FORTY-SIX

(c) March 2020 by Charlotte Frost

 A sequel to Insurance

On the last Monday of January 1989, Hutch shoved a wedge of orange into his mouth while gazing out the living room window. He and Starsky had had their weekly workout session with their trainer, and then Starsky had left shortly thereafter for a dentist appointment.

It had been a rough weekend. Mike Hawkins had called early Saturday morning to say that Bri had had a severe colic attack, after being entered to run for the first time on Sunday. She’d been vanned the brief distance to the equine hospital, where surgery had saved her life. Once she was well enough, she would be sent to the farm to recover. The start of her racing career would be pushed back at least six months. That disappointment was overshadowed by the extreme relief that her life had been spared. Hutch’s riding horse a few years back, Poncho, hadn’t been so fortunate.

Hutch was showered, dressed, and eating his last bit of breakfast while watching the moving van across the street. The house — another ranch, as they all were in the neighborhood — had been for sale for a couple of months. Now someone was finally moving in. So far, Hutch had only seen the moving people as they unloaded furniture, and hadn’t seen who the new owners were. The movers loaded their ramps as though their job was complete.

Hutch watched a while longer, finishing his orange. The big moving van drove off, and moments later a slender woman with short, dark hair, emerged and went to a station wagon parked in front of the house. She opened the back and began removing table lamps. Hutch saw that the back compartment seemed to be full of smaller items for the move, and that no one else was emerging from the house to help.

Hutch went to the kitchen, quickly washed his hands of the orange smell, and then went out the front door. He moved across the street and waited next to the station wagon’s open hatch, as the woman had taken the lamps inside. A moment later, she walked from the front door.

Hutch put on his friendliest smile. “Hi. Looks like you’ve just moved in.” He held out his hand. “Ken Hutchinson.”

As she approached, also smiling, he could see that she looked to be mid forties and was dressed in comfortable slacks and wore minimal makeup. “Darlene Heston. Nice to meet you.”

Hutch pointed across the street. “My partner and I have lived here for nine years. Can I give you a hand?”

She shrugged. “Sure.” She reached inside the station wagon and pulled out a cardboard box. “If you can take this.”

“Is anyone else coming to help?” Hutch hoped he didn’t sound nosy.

She grabbed a couple of more lamps and then started up the sidewalk. “No. I got divorced in Detroit. Left everything behind to move here, since I got transferred by the marketing company I work for.” She glanced at him with a forced smile. “Felt like it was time for a new start.”

He followed her into the house, which had boxes sitting on the floors throughout. “Is your family back there?”

“Mostly,” she said. “You can just put that there.” She nodded at the kitchen floor. When they went back outside, she added, “My daughter is away at college in Chicago. My mother is still in Detroit, and I have a brother in Florida, and another in Maryland.”

Hutch was amazed at the number of independent, career women he and Starsky had come across in recent years.

She reached into the station wagon. “What about you?”

Hutch decided to get the tricky part out of the way. “My partner and I are in a permanent relationship. We used to be cops together.” When she straightened to hand him another box, he emphasized, “He’s a he.”

Her eyebrows darted up as she nodded. “Oh.” Then she reached for another box that appeared full of extension cords and other lightweight utilities. “Well, everyone says that California is ultra liberal. I guess I’m being introduced to that right away.” They both moved back toward the house. “So, you don’t have children or anything?”

“No. No children. But our siblings are married to each other, and they have a young daughter.”

Darlene waited until they were back inside the house before exclaiming, “Siblings married to each other? That’s unusual.”

“Yes, but it’s worked out well. I grew up in Minnesota, and my sister and mother are now here. David, my partner, spent his early years in New York, and his brother, who is married to my sister, is now out here.”

After they put the boxes on the kitchen table, she brushed her hands. “Thanks a lot.”

A bark was heard from the back and Darlene moved to the sliding glass door. “Are you okay with dogs?”

“Sure,” Hutch said.

She opened the sliding glass door, and a black Labrador bounded into the room. He went up to Hutch, sniffing frantically while Darlene said, “Meet Samson.”

“Hi there, Samson.” Hutch bent to pet him. He realized he hadn’t been around a dog in a long time. He looked up. “So, it’s just you and Samson, huh?”

“Yes. For the time being. I don’t know when I’ll be ready to start dating again.”

