“There must be some mistake. I have a reservation,” Ken Hutchinson said into the phone, doing his best to keep his guitar balanced on top of his duffle bag in the tiny airport phone booth. Outside his booth, the last of the unfortunate travelers trapped on his Chicago flight were making their way through the deserted Newark baggage claim to the equally empty cabstand.
“Sir, your reservation wasn’t secured by a credit card. The clerk explained when you booked your room that you would need to call for late arrival,” the harassed reservation clerk repeated.
“I was stuck on the runway at O’Hare for four hours. There was no way to call,” Hutch explained for the third time.
“I’m sorry, sir. We had to give your reservation to a paying customer. Good luck and happy holidays.” The woman hung up on him.
“Yeah, right,” Hutch muttered, doing his best not to slam the phone down. Two a.m. in Newark Airport. He couldn’t imagine a less likely setting for happy holidays.
The bus he’d planned on taking into New York’s Port Authority to catch the subway to take him to his Queens hotel had stopped running two hours ago. Now, he was going to have to take a cab. Not that he had anywhere to go. The board behind the unmanned hotel reservation desk across from the baggage carousel had shown all the hotels booked solid. That snowstorm over Chicago had stranded thousands of travelers.
Hutch pulled out his wallet, knowing before he even opened it that he probably didn’t have enough to swing a cab from Newark to Manhattan. While he was counting the bills, his gaze was distracted by a slender brunette wearing a fluffy rabbit-skin jacket just like the one that had been with Van’s effects when he’d had to ID her in the morgue. The woman looked so much like his dead ex that it was eerie. She gave him a smile as she strutted past, but he couldn’t even manage a polite nod in return.
He’d given up his whole life for that face and body – and it hadn’t been enough. He’d done everything humanely possible to keep his marriage afloat. He’d dropped out of the Bay City Police Academy, gone back to law school, passed his Bar, done the intern’s shuffle for two years, and Van had still left him for greener pastures.
But that was ancient history. These days, Hutch lived his life the way he wanted. He’d left the law firm a week after Van filed for divorce. He’d thought about going back to the Academy, but his time in the law firm had soured him on the criminal justice system. And, he’d missed his chance. Starsky and Colby were no doubt detectives by now. He would have been ten years older than the other recruits and, while he probably could have done it, his passion was gone. Yet, when he thought back on his days in the Academy, he realized they were the best days of his life. How pathetic, he thought as he picked up his gear and cleared out of the phone booth.
Dismissing those melancholic thoughts from his mind, Hutch tried to figure out a game plan. Turning his back on the money-grubbing lifestyle Van and his parents had picked out for him had made him feel like his own man. However, not being able to make cab fare was getting old. Or maybe he was just getting old. He didn’t know. All he knew was that he was bone tired from the exhausting delays, his gig wasn’t for two days, and he didn’t have anywhere to sleep in the most dangerous city in the country.
The terminal was now completely empty. The place felt like the set for a serial killer movie. Without all those bodies moving frantically about in the enclosed space, the deserted baggage area was cold, too. He pulled his sheepskin jacket closer to him, closed the buttons, pushed his dangling brown Stetson up on his head, and headed towards the nearest seat.
It took a few minutes to find the bus schedule in his backpack, but he finally located it stuffed in the middle of his Christmas song book. As he’d suspected, the first bus to Manhattan didn’t run until 7 AM. Sighing at the way his luck seemed to be running lately, Hutch settled into his seat for a long, cold wait.
*~*~*
Predictably enough, his dreams brought him back to happier times.
It had been years since Hutch had seen the Bay City Police Academy dorm, but the room he’d shared with Starsky still looked exactly the same: Starsky’s side as neat as a pin, a picture of his mother and younger brother on the nightstand; Hutch’s own looking like a tornado had hit it, clothes and books scattered around the twin bed and nightstand, the guitar under the bed the only really personal thing in the mess. Looking at the dream scene now, Hutch was struck by the fact that there wasn’t a picture of Van on his nightstand. Somehow, that small oversight took on strange significance viewed more than a decade down the line.
Hutch was standing beside his bed, stuffing dirty clothes in his duffel bag when the door flew open and a breathless Starsky charged in. His roommate’s cheeks were flushed, his red tee shirt soaked with perspiration, as if he’d run all the way from the gym to get here.
