TWIN SPIN, POPSICLE’S AND THE BASEBALL JACKET
BY
(Based on characters created by Aaron Spelling & William Blinn)
Paul Michael Glaser as Detective David Starsky (a.k.a. Dave or Starsk)
David Soul as Detective Kenneth Hutchinson (a.k.a. Ken or Hutch)
PART I
“Hello plants.” Hutch sighed as he entered his Venice Place flat.
His day had been tedious and long. It was Friday night and he was glad to be home. All Hutch wanted to do was hit the shower, have a beer and watch the game.
His partner David Starsky had tried to convince him to go out for dinner that evening, but the lanky cop was not up to it. Starsky always tried to convince his best friend to join him for dinner and Hutch always obliged, but tonight he wasn’t even hungry. As a matter of fact, he was feeling down right lousy.
He’d felt unwell all day. His head ached and his throat hurt and heat radiated from his forehead. Starsky noticed that Hutch seemed a little off during their rounds that day, but just assumed he was in a bad mood. It wasn’t until his partner asked for an aspirin and downed it with a quart of orange juice that Starsky clued in to his partner’s oncoming cold. He’d noticed too, that Hutch’s interaction with female cops had changed from his usual flirtation to a pathetic cry for sympathy. Starsky even witnessed a policewoman feel Hutch’s cheek.
Hutch began to peel off his clothes and coughed and sputtered as he moved into his open concept bedroom. Out of habit, he started to hum a tune but stopped because it made his throat fell like it was coated with acid. He swallowed with great difficulty, stretched his neck upwards swanlike then grabbed it and gently squeezed. He hacked again, stuck out his tongue then tried to shake off the discomfort. He threw on his robe and sauntered into the bathroom.
It only took minutes for the cedar-lined room to fill with steam after Hutch had turned on the taps full blast. The warm moisture seeped into his nostrils and down into his lungs, which helped his breathing and the soreness. He placed one hand on the wall and leaned into the force of the waterfall. The hot water steeped his body like a tea bag in a pot. The top of his head, only inches from the showerhead, took the brunt of the high-pressure stream. He held that position for a long time before he reached for his Old Spice soap-on-a-rope.
It was 8:40 p.m. and Hutch pulled on some jeans and a fresh tee shirt. The shower had revitalized him and he felt slightly better. He grabbed a beer, scooped up his guitar, turned on the TV and sat squarely in front of it. He flipped the channels in search of the ball game then sat back. The Dodgers lead the Reds by two. It was the bottom of the fourth.
Hutch plucked his Ovation casually, not playing anything in particular. It was common for him to unwind caressing his guitar as if it were a pet. It was one of his best friends. He leaned over and reached for his brew when the phone rang.
“’Lo.”
“Hey.” Starsky asked cheerfully. “How you doin’?”
“Okay. What’s up with you?”
“Just checkin’ on you. You feelin’ any better?”
“A bit.”
“So are you going to be able to make it tomorrow?”
“Make it? Where?”
“The picnic with me and Laura Hutch.” Starsky whined impatiently. “I told you about it a couple days ago. Rememba. Laura is bringing her cousin and you’re supposed to keep her company?”
“That’s tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“Awww, I don’t know Starsk.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“Last blind date you set me up with made me wish I was blind.”
“Heeey.”
“Let’s face it Starsky, you stink when it comes to matchmaking.” Hutch coughed between words.
“This isn’t a blind date.”
“Oh no? What is it then?”
“It’s a… “ The detective stammered. “…well, just come. If you don’t then Laura won’t come.”
“Why?”
“Because, she has to baby-sit her cousin from Des Moines - I just told you.”
“How old IS her cousin?”
“Hutch. Just this once buddy.” Starsky sniveled like a kid wanting to get his way. “Please… come
on.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there.” Hutch resigned. “What time?”
“I’ll pick you up at 1:00?”
“Okay.”
There was a pause and Starsky could hear Vin Scully broadcasting the baseball game in the background. “Tom Seaver pitches to Garvey…. line drive to Perez … great catch by the first baseman and that will end the inning!”
“Who’s winning?”
“Dodger’s.”
“So, you’re feelin’ pretty bad huh? You don’t sound too good.”
“I’ll survive.”
“Well, you know what helps me when I have a cold?”
“This I gotta hear.” Hutch patronized.
“Popsicle’s.”
“What?”
“Popsicle’s!”
“Starsky. You know I don’t eat that kinda stuff.” Hutch sounded disgusted.
“It’s just sugar and water.”
“How does this help you feel better when you have a cold?”
“Well, you eat the Popsicle’s and they’re cold and it brings down your fever and numbs your throat.”
“Oh yeah? Sounds logical… I guess.”
“My mom used to give me Popsicle’s when I was a kid and I had a cold.”
“Maybe I’ll go out and get some.”
“Get the blue ones.”
“Blue?”
“Yeah. They’re raspberry flavored.”
“Then why are they blue?”
“I don’t know. They just are.”
“I think I’ll stick with orange.”
“ORANGE!” Starsky barked repulsed by the idea. “NOBODY likes orange.”
“I do.”
“Okay, well get orange then. But get some blue ones for me.” Starsky concluded. “I’ll see you tomorrow at one. Oh and Hutch?”
“Yeah?”
“Go to bed and get lots of sleep and put some Vicks Vapo rub on your chest.”
“Okay doc.” Hutch chuckled. “Should I take two aspirins and call you in the morning?”
“Just trying to help.”
“I know.”
“Nite.”
“See you tomorrow.”