Hutch stood. “I won’t keep you. I need to get to work. My partner and I own a private detective agency.”

Her brows darted up. “Oh. That must be interesting.”

He nodded. “Sometimes. But a lot more boring that you see on TV. On, and we also do ancestry tracing.”

“Really. Like that mini-series, Roots?”

“Yes. It’s a growing part of our business.” He reached into his wallet. “Here’s our card. Do you have a pen? I’ll write our home number on the back, in case you need help with anything, or need to know where some of the stores are. Anything.”

Darlene went to the kitchen counter and found her purse. After a moment of searching, she handed him a pen. “Thank you. That’ll be terrific. If you hand me another card, I’ll write down my information.”

After they exchanged cards, Hutch straightened and noticed the remains of a rocking chair against the wall.

Darlene followed his gaze. “The moving company screwed up. I really loved that old chair. Maybe I can get another made somewhere, after I get the money from their insurance company.”

Hutch moved closer to the chair. “That’s too bad. Looks like it was a nice rocker.”

“It was.”

         The following week, Starsky hung up the kitchen phone as Hutch arrived from work.

“Who’s that?” Hutch asked.

“Lanette’s coming by to pick up Melinda’s jacket.”

It had been left a few weeks ago when there had been a family get together.

“Oh.” Hutch opened the refrigerator. “I was going to heat up meatloaf. There’s enough for three.”

Starsky doubted that Lanette would be interested in staying. “Where did you put the jacket?”

“It’s in the guest room.” Hutch reached to an oven dial.

Starsky moved into the guest bedroom. The little purple and white wool jacket was on the bed. He picked it up, smiling at the memory of Melinda, who would be four in a couple of months, having arrived in it, her thick curly blonde hair surrounding her dimples and wide smile.

Starsky returned to the kitchen and draped it across the back of the chair. “Lanette called from home?”

“No. She was out and about. Should be here any minute.”

The oven was on preheat so that made it all the more likely that Lanette wasn’t going to have the patience to stay for the meat loaf to warm. In Starsky’s experience, using the microwave to reheat meatloaf didn’t make for as good a flavor.

There was the sound of a motor. “Must be her.” Starsky moved to the door and opened it as Lanette walked briskly up the sidewalk. There was a cold wind and her own coat was buttoned. “Come in.” He stepped back.

She entered the foyer and he said, “We were just heating up some leftover meatloaf. It’s really good. Would you like some?”

“No, I need to get home.” She wouldn’t meet his eye.

“Melinda with Mom and Clark?” Hutch asked. The oven beeped and he placed the pan of meatloaf inside.

“Yes.” Lanette took the little coat from the back of the chair and draped it over her arm.

“Where’s that husband of yours?”

“In Vegas.” She resettled the coat.

Starsky exchanged a worried glance with Hutch. It seemed that Nick was always in Las Vegas these days. Ever since he’d gotten an insurance payout for the car accident he’d been in, he seemed to go to Vegas every week — sometimes more than once.

Frowning, Hutch turned to the cupboards.

Starsky couldn’t withhold his feelings. He demanded, “Does all this gambling he’s doing ever bother you?”

Her fist curled as it rested against the back of the chair. “Of course, it does!” she snapped.

“Tell him to stop,” Hutch said simply.

“He can’t!” Abruptly, the coat fell from Lanette’s arm and she was holding both hands against her face, as her shoulders shook with sobs.

Starsky pulled out a chair and guided her to sit. He looked at Hutch in alarm, while also feeling relief that the truth was out. He realized that Hutch wasn’t sure he should be the one to interrogate his own sister, so Starsky sat next to her and gently prompted, “Tell us what’s going on. So, we can help.”

Hutch slowly sat in the chair opposite Starsky, his mouth open as he listened to his Lanette’s sobs.

She took her hands away from her wet face. Starsky clasped one and squeezed it, repeating, “Tell us what’s going on.”

Hutch found a box of tissues and placed it before her.

Lanette spent a few moments blowing her nose. Then she stared at the table and said, “I had no idea it had gotten this bad. I’d tell him what he could spend, and he’d always agree to my limit. And then when he’d have a bunch of losing days in a row, and I was on the verge of telling him he had to quit, he’d suddenly win again. So, it kept going like that for a while. Then —” her voice caught, “I found out yesterday that he’s been taking money out of our joint savings account, which we agreed we wouldn’t touch.” She sniffed and rested her forehead in her hand. “We only have twelve thousand left. Out of a quarter million, that’s all we have left.”

