A STARSKY AND HUTCH REUNION – 2001
BY
(Based on characters created by Aaron Spelling & William Blinn)
David Soul as Detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson
(a.k.a. Ken or Hutch)
Paul Michael Glaser as Detective Sergeant David Starsky
(a.k.a. Dave, or Starsk)
Antonio Fargas as Huggy Bear
(a.k.a. Hug)
Bernie Hamilton as Captain Harold Dobey
(a.k.a. Captain or Cap)
ACT
ONE – SCENE ONE
Monday, October 16, 1979 – 3:47 p.m.
“Zebra Three. We have a robbery in progress. See the man at North Arden and Beverly.”
Detective Ken Hutchinson grabbed the radio hand piece and gave his affirmation to the police dispatcher. After replacing it, he rolled down his window and placed the cherry atop the roof of the car. It began to flash before it even reached its perch. He flipped the switch below the dashboard that set off the siren. Hutch must have done this ritual a thousand times in his career as a police detective. It was automatic. He then looked straight through the windshield towards his destination and tried to squint away the glare of late afternoon. He eventually gave up and slipped on his Ray-Bans. The breeze from the open window whipped his platinum hair wildly.
His partner Dave Starsky tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he picked up speed and checked his rear view mirror at the same time.
“That’s the fifth one in two days.” Starsky sighed.
“Well, you know what they say Starsk. No rest for the weary or the thieves.”
Starsky gave Hutch a droll look and then refocused on the road. It wasn’t just the perps that were becoming tiresome. Lately their partnership was growing weary. It had been three weeks of 24/7 and they were certainly in need of a break from one other.
“You know Starsk.” Hutch continued philosophically, “You should learn to lighten up a little – appreciate your surroundings – smile.” Hutch jabbed in response to his partner’s leer.
“You know Hutch.” The curly-haired cop snapped sarcastically. “I could do that if my surroundings were a little less full of you and your phony cheery attitude.”
“Zat so?”
“Yep.”
“What is your problem lately? What the hell is wrong with you?” Hutch flared exasperated.
“YOU!” Starsky blasted gripping the wheel even tighter. “You are what’s wrong with me!” As the argument escalated so did the speedometer.
“Slow down will you. You’re gonna kill somebody for Christ’s sake!”
“Ah sit on it and spin.” Starsky snarled.
“Bitch, bitch, bitch.” Hutch muttered.
He sniffed impatiently, rolled his eyes and turned to look out the side window. Anything to avoid eye contact with his other half.
“What’sat?” Starsky inquired as he tweaked his ear towards Hutch without taking his eyes off the road – his eyebrows arched in anticipation of his partner’s retort.
“I’m getting really tired of your whining.” Hutch continued.
“MY whining!”
“Yeah! Your whining….. there he is.” Hutch digressed as he pointed to a man waving at them frantically on the sidewalk ahead.
Starsky slammed on the brakes of his gleaming red Torino and brought it to a screeching halt, ending the wail of the siren. He proceeded to exit the vehicle before it came to a complete stop. He glared over at his counterpart as he passed in front of the car. Hutch was still sitting in the passenger seat. He flung his sunglasses onto the dashboard and slowly opened his door and stepped onto the curb ignoring Starsky’s dramatics.
“Asshole.” Hutch whispered under his breath.
They approached the storekeeper who started babbling before they even reached him.
“Okay… okay. Calm down. What happened?” The blond detective asked, holding out his hands and pushing his palms towards the ground trying to compose the man.
By this time a crowd had gathered. Starsky stood quietly scanning the neighbourhood seemingly uninterested in the man’s story.
“They cleaned my out!” The merchant whimpered. “It’s all gone. All of it!”
“Alright. Did you see who they were or where they went?”
“There were two.”
“White? Black? Tall? Short?” Hutch continued impatiently.
He was getting tired of asking the same questions over and over. And he was also getting tired of doing the questioning. It seemed all so mundane and he wondered why Starsky never took the reins.
“Two white guys. One had red hair with a navy blue jacket and black pants and the other one had blond hair with a black leather jacket and jeans.”
“Huh.” Starsky sniffed in Hutch’s direction. “Looks like your unimaginative outfit.”
“What?”
“Nothin. Nothin.” Starsky muttered as he continued to peruse the block.
“Let’s just get these guys and go home alright?”
“Fine with me.”
“Okay. Which way?” Hutch looked for directions from the storekeeper.
“I think they split up. One went straight up that alley over there and the other one up that street. And, hurry up will you – they’re going to get away God damn it!”
“Street or alley?” Hutch asked Starsky politely.
“Street.” Came his casual reply.
Well, at least they could agree on something, Hutch pondered as he dodged a shit-brown Ford Fairlane while crossing the road to the opening of the alleyway. He glanced over at Starsky who had just reached the corner. The crowd that gathered watched the two detectives and their pursuit as if it were entertainment.
Hutch drew his .357 magnum from its holster as he went. He had hit full stride by this point. He was light-footed and moved gracefully. The high school track and field training showed.
He ran up the driveway and threw himself against the corner of the building where another alley crossed it about 100 yards up. He quickly peered around its edge being cautious of what may be ahead. There was nothing. He slowly moved into the second driveway and stalked it catlike. He hid behind a dumpster for his next choice of cover.
Starsky sped up the street with his blue and white Adidas SL 72’s hitting the sidewalk like wet pancakes. His characteristic flutter stride was extremely efficient. His feet moved so quickly, they were a blur. He stopped at the opening of the second alley where it met the street. He too, hugged the corner of the building and took a peek around its edge. Nothing. He pulled his gun and held it upright with both hands. The barrel of it brushed his temple.
As he rolled into the dark driveway he saw it. First the glint of light off the gun and then the black jacket and jeans stepping out from behind the garbage bin. Starsky squared himself and fired two quick shots. He gave no warning.
Hutch was unconscious before he hit the pavement. His gun flew out of his hand and hit the opposite wall of the alleyway. The clatter sound echoed down the narrow drive into Starsky’s disbelieving ears. Hutch’s cheekbone bounced off the asphalt and his body settled into a crumpled heap. His right arm sprawled unnaturally behind him and his left hand lay palm up below his chin. Blood began to flow from his torso. The alley fell silent. The scene started to spin and the temperature rose. It seemed like the walls of the alley were closing in on the two men.