Hutch leaned back and put the guitar in the corner of the couch as if it were human. Even placing his fingers on the frets was a chore this evening. He laid his head back and sprawled himself out and tried to make himself comfortable. The symptoms of the flu were becoming more apparent. He had the chills but perspired from fever.
“Popsicle’s huh?”
Hutch thought a moment before mustering up the energy to stand. He pushed his wallet in his back pocket, threw on his black baseball jacket with white leather sleeves and headed down to the corner store. Everything was an effort. Maybe some fresh air would help and he just HAD to try Starsky’s cold remedy.
He left the TV on and the door unlocked, exited the apartment and lazily shuffled down the stairs to the street. He wiped the perspiration from his brow with the wool cuff of his jacket.
“Manny’s should have Popsicle’s.” Hutch whispered to himself.
He needed milk and orange juice anyway. And some antihistamine wouldn’t hurt either. Pushing himself forward, he walked down to where Ocean Blvd and Rose Ave met and he turned the corner.
PART II
“Hutch?” Starsky bellowed as he walked through the door into Hutch’s apartment at 1:20 p.m. Saturday afternoon. “Hutch? We’re here.”
The television was still on and blared a Gillette electric razor commercial. “I liked it so much… I bought the company.”
Starsky’s latest girlfriend Laura and her cousin Jody stood in the doorway too polite to enter. Both ladies were dressed nicely in crisp sundresses. Both had longish blonde hair and were quite lovely ladies.
“Huh.” Starsky huffed with confusion. “Door’s open - TV’s on. He must be around here somewhere.”
He swaggered through the bedroom and out to the terrace that was a jungle of healthy, well-kept plants.
“HUTCH!”
Nothing. As he moved back into the living area he noticed Hutch’s holster and gun slung over the screen that partially separated the two rooms.
“This is weird.” He queried. “I just talked to him last night and he said he’d be here. Maybe he just stepped out for moment. Have a seat ladies.”
Laura and Jody sat primly on the sofa as they watched Starsky head for the icebox.
“Can I get you girls a beer?”
“Yes David. Thank you.” Laura answered.
“Jody?”
“Ice water for me please.”
“Alright. Ice water it is.”
Starsky grabbed two beers and popped off the caps and handed a bottle to Laura who took the beverage with apprehension.
“Oh. Sorry. Let me pour that in a glass for you.” He smiled with embarrassment.
Laura was not a “straight-out-of-the-bottle” sort of girl. No, she was definitely “I drink beer from a glass” sort of girl.
They continued to eye Starsky as he fumbled around the small kitchenette. He knew where everything was, he just felt a little self-conscious as Jody intimidated him somewhat. He wasn’t sure why. She just did. And, he was worried that yet again, Hutch would be put on the spot with one of Starsky’s romantic set-ups. He opened the freezer to hunt for ice cubes.
He noticed immediately that there were no Popsicle’s in sight. Not even the blue ones he’d requested. He slammed the freezer door and pondered. He dropped the cubes in the empty glass and filled it with water from the tap preoccupied by Hutch’s absence. The fact that there was still no sign of him made his stomach knot.
“So what do you do back in Iowa Jody?”
“I’m a lawyer.”
“Oh.” Starsky tried to sound enthusiastic but now he knew why Jody made him so uneasy.
“How long have you been a police officer David?”
“Oh I guess it’s been about ten years now.” He took a seat in the chair next to the sofa. “Started on the street you know, uniform - walkin’ a beat. Then me and Hutch were promoted to detective and that was just over seven years ago now.”
“I see. And you and Hutch have been partner’s since the beginning.”
“Yup. Yeah… “ Starsky glanced at his watch in between the small talk. “Excuse me.” He said abruptly as he stood and approached the bathroom.
He didn’t need to use it; he was more interested in gathering evidence. He closed the door and scouted the place. There was no Kleenex boxes or cold medicine anywhere. The dark haired cop was becoming more and more anxious as it was becoming more and more clear to him that Hutch left the previous evening and never returned. He came out of the bathroom and stood at the door.
“Listen girls.” He announced. “I think we are going to have to take a rain check. Hutch is never late and I’m a bit worried about him. So, let me call you a cab and we’ll get together later this week.”
“Oh Dave. Don’t be such a mother hen. He probably just forgot. You said he wasn’t feeling very well. You are probably right, maybe he’s just gone for a walk or to the store or something.”
“No. If Hutch is sick, he’d be in bed. And he doesn’t forget.”
“Dave.” Laura got up from her seat and walked over and put her arms around his mid section.
“He’s fine.” She comforted. “Let’s give him a few more minutes.”
“No. Something’s wrong. My gut never lies especially where Hutch is concerned. I’ll get you home and I’ll call you later, okay?”
“If you insist.”
“I do.”
Starsky escorted the ladies down to the street and hailed a cab. He opened the back door of the car and coaxed the girls like a shepherd herding sheep into a pen. He gave the cabby the destination and a twenty-dollar bill and sent them on their way. Then he headed for the corner store where Hutch usually bought his odds and ends. The door jingled when Starsky entered Manny’s Market.
“You seen Hutch?” He asked the proprietor before he’d even reached the counter.
“He was in here last night around nine.”
“Oh yeah?”
“He said he was getting a cold and needed some stuff. He didn’t sound or look very good. He looked like shit actually.” Manny elaborated.
“What did he buy?”
“Some pills, some boxes of tissue - usual cold stuff.” He shrugged.
“Did he buy any Popsicle’s?”
“Oh yeah. He did.”
“Did he buy any blue ones?”
