Starsky and Hutch walked down the hall to the squad room. Both had their summer jackets off -- Hutch carried his over his shoulder, while Starsky had the sleeves of his jacket tied around his waist. The blond detective held the door open, and they made a beeline for the water cooler. Hutch sank down into a chair beside the cooler, while Starsky got a cup of water. He drank it down in one gulp, refilled the cup and handed it to his partner.

   Using the back of his sleeve, Starsky wiped the sweat from his brow. "Man am I glad to get off the streets."

   "Yeah," Hutch said with a grin, "Do you think we could convince the Chief to re-locate the station to a safer neighborhood?"

   Starsky nodded in agreement, "We had our jackets off, guns in plain sight, and it was still scary walking around out there."

   "Scarier than watching ‘Attack of the Killer Tomatoes’ last night? I can’t believe I sat through two whole hours of giant tomatoes, bouncing through fields and squashing people."

   "That movie’s gonna be a classic, Hutch, just you wait."

   "Oh yeah, Starsk," he teased, "it made me forget all about ‘Citizen Kane’. Say, wasn’t the lead tomato up for an Oscar? He was a big star until the dreadful ‘Ketchup Murder’. The one where they found him in a ‘No-Tell motel’ splattered all over the wall," he looked around suspiciously and whispered, "They found a trail of mustard leading from the room, but the killer got away. They’ll probably never catch him."

   "Anyone ever tell you you're a regular comedian?" Starsky complained, with a hint of a smile on his face.

   Hutch laughed.

   Captain Dobey heard his detectives' voices and came out of his office. "Why aren't you two out on the street?" he demanded.

   "It's a little hard to chase suspects from behind Merle's tow truck." Hutch said dryly.

   Captain Dobey turned to Starsky, "What's wrong with your car?"

   "Nothin' that a new engine wouldn't fix," he said glumly. "Merle's really busy. His tow truck driver didn't even have time to drop us off here. It'll take at least a week, if he can get all the parts he needs."

   Hutch spoke, his voice dripping with sarcasm; "Merle probably has to special order one of those fuzzy pink toilet seat covers to put on your steering wheel."

   Starsky glared at him. "Merle wouldn't do that."

   "After what he did to my last car, I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him. I took it in for a tune-up, just a tune-up, I told him. And what does he do? He upholsters it in fun fur! It looked like a pimp wagon."

   "You’re lucky he worked on it at all," Starsky snapped. "That car was truly beneath his level of expertise. Merle's an artist. He has a gift with machines."

   "He's an artist all right," Hutch snorted, "Picasso!"

   Captain Dobey barked, "All right, stop bickering about Merle. Where's your car?" he asked Hutch.

   Hutch cast his eyes to the floor. "The transmission fell out," he mumbled.

   "And he can't find anyone who's willing to work on his piece of junk," Starsky taunted.

   Hutch opened his mouth to reply, but Captain Dobey cut him off, "Go down to the motor pool and sign something out."

   Starsky hurried towards the door.

   "Wait," Dobey said, "whoever signs for the car is responsible for it. That means no footprints across the hood and no turning the interior into a garbage dumpster! Is that clear?"

   "Yes, Cap'n," they said, in unison.

   "One more thing. You two wouldn't happen to know anything about Simonetti getting locked in his office this morning?"

   Starsky giggled, "Was he pushin’ on the door again instead of pulling?"

   Hutch laughed.

   Captain Dobey didn't join in on the humor. "Simonetti was going to interview Officer Julie Reichert about shooting a suspect. Someone wedged a chair under the doorknob of his office door so he couldn't get out."

   Hutch asked, "Didn't Reichert's partner get stabbed so she was forced to shoot the perp.?"

   "That's what allegedly happened. Simonetti has to investigate."

   "I'll bet Lang isn't even out of surgery yet," Hutch complained. "How can he question Reichert when she's in that state of mind?"

   "That's his job. Anyway, Simonetti is mad as hell - he's sent the chair down to the lab to have fingerprints lifted."

   "Well, when they catch the guy," Starsky said, "I'd like to congratulate him."

   "Me too," Hutch added.

   Captain Dobey heaved an exasperated sigh and barked, "Get a car and get back to work." He went back to his office and closed the door.

   Hutch shook his head. "They'll never catch him."

   "Why?" Starsky asked.

   "I wiped the chair clean."

   Starsky's eyes widened in amazement.

   Hutch laughed, "You didn't think I'd really use the john next to booking, did you? No one could be that desperate. I had a little 'errand' to run."

   "Good job, Hutch, but wouldn't Simonetti be able to call someone and get out right away?"

   "It gave me enough time to go out and 'fix his car', if you know what I mean," he said with a wicked grin on his face.

   "Next time you go after Simonetti, I want in."

   Hutch laughed.

   "So what about the car?" Starsky asked.

   "Go ahead," Hutch said, "it's your turn to drive."

   "You're not gonna complain about what I pick out?"

   "Of course I'm going to complain. You get the car. I want to phone the hospital and check on Lang, and then I need to confirm next week's court dates. How about I meet you in the garage in 20 minutes?"