Upon hearing the shots, a new crowd had formed. Starsky looked at his left hand. It held the smoking gun. It was as if the steel of the gun had turned to sludge. It seemed to ooze through his fingers and drip to the ground.
“Hutch?” He said quietly.
As Starsky pushed himself into a panicked run towards his partner, he called out his name again. When he reached the fallen detective, he knelt down beside him. The knees of Starsky’s jeans soaked up the blood. He could feel the warmth of it. He carefully turned Hutch over and placed his head on his thigh for support.
“Hutch?” He whispered. “I’m sorry… I didn’t … Oh God.”
He put his ear to Hutch’s chest to see if he was breathing. Then he placed his hand over the two bullet holes in Hutch’s abdomen. The pressure forced blood from the cop’s mouth.
“Oh my God. Hutch. Don’t die. Oh God, please don’t die.”
Starsky could feel his heart leap and pound against the lining of his jacket. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and forehead and it trickling down to his brow and into the corner of his eyes. The salty liquid stung.
“SOMEBODY CALL AN AMBULANCE!” He shouted at the spectators.
Hutch was limp in Starsky’s arms.
“Oh God. Oh God…. Hutch.” Was all Starsky could say as he rocked his partner like a baby.
He stretched Hutch out so he could keep better pressure on the wounds. There was so much blood. It oozed between Starsky’s fingers. He checked Hutch’s neck for a pulse again but now could not find one. Panic set in. Again he listened for a heartbeat. There was none.
Starsky immediately centered himself over his partner and began CPR. He blew puffs of air into Hutch’s mouth spraying blood onto his white T-shirt. Then he pumped his chest violently – his sticky red stained fingers interlocked. The crowd watched. Hutch was motionless and his face was the colour of putty. His mouth open, he instinctively gasped for what breath he could. Starsky could hear sirens in the distance. The atmosphere was surreal.
“Oh thank God. They’re coming. Come on Hutch. Come on buddy – hang in there. Don’t die… please don’t die on me.”
He continued his first aid. As he pumped, more blood spurted from Hutch’s flesh. It rivered onto the cement and seeped into Starsky’s shoes. Then he felt a tap on his shoulder.
“Step aside mister.” Came the strange voice.
Two paramedics pulled the dark haired detective away.
“He’s not breathing.” Starsky said panting from his vigorous attempt at resuscitation, his lips rimmed with a coating of Hutch’s regurgitated blood.
The attendant placed his stethoscope on Hutch’s chest.
“If he wasn’t before he is now.” The paramedic assured as he glanced up at Starsky. “It’s OK. We’ll take care of him from here. You did real good mister. Real good.”
“He’s my partner.” Starsky explained as he pulled out his ID. “I shot him.” He confessed.
“Oh geez.” The paramedic winced.
“Oh my God. I shot my partner.” Starsky repeated as if trying to convince himself.
One of the ambulance attendants handed him a towel to wipe his mouth and then tried to console Starsky, but he pulled himself away from the milieu. He moved backwards, still focused on Hutch, until his back hit the far wall of the alley. The area was still spinning and hot as Hates. He leaned against the dirty, red brick and slide down into a crouched position. He buried his face in his blood soaked hands and shook his head in disbelief. When he looked up, Hutch was tightly wrapped on a stretcher and being wheeled to the waiting ambulance – its open back doors ready to swallow him.
With all the mental and physical strength he could muster, Starsky pulled himself out of his personal hell and jogged to the emergency vehicle. He climbed in beside the gurney and helped with all the medical paraphernalia that was now attached to Hutch. With the red flashing lights reflecting off the alley walls like fireworks, the ambulance moved out of the dark driveway and into the early evening sunlight. When it did, the siren sounded. The crowd began to disperse.
ACT ONE – SCENE TWO
Monday, October 16, 1979 – 8:16 p.m.
“How is he?” A burley black man inquired.
He’d barreled down the hallway of the emergency department like a bull elephant. Starsky called Captain Dobey to tell him what had happened but the details were sketchy as the detective talked in incomprehensible fragments. He spotted his detective sitting in the corner of a chartreuse vinyl couch. It was one of six or seven that were scattered around the hospital waiting room.
Starsky sat upright and stared into space. He was still covered in Hutch’s blood. His breathing was short and extremely slow and exhaustion was etched on his face. People peered at him over the tops of their magazines. Starsky was like a car accident, they didn’t want to look at him but they just had to.
“How is he?” Dobey tried again.
But the cop seemed to be in a self induced spell. There was no answer. The captain took a seat next to him and turned slightly to try and get some sort of response.
“Starsky? Where’s Hutch? What happened?” Dobey questioned.
There was still no response.
“Excuse me Sir?” A small voice interrupted the captain’s one way conversation. He looked up at a tiny nurse who seemed fearful of Starsky. She made sure she stayed clear of him.
“Yes Miss?”
“May I speak with you for a moment?”
“Certainly.”
The nurse and Dobey moved over to the front desk where an amiable discussion took place. Dobey nodded and glanced over at the detective several times. Then he walked back to the couch and took his place again.
“Listen Dave. I want you to go and get cleaned up OK? I want you to do it now!”
Starsky slowly turned his attention from the linoleum to the palms of his hands and then back to the floor again. Captain Dobey placed his enormous paw on the sleeve of Starsky’s worn leather jacket, hoping to coax him to the men’s room. But the detective pulled away violently and sprang to his feet. The other people in the waiting room again peered over the tops of their magazines like a “Kilroy Was Here” sign. Starsky glared at his captain who seemed embarrassed by the detective’s sudden bolt.
“Come on Dave.” Dobey pleaded as he glanced around the crowded room uncomfortably.
“I shot him captain. I shot Hutch.” Starsky declared.
The large black man stood and approached the officer cautiously then steered him back to the couch. They retook their places.
“Listen Dave. Get a hold of yourself and get cleaned up. That’s an order. Do you understand?”
The captain’s eyes burned into the side of Starsky’s face. He knew Starsky was fragile but he also knew that a man sitting in a hospital waiting room covered in blood was unacceptable.
