Appearances
By
Disclaimer: Though the usual disclaimers also apply, this story does necessarily contain some violence and scenes of life on the streets from an unexpected point of view.
As Starsky always likes to say, “What if…”
September 9, 1962
Trenton , New Jersey
The three young toughs swaggered across the diner parking lot after parking their cherry red Lincoln . They were all very expensively dressed and carried themselves with an air of arrogance and power. They were, in fact, known in the neighborhood as the “Young Dons.” The older two were brothers who were eighteen and seventeen respectively and the youngest was their first cousin, who, despite his youth, was being groomed to become one of the most powerful mob figures in the city. His father was the number one man on the local police force's mind, and had been for many years. He was also untouchable, as befitted a man in his position. His one obsession was his only son and the power he would soon pass on to him.
In the parking lot, a hapless young man accidentally bumped into the youngest of the three hoods, spilling his chocolate coke all over the hood's chinos. The oldest cousin took immediate offense; and even as the young man tried desperately to apologize, handled the situation in the way he had been taught. He twisted the young man's arm behind his back until it snapped, dropped him to the ground, and put a gun to his head. There was no mercy in his cold blue eyes as he stared at his helpless victim.
What made him intervene, the youngest boy never knew. Things like this had never bothered him before. God knew he'd been involved in stuff like this plenty of times. But this time he found himself stopping his cousin from hurting the kid further.
Turning mocking eyes on him, his cousin asked, “What'sa matter, Joey-boy, you goin' soft on us?”
Joey scowled. He hated that patronizing tone and nickname out of his cousins. It made him angry and he found himself taking it out on the boy on the ground. He kicked the kid in the ribs in frustration and stalked away. The moment he had lashed out, he felt really rotten. That had never happened before either, and he wondered what the hell was wrong with him. As he headed for their usual table outside the diner, for the first time the fear and revulsion on the other patron's faces really registered on him. It was then that Joey Iverson, aged fifteen, decided he wanted out. Permanently.
December 12, 1962
Los Angeles , California
It was wet, but at least not so damned cold as New Jersey . Of course NO place was as cold as New Jersey as far as Joey was concerned. Getting to California had not been as difficult as he'd thought it would be. Getting away from Trenton had been the hairy part. He had put together what money he could without alerting anyone and headed out in the middle of the night.
Fortunately, his size – just over six feet tall and about 160 pounds – worked for him, as had the fake i.d. he'd had Skinny Charlie make for him. He knew he could trust Charlie not to talk, because Charlie couldn't afford to talk – it was deadly in his business. Unfortunately, the plane ticket had taken most of his ready cash, and the last couple of months in California had pretty well drained the rest. Now he had to figure out what to do next. Well, maybe he could get a job, legit or not. He just wished Charlie hadn't picked out such a dorky name. Who wanted to go through life known as “Kenneth Hutchinson?”
He sighed again, pocketed the i.d and headed on down the dock toward the warehouse he was now calling home. Not the greatest of accommodations, but one couldn't be too picky when the possibility of the mob sending someone after him was still so high. The mob - hell, face it. It was his father who would never let him go. If he was ever going to be safe, something was going to have to give. California was a great place to disappear. He just had to make sure he stayed that way until one of his cousins took over the family. That would ease things up. The thought that his father would have to die in order for this to happen never entered his thinking at this point. He just wanted to get on with his life…
January 15, 1963
Bay City , California
Ken quickly found a job working as a runner for a local numbers racket. His size also made him valuable for other jobs, but he balked at hurting people. He'd had enough of that to last a lifetime. So far, his boss hadn't pushed the point. Anyway, the money was decent, and he was looking forward to just getting back to the warehouse pad he had found and relaxing for a while. He had gotten run out of the Los Angeles warehouse by the docks by the police, and decided that he would be better off living in the district he worked in. He stopped at a local liquor store that never asked questions and bought a pack of cigarettes and a six-pack of beer.
