Marathon

Starsky

"Hey Starsk...are you sure you want to do this?"

"Will you quit asking me that? And quit helping, you're stabbing me with them pins."

"This is your first marathon. I want to make sure you're ready for the commitment it takes."

"What advice or training can you possibly give me….thirty minutes before the start, huh?"

"Quit. Quit now, while you still can."

"You're just mad that you registered late, and you've gotta start all the way back there."

Hutch gave me a guilty look that turned into a mockery of patriarchal care. He boxed my shoulders and shook me a little then said, "I just don't want you to hurt yourself."

"Uh huh. Get back to your place in line."

"Now remember, you're representing the police department."

"Get back in line!"

"Don't let all those boys in blue down. You can't quit."

"I'm not gonna quit, will you get back in line!"

"When the chips are down…"

"There's a marathon official right there…"

"And you're down to your last ounce of strength…"

"He's gonna see ya, and you're gonna get disqualified…"

"Remember...we're rootin' for ya kid."

I gave Hutch a look of disgust and he clocked me on the chin just a little harder than was necessary, or friendly. He disappeared into the crush of runners before the official spotted him and I glanced over at Dodger Stadium where the marathon timer hung.

Unlike some marathons this one wouldn't end where it began. The race started just outside the stadium and ended at Santa Monica where there were supposed to be shuttles to take us back to our cars. Twenty-six long, grueling miles through downtown LA and out toward the sea. Still it was a beautiful day, scheduled high of 76 degrees, and there were more fit, talented female athletes participating than ever before in the history of this marathon.

The original plan for marathon day had been to run the race in about five hours, or less, go for a massage and overload on carbs at the finish line, then go home, shower, drink a beer and take the next two days off.

However, BANG!

That's not how it happened.

Hutch

The first mile and a half were a no sweat affair. All about finding your pace and settling into it. You don't sprint in a race like this unless you're a cheetah, or have a death wish. I was settling in, matching pace with a runner who looked like she'd been an athlete from childhood. She gave me a smile when I brushed up next to her, and looked like she was about to ask me a question, when I heard sirens ahead.

I was probably about thirty minutes behind Starsky, and I somehow knew that he was the reason for the sirens. A mile and a half into the race, meant he had started to get bored. Thirty minutes was plenty of time for him to get into trouble. We passed an alley filled with flashing emergency lights and I noticed Starsky, standing in his running shorts, with one foot on the chest of a guy face down in the mud.

Starsky noticed me passing him and tried to shout at me to stop, but I ignored him. He wanted to solve crime on his day off, that was his prerogative. I was there to run a marathon.

"You know, you forget that life goes on for some people on days like today." The girl next to me said.

"I know what you mean...crime, cops…"

"Do you think that runner was a cop, or just a good samaritan?" She asked, craning her neck back toward the alley.

"He's probably not even a runner. Probably just faking the first part of the race to get off duty."

"Huh…" The girl said, pouting a little before she picked up her pace.

A quarter mile later I was considering turning around and going back to help Starsky with the bust when I noticed a familiar car, and even more familiar face parked outside a small Christian church on the edge of Chinatown. Small time hood, I couldn't remember his last name but he called himself Bernie. I watched him jerk a ski cap over his face, grab a crowbar and start toward the poor box hanging on the outside wall of the church.

If it hadn't been for Chinatown, I might've let it go. But that church was losing everything with the growth of the chinese population. Losing the contents of that poor box might have been catastrophic.

I had to do something.

Starsky

Back in the race. I was behind Hutch by about ten minutes but I felt good about myself. The lady being mugged in that alley was grateful. She even told me she had a daughter running in the race. She took my number and promised to introduce us after the day was over.

I was floating pretty high until we passed by Chinatown and I noticed a familiar pair of orange shorts and brown sneakers struggling with somebody behind a beat up station wagon. Right when I was about to leave the race course to help, Hutch stood up, looking a little disheveled but whole, a crowbar in one hand, and the jacket of the perp in the other.

"You got 'em, champ!" I shouted, flashing two thumbs up as the crowd of runners passed them. Hutch caught me out of the corner of his eye and shouted something that I didn't catch. I picked up my speed, running ahead until I caught sight of a lovely lady jogging at about my speed. I got parallel with her and was surprised when she said, "Hey! You're that guy!"