Starsky felt his stomach churn in disbelief. Hutch’s expression was equally ravaged.

“He’s stealing from his own family,” Lanette sniffed. “From Melinda’s future. Like he doesn’t even care. All that money… gone.”

“Oh, my God,” Hutch said in a low voice.

Starsky couldn’t help but defend his brother. He stood and leaned over Lanette. “Listen. I know this is hard to believe, but from our cop days we know that a gambling addiction isn’t something a person can control. It’s no different from a dug addiction or any other type of addiction. He needs help.”

Hutch quietly said, “I’ll call Judith. Tell her answering service that it’s an emergency.” He moved to the office across the foyer.

Starsky nodded and sat back down, his focus on Lanette’s red face and moist eyes. He’d never seen her like this before, not even when Nick had been taken to the emergency room in critical condition after the car accident. “When is he flying back?”

“Tomorrow morning,” she replied calmly, still staring at the table.

“Okay, then.” Starsky clasped her hand in both of hers. “Let’s make a plan.”

This time, when the Honda approached the Passenger Pickup curb for the fourth time of circling, they spotted Nick with a carry-on duffle bag. He was in a white shirt, which had the top few buttons undone. His pants were beige slacks. His expression was smiling as he looked down the curb to see the Honda approaching, and then turned to puzzlement that it was his brother and brother-in-law picking him up, rather than his wife.

Hutch felt anger brewing at how Nick now reminded him of when he’d first met the younger Starsky. Handsome, arrogant, manipulative, and sneaky. Hutch hadn’t trusted him, as much as he wanted to for his partner’s sake. It had been a long, long road of them both learning to trust, as well as like Nick. Eventually, that trust had turned to outright fondness and respect.

Now, Hutch felt they were back to square one. Nick was a problem that needed solving.

Starsky was in the back and pushed the door open as Hutch braked to a stopped. “Get in.”

“What are you guys doing here?” Nick asked as he obeyed. The smile was still plastered on his face.

All was silent as the door was closed, and Hutch pulled away from the curb.

“What’s going on?” Nick asked. “If this is a birthday thing, you’ve got the wrong month.” His smile now seemed unsure.

Hutch focused on getting them out of the airport grounds, while periodically glancing in the rearview mirror. A shiver went up his spine when Starsky began speaking in an overly-calm tone. He’d turned toward Nick with his elbow against the top of the backseat.

“Your secret is out, little brother.”

“What secret?” Nick avoided his brother’s eye and looked at the back of Hutch’s head.

“All that money you got from the insurance payout. All blown. Except those few scraps that Lanette was able to salvage.”

“Lanette?” Soft, uneasy chuckle. “What are you talking about?”

Starsky’s voice hardened. “In a matter of months, you’ve pissed away a quarter of a million dollars! That’s what I’m talking about.”

“What?”

Hutch couldn’t stay silent. “Drop the act, Nick.” It occurred to him that perhaps Nick really had no idea of how much money he’d lost in less than a year. Even so, Nick had to know he’d lost far, far more than he’d ever won.

Starsky’s voice was back to being calm. “So, this is what we’re going to do.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.” Nick’s tone was weak.

“Yes, I can, especially when I have the backing of your wife. Who, by the way, is also speaking for your innocent daughter, who you’ve robbed of a healthy financial future.”

Nick’s eyes widened, and Hutch realized that Nick was genuinely scared. Being scared could be a good thing, he decided.

Starsky went on, “Hutch is driving us to a place called Serene Swans Recovery Center. It’s recommended by a therapist friend of his. Lanette is there now, filling out the paperwork to have you admitted.”

“Admitted?” Nick shifted away from Starsky, shaking his head. “I can’t be admitted to a place like that. You can’t make me!”

Starsky’s tone was sincerely incredulous. “Should we have to?” Then it hardened. “Go ahead, Nick. Explain to me and Hutch, and then to your wife and daughter, about how it’s perfectly fine that you’ve lost everything your family has ever had.”