As he cut across the vacant lot near the back of the warehouse, he spotted two men beating the hell out of another guy in the middle of the lot. He knew he should stay out of it, but after that night in Jersey , it just rubbed him the wrong way to see somebody getting nailed like that. He put down the beer and ran across the lot, stretching out those long legs of his and reaching the scene in seconds. His beautiful flying tackle rolled one of the men away from the guy on the ground, who seemed to be unconscious. The fight that ensued was fairly short and intense, with Ken having the advantage of both size and experience. The two men he was up against looked to be gang members and were probably used to pack style fighting, and not so good individually. Anyway, the two young men split after just a few punches, and Ken turned his attention to the skinny dude just coming to on the ground.
Ken noted with shock as the guy looked groggily up at him that he was a lot younger than he had thought, probably around his age, but quite a bit smaller, maybe 5'6” and about 120 pounds. The kid gingerly shook his mop of curly dark hair, grinned sheepishly, and stood up. Bruises, both old and new, covered his face, but even that did not seem to dim the glint in his bright blue eyes. Ken's first impression was that this was one very tough kid. The odds this time just hadn't been in his favor.
The kid regarded him carefully for a moment, and then stuck out his hand. “Thanks, man. I was startin' to wonder there for a minute.”
Ken shook his hand saying, “No problem. You looked like you could use a hand.”
“Yeah,” the kid smiled ruefully. “I'm Dave. Dave Starsky. A bunch of those creeps run together and want me to run with them. I keep tryin' to tell ‘em I'm not interested, but, so far, they're not listenin' too good.”
Ken nodded. “Right. Well, I'm Ken Hutchinson. Maybe I'll see you around. ”He started to leave, but stopped at the look on Starsky's face. Not sure why it mattered, he asked, “What's wrong?”
“Oh, nothin' really. It's just…”
Ken realized that the other boy was still shook up and probably more than a little afraid and definitely ashamed to admit it. Ken surprised himself by offering, “I'll watch your back if you want. Make sure none of those bozos are still hanging around.”
Starsky smiled gratefully and surprised Ken by saying as he headed off across the field, “Thanks, Hutch.”
Ken watched him go, wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into, playing bodyguard for a shrimp like that. And that bit about “Hutch”? Well, it was as good a name as any. Besides, it wasn't like it was a lifetime commitment or anything…
Half an hour later, Hutch lay on a battered mattress in the warehouse, smoking and thinking back over the day's events - especially meeting that kid, Starsky. He was not even aware that Starsky had had such an impact on him that he already thought of himself as “Hutch,” somehow now a part of something bigger he couldn't even begin to describe. It was quite a feeling for a lonely kid like him. He chuckled sarcastically at the thought and took another swallow of the beer he was drinking. He should know better. It didn't pay to get close to anyone.
He surveyed his shabby surroundings. He had carved out a place for himself in an old factory warehouse. Most of the windows were broken out and glass covered the cluttered and dusty concrete floors. He had to watch where he walked, but as a burglar alarm, the glass and debris worked great. Another advantage were the overhead pipes on which he both worked out and had used to “disappear” on more than one occasion.
His few possessions were stored in an orange crate up against the wall, and the beer he had bought lay in a blue cooler next to the orange crate. A couple of grey army blankets covered the mattress, and a lumpy pillow lay forlornly at its head. Hutch smiled grimly at the reason for the lumps – he had a delivery to make tonight, and the money - $18,000. and his .45 were under the pillow.
Hutch closed his eyes to get some sleep before he had to leave for the drop at midnight . As was his habit, he checked the .45 just before he drifted off. Carelessness in his line of work could get him killed. It could have been moments or hours later when Hutch's eyes flew open. Someone was inside the warehouse. He sprang to his feet like a cat, gun in hand, his sharp eyes searching the darkness as he crouched to retrieve the envelope of money, just in case.
He heard a slight movement behind him and whirled, bringing the gun to bear, stopping short only when he realized whom the intruder was. “Starsky, damnit! What the hell do you think you're doing? You almost got your head blown off!”
“Yeah, I noticed,” the other boy responded calmly, flashing a lopsided grin, seemingly unperturbed by Hutch's actions. “I came down to see if you were hungry. I brought a pizza.”