"Yeah, I'm that guy. What guy am I?"

"You...you were making an arrest or something. We passed by you earlier."

"Oh that guy. Yeah that was me."

"That was real brave."

I gave her a dashing smile. "Thank you."

"I like guys who are brave like that."

"Really, uh…" I ran backwards a few steps so that I could read her name tag. "Rebecca. That's a nice name. So you go out with brave guys?"

"Mmhmm. Like Ernie."

"Ernie?"

"Ernie's a cop."

"Ernie's a cop. And you're dating this Ernie?"

"We've been going steady for three years now."

"That's...sweet."

"There he is now! Hi, Ernie, honey!" The girl called and I looked over to see the biggest, meanest looking cop in L.A. He was smiling at Rebecca until he caught sight of me.

Hutch

Back on the course.

There were enough uniforms around that all it took was a quarter mile of jogging and I found one to send back to the would-be thief now hogtied with his own shoelaces in the back of his own car. The cop was the biggest I'd ever seen on the force in all the years I'd been there. I gave him my badge number and told him I would fill out the report after the marathon.

Starsky had maybe passed me twenty minutes before. I was sure I could catch up with him, but the fight, and avoiding a crowbar in the face, had taken a lot out of me. I kept my pace conservative for a mile or so, gradually running faster as the view and the energy from the crowd began to grow.

As luck would have it, it didn't take long for me to catch up with the lovely runner from before. I jogged backward in front of her to catch her name then grinned at her. "Rebecca, fancy meeting you here."

She gave me a sad smile and a half-hearted, "Hey."

"What's the matter. You gettin' tired? Do you need to sit down?"

"No..I just...I met that guy. You know the guy from the alley. But then he just disappeared without saying goodbye."

"Oh…" I said, panting. "You mean the guy in the al- well, like I told ya, he's probably just out here playin' hooky."

Mile 6 passed Echo Park, the skyline on one side, and Dodger Stadium distant on the other side. The sun had begun to climb, and even though the high was supposed to stay in the 70s, it felt like we'd already surpassed 75 degrees. I happened to glance toward the lake and noticed one runner cooling off in the water.

"See, like that guy. Not serious about the craft, not willing to stick it out."

"I don't think he's swimming. It looks like he's dragging something." Rebecca said, slowing her pace for a water station. I followed her to the sidelines and grabbed water for both of us, watching the wayward marathoner up until I recognized the soaking wet, brown-haired head.

I jogged toward the iron fence that bordered the park and watched long enough to make sure my partner made it out of the lake, with whatever he was saving. A dog...he was saving a dog. The kids were screaming in delight and my partner was soaking wet, but he seemed happy enough about his efforts when he spotted me.

Rebecca and I waved goodbye and jogged back into the flow of runners.

Starsky

I should've called it quits then. I mean, running while soaking wet is not recommended for mankind. I'd managed to get my sneakers off before I jumped into the lake, but every other part of me was dripping and itchy and smelled like the wrong end of a duck.

I would have quit, gone home, taken a shower and returned to the finish line to cheer on my partner, if he hadn't stood there, with Rebecca, giving me a smart alecky wave. That got my blood boiling and I tripped across the ground, shoving my wet socks into my tennis shoes. Determined to make up the time I'd lost responding to children's screams.

By the time I started to dry there was a sizeable gap between me and most of the rest of the runners. I was itching too, all over my chest and arms but I tried to ignore it, focusing on the run. Mile 9 passed the Barndall House and went through Thai town. It was close to 10 am then and easily over 75 degrees. I passed a watering station and downed three cups before moving on, feeling like my skin was crawling.

I knew Hutch was somewhere ahead, having an easy time of it, chatting with Rebecca. But there was no way, after all that ribbing, I was going to let him finish without me. A part of me wanted to set Rebecca's boyfriend on Hutch for good measure. Revived by the water I pushed harder, squishing in my wet socks at a faster pace until I could see the blonde blintz' straight locks bouncing ahead.