“Colby said that you were leav–” Starsky’s words cut off as he took in what Hutch was doing.
“Yeah,” Hutch said, concentrating on stuffing his dirty socks in the bag, knowing what would be waiting when he met those eyes staring at his back.
“Are you nuts? We’re less than three weeks away from graduation.”
“And I’m less than three hours from the divorce court,” Hutch said hollowly, still ripped apart by the choice he was being forced to make.
“You think quittin’ the Academy is gonna change that?” Starsky moved to stand beside him, his voice soft and no longer angry. He stood so close that Hutch could smell sunshine and sweat on him.
The audible compassion drew Hutch’s gaze to his friend, despite his intention to avoid this scene. “Van met me for lunch today. I’ve . . . never seen her like that. She said if I weren’t home by six, she’d be on a plane by seven. She meant it, Starsk.”
“So, you’re gonna give up the chance of a lifetime to – “
“Save my marriage,” Hutch cut Starsky off. “She’s my wife. It’s not just about what I want. I’ve got to – “
“To what? What are you gonna do if you leave the Academy?”
Hutch drew a deep breath. “The next term in law school starts in September. I still have time to register. I can be a prosecuting attorney and make sure the scum you bust go down for life.”
“She’s got it all worked out for you, huh?” Starsky’s bitterness was a tangible presence. “You know those suits spend ninety percent of their time making deals with the defense to get the creeps off. That isn’t you, Hutch. You’re the best recruit this damn Academy’s got. You can’t throw it all away because Vanessa had a hissy fit. Put the bag down. She’ll cool off by tomorrow.”
“And if she doesn’t? If she gets on that plane?”
“Then maybe it wasn’t meant to be.” Starsky’s gentle voice always made Hutch feel better. “You told me how rocky it’s been between you – how much you’ve been fighting the past few years. Do you really think walking away from your dream is going to be enough to satisfy her? I’ve only met her a couple of times, Hutch, and I mean no offense to your lady, but Vanessa doesn’t strike me as the kind to be satisfied until she’s living in one of those Beverly Hills mansions next to the stars.”
Hutch wished he could be mad at the appraisal, but, as usual, Starsky was dead on when it came to scoping out someone’s personality. Starsk hadn’t come out and called her a gold digger like Colby had, but they both knew that was what Starsky thought of her. Subtlety had never been his roommate’s strong suit. Taking a deep breath, Hutch said, “I’m never gonna get her there on a cop’s salary.”
“You think she’s gonna be content to wait it out ’til you get outta law school?”
“I can take an accelerated course up at Berkley.”
“You gonna get an accelerated internship, too? Interns don’t make much more than cops. You know how long it’s gonna be before you’re making that kinda dough.”
“I know,” Hutch said. “But I have to try. I made a vow three years ago. ‘Til death do us part. I’m not going to be the one who wrecks our marriage by being selfish.”
“I know how important that is to you and I respect you for it, but . . . I think you’re making a major mistake here, buddy.”
“Maybe.” In his bones, he feared Starsky was right. Every time a concession had to be made in their marriage, it seemed he was always the one who had to make it. But it wasn’t Van’s fault that he’d finally figured out he wasn’t the man she’d married. She still hadn’t forgiven him for walking away from his father’s company. She hadn’t signed on to be a pauper’s wife. He’d chosen to walk away from the Hutchinson fortune, so it was his duty to make it up to her somehow. “But I still have to try.”
“How are we gonna be partners if you do this? You know we had it all planned out. A couple of years in uniform and then – “
“It was all a pipedream, Starsk. You know they’d never let two young cops partner up as detectives.”
“You stay, and we’ll make it happen. I give you my solemn word on that.” Starsky’s promise had more sincerity than Van had managed when she’d repeated the “richer and poorer” part of her oath.
They’d been roommates for over five months. Hutch had clicked with this fiery New Yorker as he had with no other human being, including his wife. Meeting Starsky’s pleading blue eyes, his heart was torn. His every instinct told him Starsky was right, that giving into Van’s demand was only a stopgap measure and not a cure to the problems plaguing their marriage. But, if he didn’t leave the Academy, he wasn’t going to have a marriage. That much, he was sure of.