“You did WHAT?!”
“Pizza – you know – food.”
Hutch shook his head with a smile. He realized his first impression of this kid had been right – he was tough, and maybe just a little bit crazy…
An hour later, the pizza was demolished, and Starsky had left for home, leaving Hutch free to head out for the drop point across town. What he didn't know was that Starsky's curiosity was as intense as the blue of his eyes. He'd already realized the trouble his friend was in. After all, greeting people with a .45 and living in a warehouse were not exactly normal every day circumstances, were they?
January 16, 1963
Bay City , California
Hutch left the warehouse just after midnight , with the money hidden under his shirt and the gun tucked into the back waistband of his jeans. The drop was uneventful and Hutch made his way back towards the warehouse with his $400. pay in his pocket. A movement off to the side caught his eye and he realized he was being followed. Another quick glance told him who it was, and he decided he had to do something now, before the kid got himself killed.
Starsky, although he tried hard, was having trouble keeping track of Hutch. Suddenly, he disappeared into an old storefront complex and Starsky stopped, momentarily confused. Hutch chose that moment to tackle him from behind and pin him to the ground. Starsky fought wildly, but Hutch used his body weight to keep Starsky from hitting him.
“Starsk, what do you think you're doing now?” he grunted, forcing the smaller boy to stop struggling.
Starsky relaxed when he realized who it was that had tackled him, and yelped, “Let me up, damnit!”
Reluctantly, Hutch let him go, and told him, “Look, you've got to stop this. You're gonna get in way over your head, and you could really get hurt.”
Starsky lifted his chin in defiance and stated, “Me? What about you? I'm not the one running around playing ‘gofer with a gun' in the middle of the night. You're the one who should be worried.”
Hutch sighed. He should have known this wasn't going to be easy.
July 21, 1963
Bay City , California
The city lay under a blanket of sweltering, sticky misery. Fans were set up all over the Metro Division's Ninth Precinct Station in a vain attempt to cool things down. The slender man behind the desk regarded his two detectives for a long moment.
“So, just how do you propose getting to Antonelli? You want to lean on some of the kids he's got working for him? They might be able to give us something. I've been itching to get my hands on that scum for a long time now.”
“No more than we have, Cap'n” said the stouter of the two sergeants seated in front of the desk, his dark skin glistening with sweat. His partner, also black, but taller and slender, nodded his agreement.
The captain thought for a moment and finally said, “Why don't you pick up a couple of Antonelli's boys and shake them up some - see what turns loose. I'm getting sick of finding dead kids in alleys – kicked aside when Antonelli's through with them.”
As the two turned to leave, their captain cautioned them, “Oh, by the way, I want you two to play this thing by the book – you hear me? I want this guy nailed!”
Dobey and Jackson grinned and nodded as they headed for the door, fully intending to make their escape before Captain Mason built up too big a head of steam, as he tended to do.
August 22, 1963
Hutch once again lay on the beat-up mattress in the warehouse. This time, however, he was in far different condition than he had been seven months previously. His employers had in short order gotten him hooked on LSD by putting it in the drinks they bought him. Eventually, they quit buying it, and he was now paying for it himself – hence, turning most of his pay back over to his employers.
No one back in New Jersey would ever recognize him now. He had lost about twenty-five pounds. His clothes were sweat-stained and ragged, and his blond hair, now past his shoulder blades, was matted and dirty. A variety of cuts and bruises covered his body. He had not eaten for several days and was sporting another cigarette burn in his favorite shirt, a blue plaid long-sleeve flannel shirt that Starsky had given him.
He had not seen Starsky in quite a while. Dave had gone to visit his mother back east for the summer. At the moment Hutch didn't much care one way or the other, because he was completely spaced-out, hallucinating wildly. His whole world was awash in a blur of colors, sounds and textures such as he had never seen before. He liked life much better this way.
After a couple more hours of lying motionless on the mattress, Hutch began coming back down to reality. Shakily, he got to his feet and checked his pockets to see how much money he had left. He found a ten-dollar bill and some change – not nearly enough. He left the warehouse, desperately searching for a way to make another score.