I had him, and had every intention of passing him by when the blare of a fire alarm hit. Smoke was pouring out of the back of a Thai restaurant up the street. The problem was the nearest fire station wouldn't be able to get through the crowd the marathon had drawn to do anything about it. I watched my partner's head turn toward the commotion and knew what he was thinking seconds before he left the race course and pushed through the crowd watching the marathon.

I couldn't very well let my buddy put out a fire all by himself, and I was already wet.

Hutch

It was a grease fire, easily taken care of if you didn't have three Taiwanese women pounding on your shoulders with flour covered fists. I couldn't understand their language and they clearly couldn't understand mine. I couldn't get close enough to the source of the fire to even hope to put it out with the ladies hounding me.

I was delighted to hear the words, "Hey Hutch!" come out of my partner's mouth as he slung a trashcan lid my way. I caught it, barreled past the ladies and slammed the lid down on the burning pot of oil, snuffing out the oxygen feeding the fire.

Of course the heat had to go somewhere and in seconds the trash can lid was too hot to hold on to. I yelped and danced away from the flame, shouting, "Fire extinguisher."

"Uh...uh…" Starsky fumbled around behind me then overturned the trash can, dumping out the trash. He knocked the trash can lid from the pot, then put the whole trash can over the wood fire and the pot of oil. The heat buckled the trashcan in on itself but the fire went out, starved of fuel.

The ladies hadn't once stopped chattering, and kept pointing toward the back entrance of the restaurant. I glanced in and found a young man curled in a ball against the kitchen wall, his hands badly burned. "Starsk, get an ambulance down here. I think I passed one on the corner of Prospect and Vermont."

"Your hands ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, go on." The kid fought me at first until I filled a pitcher with cold tap water and guided one of his hands into it. That took care of some of the pain for him and he stood with my help, stumbling to the sink where I turned on the cold water and let it run. 2nd degree burns. Painful, but not deadly as long as we stopped the burning. The oil was going to make it worse for him.

"You speak English, kid?"

"Yes, yes, English." The kid said, his face taut with pain.

"Can you tell me why they were hitting me earlier."

"You ruin donuts." He said.

"D-donuts? What about you? What about the pot of oil on fire?"

"Oil is cheap. Donuts, expensive."

"Unbelievable."

Starsky

I had to have set a land speed record getting to that ambulance crew. I also felt the start of a half-dozen blisters on my feet as I charged down that alley. The minute the ambulance crew heard the words fire and burns they did a full u-turn in the intersection, and sped back down the alley with me clinging to the side, until they reached the restaurant. I'll be damned if those ladies hadn't already kicked the can away from the pot of grease, and weren't working on relighting the fire.

I got on the horn and called for any officer in the area to come down and prevent a second fire from happening, then went to check on my partner. His hands were bright red, but there weren't any blisters. One of the paramedics was approaching him with a tub of salve when Hutch said, "You know all this "saving the day" nonsense is you putting off running that marathon."

I protested until the look of triumph entered Hutch's eyes. "You're on." I said, then charged through the restaurant and back onto the race course.

I was now ahead, and determined to stay that way. No more Mr. Nice Cop.

Mile 14 marked the highpoint of heat for the day. 88 degrees. A record for that particular time of the month. I was passing a water station set up outside the Roxy Theatre when the first few runners started to go down. I helped a guy twice my age into the shade and grabbed him some water, then splashed some over my own face, passed the Bruce Springsteen sign and was about to step back into the mainstream of runners when I caught sight of a familiar spray of brunette hair, and long legs.

The Roxy was a nightclub now, but it had once been a strip club. One of the former strippers, now a cocktail waitress was in the alley, probably headed home from work, desperately trying to change a tire. There were two guys with her, but they weren't helping. One was sitting on the hood of the car smoking a cigar, and the other one kept kicking the tire Missy was trying to change.

I had shouted, "Hey." before I'd really thought through the logistics of the situation. I drew their attention immediately and decided that, like with a bear, pretending to be bigger and meaner than I really was might just work. I had stomped halfway down the alley before the bruiser on the hood got to his feet. He was a lot taller than I thought.

The other guy didn't feel the need to move just yet, but took one look at me and started laughing.