“I can’t, Starsk, I’m sorry. I can’t lose her.”
“Why?”
The simple word froze him. “What? What do you mean ‘why’?”
“How long’s it been since you went a whole day or even an hour with Van without fighting over something?” Starsky had clearly seen enough of Van and his interaction to know the score.
“That’s not the point. She’s my wife.”
“You told me yourself how miserable you’ve been for years, that being in the Academy was the first thing that felt right to you in forever. Do you think you’re really going to be happy with someone who’s blackmailing you into giving up something you love that much just to get her way?”
Hutch couldn’t lie to those eyes.
“She’s bluffing, Hutch. She’s not gonna leave you. Stay here this weekend. Let things cool down some, then talk to her on Monday.”
“And if she takes that plane out of here tonight?”
“You won’t be alone. I promise you.” That oh-so-tempting solid-as-stone sincerity was there again in Starsky’s eyes and voice.
Needing to lighten the heavy scene, Hutch joked, “What are you going to do? Move in with me? Keep house for me and share my bed?”
Something incomprehensible sparked in Starsky’s bright eyes before he answered in a dead serious tone. “If that’s what it takes to keep you from screwing up your life. And, you know for a fact that I’ll keep house better than Vanessa ever did.”
Starsk had a gift for making him laugh. Hutch chuckled at the absurd proposition, but his merriment slowly faded when he realized Starsky wasn’t sharing it. He wasn’t joking.
If this had been John Colby or any of the other Academy recruits, the scene would have taken on a creepy connotation, but Hutch knew this man well enough to trust that there wasn’t anything unwholesome in the offer. Starsky was just following his heart like he always did and clearly hadn’t thought through how his words might be misinterpreted. Loving his friend very much at that moment, and aching because he knew no matter how hard they tried, they would never be this close again once he left the Academy, Hutch cocked an eyebrow and asked, “And the sharing my bed part?”
Starsky blinked at the question.
Hutch nearly grinned, watching as his roommate replayed what Hutch had actually said and realized where his impetuous offer had left him.
“You promise not to hog the covers, and we’ll work something out,” Starsky said, holding his gaze without a trace of humor or fear.
Hutch’s smile dropped from his face, his throat and stomach tightening with emotion when this incredible man refused to back down.
Starsky spoke into the silence. “We’re meant to be partners. You know that. Don’t throw everything away for someone who doesn’t care about your happiness.” Starsky’s hand settled on his shoulder, giving him the same kind of bracing, encouraging squeeze he’d given him a dozen times in the last few months when they’d faced difficult tests.
Hutch’s nerves were vibrating so fiercely, he felt like he was going to shatter. That touch finished him. He fell, as if from a great height, into Starsky’s arms.
Starsky hugged him tight, rubbing his back, murmuring over and over that everything was going to be all right. The emotion was so pure, so bright, it felt like coming home. Hutch hugged back with all his might, something inside him knowing that once he stepped away from this embrace that all warmth would vanish from his life. Standing there, basking in Starsky’s caring, Hutch tried to remember the last time he’d felt anything like this with Van.
His already shaky mind jittered to a screeching halt at another cliff edge when he realized he was actively comparing this man to his wife. The fact that his wife was coming up wanting was in no way reassuring.
What the hell was he doing? What was Starsky thinking saying that kind of stuff to him? His roommate had volunteered to stand in for his wife in both the housekeeping and bedroom departments. Every instinct he had was telling him that Starsky hadn’t meant any of his words as a come on, but . . . who the hell said those kinds of things to their buddy? They were pressed together tighter than lovers. If anyone walked in on them now, there would be no question about Hutch staying. They’d both be tossed out on their asses for conduct unbecoming an officer.
Raw panic shooting through him, Hutch pulled back. His breathing as ragged as if he’d just run ten miles, he rasped in a breath and stared in shock at Starsky’s equally astonished face. For all that Starsky was a major toucher, they’d never hugged that way before. It was clear that Starsky had felt the same things he had.
In another world, Hutch knew he might have been a better man. In that perfect world, he would have found the courage to face the feelings that hug had brought to life – the almost sexual thrill that was still singing through him. But in this imperfect reality, he couldn’t handle this development, not on top of all the stress of dealing with Van’s ultimatum.