Hutch approached his boss, who was only too happy to provide with what he needed…for a price. All Hutch had to do was to go and pick up some “merchandise” from his bosses' associates. As Hutch headed out to follow the instructions he had been given, he stumbled, his customary cat-like grace and razor-sharp reflexes having long ago deserted him.
In the office Hutch had just left, his boss spoke in low tones. “That boy is becoming a liability. What a shame…and I had such high hopes. He chuckled mirthlessly and spoke to the man seated silently in the corner. “Vinnie, get a couple of your boys and take care of him. He's worthless to me now.”
Vinnie nodded, smiling. He had never liked the big blond kid anyway. “My pleasure,
Mr. Antonelli.” He left the room, relishing the task before him.
August 23, 1963
Bay City , California
Starsky was glad to get back to his aunt's house. He loved his mother very much, but sometimes her fussing over him really got to him. The years following his father's murder when Starsky was nine had not been easy on either one of them. The separation from her when she sent him to California to live with her sister several years before was even more difficult.
For some reason, Hutch had been on his mind for the last couple of days. He had not looked too good the last time he had seen him several months ago. He decided he would go to the warehouse and look him up later. In the meantime, he had to deal with his aunt, who could be almost as bad as his mother about the fussing.
Hutch had no idea what time it was, or what day it was, for that matter, when he first woke up. He found himself in an alley behind a dumpster; and there was not a place on his body that was not screaming in agony. He groaned as memories of the torturous beating he had endured the night before came rushing back to him.
He had been on his way to meet with Mr. Antonelli's business associates when three men had jumped him in the alley. He fought back as best he could, but was in no shape to ward off the attack. Confusion set in when he realized that his assailants were Antonelli's men. They had been intent on making it last and making it hurt, and they were very good at it. The thing that had saved his life was the siren he had heard in the distance. Even though it passed by them, it had scared Antonelli's goons off. The last thing he remembered was when one of the men picked him up and threw him into the side of the dumpster, and he lost consciousness.
Now he dragged himself slowly and painfully back to the warehouse. He made it inside and upstairs. He crawled to a corner of the room, where everything caught up to him. He leaned over and retched, finally stopping only out of weakness. He made no attempt to reach the mattress. He turned painfully onto his side, and fell into an exhausted and fitful sleep, moaning occasionally as nightmares plagued him.
Several hours later, Starsky made his way into the warehouse, pizza in hand as usual. He dropped the carton when he spotted a trail of blood leading up the stairs, and he felt his own blood run cold. He raced up the stairs and found his friend huddled in the corner, lying in a pool of blood.
He could smell the stench of vomit, and was shocked at the condition Hutch was in. Dried blood and bruises covered his face and body, and Starsky was pretty sure he had a concussion and at least a few broken ribs. His breathing was ragged, and his face was terribly swollen. He also realized that Hutch was suffering from some sort of drug withdrawal.
He wasn't sure what to do, but he knew he had to get help right away, or his friend was not going to make it. The problem was, with what Hutch was into, where could he turn for help? As Starsky sat for a moment trying to figure out what to do, Hutch painfully opened his eyes with a groan. Starsky was loath to touch him, afraid of making it worse, but it seemed to be what Hutch needed. He pulled Hutch into his arms and held him close.
Hutch's eyes were so swollen and bruised that Starsky could barely see any blue as he looked into them. But what he did see there shook him to the very core of his soul. Tears began to roll down Hutch's face, and he muttered weakly, “Starsk…help.”
Those two words galvanized Starsky into action, and he stood, trying to pick Hutch up. Starsky had grown four inches over the summer, and put on some weight, but he was still no match for Hutch, even as thin as Hutch was. He half-dragged, half-carried Hutch to the mattress, wincing as his friend cried out in pain, and left the warehouse, still unsure exactly what to do.