"Missy, you havin' trouble with these jokers?"

"Nah, Starsky. They're just crumbs I gotta get around to sweeping under the rug." Missy called back, but I could tell she was scared.

This would have been a good time to have had my gun, or my badge, or both. Having neither was not helpful.

"Well, Missy, why don't you pick on somebody your own size, huh? Let these miscreants go this one time."

That got a meek smile out of Missy, and the undivided attention of both of the goons. The one tossed his cigar into the puddle at his feet and the other pulled out a pair of brass knuckles.

"Who are these guys anyway, your brothers?" I asked, resisting the urge to backpedal, and standing my ground.

"Bouncers. At the Roxy. They just can't take no for an answer." Missy called, slowly moving away from the tire she'd been trying to change, and grabbing her purse from the back seat of the car.

That's right, Missy, I thought, run home. You can worry about your car later.

"That's what happens to punch drunk stumble bums like these ugly mugs. The English language flies right past 'em. Uh...hey fellas, listen-hurk!"

Hutch

I should've kept running. I shouldn't have stopped. I should have put my head down and ignored the scream and pretended I wasn't a cop. It was Starsky's own fault. He'd been getting himself into trouble all morning just to avoid the marathon. It served him right to have one of those situations get out of hand.

But I heard the scream, and I slowed down and I turned down that alley and launched myself onto the back of the bruiser pounding a brass knuckle set into my partner's chest. I hung on until I was slammed against the brick wall on the other side of the alley.

Starsky had recovered enough to grab a trash can lid and slam it against the face of the guy with tobacco stains on his lip. I got a couple of knocks in the ribs before the guy hitting me broke the number one rule of an alley fight. His knee came up and I suddenly couldn't breathe, or think, or move.

Starsky must have seen or heard it, because he paid the brass-knuckle guy back in kind. He went down like a snow man, melting in the oppressive heat that none of LA had been expecting.

"Thanks...for your help...but I had this...covered." Starsky gasped, one arm wrapped around his ribs. I glared at him, sick to my stomach, and not yet ready to talk. He got close enough for me to jerk his shirt up and wince at the bruises already forming.

"Covered, huh?" I grunted in return, not sure if Starsky was operating on stubborn wounded pride alone, or if at some point that morning he'd received a blow to the head. Both might explain why he had gone up against two guys twice his size, and more well armed, than he was.

"Who are these guys?" I asked, still not able to stand straight.

"Bouncers."

"You know what they do for a living, right?" I demanded and watched Starsky nod his head, dazed. "Alright, that's it. We're taking you to the hospital and then home."

"No."

"Starsky…" I whined.

"This is my first time running a marathon. I'm not gonna quit now."

"Starsk…" I groaned and yanked his shirt up again then tested the tenderness of one of the bruises and nodded my head at his reaction, my point made. "You can't run with ribs like that."

"I'll jog."

"Unbelievable...listen, pal. I won't hold it against ya. You've done more in fourteen miles than anybody running a marathon has ever done."

"Are you gonna finish?"

The throbbing was fading, and I didn't think permanent damage had been done. I wasn't willing to finish the marathon with the pain I was in, but I didn't want him finishing alone. "No. I'm done."

"You're lying."

"What!? Starsky…"

"You're gonna run." Starsky said, then turned and stomped back toward the marathon.

At that point I didn't have a choice, did I?

Starsky

My pride was bruised, admittedly, after I nearly lost my teeth to those two jerks in the alley. Even with a couple of knocks to the ribs the thought of giving up and going home ate at me. It was just a couple of miles, I told myself. Like a long hike, a stroll down the beach. Nothin. I could do it in my sleep.

I grabbed some water at the relief station and pulled back into the race, back with the stragglers now, but not quite with the walkers.

My partner was staggering along beside me in minutes, and I had to admit, at least to myself, that I felt better with him there.

"You're crazy, you know that?"

"You're the one running beside me." I said.

We ran together for about four miles, picking up the pace a little here or there. The further we ran the more runners we saw, sitting on the curb, outdone by the heat.

"Record breaking high on the same day as the marathon. That's gotta be some kinda punishment." I said, dripping sweat.