The emotion was too much; he shut it down. He had years of experience at closing himself away and putting on his game face – first in his father’s house and more recently in his daily skirmishes with Van. But never had it hurt this much.
Assuming what he’d always thought of as the Hutchinson Freeze when his father did it to him, Hutch said, “I can’t do this. I’ll come pick up my stuff tomorrow morning when you’re at class.”
Hutch forced himself to stay strong and distant as the hope died in Starsky’s eyes. He’d never seen his friend look that crushed. He couldn’t remember being that important to anyone before.
Starsky stared for a long moment, his silent accusation and disappointment clear before saying in a tight voice, “You’re gonna regret this decision for your entire life. You know that, don’t you?”
Hutch nodded. “I know. I still have to try.”
And with those final, pitiful words, Hutch shot out the door.
The memory had been so vivid that Hutch had forgotten he was dreaming. When he stepped out of the dorm, the dreamscape altered. Gone was the boring, institutional hall outside that room. Instead of beige walls with police-oriented posters, Hutch found himself in a winter forest. A blizzard was raging around him. There was nothing but tall pines as far as he could see. It was beautiful in a wild, dangerous way, but cold enough to freeze his blood.
Wind battered him and threw stinging snow in his eyes. He lifted his hand to brush the snow away and banged his guitar into his head. Smarting under the painful impact, he realized he was only wearing his usual cowboy boots, jeans, sheepskin jacket, and Stetson, and carrying his guitar. He had no clue where his duffle was or how he’d ended up in this wild wood.
Shivering, Hutch looked for a trail, but he seemed to be deep in the wilderness. There was nothing manmade in sight, only wind, snow, ice, trees, and stone. He had no idea where he was, where he was going, or why he was here.
Concentrating, Hutch tried to wake himself up, but the winter-locked wood around him refused to vanish.
Shaking with cold, he realized he would have to find shelter fast, before he froze to death. His leather boots weren’t designed for this kind of weather. The snow was halfway up his calves and falling heavily. His toes throbbed in agony as the snow underfoot leeched the heat out of them. He had gloves, but they were in his backpack, which seemed to have disappeared with his duffle. His blood red fingers holding his guitar case were starting to ache as well. He prayed that this intense cold wouldn’t warp his guitar.
Recognizing the first signs of frostbite, Hutch staggered between the towering pines. The snow was so deep, he couldn’t see what he was stepping on. He prayed there weren’t any holes or covered streams. Trying not to panic, he realized the sun was setting. The trees were so thick, he couldn’t see the horizon, not that it would matter in the middle of this raging blizzard. All there was was white in front of him, behind him, above and below. He came to an abrupt halt when he stumbled right into a small tree that was completely buried.
As his face landed in the scratchy pine, the top of his guitar case crashed through the snow-heavy branches. A small bird chittered in terror and skittered away through the deepening shadows.
“If you’re not more careful, young bard, you’re going to severely injure yourself or one of my children,” a pleasant female voice said from behind him.
Hutch spun at the sound. Already unsteady, he ended up on his butt in the snow, staring up at the speaker in astonishment.
If he’d had any doubts that he was trapped in a dream, this figure would have confirmed that. She was tall and slender, clothed chin to foot in a flowing green velvet robe with bright colors embroidered on the trim. Her hair was white, flowing down to her waist, her eyes were blue as his own, and her skin milky and smooth. She wore a holly wreath around her head like a crown. He sucked in a breath of the freezing air as he realized that the icicles dangling from her headpiece were real.
“W-who ar-r-re y-you?” he questioned through chattering teeth.
Though not unfriendly, there was little warmth in her smile. “It’s not considered polite here to ask that kind of question of a stranger. Has no one told you that names have power?”
He shook his head. “Why am I here?”
“Men have been asking that question since the dawn of time. There isn’t any response that can adequately answer it.”
“Are you tr-rying to be funny?”
“No. But there is a certain irony to the situation.” Her blue eyes studied him with open curiosity.
“Irony?”
“You plop yourself in the middle of my wood, terrify one of my children – “
“Are you talking about the bird?” Hutch was mystified. It was the only other living creature he’d met since arriving in this dismal, frozen slice of Hell.
“He lives here. You are an uninvited visitor. You need to have more respect.”