Starsky ran down the stairs of the warehouse and outside, unaware of the fact that he was covered in Hutch's blood, and was a frightening sight himself. He had been on the streets enough that he could spot a plainclothes cop a mile away. Usually he split whenever he saw one, but this time he was immeasurably grateful. He ran up to the car and leaned in, startling the two detectives inside. Dobey and Jackson were up the stairs in moments.
August 30, 1963
Bay City , California
Hospitals made Hutch nervous just as a visitor, and drove him straight up a tree as a patient. He was so happy to be getting out that he could almost forget the fact that he was going to be going home with a cop, instead of back to the warehouse on his own. But going home with Dobey beat the hell out of jail time, and at least he liked Dobey's wife, a pretty, soft-spoken woman named Edith.
Hutch had been arrested, but had agreed to testify against Antonelli and his men, in exchange for police protection and a much lighter sentence than he would have received. He was to be put on probation, and due to the fact that he had only just turned 16 two days before he got out of the hospital, was released into Sgt. Dobey's custody. The Dobeys, who had no children of their own, had agreed to bring him into their home as a foster child until he turned eighteen.
Hutch's responsibility was to finish high school, stay off drugs and alcohol, and keep himself out of trouble. He also had to visit a probation officer once a month. When he had he fulfilled these conditions, on his eighteenth birthday his juvenile record would be permanently sealed.
Mrs. Dobey had firmly added another condition to the bargain – he had to quit smoking. Period.
March 15, 1978
Bay City , California
Hutch had finally confided in Sgt. Dobey as to his real identity, and Sgt. Dobey had agreed to do everything he could to keep anyone else from knowing about Hutch's past, and to help protect him to the best of his ability. Hutch's oldest cousin had died in a knife fight in jail in 1964, and his younger cousin had forcibly taken over the family a few years later. Hutch's father had stepped down, a bitter and broken man. He blamed his son for not being there to take over when it was time, for causing the power to be wrested away from him. Hutch had not seen him since that long ago time in New Jersey , before he had run away, and hoped like hell he would never see him again.
Hutch continued to hang around with Starsky for a while, but because they lived in different areas of the city and attended different high schools, they lost track of each other. Hutch never told Starsky anything about his past. He simply made up a cover story about Duluth and left it at that. If Starsky had doubts, he never voiced them.
Their paths crossed once again when they both joined the Bay City Police Force and met again at the academy. There they were inseparable and both graduated with honors. Fate seemed determined to bring the two together, and finally, after spending time separately on the force as uniformed officers, they became partners when Hutch made detective, shortly after Starsky had done the same.
Hutch sat back in the passenger seat of Starsky's godawful Striped Tomato and closed his eyes, remembering their first encounter all those years ago. He remembered the vow he had made back then to himself to always keep his partner safe no matter what, and to wrestle with whatever forces he had to; be it death, or disease, or the streets, in order to make sure nothing and no one ever hurt his friend or took him away from him. Time and again that vow had been tested.
It seemed Starsky was destined to taunt and cheat death over and over, with Hutch right there at his side. Hutch knew that Starsky had made the same vow and battled the same demons on his behalf. Starsky was not only the brother he had never had, but was so much more. They had been through so much, good and bad, and still had come shining through. Hutch knew, somehow, they always would.
He found himself thinking about something he had once read, “No greater love than this, that a man lay down his life for his friend.”
Hutch smiled gently…remembering. There were many times they had done just that. He would not hesitate to do it again, and neither would Starsky. “Me and thee…”
“Hey partner,” Starsky asked, “you okay? You look like you're a million miles away.”
“No, just a few miles, and about seventeen years, is all.”
“Wanna run that one by me again?”
Hutch smiled, “Not really. Just remembering when we were kids.”
Starsky grimaced. “Yeah, that was a long time ago. Listen, you wanna get a pizza? I'm starving!”
Hutch laughed. It was true – some things never did change. He glanced over at his best friend, and fervently prayed they never would.
THE END
“Appearances” ã Jaye McNevin. “Starsky & Hutch” and its characters ã Spelling Entertainment. All rights reserved. No infringement on any copyrights or trademarks is intended or should be inferred. This is a work of fiction, and any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.