“I don’t know. I don’t look at the colour. What do I care what flavor he gets. Why?”
“Nothin’. Just curious.” Starsky scanned the place as he continued his questioning. “When did he leave?”
“I guess he left around quarter after…. What’s going on Starsky? What’s this all about?”
The cop didn’t answer.
“When he left did you see where he went? Which direction I mean? Was he with anyone?”
“No. Wasn’t really paying attention. I was kinda busy last night. He brought the items to the counter, he paid, I bagged’em and he left. End of story.”
“Okay. Thanks Manny.”
“Sure.”
“Listen, if you see him let him know I’m lookin’ for him will you?”
“Sure.” Manny repeated.
Starsky exited the tiny shop and stood on the sidewalk just outside the door. He spied the street in both directions deciding which way to go. He had to sidestep a couple who was trying to get into the store.
He leaned to the right and followed his intuition down Rose Ave scanning it for his friend or any sign of strangeness. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at first glance. But as he moved further down the street his stomach became more and more tense. He felt like a seven foot wrestler had a strangle hold on his abdomen. His heart rippled. He spied the alleys as he went and was drawn into the third one down.
It was like he had Hutch radar. Both men were extremely in tune with one other whether they were together or not. It was uncanny really. They’d been told it was the same sort of instinct that twins had for each other. Today, their chemistry would pay off. Starsky tripped over a brown paper bag and he turned to investigate. He crouched and began to wade through its contents. Inside were two boxes of tissue, a bottle of cold medicine, orange juice, milk, and what was left of five orange Popsicle’s and one blue one. The bottom of the bag was a sticky mess of sugary food colouring.
PART III
Starsky busted through the doors of the squad room like a cowhand into a saloon and stampeded toward Captain Dobey’s office. It was Monday morning and he’d not slept. He spent the rest of Saturday and all of Sunday in search of Hutch. He’d visited every informant he knew and turned over every rock in the greater Los Angeles area and ended up back at Hutch’s apartment early Monday morning. He hoped he’d find his buddy there but the place was still vacant.
Starsky looked like he’d spent the last 36 hours on a high-speed roller coaster and when he burst into his boss’s office he stood in the center of the room breathing heavily.
“What’s the matter with you?” Dobey asked after swallowing a bite of donut and chasing it with a sip of coffee.
“I know you’ve heard this before Captain.”
“Heard what? And what are you doing here? I thought you and Hutch weren’t back on duty until tomorrow?”
“He’s gone.”
“Who?”
“Hutch.”
“What do you mean he’s gone?”
“Last time I talked to him was Friday night. And we made plans for Saturday afternoon and when I got to his place he wasn’t there.” He panted.
“So.”
“So? What do you mean so?” Starsky leaned both hands on Dobey’s desk.
“Maybe he just wasn’t up for another one of your blind dates and fled the country.” The captain found his own quip quite funny.
“He was sick. If he needed an excuse he could’ve used that.”
“Sick?”
“Yeah… flu or a cold or I don’t know… he was sick Cap.”
“Okay, okay.”
“So I’ve been on the streets since Saturday afternoon lookin’ for him. He’s just vanished.”
“Has anyone seen him?”
“Yeah. The guy at the corner market talked to him on Friday night and he said Hutch bought some stuff. Thing is, I found his grocery bag in an alley. It had everything in it he said Hutch bought that
night.”
“Could it be a coincidence?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“Well, I told him to buy Popsicle’s to make him feel better.”
“Popsicle’s?”
“It’s a long story. I told him to buy blue ones because I like blue and he said he liked orange and I said no one likes orange and he said he did and I said get some orange ones for you but get some blue ones for me.”
Dobey looked confused as Starsky roamed the office rambling about Popsicle’s.
“Anyway, I found the grocery bag and it had cold medicine and Kleenex and orange juice and milk and 5 melted orange Popsicle’s and one blue one. That is too much of a coincidence for me.
Something is very wrong.”
“Where’s his car?”
“Outside his apartment.”
“Have you checked the emergency wards?” Dobey said reluctantly.
“Every single one.”
“Have you checked….”
“Don’t even say it.” Starsky stopped Dobey cold with an out stretched hand knowing full well that the morgue was his next inquisition.
The large man grabbed his telephone receiver and pressed the extension for missing persons. The anxious detective stood by the water cooler with his hands on his hips and watched as Dobey blasted his orders.
“Put out an APB on Kenneth Hutchinson - Detective. Six feet, blonde hair, 170 lbs. - age 34.” The captain put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Do you know what he was wearing Starsky?”
He simply shook his head.
“No clothing description available.” Dobey concluded and hung up. “Guess that is all I can do for now. What have you two been working on lately?”
“It’s been slow. Not much. Why?”
“Just wondering about a grudge.”
“Grudges can go back for years Cap.”
“Well, let’s pull some files and find out who’s been released recently.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?”
“That’s why I’m the captain and you’re the sergeant.” Dobey gloated.
Starsky allowed himself a grin at his boss’s jab. It helped to break the tension but it soon returned - that dizzying feeling of worry. The two men entered the squad room.
“I’m heading down to the file room. I’ll be right back.”
“Starsky!”
“Yeah Captain.”
“What’s this?”
“What’s what?”
“This package on your desk.”
“Package?”
Sitting conspicuously on Starsky’s desk blotter was a cube-shaped box about one foot high wrapped in brown Kraft paper. It was simply tied with baker’s string. It had no name or address.
There were no markings on it whatsoever. It was perfectly clean all around.