Realizing that she was completely serious, Hutch tried to keep the pique out of his voice. “I didn’t mean to frighten him. It wasn’t intentional.”
“And, yet, you made no apology.”
“To the bird? Lady, unless it’s escaped your notice, I’m in real trouble here.” Hutch could barely keep his voice the right side of civil.
“So it seems. That’s why I stopped to talk to you.”
“Did you bring me here?” Hutch still had no idea where here was.
“Your choices brought you here.”
A different type of chill spread through him. He had the sudden memory of old Ebenezer being condemned to an icy purgatory in the musical version of Scrooge. Not sure he wanted the answer, he asked, “Am I dead?”
“Not physically.”
“What other way is there to be dead?” He was too cold to deal with word games.
“Some would say that a man’s spiritual life is as important as his physical life.”
“So you’re saying I’m spiritually dead?” Somehow, that didn’t sound a hell of a lot better than being physically dead.
“No. Those beyond hope do not come here. You still have a chance.” Her answer had the first trace of warmth.
“A chance to do what?”
“That’s up to you, isn’t it?”
“If you didn’t bring me here and I’m not dead, then how did I get here?” Hutch tried to make sense of this insane situation.
“It is only Seekers who are drawn here. I would suggest your spirit is searching for something.”
“What? I’m not searching for anything.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I was on my way to a gig, fell asleep in the airport, and ended up here. All I’m searching for is a way out of this crazy place.”
“This crazy place, as you call it, is a reflection.”
This was getting weirder and more frustrating by the second. “A reflection of what?”
“Your soul.”
“My what? This is nuts.” Hutch gave up on politeness.
“Those who come here who are happy and fulfilled, seeking only spiritual guidance find this place a lush, summer wood. The more empty a Seeker’s soul, the more inhospitable this place becomes.” Her tone held no censure; it was as matter-of-fact as if she were telling a stranger where the bus stopped nearby.
“My soul is not a frozen forest.” Hutch was ready to storm off, but realized he had no place to go.
“No? Who loves you?” Her question had a challenging tone.
“W-what?” he stammered.
“A soul is measured by the love it gives and receives in turn. Your people’s most important holiday will take place in a few days. Who are you spending it with?”
“I booked a show in New York so I could spend the holiday touring the seasonal sites,” Hutch said, getting really angry.
“And the last holiday, where did you spend that?” It was like she knew the answer before he gave it.
Feeling his cheeks heat from something other than wind burn, Hutch thought of the Chinese restaurant in Chicago where he’d spent Thanksgiving. “I’m a musician. I’m on the road most of the time.”
“Other bards travel together as a musical family, so that when they are away from blood kin, there is still love in their life.”
“I’m not part of a band,” Hutch said. “That doesn’t mean I don’t have love in my life.”
“No? So, who loves you, young bard? Even a dog or cat’s love would be sufficient to turn this land into a paradise. But here you are in a frozen wilderness of your own making, with no one to your name, no one to know you are lost and in need of help, no one to miss you. The only thing that is keeping you from complete despair is your instrument, but even that is losing its hold on you.” Once again, there was no accusation in her tone. She sounded sad.
Everything inside him wanted to protest her assessment, to tell her to stuff her metaphysical gibberish and just tell him how to get back to civilization. But the part of him that gave birth to his music was listening and believing. That scared him more than this deadly wilderness.
When he made no response, she continued in a gentle tone. “Because you serve us by spreading joy through your music, I have been sent to warn you.”
“Who is it you think I serve? Who are you?”
“We both fight on the side of Light. The fact that you don’t know that should tell you how much danger you are in.”
Hutch digested that in silence before echoing, “The side of Light.”
“In all your spirit walks, you have always been among our staunchest defenders. You have taken a misstep in this walk, pledging yourself to the wrong partner.”
Her use of the word ‘partner’ brought his previous dream to mind. “Are you talking about Starsky?”
“That spirit has walked by your side through nearly all of your journeys. You are not the only one who has been hurt by your misstep.”
Hutch’s gaze jumped from her face to the snow-riven forest around them. “Is Starsky lost somewhere out here? He’s a city boy. He doesn’t know anything about the woods.”
His worry for his old friend brought the first smile to here regal, pale features. “No. He is not lost in the wilderness. That spirit has always known how to call love to itself.”