   "Okay. See ya in 20."

********

   Hutch took the long way around to the police garage, stopping in the lobby to buy a newspaper. When he got there, Starsky wasn't around, so Hutch sat on the trunk of a black and white police car and opened his paper.

   A few minutes later, Starsky walked up and said, "Hey."

   Hutch jumped, his paper went flying out of his hands and fluttered to the ground. "You scared the hell out of me!"

   Starsky bent down to pick up the paper. "You gotta be more alert than that buddy," he admonished.

   "Starsky," Hutch began, annoyed, "I'm sitting in the middle of the police garage with at least a dozen cops wandering around. No creep in his right mind would try to get to me here."

   Starsky shrugged, "I guess you have a point."

   "Where's the car?"

   "They're bringing it around. You're not gonna believe what I picked out. You're gonna love it," he said enthusiastically.

   "I doubt that."

   They heard the sound of a car approaching.

   Hutch blinked. He couldn't believe his eyes as the lot attendant pulled up in a bright orange Corvette.

   "What's that?"

   Starsky assumed the role of a used car salesman. "This, my friend, is a brand new 1978 Corvette Stingray. One careful owner. Well, he wasn't all that careful, he was busted for transportin' drugs, and the car was seized…"

   "But Starsk," Hutch protested, "Shriners drive bigger cars than this in their parades!"

   Starsky glared at him. "Give it a chance. It's a fabulous driving machine. It's got a 350 engine, dual exhaust, it's turbo-charged… This baby can go from zero to sixty in under 60 seconds…"

   "If you start singing 'Greased Lightning' I swear I'm going to hurt you," Hutch threatened.

   "But I haven't told you the most important feature."

   "What's that?"

   Starsky grinned, "Girls love it."

   Hutch rolled his eyes.

   "It took a little while to install a radio and siren, but it's all ours and it's ready to go."

   Hutch sighed, "Well, let's get this over with. I’m getting claustro. already."

   Starsky opened the passenger door with a flourish. Hutch underestimated the height of the roof, and smacked his head getting in.

   "Watch your head."

   Hutch glared at him. "Cute, Starsk."

   Starsky hurried around to the driver's side and got in, banging elbows with Hutch.

   He gave an apologetic shrug, "Takes a little getting used to."

   "That's what I say about you," Hutch teased.

   The blond detective picked up the mike, "This is Sardine…uh, Zebra 3, log us back in at 10:45."

   Starsky gunned the engine and took the 'vette squealing out of the garage.

********

   The detectives resumed cruising the streets.

   Starsky asked, "Did you get through to the hospital?"

   "Yeah, Lang's still critical. The knife missed his heart by less than one inch. Hell of a thing to happen. Reichert has enough to deal with without Simonetti breathing down her neck."

   Starsky was about to reply, when the dispatcher came on the radio, "Zebra 3 shots fired at 12410 Marine Street. Please respond."

   Hutch picked up the mike, "This is Zebra 3, 10-4, we are responding. Is that a business or residence?"

   "It's a business - Sterling Tax Company," replied the dispatcher.

   Starsky looked at Hutch and said, "Disgruntled customer? Crazy employee?"

   Hutch shrugged, "We'll find out soon enough, there it is up on the right."

   They approached a one-story office building. Several people were in the street, hiding behind parked cars. Two officers were trying to lead the civilians further down the street. Starsky brought the Corvette to a stop behind a black and white police car that was sitting crossways in the street, blocking off traffic. There was another black and white keeping cars from entering the far end of the block. Hutch jumped out of the car, catching his arm in the seatbelt. The momentum swung him around into the side of the car. He disentangled himself, giving Starsky a dirty look. Starsky got out, and keeping low, headed towards a uniformed officer.

   "Hey, Daniels, what have you got?"

   "Some guy walked in and started shooting. He's still in there."

   Starsky looked at Hutch and said, "Back door?"

   Hutch nodded.

   They crept up to the building with Starsky leading the way. The detectives hurried towards an alley on the far side of the building. Keeping low, Starsky stepped into the alley. They heard an engine roar seconds before a white van came peeling out of the alley. Hutch grabbed Starsky's collar and yanked him out of the path of the van. They landed in a heap on the sidewalk. The van accelerated and rammed the police car at the far end of the street.

   Hutch sat up and yelled at no one in particular, "Nobody was watching the back?"

   "Terrific," Starsky growled. "Let's go." He scrambled to his feet, reached down and helped Hutch up.

   They yelled at Daniels to move his car, and ran back to the Corvette. Hutch got in, hitting his head again. Starsky hit the siren and was halfway down the street before Hutch wrestled the flashing light out from under his long legs.

   Hutch reached for the mike. "This is Zebra 3 in pursuit of a white Ford van on Marine Street heading east. Patch us through to Officer Daniels."

   A voice came on the radio. "This is Daniels."

   "What have you got?" Hutch asked.

   "I have the manager here. Suspect's name is Jonathan Lindvall. He shot his wife and her boyfriend. They were Sterling Tax employees. Both are deceased."