Without a sound Starsky submitted and slowly rose from the sofa and shuffled towards the washroom. Several nurses and orderlies watched in relief as their previous requests had been ignored.
The small room off to the side of the main waiting room looked like it had previously been a broom closet. It had a very small industrial toilet and a sink so small you could barely get both hands into it. The walls were painted hospital green but there was a cheery reproduction of the Blue Boy on one wall and on the other a poster that warned of the dangers of smoking marijuana.
Starsky began to wash. He pooled cold water in his cupped hands then pushed his face into them subliminally trying to rub away his anguish. When he finished, he leaned against the edge of the sink with one hand and pinched the top of his nose with the thumb and forefinger with the other in concern. He caught his reflection in the tiny mirror but he could not look himself in the eye.
Several moments later the dark haired cop emerged from the lavatory. He had removed his leather jacket, which revealed an empty holster. The knees of his jeans were black and several other patches spotted his clothing. His T-shirt looked like it had been spattered with black paint with a toothbrush. Some colour had returned to his face. The cold water helped. The events of that morning haunted him. He seemed in a trance. Starsky returned to his corner in silence.
“Where’s your gun?” Dobey asked.
“Huh?”
“Your gun Starsky – where is it? And where is Hutch’s for that matter?”
David casually peered under his arm and the gunless holster.
“I guess it’s still in the alley.”
“What?”
“I remember dropping it when…” Starsky could not continue.
“And Hutch’s?”
“It must be there too.”
The captain clumsily got to his feet and lumbered to the front desk to use the phone. He ordered a black and white to search the area for the weapons. When he hung up he returned to Starsky’s side.
“We had an argument.” The detective began without provocation.
“What do you mean? You two argue all the time.”
“I said some nasty things to him captain. Real bad things.”
“Dave.” Dobey comforted.
“We were just getting on each others nerves you know. I told him that I didn’t want him around me anymore… thing is, I meant it at the time and now…”
Captain Dobey sat on the edge of the couch with his forearms resting on his thick knees. His fingers were laced together tighter than stitching in a baseball. He continued to listen to Starsky’s confession as if he were a priest listening to a parishioner.
“What if he dies captain?”
“He’s not going to die. You know Hutch. He’s tough… he’ll pull through just fine.”
“But what if he doesn’t? He’s hurt real bad captain. Real bad.”
The two men’s eyes met. Starsky’s face winced and finally the tears began to flow. Dobey didn’t know what to do so he just placed his hand on the detective’s shoulder sympathetically.
ACT ONE – SCENE THREE
Tuesday, October 17th, 1979 – 4.53 a.m.
“Are you Detective Starsky?”
“Yeah.” The cop answered with trepidation.
“Your partner is out of surgery now.”
“And… how is he?”
“Are their any members of his family present?”
“I’m his family.”
“I see. Well, come down to my office and I will explain.” The doctor moved aside and held out her arm giving direction. She was still dressed in her surgical scrubs.
Dave Starsky moved with her down the hall. Dobey was asleep on the couch. The waiting room held very few people now. It was quiet. The detective probed questions along the way but she would not answer them until she reached the privacy of her office.
She closed the door behind her and asked Starsky to take a seat.
“I prefer to stand. I’ve been sitting out there for hours. What’s going on?”
“Sergeant Hutchison is a very sick man.”
Starsky stared at the physician and blinked his eyes with guilt. He stayed silent to allow the doctor to continue. Now he was afraid to ask any more questions.
“He has lost a tremendous amount of blood you see.” Her East Indian accent was sweet and smooth. “The bullets ruptured his spleen. It was too damaged to repair so we removed it. It also creased his liver.” She continued as she watched Starsky sink into a sitting position in the chair across from her desk.
“We have stopped the bleeding and retrieved both bullets.” She explained. “We have repaired the internal wounds. Hopefully we won’t encounter any problems.”
“Problems?”
“Infection is the enemy now.”
“Can I see him?” Starsky asked quietly after a short pause.
“Yes. When he is out of recovery and into I.C.U.”
“I.C.U.?”
“Intensive Care.”
“ Oh yeah… okay.” Starsky whispered falling into a daze once again. “Thank you.”
“I’ll have a nurse take you to see your partner when he is settled.”
ACT ONE – SCENE FOUR
Tuesday, October 17th, 1979 – 7:13 a.m.
Starsky peered into the sun lit room and was hit by the odor of disinfectant. The half-drawn curtain blocked Starsky’s view of his partner and he was reluctant to enter. He was afraid to see what he had done. But, he took a short step forward and approached Hutch timidly. The room was semi-private but there was no one in the second bed. Hutch seemed laid out like a corpse in the bed next to the window.
The ticking and hissing of the ventilator took Starsky off guard and when he finally got the courage to look at Hutch he felt like he’d been kicked in the gut with a frozen boot. What had he done? Why did he shoot without any warning? What was he thinking? Starsky’s head swam with questions and self-doubt. How could this have happened?
He sat on the hard chair next to Hutch and stared stupefied at all the tubes and probes that were attached to him. Hutch’s head was tilted back slightly because of the breathing tube which was taped to his upper lip and nose.
His usually neat and squeaky-clean hair was tangled and smelled of antiseptic. His arms were full of needle holes and bruised from the punctures. It seemed as if every orifice was filled with plastic tubing.
Starsky took Hutch’s hand and was shocked at how cold it was. He pulled the blankets up to cover Hutch’s chest and then resumed his seat for a long vigil.
“I’m sorry Hutch… I’m so sorry.”
The breathing machine plodded on like a metronome and it eventually lulled Starsky to sleep.
ACT
TWO – SCENE ONE
Friday,
February 16th, 2001 – 7:23 p.m.
(THE LOS ANGELES HILTON HOTEL)
The ballroom glittered. Men uncomfortably mingled in rented tuxedos and the woman flirted shamelessly. They were in either the classic black dress or full length gowns that dripped of sparkling beads and sequins. Nothing in between.
There was a crystal ball that hung over the crowd in the center of the space that added glitz. The band was in full swing and played a silky rendition of “The Shadow of Your Smile”. A small section of the floor was roped off for dancing and it was filled with couples who leaned on each – cheek to cheek. The rest of the room held round tables and chairs that waited for the evening meal. No one was sitting, but rather clinked glasses and stood around talking and laughing and eating hors d’oeuvres that wondering waiters offered.