“Did anyone see who put this on my desk?” Starsky inquired to the police officers that shared the room. All he got was shrugs and shaking heads.
“I’m calling the bomb squad.” Captain Dobey announced. “Everybody out!”
The detective ignored the captain’s order and approached the box carefully as the other officers shuffled by him to the outside as if a bomb scare was an everyday occurrence. He stood squarely in front of it sizing it up. Starsky stroked his chin then leaned over and placed his hands on his knees.
“What do you think? This have anything to do with Hutch’s disappearance?” Dobey asked after he put down the phone.
“Well, it’s not my birthday and it sure ain’t Christmas.”
The bomb team of three arrived in full gear and entered the squad room. By this time the entire station had been evacuated and only Starsky and Dobey were left to witness the disarming. They watched precariously through the large window that separated the room from the hallway.
The bomb squad had the box secured within moments and placed it in a lead container. They gingerly wheeled it down to the elevator and then to the basement where they would disassemble it. Dobey and Starsky followed.
The two men waited anxiously outside the lead-lined room where the squad removed the contents of the box. There turned out to be no wires or devices of any kind. It only contained one item and they brought it out to show Starsky.
“What was it? What did you find?” He asked impatiently.
“Just this.” The fresh-faced officer said as he held it up for identification.
Both Starsky and Dobey were speechless as the man held a jacket by the back of its neck. It was a black baseball bomber jacket with white leather sleeves. The left shoulder was coated with blood and it dripped down the arm in narrow rivers.
“Oh shit.” Starsky said quietly. “That’s Hutch’s jacket.”
He looked at Dobey who stared blankly at the stained garment.
“Was there anything else in the box?” The curly-hair cop asked the young officer.
“This was the only thing in there Sarge.”
PART IV
The stabbing pain in his head was matched only by the discomfort of his blocked sinuses. He felt like his head had been packed with old rags dowsed with motor oil. The pressure and vacuum it created was unbearable. His mouth was covered with some sort of tape and breathing was incredibly difficult. Hutch tried not to panic.
He was also blindfolded and his hands were tethered above his head and tied to something. He was flat on his back and he assumed he was on a bed.
Even though he was in pitch darkness from the cloth that was tightly wrapped around his eyes, he could see bursts of light waving like a psychedelic slide show in front of him. The patterns appeared and disappeared with the rhythm of Hutch’s pulse. He tried to move and free himself, but couldn’t.
He could hear someone in the room and he grunted trying to get their attention. He felt like he was suffocating. He WAS suffocating. Then came the sudden rip of the tape from his mouth and Hutch gulped a lung full of air. The tearing of the adhesive stung and he winced and worked his lips against each other.
“Who’s there?” He whispered. “What do you want?”
“We want to make you a movie star.” Came a robotic voice.
Hutch thought it was a woman but couldn’t be sure.
“What?” He replied.
“State your name.”
“What is this?” Hutch protested as much as a captive man could.
“State your name.” The voice was more forceful this time.
Hutch did not answer. Then there was incredible pain - burning pain on the inside of his forearm.
He released a guttural yelp.
“State… your… name.”
“Hutchinson.” He said submissively. His voice sounded like he had a load of gravel in his throat.
“Your full name.”
Again, he refused but was encouraged to answer by the burning of flesh.
“Ken!” He yelled. “Ken Hutchinson.”
Then calm. Hutch thought he could hear the humming of a movie camera in the room. He couldn’t make it out exactly. His head was so full of flu - everything was hard to distinguish. He did have a sense that he was near the ocean. What air he could manage to breathe clearly was moist, cool and salty. The unmistakable shriek of sea gulls wafted in the distance.
“It’s easy to be tough on a sailor tied up and blind folded.” Hutch said with disgust.
The blow to his jaw was ferocious and he was driven back into unconsciousness.
PART V
“Nothin’” Starsky blasted as he threw a file across his desk in frustration just missing Dobey’s nose.
The Captain sat in Hutch’s usual chair and he too, searched the mound of files that separated him from Starsky. The orbited file folder took him by surprise.
“Hey! Watch it!”
“Sorry Captain.” Starsky rose from his seat and started to pace. “Somebody’s taken him - by force - and I can’t do a damn thing about it!” He ranted.
“You’re doing something.”
“What? What am I doing Cap?”
Dobey stayed silent and let his subordinate vent.
“There must be a clue in the jacket. I’m going down to forensics and going through it myself.”
“Starsky. Let them do their job.”
“Well, I’m at least going to give’em a push. They’ve had it for over five hours now. Hutch could be dead for all we know.”
“That’s enough of that kind of talk.”
“YOU were the one that mentioned morgues not me!” The detective raged.
“Hey! Who do you think you’re talking to Starsky! Settle down!”
“I’m sorry Captain.” The detective digressed. “There’s gotta be something here… I’ve got no leads at all. Nothing… and Hutch is out there some where waiting for me to find him and I can’t.”
“Alright. Just take it easy.”
“I’m goin’ down to Huggy’s - see if anything’s come up.” Starsky announced physically and mentally changing gears.
“Wouldn’t he have called if he’d heard something?”
“Yeah, but I just can’t sit around here anymore.”
Starsky started to leave the room when a lady police officer flagged him down.
“Hey! Davy! There’s another package here for you.”
He grabbed it from her and tore back into the squad room and took his seat again. He looked over at Dobey asking for approval to open it without the bomb team investigating and he got a reluctant nod.
Starsky placed the small box on the table warily. It too, had no markings and was much smaller than the first package. He started to unwrap it and his gut festered with anticipation. Using a pen to protect incriminating fingerprints, he pulled out a 16mm reel. There was no note - nothing but the film. The room fell silent until Dobey suggested the obvious.