   Starsky grimaced, then he had a disturbing thought. "What's his home address?"

   Hutch relayed the question.

   Daniels replied, "2246 Chalmers Street."

   "Any kids?" Hutch asked.

   "Three, they're being looked after by Lindvall's mother-in-law."

   Starsky and Hutch exchanged a worried glance.

   Starsky said, "If he takes Ocean, that's heading towards Chalmers."

   Hutch spoke into the mike again, "Zebra 3 to Control, we are in pursuit of an armed suspect involved in a double homicide. We believe he’s heading to his residence with intent to kill the rest of his family. Send a black and white unit immediately to 2246 Chalmers Street. Suspect has turned west on Ocean Park Boulevard. I repeat, suspect has turned west onto Ocean."

   A supervisor's voice came on the air. "Zebra 3, you are out of your jurisdiction. Pull back and let the 10th Precinct resume the chase."

   The detectives exchanged irritated looks.

   Starsky snarled, "He’ll be halfway across town before the call even goes out."

   "Where the hell are they?" Hutch growled as he focused on the van, three-quarters of a block ahead of them. "He's going through Lincoln on red," he said into the mike.

   Starsky and Hutch both held their breath as the van streaked through the intersection without incident. They were approaching the intersection when Hutch shouted, "Look out, Starsk!"

   Starsky expertly zigzagged around a car that had just pulled out of the parking lane. He continued down the street, and took the 'vette through the intersection. Neither man saw the truck approaching on the right. Hutch saw a shadow barely register in his peripheral vision. There was a sickening crunch as the impact sent the car flipping through the air. It came to rest facing the opposite direction from the one they were heading. Starsky's last conscious sight was a vision of Hutch covered in blood, slumped in the seat next to him.

********

   Gradually the world came into focus. Starsky blinked as he frantically scanned the room looking for Hutch. He regarded the empty bed next to his, with a look of bitter disappointment on his face. He heard Captain Dobey's voice and turned to look at the chair beside to his bed.

   "I'm glad to see you're awake," Captain Dobey said softly.

   "Hutch…where's Hutch?" Starsky asked, desperately trying to sit up. There was a stabbing pain in his chest. He winced and grabbed his ribs.

   "Take it easy, Dave, you've got a concussion and broken ribs."

   Starsky flinched at the memory of Hutch lying motionless, covered in blood. A cry rose up in his throat.

   "Starsky," Captain Dobey gently shook him, "Ken's alive."

   Starsky was confused, he gasped, "Where is he? I gotta see him." He clawed at the blankets trying to sit up again.

   "No," Captain Dobey said firmly, holding the struggling man down.

   "What," Starsky pleaded, desperation in his voice, "what are you trying to tell me?"

   "Lie back down and I'll tell you everything I know."

   Starsky leaned back, but remained tense.

   Captain Dobey cleared his throat and quietly said, "Hutch is in a coma."

   "I gotta see him." Starsky tried to get up again, and again Captain Dobey held him down.

   "No, Dave, you can't see him. He's not here."

   "Not here?" the dark haired man asked, struggling to understand. "But this is a hospital. Oh, he's at another hospital - a trauma center?"

   Captain Dobey stared at the floor. "No, uh, his parents, the Hutchinsons, sent for him."

   A look of confusion registered on Starsky's face.

   "Their attorney came and got Hutch. He was taken by air ambulance to Duluth Memorial Hospital this morning."

   "Came and got him? They didn't, they can't…"

   "They can and they have. They have Power of Attorney. Until Hutch is awake and can express his wishes, the Hutchinsons are legally responsible for him."

   "That gives them the right…the right to kidnap him?"

   "I'm sorry, Starsky, that's the way it is," he said, giving Starsky a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "Uh, there's one more thing."

   Captain Dobey's voice trembled, "The Hutchinsons are blaming you for the accident. Their lawyer went to court; they've gotten a restraining order against you."

   Starsky's whole world felt like it was falling apart. He barely heard Captain Dobey tell him that he couldn't contact Hutch by phone or mail and wasn't allowed to go within 500 feet of him.

   Tears stung Starsky's eyes.

   Captain Dobey was struggling to keep his composure. "I'm sorry, Dave," he said softly, "all we can do is hope that Hutch regains consciousness soon."

   Starsky blinked away his tears. "Cap'n, what happened to Lindvall? Did they get him?"

   The big man stared at the floor. "No, I'm sorry, the black and whites arrived too late. Lindvall killed his children and his mother-in-law, and committed suicide."

   It was the last straw.

   "I'd… I'd like to be alone for a while, please," Starsky croaked.

   "I'm going for coffee. I'll be back in a little while. You hang in there, Starsky. Hutch is strong. We have to believe he'll be okay." Captain Dobey didn't know if it was Starsky or himself he was trying to convince.

   "Thanks Cap'n," Starsky whispered.

   Starsky fell into a restless sleep.