On the stage was a podium and four empty chairs. Above the hardwood a banner dangled which read “Happy Retirement – From the Bay City Police Department.” It was the first thing Starsky noticed when he walked through the doors to the gala.
He too, was in a monkey suit. He spied the room for his fellow cops and joined in on several conversations on his way up to congratulate Captain Dobey on his retirement. He hadn’t seen Dobey in quite sometime and was anxious to greet him. He fumbled through the crowd smiling and nodding at the people he recognized. Then finally, he spotted the large man and made a beeline for him.
“Captain!”
“Starsky!”
“How are you Cap?” Starsky grinned as he embraced Dobey and then leaned over to kiss his wife Edith.
“I’m fine, just great!”
“Good, good. You haven’t changed a bit. Not a bit. Great to see you Cap!”
A short uncomfortable pause wafted between them as the obvious question lingered. Starsky glanced around the room as if looking for someone.
“He never replied to the invitation Dave.”
Starsky immediately stopped the search and sighed semi-relieved. At that point the lights flickered on and then off and on again. The crowd was asked to take their seats for dinner and they slowly responded leaving their conversations for later.
Captain Dobey steered his wife toward one of the tables at the front of the room and asked Starsky to join them. He obliged. They took their seats and the table of ten introduced themselves around and the group talked casually over salad and rolls and waited for the main course. Starsky couldn’t help but watch the door in hopes that Hutch would appear. It preoccupied him and Dobey couldn’t help but notice.
After dessert and as coffee was being poured, the ladies excused themselves to freshen up before the speeches and honours. Captain Dobey took the opportunity to move next to Starsky and begin the friendly interrogation.
“So, how have you been?”
“Just great.”
“Thanks for coming up for this. It means a lot to me. Things okay in San Diego?”
“Yup.”
“Starsky?”
“Yes Captain?”
“What happened?”
“Happened? What do you mean?”
“Where’s Hutch?”
“Hutch?”
“Dave.” Dobey seared a look into his former detective’s face.
“It’s a long story Cap.” Starsky tried to discourage the conversation.
“We’ve got time. Last thing I heard, Hutch quit the force shortly after he came back from short term disability and then you transferred to the San Diego PD.”
“Yeah.”
“And…” The Captain encouraged.
“We worked a bit with Captain Mitchell, but it didn’t work anymore. Hutch and me… we just… I don’t know. I was really hopin’ he would be here tonight.”
“Nope. He never replied sorry to say.”
“Well, I’ve been on the SD force for almost 19 years now – with the same partner for 14.”
“Good man?”
“Yeah. We get along okay.”
“But…”
“It’s never been the same. Hutch was my soul mate you know. I was closer to him than …” Starsky could not finish. The guilt still showed.
“I know.”
The two men looked over the room again and sipped their coffees and poked at their blueberry cheesecake.
“So, you haven’t talked to him?” Dobey asked.
“We kinda lost touch… after the… well, you know.”
“That’s too bad. I was hoping…”
“Hoping?”
“Hoping that I could get you two back together on a case.”
“You’re retiring Cap, what are you worrying about a case for.”
“It’s the Riche Case.”
“Riche? Haven’t heard that name since me and Hutch busted him back in the 70’s.”
“He’s been released.”
“Oh really?”
“I’ve handed it over to your old pal Mitchell and he’s asked me to ask you.”
“Ask me what Cap?”
“If you two could take it over.”
“Riche hasn’t done anything has he?”
“There’s been several murders in Brentwood matching his M.O. You and Hutch were the only cops that could catch him and make it stick.”
“Yeah, but captain. I’m five years from retirement myself. I haven’t even talked to Hutch in almost eighteen years now. I don’t even know where he is.” Starsky claimed.
“Well, I had to ask. Mitchell really wants you guys. He thinks it’s the only way to get Riche off the streets for good.”
The ladies returned to the table looking touched up and ravishing and the men stood for them and held their chairs.
“Give it some thought. Will you Dave?”
Starsky avoided eye contact.
“I’ll be in my office cleaning out Thursday and Friday… if you’re interested… and Starsky?”
“Yeah?”
“Settle this thing with Hutch. Life’s too short… you know?”
“To tell you the truth Captain. I’m ready for it, I’m just not sure he is.”
In 1981, while responding to a routine robbery call, the tragedy occurred. The partner’s separated to chase down two armed thieves and ended up at opposite ends of an alley. The victim described the criminals – one being tall, blonde and dressed similarly to Hutch. When Hutch suddenly appeared from behind a dumpster, gun first, Starsky fired two shoots without warning. His partner was critically wounded.
Previously, the men had argued. They’d been working non stop for weeks and needed time away from each other. The exchange got personal and nasty. Things were said that were hard to take back.
He’d seen Hutch through his recuperation but Starsky’s guilt could not be quelled. He transferred to the San Diego Police Department in 1981 just after Hutch was able to go back to work. Unable to face him, Starsky left only a brief note saying good-bye. Yet, another reason for guilt.
Hutch continued on without Starsky, but recurring health problem’s stemming for the shooting put him on Long Term Disability. The abandonment of his partner more than the wounds he’d inflicted. When the doctor’s refused to give Hutch anymore pain medication after years of abuse, he had no choice but to turn to alcohol. It helped by dulling him just enough to make life livable but simply fueled his bitterness and depression. Hutch never married, but did develop a successful Private Investigation business despite his personal problems the abandonment of his best friend. The work helped fill his days, but mostly his nights.
The reprehension of accidentally shooting his partner years before was like a black shroud that veiled Starsky’s entire being. It was strangling him. It had changed him and it changed Hutch too. But, maybe the Riche case was what they needed to mend fences. Maybe, he could get Hutch to finally absolve him. The last two decades had slipped by so fast – enough was enough. It was time for atonement.
The speeches began and the four honorees received their gold watches for their years of service to the BCPD. Applause rang through the hall, but all Starsky could think about was Hutch and how he was going to find him.