“I guess we should go take a look at this.”
“I don’t know if I want to Cap.”
“I’ll watch it by myself if you want.” He offered.
Starsky pondered a moment but realized he had to see what was on the film.
“Who gave this to you Geena?” He asked the policewoman who stood over him.
“It was in your mail slot.”
“Did anyone see who put it there?”
“Don’t know. I’ll check.”
“Thanks.”
Starsky’s body felt like it was about to cave in. He dreaded seeing what might be on the film and entered the AV room at the police station with incredible apprehension. He watched Dobey hand the reel to the AV manager who threaded the film through the machine expertly. Not only did he place the film into the projector with skill; he managed to do so by holding the film by its edge preserving evidence.
Dobey took a seat at the large round table that was central to the room and gazed up at the pearl white screen anxiously. He folded his arms and braced himself.
Starsky pressed his body against the back wall in the corner where it was dark. He remained standing. Subliminally, he tried to hide from what he was about to see. He crossed his arms and his aged leather jacket squeaked. He swallowed hard several times as the projector sprayed a snowy image onto the screen. At first all they could see was a dank and windowless room and then a sudden spotlight on Hutch. The sudden image of his captive partner got Starsky’s attention instantly as he watched the film in horror. His worst nightmare was materializing right in front of his eyes. He wanted to look away but couldn’t.
Hutch was laid out on a bare and decaying mattress. He was blindfolded and tied to plumbing pipes that stuck out of the wall and floor like enormous fingers.
“Who’s there? - What do you want?”
“We want to make you a movie star.”
“What?”
“State your name.”
“What is this?”
“State your name.”
The flash of a lighter slit the darkness and its flame placed on Hutch’s forearm. He screamed which made Starsky flinch.
“State… your… name.”
“Hutchinson.”
“Your full name.”
The lighter flashed again and Hutch let out a piercing cry.
“Ken! … Ken Hutchinson.”
The camera held steadily on the blonde cop.
“It’s easy to be tough on a sailor tied up and blind folded.”
Then there was a swift blow to Hutch’s jaw - a cowboy booted foot from the shadows. Again, Starsky winced and this time he had to look away. Quiet fell again until a voice announced its demands. The camera focused in on Hutch’s face - bloodied, swollen and pained.
“Release Vincent Pascolli or next time we’ll send this fucking cop back in a box…. You’ve got 48 hours.”
The film ran out and whipped around the spool, flapping like a fan. Starsky couldn’t breath. His saliva had dried up and he felt nauseous. He pushed himself into the wall as hard as he could until he collapsed into a crouch.
“Oh my God.” He hissed into his hands, which now completely covered his face.
“Vincent Pascolli? Who the HELL is Vincent Pascolli?” Dobey barked finally taking his eyes from the screen and swiveling his chair to face Starsky.
“Captain. I have no idea.” He said dazed. “Never heard of him.”
The exhausted cop pulled himself into a standing position like a marionette on strings. He placed his hands on his hips instantly changing his mood from helplessness to ire. “Let’s find out who this guy is… get that film downstairs…” The detective ordered the AV manager. “… and get it analyzed.”
As the two men powered down the corridor, they hastily discussed what they’d just seen. They dodged a steady flow of oncoming people traffic but ploughed through them with determination.
“Sounded like a women.” Starsky concluded - his face cross and focused.
“And, what was that talk about a sailor?”
“He thinks he’s being held near the ocean Captain.”
“How could he possibly know that?”
“Hutch is a clever boy.”
“I’ll round up as many units as I can to scour the docks.”
“Thanks.”
The men separated and went in two different directions. Dobey back to his office to organize the search and Starsky toward the data center to find out just exactly who Vincent Pascolli was.
PART VI
The shake, rattle and roll of the van jarred Hutch back to his dulled senses. Now his hands were bound in front of him and they in turn were tied to his knees. He laid on his side in the fetal position and his head knocked against the floor of the vehicle. The ropes cut off the circulation to his lower legs and feet and they felt like they’d been injected with ginger ale. He tried to flex them to dissolve the numbness.
He had no idea where he was or even if it was day or night. It was hot, but he wasn’t sure if it was the weather or the fever that made it so.
He struggled to remove the bandana that kept him in darkness by rubbing the side of his head against any surface he could. Finally, it came free and brilliant sunlight flooded his pupils. They shrunk to pin heads and it made Hutch squint and blink rapidly.
He tried to orient himself and realized that indeed he was in a van. The back cargo area where he laid was totally empty and was open right up to the windshield. It had windows all the way around including one on each back door. He could see the back of the two front seats. The only other thing in the vehicle was the driver who seemed focused on the bumpy road ahead. She had not yet discovered that Hutch had come to.
Scheming an escape through the fog of head trauma and flu, he held his position - working on loosening the ropes. The sweat on his hands made the binding easier to slip through and he eventually managed to get one hand free. He prayed that the van would continue its journey. It would help camouflage his struggle and keep his captor occupied.
Hutch was now untangled and lay in wait for an opportunity to confront the woman who had nabbed him several days before. Who is she? He thought as the van bounced and swerved over rough terrain. Where am I?
Without warning the vehicle came to an abrupt stop. It made Hutch slide forward into the base of the driver’s seat. The bolts holding it to the floor tore into his shoulder. Despite the pain it caused, he remained in the fetal position, hoping it would disguise the fact that he was conscious. He would use the surprise attack to his full advantage.