********

   Starsky ran through the darkened store, every sense on alert. It was around midnight on a moonless night. He and Hutch had received a burglary call at Henderson’s pawnshop. When they pulled up out front, two men were in the process of climbing out the smashed front window, carrying out stolen goods in large knapsacks. One man jumped down from the windowsill and ran down the street, while the second retreated back into the store. Hutch took off down the street, chasing the fleeing man, while Starsky entered the shop, searching for the second suspect. An open back door indicated that the man had escaped down the alley. Starsky stepped into the alley, trying to accustom his eyes to the darkness.

********

   "Hutch…Hutch…"

   Starsky’s eyes flew open. He was disoriented when he awoke.

   "Hutchinson isn’t here," said a cold, sarcastic voice.

   "Simonetti? Get lost, Simonetti," Starsky snapped, trying to clamp down on his feeling of utter terror.

   "I can’t stand you either, but I have a report to write."

   "Stuff it."

   "That’s two accidents in four months," Simonetti taunted. "They’ll probably take your badge away, not that anyone would be willing to work with you, anyway. I don’t know how Hutchinson put up with you."

   "That’s enough," came Captain Dobey’s voice from the doorway.

   "I have an investigation to complete, although the conclusions are obvious. Detective Starsky is a hothead. He’s impulsive, a menace and a disgrace to the BCPD. The review board is going to boot his sorry butt off the police force."

   Captain Dobey snapped, "I won’t have you talk this way about one of my best officers."

   Simonetti held up a transcript, "What I’m saying can be backed up with evidence. We’ve got it all on tape. Detective Starsky disobeyed a direct order to end a chase. He went through a red light, and his car, which was not a regulation vehicle, was hit broadside by a truck. His reckless pursuit caused a serious, possibly fatal injury to a fellow officer." He scowled at the man in the hospital bed. "You won’t be able to wiggle out of this one. And that’s not the only trouble you’re in. The truck driver is suing, Hutchinson’s parents are suing the city for hundreds of thousands of dollars. You’ve made a lot of work for me. Maybe Hutchinson won’t make it, or maybe he won’t regain consciousness. It’ll save me a trip out to ‘the sticks’, Minnesota, to interview him.

   Starsky lunged towards Simonetti, stopping as the pain in his chest and the large bandage prevented him from reaching his target.

   Captain Dobey descended on Simonetti, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck. He dragged the Internal Affairs man out into the hallway, and didn’t let go of him until they reached the parking lot.

********

   In a darkened room, sixteen hundred miles away, a still figure lay in a hospital bed. Moonlight reflected off of his golden hair. Hutch struggled to awaken, but it was like being trapped in a black pit. Each time he crawled upwards, he kept sliding back further. Exhausted, he gave up his struggle, and let the blackness engulf him.

********

   Sunlight streamed through the window. Starsky sat up in bed picking at his breakfast. He was still upset from his run-in with Simonetti. Taking his spoon, he shoveled the oatmeal into a mound. His motions were quicker and more savage by the moment. Finally, he threw down the spoon, grabbed the tray and flung it at the wall.

   A meek middle-aged man wearing a three-piece suit stood in the doorway, unsure of whether to enter or run for his life. Hesitantly he said "Good morning, Mr. Starsky, I’m Bradley Thomas of Bennett, Whitby, and Scott. I’m Ken Hutchinson’s lawyer. I came to discuss his will with you."

   Starsky went pale. When he was finally able to speak, he said in a quivering voice, "Y-You’re tellin’ me he’s…he’s…"

   Mr. Thomas looked puzzled then he quickly said, "Oh, no, Mr. Hutchinson isn’t deceased."

   Starsky’s fear was replaced with anger, "Then what the hell are you doin’ here?"

   "Mr. Hutchinson’s will is being contested by his parents. You’re the sole beneficiary. His parents are trying to prevent you from inheriting."

   "They can have it," Starsky said, despondently, "just leave me alone."

   "But there are things that Mr. Hutchinson wanted you to have. His guitar, his books, his car. When he came in to update his will, he said that he was leaving whatever car he owned at the time to you. I thought it was a rather odd bequest, considering the dilapidated condition of the car he arrived in that day, but he assured me you’d take it the right way."

   Starsky couldn’t help but smile wistfully. "I’m not insulted by it." The partners’ cars held special meaning. He knew that for all of Hutch’s complaints, he secretly did like the Torino. And Hutch’s car, an endless source of jokes and put-downs, meant a lot to Starsky, too. He had scoured dozens of used car lot searching for a car for Hutch, to replace the one that had been demolished in the canyon. When Starsky was just about to give up hope, Merle found an old beater at the junkyard when he was there searching for salvaged parts. Starsky rushed over to see it. The car was a pathetic looking thing, covered in a thick layer of dust, resting on its frame, wheels gone. The driver’s side fender was also missing. The scrapyard owner wanted two hundred dollars for the car. Little did he know that Starsky would have gladly paid him five times that amount. Merle went on and on how Starsky’s ‘eleventh hour phone call from the governor’ saved that car from ‘death row’. Merle teased Starsky for weeks, even calling him ‘the governor’, but to the detective, it had all been worthwhile. He remembered Hutch’s smile and gleeful laughter that day in the hospital parking lot when Starsky presented him with the ‘Hutchmobile II’.