Nick’s hands covered his face. “I can get it back! I can!” The hands lowered, revealing a desperate, trapped expression. “I’ve won over twenty thousand in a single night!”

“This is why you need help, Nick,” Starsky said patiently. “You believe every hand, every roll of the dice, will save you. Maybe it does once in a while. But just for a day or a week. Then you’re back to blowing it all. Because you can’t stop. You know you need to stop, but you can’t.”

“Oh, my God.” Nick curled up in the seat and started to cry.

Over an hour later, Starsky was in the front passenger seat when they drove away from the recovery center.

After Hutch had merged into traffic, he quietly asked, “How you feeling, partner?”

“Like a used up, dirty wet rag.”

“You know it’s the best thing.”

“Fucking prick,” Starsky growled. “We tried to warn him.”

“Sometimes people have to fall flat on their own face.”

Starsky shook his head. “Doing that to Melinda’s future.”

Hutch wanted to be cheerful, as the sun brightened the morning’s prior bleakness. “It’s not all lost. At least Lannie was able to keep the last twelve thousand. And because he blew that money, rather than borrowing or cashing in assets, it’s not like they’re back in debt.” He reached to squeeze Starsky arm. “It’s going to be okay, buddy.”

Starsky released a breath. “I sure hope so.”

“He’s got a lot of support. He’s got to learn to believe in himself again, without the need to look for a quick win to validate how clever he is.”

“Well, hopefully all the behavioral adjustment stuff that the therapist was talking about will sink into his brain.”

Hutch managed a smile. “It will.”

A few evenings later, Hutch rang the doorbell of Darlene Heston’s house.

The door opened and Darlene appeared. “Ah! My knight in shining armor. Come in.” She held the door open. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

“No problem,” Hutch said, stepping inside. “I’m glad to help.” Darlene had called the office earlier in the day to say that her mother was having an emergency appendectomy in Detroit, so Darlene had to fly there for a few days. She needed someone to take care of her black lab, Samson.

“I’ll let him inside and then go through everything with you.” She went to the sliding glass door at the back, where Samson was waiting. She opened it, and Samson bounded in to enthusiastically greet Hutch.

“Hi there, boy,” Hutch said in an excited voice. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you, Samson? Such a good boy.”

“I’ve written down notes here in the kitchen.” She led the way and handed Hutch a sheet of paper. “I usually walk him about seven in the morning. I realize you might not be able to do that.”

“I think I can,” Hutch said, knowing it might eliminate any early morning sex. At least, it would only be termporary. The idea of having a dog to walk sounded fun. Maybe Starsky would come with him.

“I keep the food here. It’s all dry.” She went to the kitchen counter and opened a large tin. “It has a cup, and he gets two cups, twice a day. Usually, at about six in the morning and six in the evening. Just however close you can keep to that, I’m sure he won’t complain much. Then I try to walk him in the evening around eight, but I’m not always in the mood or have time. At least, this neighborhood has good street lights for when it gets dark early. I usually go to bed between ten and eleven and let him out one more time.” She shrugged. “If he has an accident in the house, so be it. I know you’ve got your own responsibilities to worry about and you’ll do the best you can.”

“For sure.” Hutch smiled. “He might be a great excuse to leave the office during the day.”

“He can go from seven in the morning to about six at night inside the house without having an accident. I always leave him inside, especially since he hasn’t been here that long, and I’m not sure what he’ll do in the yard when I’m gone. I always give him a treat,” she opened a cabinet where there were large rawhide bones, “before I leave for work, so he has something to keep him busy for a while. He doesn’t tear up stuff, so I guess he doesn’t get too bored. You might want to give him a second one when you leave for the evening. Just always make sure his water dish is full, so he has enough to drink.”

Hutch nodded, his eyes running over the paper. “Seems simple enough. And I see you have your contact information.”

“Yes. I’ll be staying at my mother’s house, and I put the hospital number down there, and my mother’s name, so you can find me if there’s an emergency.”

Hutch smiled when Darlene looked up. “I don’t expect there to be any of those. He’s an nice boy.”

She moved to the living room with a small basket next to the sofa. “Here’s his toys. He likes it when you throw the ball, or some of the other things. He’ll bring it back to you, because he loves to play fetch, assuming you don’t mind getting dog spit on your hands.” She laughed softly,

“No problem,” Hutch said, anticipating how much fun it would be to play fetch with Samson. Especially if Starsky was also involved.