ACT
TWO – SCENE TWO
Sunday, February 18th, 2001 – 11:43 p.m. (NO-NAME BAR – HOLLYWOOD BLVD)
“I think you’ve had enough mister.”
Hutch leaned over the bar and grabbed the bartender by the vest and squeezed.
“I haven’t even started yet.” He whispered.
“Okay, okay. No need to get sore.”
The proprietor poured Hutch the vodka he’d asked for and as he tried to put the bottle away, Hutch snatched it and slammed it on the bar top.
“I’ll take that.” He declared softly but with definite conviction. He downed the drink and then crunched the ice that followed.
He rose from his barstool to find a table and stumbled as he moved across the tiny dance floor of the tavern. A hooker and her john leaned against each other and swayed to Patsy Cline’s “Crying”. The rest of the pub held a smattering of patrons who were obviously regulars. They simply minded their own business and focused on the alcohol that kept them company.
When Hutch finally found his new resting-place he fell into the chair which almost sent him overboard. When he tipped he got his balance by placing his fingertips on the floor which was covered with peanut shells. To say that this place was a dive was an understatement. He continued with his party of one.
By this time, the bartender had summoned the bouncer and told him to remove the blonde-haired stranger and as the hulking man approached him, Hutch clenched his fist with anticipation.
“Excuse me sir?”
“Yeah?”
“I think you should leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere asshole.” Hutch said as he gulped a mouth full of vodka.
“We can make this easy or difficult. It’s up to you.” The bouncer stood over Hutch ready and waiting for whatever he decided.
“Like I said, I’m not finished yet.” Hutch glanced up.
“And I say you are.”
There was a momentary pause and the patron’s attention was tweaked as they too waited for Hutch’s reaction. There was a calm before the storm. Then, with a swift elbow to the bouncer’s groin, Hutch was on his feet and throwing a two fisted blow to the back of the man’s neck. He recovered quickly and was joined by his friends and by then Hutch had no chance. Before long they had him in the back alley and up against the wall. The blows came fast and furious. The scene was a blur and Hutch found himself laughing – as if taunting his adversaries. There was no pain. That would come later. When they felt they had made their point, they threw Hutch into a pile of garbage where he laid and continued to chuckle.
“Thanks for all your help in there Starsk.” He muttered deliriously. “I really appreciate it old buddy.”
ACT
TWO – SCENE THREE
Monday, February 19th, 2001 – 1:13 p.m. (BOWL OF CHERRIES BAR & GRILL)
“Hey Hug.”
“Well, well… if it isn’t my old friend Starsky. Back from San Diego.”
Huggy Bear sauntered out from behind the bar. He was as hip as ever and even though he was incredibly lanky twenty years ago, Starsky was surprised to see that his old informant-slash-friend had lost weight. He was dressed in a khaki-coloured linen short sleeved shirt and slacks a shade darker. He wore a black baseball cap backwards that bore an Andre Agassi logo. His shoes were black patent leather with a wide toe and heavy sole – no socks. The two men embraced.
“Man. It’s been a long time.” Huggy claimed stepping back to check out his old comrade.
Starsky still donned his worn leather jacket over a T-shirt and jeans. Only now the jeans were from the GAP, the jacket from SAK’s Fifth Avenue, and the T-shirt from Armani. Instead of the classic Adidas SL-72’s, he wore a pair of fairly new Vans.
“Yes it has.” Starsky said.
“You haven’t changed a bit, man. How the hell are you?”
“Little grayer, you know.”
“How’s Rachel?”
“She’s good but we’re not.”
“Oh no. Don’t tell me.”
“Life of a cop Hug. Takes its toll on a marriage.”
“Too bad. Really sorry to hear that Starsky.”
“It’s okay. It’s been awhile.”
Huggy aimed the detective to a table and asked one of his waitresses to bring them some beer. Starsky looked around the place nodding approvingly.
“Dis in nice Hug. Glad to see you doing so well.”
“Thanks. We just finished it.”
“Well it looks great… just great.” Starsky smiled and took a sip of his beer.
“So… ummm… where is Mr. America?” Huggy posed the inevitable question.
“I was hoping you knew.”
“That bad huh. You two still on the outs?”
“He never forgave me man.” Starsky confided as he wiped beer foam from his lips. “It’s been 20 years and he’s never forgiven me.” He thought a moment then chortled. “You always hurt the ones you love.”
“No shit?”
“Lots of shit actually.”
“Have you forgiven yourself?” Huggy begged the question catching Starsky off guard.
“What do you mean… no, you’re right I guess I haven’t. I guess I can’t until he does.”
“I don’t think Hutch is mad at you or hates you. I think he’s just… disappointed.”
“You think I let him down?”
“Well, I remember you being pretty hard on yourself over the shooting and I think Hutch found it hard dealing with that. Maybe he separated himself from you so you could have some time on your own without him around as a consent reminder of what happened. Next thing you know, time passes and twenty years is gone. It happens.”
“Interesting theory… Dr. Bear.”
“Splitting like you did, didn’t help either. It really hurt him.”
“I know.”
“Sorry Starsky. I haven’t seen Hutch in what… eight, nine years now.” Huggy leaned back to give it more thought. “He came in here a bunch of times after he left the force. Then one day he was gone. I tried to call him lots of times, but he never got back to me. I figure he’d call me when he was ready. Never was I guess.”
“Huh.” Starsky sniffed.
“Why you look’in for him now? What’s up?”
“Couple things.”
“Yeah… like?”
“Well, first, I just gotta settle this thing between us. Him bitter – me guilty. I miss the hell out of the guy. I really needed him when Rach left. It would have been so much easier if Hutch had been there you know.”
“I hear you.”
The two men’s conversation dangled. They both shook their heads.
“Went to Captain Dobey’s retirement party last week.” Starsky brightly changed the subject.
“No kidding. Finally hangin’ them up huh?”
“Yup.” Starsky took another sip. “Way over due. Says John Riche is out. Thinks he’s been behind the recent murders. Wants me and Hutch to investigate.”
“Hmmm.”
“Got any idea where Hutch is. Got a number at least?”
“I know he bought a condo closer to the beach a couple years ago. I’ve got the number and address, but I’m not sure if he’s still there.”
“I’ll give it a try. It’s a place to start at least.”