The back doors swung open and the woman stepped in to the back of the van. As she bent over him, Hutch coiled his legs up like a spring and shoved the woman with every ounce of strength he had. The blow hit her squarely in the chest and she was sent flying out of the van and onto her back landing with a loud thud.
Hutch scrambled after her. Before she could regroup he was standing over her with his foot on her throat. His sudden rush made Hutch dizzy. His head spun as the blood raced from his face down to his unsteady knees. He wobbled slightly, visibly searching for balance.
The woman grabbed his ankle and twisted. Hutch lost his footing and grabbed at the air as if it would save him. He did a nosedive into the dirt and then rolled onto his back. He pushed himself up onto his elbows in an effort to charge at her again but was stopped cold by the cocking of the gun that she now held on him.
“Don’t even try it.” She ordered calmly.
Hutch let himself collapse onto his back. The brief fight had taken its toll on his ailing body and he lay there defeated. He couldn’t muster up anything else. He was exhausted, beaten and sick - a combination that would founder any man.
“Who are you…” Hutch gasped, “… and what the hell is this all about?”
“Get up.” She demanded.
“Where are we?”
“GET UP I said!”
Hutch slowly gathered himself onto his knees and struggled to his feet. He stood directly in front of the women, swaying from heat and fatigue. He held his hands out like Oliver Twist asking for more.
“What do you want with me lady? For Christ’s sake, who are you?”
“Turn around.”
Hutch didn’t protest - he couldn’t. He turned his back on her and he closed his eyes fearful that he was about to be executed. His heart pounded against the wall of his chest and his saliva dried up.
He said a prayer.
Then he heard the crackle of gravel under foot and the door of the van open and shut. The engine started and the woman began to drive away. Hutch reeled and ran after her - powered only by pure adrenaline.
“HEY! Wait!” He shouted. “You can’t leave me out here!”
The van picked up speed but Hutch managed to run it down and grab onto the driver door handle. He struggled with the door but she had locked it. He ran along side but eventually had to let go. She swerved away from Hutch and the force pushed him to the ground where he rolled like tumbleweed. The impulsion was so strong he ended up back on his feet where he stood in a cloud of grit the tires had thrown back at him. He shielded his face from the flying stones.
When the dust settled, he finally took notice of where he was. Desert surrounded him. The flatness and whiteness of it sent a wave of fright into Hutch’s gut. He was in the middle of nowhere with no food, water or shelter. It was mid day and the sun beat down on his flaxen hair giving it the look of white gold. He spun in one spot staring up at the cloudless sky until he could stand no longer. Hutch dropped to the gravel in a heap, his captivity finally over but his fight for survival just about to begin.
PART VII
“Vincent Pascolli, AKA Michael Stemner, AKA Robert Ramirez.” The data clerk announced to Starsky who curiously peered over his shoulder viewing the computer screen.
“Robert Ramirez.” The detective said with a spark of recognition. “Print out everything you’ve got on him will you Jim.”
“Sure thing.”
“Thanks.”
Starsky waited for the printout then raced down the hallway back to the squad room where Dobey was still stationed at Hutch’s desk rifling through files.
“Robert Ramirez.” He stated before he reached his chair and sat down. “Why does that name ring a bell Captain?”
“Rogue cop.” He answered without hesitation.
“Oh yeah. I remember him. About three years ago right?”
“Yeah, he’s serving three life sentences for murder and an assortment of other mob related crimes.”
“What’s his story?”
“Turned out he became a cop to use as a cover for his underworld ties.”
“He was from Reno wasn’t he?”
“That’s where he started his career, then he transferred down here in… 1972 I think.”
“Yeah. 1972.” Starsky confirmed. “Says here his ex-wife is dead and he has twin daughters. But, what’s he got to do with Hutch?”
“Where’ve they got him?”
“Chino.”
The phone on Starsky’s desk rang and he picked it up on the first ring.
“The clock is ticking.” said the same voice that was on the 16mm film.
“Where’s Hutch?” Starsky demanded. “If you touch one more hair on his head, I swear I’ll track you down and… “
“And what? I assure you, you are in no position to make threats Detective Starsky.”
“Who are you?”
“You have 36 hours to release Vincent Pascolli.”
“We don’t deal with kidnappers.” Starsky said defiantly.
“Your partner’s life depends on it so I would suggest you start. I will contact you at six am tomorrow morning at Detective Hutchinson’s home and advise you where and when the transfer will occur.”
“Transfer?”
“Pascolli for the whereabouts of your friend.”
“Whereabouts? NO WAY! Pascolli for Hutch. Straight exchange.”
“That is not possible.”
Dobey picked up and listened in on the conversation after he’d ordered a trace on the call.
“What do you mean it’s not possible?”
“I mean I no longer have your partner in custody.”
“Well, where the hell is he then?”
“I will contact you tomorrow.”
The woman hung up and Starsky was left holding the hand piece - the dial tone buzzing into space.
“In custody?” Dobey asked. “Who talks like that?”
“Cops Captain. Cops talk like that.”
Starsky collected the file on Robert Ramirez and detailed his next move to Dobey as he began his scramble out of the squad room.
“I’m going to pay Mr. Ramirez a visit up at Chino and then I’ll be back at Hutch’s by 6:00 am. I’ll be in touch.”
“I’ll make sure Chino has Ramirez ready to go by the time you get there.”
Starsky stopped his rush out the door.
“Ready to go? What do you mean have him ready to go?” He asked as he returned to face Dobey.