   "Mr. Starsky?" Mr. Thomas asked hesitantly.

   The voice brought him back to the present. Starsky frowned. "I don’t understand. Hutch’s stuff doesn’t mean anything to them. His parents object to me having a few of his personal belongings and his junky old car?"

   "They object to you inheriting the real estate holdings and shares in Hutchinson Industries."

   "Hutch owns stock?"

   "No, he refused it, so it went into a trust. His wishes were that the trust fund go to you, should anything happen to him."

   You didn’t count on me bein’ the one who caused your death, did you buddy?

   Starsky blinked back tears, "I’m…I’m really not up to this."

   "Oh, I understand," Thomas said, handing Starsky a business card. "When you’re feeling a little better, give me a call and we can discuss this further."

   Mr. Thomas left the room.

   Starsky crumpled the card and tossed it into the trash. He leaned over and picked up the phone. "Hello, is Huggy there?"

********

   The first thing that Hutch was aware of was the chill in the room. A strong medicinal smell assaulted his nostrils.

   He sensed that when he opened his eyes, Starsky wouldn’t be there. His suspicions were confirmed when he looked around the room: he was alone. The room’s appearance confused him -- this was no ordinary hospital room. It was more like having a hospital bed in a luxury hotel room, with oil paintings on the wall, a leather sofa, and a large mahogany dresser with a mirror. He looked down at the I.V. in his left arm and the heavy cast on his right arm. His head was throbbing.

   What happened? Where’s Starsky? Why isn’t he here? Unless…he’s hurt too. Maybe he’s in a different room? Or maybe…maybe…No!…no, he’s okay. He’s got to be okay. A lump formed in his throat.

   As he struggled to reach the call button, a wave of dizziness hit. Closing his eyes, he waited for the nausea to pass. When he reached for the call button again, his hand brushed against the bedding, flipping the sheet back. He stared at the laundry stamp, "Property of Duluth Memorial Hospital".

   The words stuck in his throat. Duluth Memorial Hospital? How the hell did I get here?

   He seized the call button and pressed it repeatedly.

   A doctor and a nurse appeared.

   "Hello, Mr. Hutchinson," the doctor said, brightly, "I’m doctor Hillier and this is nurse Margaret. I see you’ve decided to join us."

   Hutch tried to speak, "S… Starsk… Where’s…"

   Dr. Hillier and the nurse were puzzled as to why their patient was so troubled. The doctor tried to re-assure his patient. "You were in a bad accident, but you’re going to be fine."

   Knowing that he would be all right had no effect on the patient.

   The nurse spoke, "I have a letter here from you father." She handed him the letter. Noticing his struggle to focus, the nurse asked Hutch if she’s like her to read it. Hutch nodded almost imperceptibly.

   "Hello Ken," the nurse began.

   "Your mother and I regret that we are unable to be with you. Our absence couldn’t be avoided. We are attending an important charity gala in Minneapolis. Your mother is chairing the ball, and several important business contacts will be there. Anyway, rest up, the hospital staff will bring you anything you need…"

   "Don’t worry, son. When you get a little better, we can discuss your job at Hutchinson Industries. There’s a vacant corner office that I think will suit you just fine…"

   Hutch groaned, frustrated. This isn’t what I need to know.

   "Stars… Where’s Starsky!" he croaked.

   Dr. Hillier looked confused.

   Hutch became more agitated. "Where’s Starsky! What happened to Starsky? What happened…"

   "Calm down, Mr. Hutchinson," the doctor said. "You were in a car accident. I don’t have any information about a Starsky."

   Hutch continued to struggle, pulling out the I.V. "…Have…to…find…Starsky!"

   The nurse ran out of the room, calling for assistance. Two orderlies appeared, and held Hutch down while Dr. Hillier injected a sedative into the patient.

   Hutch was overwhelmed with fear as he remembered another time he was held down and drugged against his will.

   He cried out, "Starsky! Starsky help me!"

   His body went limp as he slipped into unconsciousness.

********

   Starsky slowly walked out of the washroom. Pain was etched on his face. He was still wearing his hospital gown, but he had put on his jeans. A familiar voice greeted him.

   "Good Morning, m’man."

   "Huggy," Starsky said in a cheerless voice, "Thanks for coming."

   "I woulda been here sooner, but I was visitin’ my cousin in San Diego."

   "I wasn’t sure you’d come at all, after what I did to Hutch."

   "You make it sound like you pulled a gun and shot him. Starsky, it was an accident. Hutch knows the risks…"

   "Don’t!" Starsky said, agitated, "This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten carried away in a pursuit. After last May, hittin’ that construction shack, I promised that I wouldn’t lose my head. Look how long that lasted. Goin’ through a red light without checking for traffic? I’d call that losin’ my head. And Hutch is the one who has to pay for it." The outburst wore him out. He sank down onto the bed.

   He blinked away the tears in his eyes, looked up and noticed the sweatshirt in Huggy’s hands. "That for me?" he asked.

   "It’s big on me, so it should fit you. Let me help you put it on."