“Thank God.” Something in Hutch relaxed. He might still be in dire straits himself, but at least Starsky wasn’t blundering around alone slowly freezing to death.
“We offer you a chance now to set things back on course. Do you accept this gift of your own free will?” Her voice and face were even more solemn and earnest than they’d been throughout this bizarre conversation.
“Is there a price to this gift?” Nothing in their interaction had given him cause to trust her.
“You will have to leave this wasteland behind.”
“And my music?” he asked, a little panicked, not sure what a person who could bring him to this savage wilderness might also be capable of. There was a fairy tale-like air to this meeting. The one thing he remembered about traditional fairy tales was that they didn’t usually end happily. Would he wake up tomorrow and not be able to play?
“Your music is part of you. No one but you can take it from you. Fare well, young bard.”
And with those words, the snow-locked forest around him faded to black.
*~*~*
“Hutch?”
Hutch started awake in panic at the soft, questioning sound.
He half expected to see that blizzard-locked wildwood around him, but he was perched uncomfortably on one of the ugly orange plastic chairs in Newark Airport’s baggage claim area. No blizzard, no tall pines, no Snow Queen, just a blessedly normal, impersonal airport.
Still, the voice was familiar. He’d heard it in his dreams enough over the last decade.
Blinking the sleep from his eyes, it took his groggy mind a moment to recognize the grinning man with the dark curls standing in front of him.
“Starsky???” Incredulous, he jumped to his feet, holding his hand out, part of him believing he was still dreaming. At least this was a sweet dream.
Starsky stared at his outstretched hand for a moment, laughed, and said, “A handshake ain’t gonna do it, old buddy,” and flung his arms around Hutch to draw him into a tight hug.
The impulsive move was so in character with the man Hutch remembered.
That regal woman he’d met in the forest hadn’t been far off in her assessment of his life. Hutch couldn’t recall the last time anyone had hugged him. He’d been on the road for most of the last six years, playing solo gigs. Occasionally, he’d had one night stands, but human contact was rare. He basked in the warmth of his old friend, breathing in the scents of sandalwood and Starsky. Those arms clutched him like they’d never let go, which was fine with him. The trauma of being lost in the woods during a hazardous storm might have been nothing more than a dream, but emotionally, it had felt real. He was still shaking inside, and not from the cold.
Eventually, Starsky pulled reluctantly away, still laughing.
It had been nearly twelve years, but David Starsky hadn’t changed much. Still trim and fit, the tight blue jeans his old friend wore looked like they were going to cut circulation off to some important parts, but they suited his lithe figure. As a concession to the freezing weather, Starsky wore an old brown bomber jacket, bright red scarf, and a Mets’ baseball cap.
“My God, it is so good to see you, Hutch. You just disappeared off the planet after you left the Academy. Once I got my badge, I ran you through DMV. San Francisco, wasn’t it?”
“For a while,” Hutch said. “Van loved it there.”
“How’s she doing?” Starsky’s gaze made a quick scan of the area, as if searching for her.
“She, ah, died about four years ago.”
“Damn, I’m sorry, man.” Starsky wore the expression any caring person might after receiving such startling news, and reached out to squeeze his arm.
“We’d been divorced a long time by then,” Hutch said. Figuring he ought to say it straight out, he added, “You were right about her.”
“Some things you’d rather be wrong about. So, what are you doing here in scenic Newark?” Starsky gave him another of those crooked grins, obviously trying to lighten the mood.
“Waiting for the bus to the Port Authority.”
Starsky looked confused. “That doesn’t start running again ’til morning.”
“I know.” Hutch smiled. “I got delayed in Chicago and my hotel gave my reservation away. I’m just waiting ’til morning to start shopping for another hotel.”
“Forget the hotel,” Starsky said. “I got a spare room you can use.”
“Starsky, you don’t have to – “
“What haveta? I haven’t seen you in a million years. You sure as hell ain’t spendin’ the night in an airport lounge when I’ve got a spare room.”
“You live here in Newark?” Hutch asked. It had been years, but he was fairly certain Starsky came from New York, not New Jersey.
“Because we’re friends, I’ll forget you asked that question,” Starsky said with another huge smile.
“You’re not in LA anymore?”