“If trading him for Hutch is what it takes, then that is what I am prepared to do. I’ve already discussed it with the DA and he’s given me the power to release Ramirez to you.”
“What? But, we don’t negotiate with kidnappers.”
“I don’t think we have a choice here do you?”
“Well, I’m thinkin’ that if Hutch isn’t dead already he probably will be. So, releasing Ramirez is rewarding them for murdering my partner.”
“They’ve already released him Dave. You heard her say she didn’t have him in custody any more. Where ever he is, we’ll find him.”
“I don’t believe this.” Starsky said dumbfounded. “You’re trusting a kidnapper? What makes you think she’s telling the truth? My gut is telling me that Hutch is already dead. I’m going up to Chino to interrogate Ramirez, not to bring him back here and give him his freedom. No fucking way! Hutch wouldn’t want me to. Hutch knows we don’t deal with terrorists.”
“Starsky, get your ass up to Chino, pick up Ramirez and get him back here and that’s an order!”
“I won’t do it. I will not buckle under to these people. I’ll do it my way and I will find Hutch - dead or alive.”
“YES YOU WILL DO IT DAMN IT!”
“GIVE ME ONE GOOD REASON WHY I SHOULD!”
“Because I’m running this show and what I say goes… UNDERSTOOD?”
Starsky and Dobey were nose to nose burning stares into each other like weapons. Their argument had escalated to a point where Starsky had no retort. He clenched his fists and coiled to fire.
“Don’t - you - fucking - dare.” Captain Dobey warned with a cool whisper.
The other officers that shared the squad room watched the shouting match and held their collective breaths. Then the ringing of the phone on Hutch’s desk broke the silence. Dobey picked it up. He jotted down information and stared at Starsky as if to hold him there with his glare. The captain ended the telephone conversation by slamming the hand piece on the cradle, venting his anger with his detective on the innocent piece of equipment.
“They found where they were holding Hutch on the docks.”
“And…”
“And, it’s empty.”
“Empty? What do you mean empty?”
“They’ve moved him. They’re gone.”
“SHIT!” Starsky punched the wall. “GOD DAMN IT!”
“I’m going down there and you’re heading up to Chino. And, you’re bringing Ramirez back here. Is that understood?”
“Yes.” Starsky submitted.
“Yes what?”
“Yes. I’m going up to Chino to get Ramirez and bring him back.” Starsky announced defeated the heat of the argument now somewhat cooled.
“GOOD!” Dobey gloated.
The two men bolted out of the police station on separate missions. Dobey to the docks to investigate the crime scene and Starsky up to Chino prison to reluctantly retrieve Robert Ramirez.
PART VIII
His twitching muscles and the coldness of the air jolted Hutch awake. He had no idea how long he’d been lying there. He’d curled himself into a ball at some point - his tucked position the only shield from the elements. He stretched himself out onto his back and stared up at the indigo blue of dawn. The stars were fading, but still filled the sky like rhinestones on a country singer’s denim jacket.
Hutch rolled onto his side and groaned. His arm slapped against the gravel desert floor. The last time he felt this bad, Starsky had him locked in a room at Huggy’s to rid him of a heroin habit. It was an episode that he never wanted to repeat or even be reminded of. It was the worst time of his life. He’d never felt that terrible - at least not until now.
He forced himself onto his knees and used them as support to stand. He snuffled and coughed. That familiar nauseating feeling engulfed him and zapped his energy, but he knew he had to start walking. Hutch knew that staying where he was, was suicide. Firstly, he had to find water, then some sort of shelter. From where he stood, this seemed unlikely.
Peering over his shoulder he saw the orange bands of sunshine creeping over the horizon. It looked like marmalade.
“East.” He mumbled.
He wasn’t sure what desert he was in. It could be Mexico or even Africa for all he knew. But he decided to go west. Assuming he was in fact still in the United States, Hutch reasoned that he was probably in the middle of the Mojave Desert in California. Going west meant heading for home. A long way home mind you, but home none the less. He took his first step of thousands away from the sun.
Hutch tore off the bottom of his tee shirt and covered his head with it. The fireball that hovered above him felt like it was burning a hole threw the top of his platinum head. His strength was slowly waning and he feared he’d not make it to the rock formations that were his target. He’d been walking for hours.
His thirst was painful; his arms and face burnt to a neon pink from the unrelenting sun. Strange images entered his brain and he began to speak incoherently as if keeping sane by conversing with himself. But, he finally succumbed to exhaustion, heatstroke and fever and dropped to his knees. A hawk screeched overhead.
“Starsky.” He whispered. “Where are you?”
PART IX
Robert Ramirez entered the small visitor’s room and sat across the table from Starsky. The prisoner’s wrists and feet were shackled but he displayed a cocky attitude despite the chains. He stared brazenly into the detective’s steel blue eyes.
“Wipe that fucking grin off your face Ramirez.” Starsky hissed.
He breathed deeply and tried to keep some semblance of calm but feared he may explode with anger before he got the information he wanted.
“Seems you have some friends who want you outta here and they’re using my partner as currency.”
“Oh yeah?”
“You know damned well how a cop feels about his partner or have you forgotten?”
“Precisely. Maybe you should learn not to become so emotionally attached. Then it couldn’t be used against you.”
“If anything… anything at all has happened to Hutch, I’ll see to it you never see the light of day.”
“I haven’t seen the light of day for quite some time detective. Threatening me with incarceration is a bit… late wouldn’t you say?”
“Don’t fuck with me. Where is he?” Starsky asked forcefully. He could feel himself loosing control but fought it.
“Where’s who? I don’t know what you’re talking about asshole.”