“You can use the phone at the bar as always.”
“It’s okay, I’ve got my cell with me.”
“A man of the ohoh’s huh.”
“Gotta love this electronic age.” Starsky winked sarcastically.
Starsky downed the rest of his beer and stared at the phone, trying to rummage up the courage to call his former partner. Huggy noticed his friend’s hesitation.
“What have you got to lose?” He asked with raised eyebrows.
“Nothin’ Hug. Not a thing.” Starsky began to dial.
“You have reached Hutchinson Investigations. Please leave a message.”
Hutchinson Investigations? Starsky raised his eyebrows and glanced over at Huggy who returned the look with curiosity. He tapped the phone on his forehead. He had trouble finding the words.
“Hutch? Yeah… ummm… it’s me Starsky. I’m in town and I want to talk to you – I need to talk to you.” He paused momentarily. “So, I’m… well, I’m coming over.” Starsky peered at his watch. “It’s almost 2 o’clock on Monday. So, I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”
“He’s still there.” The detective announced after he hung up. “No answer so I’m going over there. His machine says Hutchinson Investigations. Did you know about that?”
“Nah. That’s news to me.”
“Okay.”
“If you need me, you know where I am.” Huggy reassured Starsky.
“Thanks Hug. I’ll be back for a burger later.”
“I’ll be waiting, and… bring Hutch with you.”
“I’ll try Hug. I’ll try.”
Starsky semi-saluted his friend and made his way up the stairs and out of the establishment. As he reached the pavement he realized how lucky he was to find Hutch so easily. But he had a knot in his stomach that felt like a giant sponge soaked with gasoline. He stopped on the L.A. street and scrounged around for his keys.
The candy apple red Ford Grand Tornio he and Hutch screamed around the city in 20 years ago was now scrap metal. Starsky’s new vehicle reflected his new, more mature image – a Redfire Metallic Grand Prix GTP coupe with custom alloy wheels, camel-coloured leather seats, and 240 horses under the hood.
ACT
TWO – SCENE FOUR
Monday, February 19th, 2001 – 2:46 p.m. (HUTCHINSON RESIDENCE – VENICE BEACH)
When he pulled up in front of Hutch’s apartment building, Starsky couldn’t help notice a lime green early 80’s Lincoln Crown Victoria. It was bashed in on one side and the left headlight was missing. It was scratched and had a smattering of dents and dings. The car had Hutch written all over it.
“Some things never change.” Starsky chuckled to himself as he made his way through the front door and up to Hutch’s place.
When he got to the top of the stairs he timidly knocked. His stomach tumbled with anxiety as he tried to prepare for what was behind the door. There was no answer. He tried again with a little more force.
“Hutch?” He called. “Hutch you in there? It’s me, Starsky.”
Still nothing. He reached for the top of the doorframe to feel around and see if Hutch still had an extra key hidden there. If he wasn’t home he would wait.
“Bingo.” Starsky muttered as he slipped the key in the lock and peeked into the living room.
The odor of stale beer hit him like a soggy towel. Bottles were scattered about the apartment. The floor was littered with dirty laundry, old pizza boxes and unopened mail. The answering machine blinked with unattended calls.
“Did I miss the party?” He asked himself. “Hutch?”
He meandered through the condo admiring it and its view. The ocean was so blue it looked surreal. He walked down the hallway and stumbled across the bedroom. He glanced through the half open door where he finally found Hutch. He was sprawled on the bed on his back like he’d fallen asleep in the middle of making a snow angel. All he wore was a pair of semi-white shorts. He seemed passed out rather than asleep. Starsky noticed his bloody knuckles first and then his battered face.
“What the…?” He said puzzled.
He stood over his former partner debating whether or not he should wake him. Starsky felt Hutch’s forehead checking for heat – cool as a cucumber. He cleaned up some of the scrapes and cuts with a damp clothe. Hutch never budged.
“What have you gotten yourself into buddy?”
He took a seat and picked up a magazine and felt as if he were in a dentist’s waiting room. He’d wait for Hutch to come around. His mind spun with questions as he stared over at him. He’d gained a little weight but overall still looked in good shape. The six-pack was gone, but Hutch was closing in on sixty so that wasn’t a surprise. There was a little less hair on top, but it was still as platinum as ever and neatly cropped. Then there were the scars. First, the two perfectly round bullet holes in Hutch’s abdomen that Starsky had inflicted 20 years ago and several other surgical track marks.
Starsky put the magazine down and scanned the place again. He got up and started to tidy up. This would take some time.
ACT
TWO – SCENE FIVE
Monday, February 19th, 2001 – 6:04 p.m. (HUTCH’S CONDO)
The clattering of dishes woke him. Hutch raised his head from the pillow and tried to see where the racket was coming from. He gave up as the pain kicked in. He squeezed his eyes closed and massaged his forehead then opened his baby blues and tried to focus. He let his head fall back again. Rolling out of bed and landing one knee on the floor, he pushed himself into a semi-standing position. He gently probed the bruises on his face and winced. He flexed his hand to make sure it was still working, then shuffled into the living room.
Hutch expected to find his cleaning lady Rosa and was astonished to see the back of his curly-haired former partner hunched over the kitchen sink with his hands in the suds.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Starsky stopped mid dish and froze. He felt like a kid who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He pasted on a smile before he turned to face Hutch.
“I guess you didn’t get my message.”
“Message? What message?” Hutch seemed stunned.
“I called earlier from Huggy’s.”
“Oh… no… I got in late last night…. why the hell am I explaining to you?” Hutch blasted himself for making excuses. “Where did you come from… what are you doing here Starsky?”
“Well… I’m here to apologize Hutch. I’m here to make amends.” The detective explained sheepishly as he watched Hutch shake his head, turn and walk into the bathroom. Suddenly, Starsky felt self-conscious. Isolated. He placed the tea towel on the counter and sat at the kitchen table and waited. He could hear the shower and the toilet flushing and the tap in the bathroom sink all running at once. Several minutes passed before Hutch finally rejoined him. Wearing a fresh pair of semi-white shorts he paced across the room rubbing his hair dry with a towel. He took a seat on the other side of the table then looked Starsky in the eye.