   Starsky stood up and swayed a little. He grabbed the bed to steady himself.

   Huggy asked, "Are you sure you’re up to this, man? I heard the doc. wanted to keep you in at least two more days."

   "I’ve already checked myself out," Starsky replied.

   "All right, then, amigo, you’re chariot awaits." Huggy helped Starsky downstairs and out to the white caddy.

   Starsky sat in the car staring straight ahead, not noticing or caring where they were going. "Have you heard anything about Hutch?"

   "My connections are good, but not that good. I have a second cousin who’s got a friend whose aunt works at Duluth Memorial. Hutch isn’t on her floor, though, so she hasn’t been able to find out anything. I tried callin’ Blondie’s sis, but she was conveniently ‘unavailable’. I’ll keep workin’ on it, though."

   Finally Starsky became aware of his surroundings. "Hey, where are we goin’? My apartment is the other way."

   Huggy glanced over at his passenger and said, "I know that as soon as I drop you off, you’d be callin’ a taxi and headin’ for the airport."

   Starsky looked dismayed and slouched further down in the seat, arms wrapped tightly around his chest.

   Huggy smiled, "Hey, my friend, I thought I’d save you cab fare and deliver you safe and sound to the airport myself."

   Starsky brightened, "Thanks, Huggy."

   "I went down to the cop shop and picked up your overnight bag," Huggy said, gesturing at the black gym bag on the floor next to Starsky’s feet."

   "Thanks, Hug." A puzzled look crossed Starsky’s face. "You walked right into the station and went through my locker?"

   "It wasn’t as if it was locked or nothin’. Besides, I heard that you and locks don’t get along," Huggy said with sideways glance and a grin.

   "What are you talkin’ about?"

   "Remember that night at the bar, you were tryin’ to put the moves on that beach volleyball champ? You saw her and stopped talking to Hutch in mid-sentence. Anyway, I had to go back to the large freezer and get more steaks. Hutch came with me. As I was unlocking the freezer, Hutch told me the story about you and your bad luck with combination locks. He said that back when you were in the Academy, you kept forgetting the combination to your locker. You had to keep gettin’ the lock cut off so you could get your stuff. Finally you got mad and wrote the combination on the back. After that, you never got locked out again."

   Starsky smiled at the memory, then asked, "Why would he tell you that?"

   "He said he was glad you did that, ‘cause he was goin’ broke buying new locks and hacksaw blades."

   "That fink! I’ll kill him!" Then, with a catch in his voice, he said sadly, "maybe I already have."

   "Look, m’man, will you stop beatin’ yourself up over this? Hutch loves you. He may have a weird way of showin’ it, but he does love you. He’s gonna wake up soon. Everything’s gonna work out fine. Trust the Bear."

   Huggy pulled up to the terminal. "Here," he said, handing Starsky an envelope. There’s a round-trip ticket for you and a return ticket for Blondie, all courtesy of a curmudgeonly police Captain, who wishes to remain anonymous."

   Starsky stared at the envelope.

   "Get goin’, m’man, or you’ll miss your flight."

   The detective turned to leave.

   "Starsky?"

   Starsky turned back, "Yeah, Hug?"

   "Bring him home."

********

   Hutch opened his eyes. He tried to move, but discovered that there was a strap across his chest, and restraints on his arms. The restraint on his right arm was solidly wrapped around his cast. His nose twitched and he sneezed repeatedly, wincing as the sneezes jarred his bruised body. Searching for the source of his misery, he saw a large bouquet of flowers on the table next to his bed. The card sticking out of the blossoms read, "Get Well, from Mother and Father".

   He remembered Starsky grilling him about Forest’s gang, after the abduction. Hutch was so ill, he just wanted to be left alone, but Starsky knew what was at stake and kept prodding.

********

   "I… I don’t know," Hutch yelled back.

********

   He squeezed his eyes shut.

   His concentration was broken when a young nurse entered the room. She had her dark, curly hair pulled back into a ponytail and was wearing a bubblegum pink uniform.

   "Hi, I’m Amy," she said, in an insufferably cheery voice. "How are we doing this evening, Mr. Hutchinson?"

   Hutch was about to throw her out, when he had another idea. "Hi, Amy," he said, smiling at her. "I…Ohhhh" his words were cut short with a groan.

   "What’s wrong?"

   "Oh," he gasped, "I’ll be okay, just…oooh…just give me a minute."

   "Is there anything I can do?" she asked.

   "Oh, no. Could you…? Oh, forget it."

   "What?"

   "I-It’s just… my back is sore from lying in one position. Could you possible just loosen these restraints a bit?"

   Amy looked uncertain. "Maybe I should get the doctor?"

   "No! Uh, no. How long have you worked here, Amy?"

   "I just graduated from nursing school," she said, proudly.

   "So what you’re saying is that you haven’t worked here very long?"

   "About six weeks," Amy confirmed.

   "Well, Dr. Hillier looks like a very busy man. He looks kind of impatient, too."

   "Hey, that’s right. He’s got a really short temper. Last week, I dropped the medication tray for the fifth floor off the cart, and he went crazy. I mean, I found all the pills on the floor and put them back in all those little paper cups – they weren’t all that dusty."