My partner looked just as beat but we kept going up until a runner collapsed thirty feet in front of us, tripping up the runners behind him and causing a major pile up. I managed to avoid it but Hutch got trapped in the mess.

By the time we had the injured parties off to the side and the rest of the runners on their way, Hutch had a bruised and scraped knee bleeding down his leg, and was limping pretty bad.

"Still gonna run?" I asked, and Hutch tried to yank my shirt up again. I slapped his hand and said, "Quit doing that, I'm fine."

"Sure you are."

"Are you still gonna run?!" I demanded.

"What do you think?" Hutch asked, limping to the relief station to snag waters for the both of us.

Dobey

The first report of my officers, Sergeants Starsky and Hutchinson, getting involved in an incident came nearly at the start of the race. I had been stationed in Santa Monica, there to keep an eye on the ending ceremonies and of course welcome the two men representing our precinct at the finish line.

Except that I kept getting reports of police officers wearing jogging clothes, making busts all over town. Every time one of my uniformed men got there, neither Starsky nor Hutch were anywhere to be found.

Six hours after the marathon had begun the winners started to roll in and the ceremony started swiftly. The winners were given medals and those suffering from heat exhaustion treated. After another hour I asked every uniformed cop assigned to the marathon to keep an eye out for my two wayward sergeants and call in the minute they were spotted.

The first man to call in was a young rookie, fresh out of the academy. He was nearly squealing with excitement when he radioed in the location of my men. At the 20th mile, moving at a slow jog. "They look like they've been through a war zone, Cap." The kid said.

By three pm I had a sighting at the 24th mile, but it sounded like the two were headed off the marathon course and toward the Riviera Country Club. Some gentlemen in a golf cart were kind enough to redirect them back to the road.

The marathon ended at the Annenberg Community Beach House. A large, sprawling mansion that once belonged to William Randolph Hearst, back in the popular newspaper magnates' heyday. Now it was the sight of hundreds of beach goers taking advantage of the abnormally hot day, and should've been where my men showed up along with the rest of the marathoners.

That didn't happen until 5pm. At 5:01, followed by a dozen officers in uniform holding back traffic and keeping a safe distance between my men and the crowd, Starsky and Hutch hobbled toward the finish line.

Hutch's hands were bright red, burned by the grease fire I'd heard about. He was limping heavily on a swollen knee and looked ready to collapse. His partner wasn't any better. One arm was wrapped around his ribs and he'd taken his shoes off at some point, pushing ahead in mud and blood stained socks. I couldn't tell which one was holding which up, but I had the idea that if either one let go, they would both go down.

The officers on both sides of the street, as well as civilians and well baked beach goers were cheering ecstatically as the two men came within inches of the finish line. To the astonishment of the entire crowd they stopped one step away.

Hutch

"Why'd...why'd we stop?" Starsky asked.

"I dunno. I think...I think I want to quit."

"Quit? Quit what? The marathon? That's the ocean...pal, we...we can't be that far from the finish line."

"Ocean?" I asked, barely able to open my eyes. I felt like I'd been stuffed into an oven set to broil.

"Yeah, we could..go for a swim or something."

"This isn't a triathlon, Starsk." I said, pulling my partner forward again. After a second I felt him push from behind and we were once again moving.

"What's a triathlon?"

"It's like a marathon...only...instead of just running you...you swim, and bike…"

Starsky shook his head, not saying anything until our feet finally hit sand. It was burning hot sand, but it had to have felt better than the asphalt he'd been walking on before. "Running is...hard enough work."

We stumbled forward until we hit cold surf and the two of us gradually sat down. The water washed over my leg and my groin, feeling like heaven. I heard Starsky give a satisfied groan beside me.

"Do you think they'll let us stay here?"

"Who?" I asked.

"All those guys, following us."

"Guys?"

"You didn't notice?"

I propped myself up on my elbows and glanced back toward the beach road, squinting at a line of cheering men and women in blue uniforms.

"There's tons of cops following us around." Starsky said.

"I think you're paranoid." I said.

"Hey...did we finish?" Starsky asked.

"We had to have. We're at the ocean. And Santa Monica ends at ocean. So...we have to have finished."

"Well...who won?"