“No. Ma got sick a few years back. I came back east to take care of her ’til she passed.”
Starsky had called his mother every Friday night when they’d roomed together in the Academy. Colby used to razz him for it, but Hutch had always envied their sweet relationship. “Sorry. I remember how close you were.”
“Yeah. The place has been pretty empty since she’s gone,” Starsky said, “so you’d be doing me a favor by staying.”
“Is your brother still living at home?” Hutch recalled the other family member he could remember Starsky talking about. Starsky had a boatload of aunts and uncles, a few of whom had lived in LA, but Hutch couldn’t think of any of their names.
“Nicky got his sorry ass locked up for selling stolen goods. Then he got into a knife fight in Wallkill Prison that upped his sentence to fifteen years.”
“Jeez.” Hoping to change the subject without stepping into another conversational landmine, he asked, “Are you still on the Force? Did you move to NYPD?”
Starsky was quiet a moment, then said in a low voice, “My partner and I got shot during a syndicate hit in a restaurant a few years back. He didn’t make it. I couldn’t pass the medical review to go back to active duty. Mom got sick about the same time, so I just moved back here.”
Hutch couldn’t imagine how much that must have hurt this man who’d been so proud at making the grade at the Academy.
“I’m so sorry. Sounds like you haven’t had an easy time of it.” Hutch felt guilty. Starsky had been a good a friend to him, but in twelve years he hadn’t called even once to see how Starsky was doing.
“I’m still standing,” Starsky said. It should have been a joke, but there was something in Starsky’s face that made it a victory.
They stared into each other’s eyes as the memories moved through them. Needing to break the silence, Hutch said, “Sometimes standing is all you can hope for.”
“Yeah. But enough about me. What have you been up to? You don’t look much like a lawyer these days.” Starsky’s deep blue eyes gave him a quick once over.
“After Van split, I left the law firm.”
“Good. I could never picture you as a suit.” Starsky’s eyes fixed on the guitar case at his feet. “Can you play that thing?”
The question startled him. His guitar was so much a part of him that he couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t played, but then Hutch remembered that, while he’d had the guitar stored under his bed at the Academy, he was usually too tired to play after training all day. The only time he’d actually practiced was on those rare occasions when he had the room to himself.
Seeing that Starsky was waiting for an answer, Hutch grinned. His music was the one thing he was sure of. “Oh, yeah. I can play. It’s. ah, how I make my living these days.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m doing a Winter Solstice Concert the day after tomorrow down in the Village.”
“At St. John’s?” Starsky asked.
Hutch nearly gaped. “I thought your tastes ran to R&B.”
“Yep, they do. I had a fare there last year. Had to drop a harpist off at the concert. Have you ever tried to fit a concert harp into a cab?”
Hutch tried to conceal his shock. Starsky was a cab driver? That just seemed too wrong for words. When he thought he could keep his feelings out of his voice, he asked as casually as possible, “You drive a cab now?”
Whatever was in his face made Starsky burst out laughing. “Not by necessity. After Mom passed, I was going nuts with nothing to do. One of the guys on my bowling team owns a cab company. He couldn’t find any decent drivers in a dry period, so I offered to help him out. I sorta like it. I meet a lot of interesting people and the hours are flexible. Most importantly, no one’s shooting at me on a regular basis.”
“I thought you said you lived in New York? People are always shooting at each other there, aren’t they?”
“Tread carefully there, cowboy,” Starsky warned with a wild waggle of his brows that made Hutch laugh.
“God, you haven’t changed at all, Starsk. It is so good to see you!”
“You, too. Hey, you like Christmas lights?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“I’m going to drive you over to Dyker Heights and show you the best Christmas lights in the world. Come on, let me take that bag for you.”
Hutch didn’t protest as Starsky commandeered his duffle. He quickly donned his backpack, picked up his guitar case, and fell into step beside his old friend.
He didn’t know if what had transpired in his dream had really happened, but meeting Starsky again like this on the heels of that weird nightmare sure felt like a miracle. Feeling like he’d been offered a second chance, Hutch swore to himself that there’d be no more missteps. He didn’t know how, but he was determined to keep that promise he’d broken. Some way, somehow, they’d be partners again. He was going to make sure of it.
The End
Image created by Flamingo
