first. Then I saw the fox he was pointing at and pried his fingers away from my lips.
"Yeah that's the fox I was-" Smack! Another palm to the chops. Hutch was going to be paying my next dental bill.
"Will you shut up? We gotta catch that thing."
"Why?" I asked, quietly this time.
Hutch looked at me like I'd grown another head. Given the pounding in my temples I was willing to believe I had. "It's evidence."
I stared at the blonde Ollie and shook my head. "It's a fox. He's just cold and looking for a place to stay."
I bent toward the pile of reeking books, swallowed back a rush of bile and scooped them into the wheelbarrow. Knowing with regret that this wasn't the last I would see of them. I was going for another scoop when Hutch tapped my shoulder.
He was still staring at that stupid fox. Bright blue eyes annoyingly free of irritation. I ignored him, got my second scoop and was going for a third when tap tap tap.
"What!"
"He's got something."
"What?"
"In his mouth. He's got something."
I glanced over at the fox. The thing hadn't moved. Eyes glazed, back arched, looking ready to attack, the thing hadn't twitched so much as a muscle. There was a tuft of fur clutched in its mouth.
"It's probably a mouse or something. Fox's eat mice."
Hutch finally straightened from his half-crouch, his brow furrowing. "That fox is dead."
"Aww...come- Don't kill it, Hutch. He hasn't done anything to you."
"No..Starsk..it's dead. Stuffed. It's a mount."
"Oh."
"Come on."
I groaned, putting every ounce of the sick, nose-stuffed, eyes-burning misery I felt into the sound. Hutch ignored it, intent on sneaking up on a dead, stuffed and mounted wild Yorkie.
The first time I'd seen the thing the library had been dark. I'd caught sight of the reflection of my flashlight in its eyes, then let it go. We'd scared enough wildlife out of the library, as long as it wasn't going to bite me, I didn't care what it did.
Hutch hunched down in front of the fox picking it up and sticking his nose as close to the mouse as he could get without gagging. I kept my distance scanning the rest of the floor, a foot deep in refuse and tattered books and-
"Hutch."
"Yeah, Starsk."
I swallowed hard. "Snake."
Hutch
At first I thought the snake was stuffed. It stayed where it was, partially coiled in the single shaft of sunlight filtering through the muck covered windows. I shifted my stance prepared to tell Starsky there was nothing to fear when the books under the snake started to slide, a precipitous movement to the snake's escape into the pile.
I gulped and said, reassuringly, "It's g-gone, Starsk."
"Yeah, but it's gonna be back. Hey, can we get outta here?"
"Yeah. Let's...fill that wheelbarrow, huh?"
Watching the surface of the books around our feet Starsky disappeared behind a row of shelves, quietly mumbling to himself. I followed in his footsteps, taking my time with the fox tucked under my arm.
Starsky's sudden scream knocked me off balance and into a reeking cesspool of mouldering paper and cardboard.
"Starksy!"
A weak moan responded, followed by high-pitched panicked breaths. "Starsky, I'm comin!"
Every surface I pushed against slid away from me. Moist pages were sticking to my gloves, my jacket, the knees of my jeans. As if the books had finally claimed a victim and were too close to satisfaction to let me escape. One foot finally plunged through the layer of books and I found hardwood floor with my toe. I swept my foot toward me, clearing a path through the crush of books so that I could get the other foot on the ground.
I heard the crack and snap of the mousetrap seconds before it closed on the corner of my sneakered foot. The strangled sound I made sounded an awful lot like the sound Starsky had just made. A commiserating groan came in answer.
"Suppose...that's why there are books...all over the floor?" Starsky called, followed by a groan and the shift of cloth and paper. Seconds later there was a snap, snap, snap followed by equal parts, "Ow! Ow! OW!"
"This is punishment!" My partner yelled angrily. "Dobey has to be in on it! This is punishment for the typewriter. So why am I suffering?"
It was broken. My toe had to be broken. I managed my feet and clung to the shelf with one hand afraid to take another step and lose another appendage. "Just stay still. I'm comin' to ya." I called, hoping to convince myself by means of convincing my partner.
Balancing on my good foot I reached for the corner of the trap, planning to yank it free of my shoe and brave the consequences.
"What kinda twisted library is this? Dangerous animals, stuffed foxes, mouse traps every two-snap-ow!"
"Quit moving around." I called, gingerly pinching the corner of the trap between my fingers, breathing harder, building up my nerve.
"Well what's taking you so long. My legs are startin' to itch."
Just yank it off, Hutch. You've been shot before, leg trapped under a car, been slapped and blown up. What's a little mouse trap compared to all that?
"Hutch...libraries are supposed to be full of nice smelling books, with soft chairs to sit and read in, and sweet, beautiful raven haired librarians...ahh!"
The mousetrap could come off later, I decided and forced myself across the bridge of books, covering ground on the balls of my feet. Like a mountie on snowshoes, rushing to my partner's rescue.
He was almost in the clear, wearing mouse traps like some people wear jewelry. One trap was closed around his hand, another clinging to his jacket at the elbow. One had come dangerously close to the crotch of his pants and another dangled from his ear.
Rather than ask how he'd managed it I dragged Starsky to his feet and propelled him toward the cleared hallway and the outside door. We both tumbled down the ramp in a messy, stinking heap, rolling across the gravel in the alley and coming to a stop a few inches from the tires of a recently parked car.
The roll had knocked the mouse trap from my foot, and taken care of a few of Starsky's adornments. The only one left was the one on his hand, the flesh around the metal bar swelling and red.
The door of the car opened and a familiar foot stepped out. Dark brown, watery eyes gazed down at us with concern and a little amusement. Clutching at my wounded leg I managed a semi-professional, "Captain."
Starsky muttered something similar in the midst of a pained groan.
"You boys taking a nap?" When neither of us responded, Dobey's face darkened and he demanded, "You get that job done?"
I met Starsky's watering, red eyes and rolled over so that I could free him of the final trap. "Not yet, Cap."
"Still plenty to be done, eh?"
Starsky sat up, then reached down for my arm and together we managed to get upright, leaning on each other. Any other arrangement wouldn't have worked.
"Plenty." Starsky said, not happy about it, but resigned, as I was, to the punishment that I now believed Dobey had devised for us.
Dobey stared at the house, chewing something over in his mind before he waved a thick hand at the building and turned back to his car. "It can wait. Come on. Huggy wants to see you two. Something about a lead."
I met Starsk's eyes, shocked and said, "Wait a minute. What about the DA? What about the case?"
"Charges were dropped." Dobey said, slamming his door shut and turning the engine over in the same moment. Without so much as a glance or a second word, our Captain peeled backward out of the alley and disappeared down the road.
I kept very still and quiet for a moment, waiting as Starsky limped around to face me. His face was flushed and tight with fury, eyes weeping in response to the irritation. "Charges...dropped. This was punishment."
"Starsky."
"Punishment for your prank that backfired."
"Come on, Pal…"
"Don't talk to me."
"Just let me drive you to the hospital…"
"I'd rather walk."
"Starsky…."
"Starsky!"
"Stars-never mind."