“Well then.” Starsky seethed, “Let me fill you in on the facts.”
“I’m listening.”
“Four days ago my partner went missing.” Starsky blistered - his face flush with the heat of ire and his eyes blazing fury. “Yesterday I’m sent his blood stained jacket and a home movie of him laid out like a sacrifice and someone demanding to release you in exchange for his life. Now, I’m not an unreasonable man. But, when someone messes with Hutch I get a little upset.”
“Hutch? What’s a Hutch?”
“You don’t want to see me upset Ramirez. You really don’t…. now who’s taken him and where is he?”
“Fuck you.”
Starsky shot across the table and grabbed Ramirez by the collar and pulled him towards him. They were nose to nose.
“TALK!” Starsky demanded. “Where is he God damn it?”
“In hell for all I care.” Ramirez reciprocated casually.
Starsky bolted around the table and pulled the convict out of his chair and threw him against the wall. The back of his head slammed against the brick and it echoed like a melon being thumped. He winced and slowly slid to the floor like the juice of a splattered tomato. He grabbed his head and groaned. The detective rushed him and bent down to meet Ramirez’ dazed face. He pointed his finger right between Ramirez eyes as if holding a gun.
“I don’t think you understand. When Hutch bleeds - I bleed.”
Ramirez stayed quiet fearful he may provoke another eruption.
“Now. I’ve been ordered to take you back to LA and that’s what I intend to do. You’re in for the ride of your life you bottom feeder… now GET UP!”
The prisoner slowly gathered himself up and stood with a wobble. The chains jingled like Christmas bells. Starsky snagged his man by the scruff of the neck and pushed him out the door and into the main waiting area.
“Get him ready to go.” He ordered the guards and then handed him over with a shove.
PART X
The apartment had an eerie feel to it when Hutch wasn’t there. Dawn was imminent. The cool blue of sunrise shone through the blinds marking the hardwood with a moray of stripes. It looked like a herd of purple zebras.
It was 5:56 a.m. and Starsky sat on the couch with the telephone placed squarely on the coffee table in front of him. He leaned forward with his forearms set on his knees and his hands out in front of him - fingers tightly laced. Exhaustion was etched on his face. He hadn’t slept since he’d realized Hutch had been abducted and was running on sheer willpower and raw terror.
Ramirez sat on the toilet with his hands stretched back around the tank and cuffed. He was extremely uncomfortable but Starsky didn’t care. He relished in removing as much of Ramirez’ dignity as he could. The more uncomfortable the better.
He stared at the phone in anticipation of its ring and when it did, it made his heart flip.
“Hello?” Starsky answered anxiously.
“Do you have Pascolli?”
“Yes. Just name where and when.”
“Disneyland. In an hour.”
Starsky looked at his watch.
“Disneyland is a big place.” The detective stated calmly.
“There is a bank of pay phones at the entrance. At seven a.m. sharp, I will contact you on the center phone. Leave Pascolli there. You will be given instructions on where to find your partner. No games, no cops - no problems. Got it?”
“I’ll be there.”
He hung up the phone and sighed apprehensively. Again he peered at his watch then rose to approach the bathroom.
“Let’s go.” Starsky ordered Ramirez as he unshackled him and pulled him into a standing position by the front of his shirt. He also grabbed a fist full of chest hair, which made Ramirez wince. They shuffled down to the street and into the car - the prisoner in the back seat on the passenger side.
Starsky had resigned himself to the fact that he had no choice but to play by the kidnapper’s rules. He didn’t like it one bit but he knew Dobey was right. They had no other leads. He just prayed that Hutch was alive and they would be reunited.
As he sped toward the rendezvous point, he couldn’t help but wonder why Hutch had been the chosen one. Was he just convenient - in the wrong place at the wrong time? Had Ramirez and his cohorts targeted Hutch because of revenge or spite or just plain hatred? The motive at this point really wasn’t important but the detective in Starsky wanted to know. It gnawed at him like hunger pangs.
He looked into his review mirror and leered at Ramirez who seemed to be enjoying this whole adventure - smugly satisfied with having total control. The wind from the open front window played havoc with his salt and pepper hair. He had his eyes closed and leaned his face into the breeze as a dog would out of a pick up truck.
“Glad to see you’re enjoying yourself.” The detective stated with malice.
“Yes I am. Thank you.”
“Who’s behind this Ramirez? Why Hutch?”
“Does it matter?”
“No, right now it doesn’t. I’m just curious.”
“Your partner was an unfortunate victim of availability. He just happened to become vulnerable and we took advantage of it.”
“Vulnerable?”
“He was alone and sick.”
“How could you have known?”
“My daughters do their research David.”
“Your twins kidnapped Hutch?”
“Yes.”
“How did you get those packages to me without being seen?”
“Geena.”
“Geena?”
“Constable Geena Singleton.”
“She’s your daughter? Hutch has been asking her out for months.”
“I know.”
“Shit!” Starsky slapped the stirring wheel.
“Your detective skills need brushing up. If you’d done a screening of your staff you would have noticed that Geena’s maiden name was Pascolli. This was an oversight on my part, but not as big as yours… much to my surprise. You see Detective Starsky; my daughter joined the department about a year ago to work undercover for me. We staked out several partnerships and yours seemed to be the most… useful. You and your partner are quite close aren’t you?”
“Hutch and me are one person.” Starsky confessed - surprised he’d divulged such personal feelings.
“Geena noticed. We bided our time until one of you became an easy mark and last week Detective Hutchinson became just that. My daughters are very resourceful women.”