   "You poor thing," Hutch cooed, sympathetically. "I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble again with Dr. Hillier, so could you please take off these straps? Just for a little while. No one will know."

   Amy gazed into the beautiful blue eyes and said, "I guess a couple of minutes wouldn’t hurt." She removed the restraints.

   "Ahhh," Hutch sighed, leaning back in bed, "Thanks, Amy. That’s much better. Uh, I’m kind of cold. Could you get me another blanket?"

   Much to his chagrin, Amy walked over to the closet and returned with a blanket, draping it over him.

   "How’s that?" she asked.

   "Good," Hutch replied, then he sighed heavily.

   "What is it, Mr. Hutchinson?"

   "Ken," he said, softly. "Call me Ken."

   "What is it, Ken?"

   "I-I just can’t get comfortable. Could you get me some more pillows? Maybe if we propped them up behind me, I could get some rest."

   "Linen is on the third floor. I’ll be right back."

   "I’ll be here," Hutch assured her.

   The second the young nurse left, Hutch lowered the railing and slid out of bed. The I.V. line grew taut, and stopped him as he walked away from the bed. He held his breath and yanked it out. Holding onto the wall, he stiffly made his way to the closet. He opened the closet door to reveal a row of empty hangers.

   (No clothes. No wallet. Way to go, Dad. No money so I can’t call Captain Dobey and no clothes so I won’t wander off. Well, I’m not your puppet. Not anymore. I’m getting out of here.)

   With a look of determination, he returned to the bed, picked up the blanket, folded it in half and tied it around his waist. He checked the hall. From the darkness outside the window and the absence of hospital personnel, he assumed that it was sometime around the evening shift change. Only one nurse sat at the nurses’ station, and she had her back to him, typing. He slipped across the hall to the door marked ‘Stairs’. Leaning heavily on the banister, he slowly descended to the main floor. On the main level, he headed for a lesser-used exit: one that led to the parking lot behind the hospital.

********

   A few more steps and I’m out of here.

   By the time he reached the exit, Hutch was sweating and out of breath. He stepped through the door and collided with someone who was entering the building. Stepping back, he mumbled an apology.

   "Hutch?"

   "Starsky!" Hutch cried, as he wrapped his arms around his partner and squeezed him tightly.

   Starsky flinched, "Ahhh! Ow! Hey, broken ribs!"

   Hutch released him immediately, "Oh, sorry."

   "What are you doing out here in the cold, dressed like that?" Starsky scolded.

   "Making my escape. What are you doing in Minnesota?"

   "Wild horses and a restraining order couldn’t keep me away," he replied, wryly.

   "Restraining order?" Hutch asked, his eyes flashing. "What restraining order?"

   "Your Mom and Dad think I’m bad for your health, and I’m inclined to agree with them," Starsky said sadly. He glanced nervously towards the hospital doors.

   "Don’t worry, they’re not here."

   "Not here?" Starsky asked, incredulous.

   "Had to be somewhere important," Hutch said, bitterly. "They brought me here, and left me without so much as an explanation. I didn’t know…" he took a deep breath, "I didn’t know if you were alive or dead. They didn’t even call, they just left me with a stupid letter of their plans for the rest of my life." He swayed a bit and asked, "Could you help me to that bench?" He pointed to a park bench under a street light, a few feet away.

   Starsky took his partner’s arm and helped him to the bench. The men sat down.

   Hutch smiled and said, "I can’t believe you’re here. I’m so glad to see you!"

   "You…you are?"

   "Yeah, you can tell me what happened."

   Starsky looked crestfallen, "You mean you don’t remember?"

   Hutch awkwardly reached over with his left hand and gently squeezed Starsky’s shoulder. "Oh, no, Starsky, I mean, I know who you are and I can remember stuff like you got 99 percent on your finals in the Academy, and I got 98 percent. You should have got 100 percent, but that idiot instructor, Carsley, deducted one mark, saying ‘no one’s perfect’." He rolled his eyes. "And I remember that you like model ships and would sell your soul for a burrito with extra beans and hot sauce. I just don’t know what happened to us… How we got hurt…How I got here."

   "What’s the last thing you remember?" Starsky asked.

   Hutch squeezed his eyes shut, deep in thought. "I remember having a late dinner at that new restaurant near the station, after we went to that really dumb movie. The waitress was so nervous, she spilled beer on you…and…and that’s it," he said, looking up at Starsky.

   "You don’t remember the Torino conking out?"

   "No, I remember ‘white’ but I don’t know why."

   Starsky sighed, "Well, in my infinite wisdom, I borrowed a Corvette from the motor pool."

   "A Corvette?"

   "Yeah. We answered a double homicide call at a tax office. The suspect stole a white van and took off. We were chasing him…"

   "Down Ocean Park Boulevard?" Hutch interrupted.

   "Yeah," Starsky said, surprised. "We were tryin’ to catch him before he got home. Home, where his kids were."

   "And the supervisor wanted us to end chase? And a blue Chevy pulled out in front of us?"