“Well, go ahead.” Hutch sniffed. ”Apologize.”
Starsky leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table and laced his fingers. He paused briefly for effect before he began. He had one shot at this and he wasn’t about to blow it.
“Hutch.” He said squarely. “I’m sorry. All these years I’ve beaten myself up over what I did to you and now all I want is your forgiveness. Can you do that? Can you forgive me?” He pleaded. “I was careless. I lost my concentration… I blew it and I am so, so sorry that I caused you this much pain.”
There was an uncomfortable moment-of-silence, as Hutch seemed to mull it over.
“I miss you… damn it Hutch, I need you. I’ve been lost for twenty fucking years man. Please forgive me. Please.” Starsky beseeched.
He waited anxiously for a response. Hutch took a deep breath and stared at his hands. He leaned back in his chair, stuck out his lower lip and pondered. He seemed skeptical.
“Hutch?” Starsky demanded an answer.
“I forgive you.” Came Hutch’s calm reply.
“Oh thank God.” The detective sighed in relief. “You had me going there. Make me work for it why don’t you?”
“Starsky?”
“Yeah?”
“What took you so long?”
ACT
THREE – SCENE ONE
Monday, February 19th, 2001 – 8:12 p.m. (BOWL OF CHERRIES BAR & GRILL)
“Well… look who’s here.” Huggy gushed as Starsky and Hutch entered his brand new tavern.
“Hey Hug.” Hutch greeted him shyly.
He held out his palm to shake his friend’s hand and was pulled into an embrace instead. Hutch’s gentle, charming smile was still as fresh and friendly as ever. The platinum blonde hair was as fair as it had always been but his frame was a little heavier. His age was starting to show, but all in all, Huggy saw the same man he knew twenty years ago. He noticed Hutch’s facial bruises but decided to ignore them.
“Have a seat gentlemen. Anything you guys want this evening is on the house.”
“Burger for me Hug, heap of fries and a side of slaw.” Starsky spoke up. “And a pitcher of beer too please.”
“And you Mr. Hutchinson?”
Hutch thought a moment and ordered the soup-of-the-day and a salad with house dressing on the side and his own pitcher of beer.
“Wow, we need two? Guess we’re in for a long night.”
Hutch simply raised his eyebrows and grinned at his partner’s comment.
“Nice place Hug.”
“Our man is moving up in the world huh.” Starsky beamed.
After they reminisced for awhile, and they’d had several glasses of beer, the food arrived. Starsky was ready to leave the small talk behind and discuss his and Hutch’s immediate futures and their not so immediate pasts. He bluntly began his in-depth inquisition.
“So Hutch.” Starsky said between mouthfuls of creamy cole slaw. “What happened to your face?” He chewed.
“Got in a fight last night.”
“Oh yeah? Anyone I know?”
“Nope.” Hutch said coldly.
“Are you in some kinda trouble?”
“Nope.”
“Come on Hutch. What’s going on with you? You’re all cut up and bruised. Your place is a mess. What’s the scoop?” Starsky queried.
“Look Starsky. I haven’t seen or heard from you in what… eighteen years. Back off. I’m not the good old Hutch you used to know okay. Things change.”
“Hey. They don’t change that much.”
Hutch concentrated on his dinner and poured himself another glass of beer.
“Hutch?” Starsky insisted on his partner’s full attention. “I know it’s been a long time. I know. I’ve been guilty and you’ve been bitter but can’t we put all that shit behind us. I know you. I know when you’re hurtin’, I know when you’re happy and I know when you’re angry. I don’t care how long it’s been. I know you Hutch. I know you.”
“No Starsky. You KNEW me.”
“And…”
“And, nothing. I’ve changed. Are you trying to say you haven’t?”
“Yes. Yes that is what I am saying.” Starsky pointed at himself with his fork and leaned over the table. “Deep down, I can honestly say I’m the same person I was 20 years ago.”
“Well. I don’t have anything left “deep down”. I HAVE changed. So let’s just move on shall we.”
Hutch had finished off Starsky’s pitcher of beer and raised his arm at a wondering waitress to bring another.
“Haven’t you had enough?” Starsky said frankly.
“I can never get enough. What are you my mother?” Hutch glared. “For Christ sake, what is this… an intervention?”
Starsky was wounded. He was sure that once Hutch had forgiven him they could resume their relationship where they had left off. It was painfully becoming clear, that this would not be the case and Starsky was taken aback. Time would heal, he hoped, and patience was the key.
Both men continued to eat their suppers and drink their beers when the silence became deafening.
“Went to Dobey’s retirement party last week.” Starsky announced, desperately changing the subject.
“Oh yeah?” Hutch answered seeming uninterested.
“Nice party. Had a good time. He looks good.”
“Good.”
“Yeah and he mentioned something about Captain Mitchell.”
“God I hated that son-of-a-bitch.” Hutch recalled.
“Who Dobey?”
“No Mitchell.”
“Oh.”
Yet another bout of silence.
“Hutch?”
“Yeah?” He said finally looking up at Starsky.
“They want us back. They need us.”
“Who does?”
“The Department.”
“Come on.” Hutch grunted doubtfully.
“Mitchell wants us to work for him on the Riche case.”
“Riche? He’s in prison.”
“Not anymore.”
Hutch stopped mid chew, put down his fork and wiped his mouth of dressing with his napkin.
“He’s out?”
“Yep. Same old MO around town too.”
“No kidding.” Hutch took a bite of romaine lettuce and followed it with a swig of beer. “Riche is back on the street huh?”
Starsky saw a spark and stoked it.
“So what do you say. You and me back on the streets. Just like old times. Come on Hutch… how ‘bout it.” Starsky pumped.
“Aren’t we a little old to be chasing criminals. Shouldn’t you be behind a desk somewhere waiting for your pension to kick in?”
“Hey. Come on. We’re not that old.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Hutch shrugged and downed yet another glass of beer. He played with his food seeming deep in thought, then locked eyes with Starsky.
“Riche huh?”
“Yep. Dobey’s cleaning out his office this week. We could go pay him a visit… say good luck?” Starsky continued to feed the fire. He waited for Hutch’s reaction.
“Guess I should wish old Dobey a happy retirement.” He smirked.