   "Uh-huh," Starsky confirmed. "Then things get a little fuzzy. I don’t remember anything after the blue Chevy, but Lindvall, the suspect, drove through Lincoln on red and… and I followed him. I drove right into the path of a truck. I didn’t look. Didn’t even slow down," he said, morosely.

   "Why would you?" Hutch asked. "The light was green."

   Starsky looked dumbfounded. "It was red."

   "No it wasn’t. We were half a block back. It was red when you pulled around that car. It was green by the time we got to the intersection."

   "You sure about that?"

   "Sure, I’m sure. I remembered the Chevy, didn’t I? I remember the color of the light."

   "So, you’re okay with this?" Starsky asked.

   "Sure, why wouldn’t I be? SOP or not, we did the right thing."

   "Yeah, but if I’d followed orders, neither of us would have gotten hurt."

   "We made the decision. I trust you. And I trust your decision," Hutch said, soberly.

   "Yeah," Starsky protested, "but before, when we got into an accident, you were pretty upset with me. Upset enough to fake amnesia."

   "There’s a big difference between chasing a couple of two-bit thieves and chasing a murderer." Hutch replied. "It doesn’t always work out, but making a difference, doing something you believe in, that’s what I value." He snorted, derisively. "My parents don't understand anything that doesn't return stock dividends. As for my ‘amnesia’, well, maybe I was out of line on that."

   "Maybe?" Starsky snorted.

   "Okay. I screwed up. Can we leave it at that?"

   Starsky nodded.

   "Hey. Simonetti’s gonna be ticked," Starsky said with a grin.

   "Was he hassling you?"

   "You know him, he’s a vulture. He was perched on the end of my hospital bed when I woke up."

   Hutch shook his head in disgust. "I just thought of a more creative place to put that chair." He paused. "So what happened to the perp.?"

   Starsky shook his head, "Our guys got there too late."

   Hutch sighed. A few minutes later, he asked, "Well, are you going to help me complete my escape?"

   "Sure."

   "I hope you brought a car, because I'm not going to get very far on foot."

   "It's over there." Starsky gestured to a dirty, rusted-out green Ford, with a sagging bumper that was held up by a bungee cord.

   "You brought that?"

   "I wanted you to feel at home, so I went to ‘Rent-a-Clunker’."

   Eyeing the car skeptically, Hutch said, "I hope it’s got one more trip left in it. I’m not exactly dressed for hitchhiking."

   "Oh, I don’t know," Starsky said with an evil grin, "You could lift your ‘skirt’ up a little, show some leg." He shrugged, "It worked for Marilyn Monroe in ‘Bus Stop’. And her legs were hairier than yours."

   Hutch gave his partner a withering glare. "Here, give me a hand, hot-shot," he asked, trying to get up off the bench.

   Starsky reached over to steady his shaky partner, "You sure about this? You're in worse shape than that car."

   "Ha ha. Yeah, I'm sure. If I have to crawl across broken glass, I'm getting out of this place." He paused. "Wait a minute."

   "What?"

   "I'll go on one condition."

   "What's the condition?"

   "That you'll never drag me to that stupid banana movie ever again."

   Starsky stared at Hutch with concern. "It was tomatoes. ‘Attack of the Killer Tomatoes’."

   "Gotcha," Hutch said with an evil grin.

   "Moron."

   Starsky helped Hutch over to the car, and the two men got in.

   "I hope you brought me some clothes."

   "Huggy packed. He brought my stuff from the station."

   "So that would leave me with…a pair of ratty blue jeans... "

   Starsky chimed in, in unison, "and the 'Party Naked' T shirt."

   "Perfect," Hutch laughed. "Can you give me a hand with these?"

   After he helped Hutch dress, Starsky said, "There's a flight at midnight."

   "I’ll bet you shouldn’t be out of the hospital, let alone be flying with broken ribs," Hutch admonished.

   "Yeah, well, I would’ve waited," Starsky said with a wink and a sheepish grin, "but Huggy was worried about you being here all by your lonesome. He picked up the tickets and made sure that I got to the airport. I have a return ticket booked for the midnight flight. Your ticket was open-ended: I wasn't sure if you'd want to come back. Dobey booked it. He's paying for this excursion.

   Hutch was overcome. He blinked away the tears in eyes. He was happy to know that there were people who cared about him. Cared about him more than his job title and bank account.

   "You okay?" Starsky asked softly, concerned at Hutch's somber mood.

   "Sure, I-I’m fine." Hutch replied. "Uh, thanks for coming to get me."

   Starsky nodded. "No problem," he said with a lopsided grin. "I was in the neighborhood."

   The laugh that Starsky anticipated didn’t come: Hutch remained quiet and withdrawn.

   Starsky’s eyes met Hutch’s gaze. "Hey."

   "What?"

   "Oh, nothing."

   "What, Starsk? Tell me."

   "Well, we’ve got extra time, what do you say we go to one of those little photo booths at the airport and get a picture of you in your new ensemble and mail it to Papa Hutchinson?"

   "You're on," Hutch said with a grin.

THE END