“Atta boy!”
“Okay, well… I’m outta here.” Hutch smacked his lips and started to rise from his chair abruptly ending the conversation and the reunion.
“Wait a minute. That’s it? Where are you going?” Starsky exclaimed in shock. “What do you mean you’re out of here?” He held a chunk of his hamburger inside his cheek like a chipmunk. He looked like a squirrel that had just been spooked.
“Got things to do Starsk.”
“What things?”
“Business.”
“Business? You mean Hutchinson Investigation business?”
“Something like that.” Hutch was standing now putting on his jacket.
“Can I come?”
“Nope.”
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow then?” Starsky asked with a hurt tone.
“I’ll meet you down there.”
“Okay… I guess. I thought we were gonna, you know… have some fun tonight – reminisce.”
“Some other time old buddy.” Hutch began to walk out and waved to Huggy as he passed. He looked back at Starsky who was left to eat alone.
“See you tomorrow. Round noon okay?” Hutch yelled back.
Starsky waved an approval and glanced over at Huggy and shrugged. It was returned. He watched Hutch vanish through the smoky haze of the tavern like he’d been engulfed in the dry ice of an amateur magic act. Starsky’s appetite disappeared with his partner.
Then he stood, pulled the napkin from his neck and threw on his jacket like he was wrestling with it. He scrambled out the door after Hutch. His curiosity getting the better of him, he ran to his car and followed the taillights of the yellow cab Hutch had flagged.
ACT
THREE – SCENE TWO
Tuesday, February 20th, 2001 – 3:24 a.m. (THE LEOPARD LOUNGE – VENICE BEACH)
“I think you’ve had enough mister.”
Hutch leaned over the bar and grabbed the bartender by the vest and squeezed.
“I haven’t even started yet.” He hissed.
“Well, we’re closing up. You’ll have to find somewhere else to finish you’re little party.”
“Shit.” Came Hutch’s simple reply.
The previous Sunday night was about to repeat itself hopefully without the beating.
“Did I tell you…” Hutch leaned in to confide in the bartender. “… my old friend Detective Sergeant David Starsky came to visit me today?”
“Yes you did sir. Several times.” He said fed up and disinterested.
“Well, did I tell you that he shot me twenty years ago? Did I tell you that?” Hutch babbled. “No warning. Just shot me. Pretty bad too. Took me a long time to recover from that. Did I mention that?”
“Yes sir, you did.” The bartender was getting annoyed now. “Listen, I’m going to call a cab and get you home okay sir?”
“Sure, sure.” Hutch slurred.
“I’ll take him home.”
Starsky stood directly behind Hutch. He’d appeared out of nowhere and put his hands on his partner’s shoulders.
“Get off me!” Hutch shrugged as if trying to rid his back of a fly.
“Hutch it’s me Starsky.”
“You heard me. Leave me alone.”
“I’m taking you home.” Starsky insisted.
“Like hell you are.”
Hutch stood and threw a wild punch at the detective who skillfully ducked to avoid the blow. The swing knocked Hutch off balance.
“Come on… cut it out. I’m not going to fight you. Just let me take you home okay? You’ve had enough.”
When Hutch had regained his dexterity he caught Starsky in the gut with a right upper cut. This too, threw Hutch over board. Instinctively, Starsky cracked Hutch on the chin with a swift left jab. He was unconscious before he landed squarely on Starsky’s waiting shoulder. He lifted him like a fireman would a victim and shifted his partner like he were a large bag of dog food.
“What’s his tab?” The detective asked the bartender who seemed relieved that the situation was under control.
“Ninety bucks should cover it.”
“Here’s a hundred.” He threw the bill on the bar top. “Keep it.”
The bartender nodded and watched the two men leave the bar.
ACT
THREE – SCENE THREE
Tuesday, February 20th, 2001 – 4:16 a.m. (HUTCH’S CONDO)
It took a great deal of effort to get the six-foot, two hundred pounder up and into his apartment, but Starsky was up to the task. He was fully committed now. By this time, Hutch was like a man made of wet noodles and was far more cheerful then he was in the bar.
“You’re my best friend. Did you know that Starsk?” Hutch whimpered melodramatically. “I missed you.”
“You did huh?”
“Yeah. I did.” Hutch admitted through the fog of his now dulling inebriation.
“That’s nice.” Starsky said as he struggled to push Hutch threw the front door and into the bathroom.
He slapped down the toilet seat and plunked Hutch on top of it. He placed his hand on his chest to stabilize him as he turned on the taps in the shower. Hutch’s eyes were closed and he grinned insipidly. He seemed content but sober was Starsky’s ultimate goal.
“Come on Hutch. Time for a shower.”
“But I don’t want a shower.”
“Well you’re gonna.”
“But, I’m not dirty.”
“No, but you’re drunk.” Starsky announced as he pulled Hutch’s T-shirt off as if Hutch were a child.
“I’m not drunk.” Hutch sounded insulted.
“Yeah. You are.”
“No I’m not.”
“YEAH… you are!”
“No I’m not.”
“Hutch.” Starsky stopped the conversation cold. He stopped disrobing his partner at the waist and encouraged him to get in the tub. He left Hutch sitting on the toilet and put a chair up against the outside of the door to keep him captive.
“Don’t make me come back in there Hutch… do you hear me?”
Starsky could hear his partner moving about the bathtub singing “Who Let the Dogs Out” and barking. Initially, it made him laugh but he knew this was a serious problem. Hutch had been addicted before and he was not relishing the thought of another drying out especially since he’d just reentered Hutch’s life. Could their friendship survive another codependency or would it just make it stronger.
Codependency? Who was he kidding, Starsky thought. His relationship with Hutch was a codependency. It was an addiction in its self. Even though they’d not been together in two decades, each man still needed each other to exist. He’d thought of Hutch everyday and was convinced that his cohort did the same. He pondered his revelation as he made his way to the kitchen.
He prepared some extra strong coffee then waited for Hutch to finish. By the time Starsky had waded through the first section of last Wednesday’s L.A. Times, Hutch was asking to be released.
“You can let me out now Starsky.” Hutch protested impatiently.
“Are you going to be good?” He patronized.
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure because I don’t want to do this again.”