With the rain pouring outside, Hutch knew that an evening walk wasn’t going to happen for his temporary charge. After letting himself in Darlene’s house, he greeted an enthusiastic Samson. “Hi there, boy. Come on, outside! It’s raining, so make it fast.”

Hutch opened the sliding glass door and Samson bounded out. Hutch watched to make sure there was a number one and a number two. He left the door open, so Samson could come in when he was ready, and then turned to the kitchen. He gathered up the mail that was on the floor from the mailbox, and placed it on the counter, next to the newspaper he’d brought in that morning.

Just as Hutch reached for the canister with the dog food, Samson ran inside, and then paused to shake his wet coat.

“Oh!” Hutch grimaced. “You smell like wet dog. You ready for dinner? Huh? Huh?”

Samson hovered restlessly while Hutch placed two scoops in his bowl. “There you go!” He placed the bowl on the floor.

Samson focused on eating for the next minute, while Hutch closed the sliding glass door.

“Boy, you eat fast,” Hutch marveled, picking up the bowl.

He turned on some lights, and then turned on the television, determined to spend at least an hour with Samson. He wished Starsky had come with him, like he had that morning, but Starsky had errands to run before coming home, and promised he’d pick up barbecued chicken for dinner.

Samson joined Hutch on the sofa for a few minutes. Then he jumped to the floor and went to his toy box. He pulled out a green plastic bone that made a squeaking noise and brought it over to Hutch.

“We have to be careful, throwing it in the house,” Hutch warned. He tossed it gently toward the kitchen, and Samson reached it in two strides. He brought it back to Hutch.

“Good boy.” Hutch threw it again, while trying to listen to the news. Samson brought it back, and Hutch muttered, “It’s hard to wear you out when I can’t throw it very far.” He tossed it half-heartedly in the other direction, where some haphazardly stacked boxes took up a large portion of the living room. The toy landed somewhere near a box, and Samson went to find it.

He was still looking around the boxes a moment later, and Hutch asked, “Where did it go? Get your toy!”

Samson looked around, and then looked at Hutch.

“Can’t find it?” Hutch prompted. He got to his feet and went to the boxes. “Where did it go?” After switching on a standing lamp, he browsed through the boxes, which didn’t have lids. Underneath some newspaper clippings, he saw the green plastic. “Ah, here it is!”

Samson braced his legs excitedly.

Hutch moved the newspapers aside and grabbed the toy. He threw it toward the door and Samson bounded away. Hutch tried to smooth the clippings back into place. He saw the headline on the top one, which was a Michigan paper. Darlene Stover Found Alive!

The name rang a bell. Hutch knelt on the floor beside the box and pulled out the article. The date at the top of the clipping was from 1957. As he browsed through it, more of the details of the case began to come back. Darlene Stover was a fourteen-year-old girl who had been kidnapped from her home. She was found alive, a week later, in a rural area 50 miles from home. A local handyman had kidnapped her, presumably with the intent to sell her into prostitution — once he was done with her.

Hutch gazed at the picture of the teenager. Darlene Stover. The resemblance to his neighbor Darlene Heston was unmistakable. Heston must be her married name, though she’s now divorced.

Intrigued, Hutch began searching through the box and found more articles about the kidnapping, rescue, and court case. Darlene’s abductor had been sentenced to fifty years in prison, which was essentially a life sentence, since he’d been a middle aged man.

Hutch put the articles back, trying to reconcile the young victim with the woman he now knew a little bit. She was here living alone. Had a good job. Had a dog to surely help her feel less lonely and more secure, but Samson wasn’t a vicious dog. Hutch found himself marveling at the idea that Darlene seemed to have gotten herself together to live an apparently successful life. To the point where she wasn’t afraid to move far away from her family and live by herself.

The squeaky toy was at Hutch’s ear, and he took it from Samson and threw it once again.

“It’s amazing,” Hutch said, after chewing a piece of barbecued chicken, “that she seems so together. Independent and all that.”

“Yeah.” Starsky dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, and then chose a second piece of chicken after devouring the first. “I remember that case. It was all over the news.” He smiled. “Good to hear that that teenage girl grew up to be a successful woman. And mother?”

“She has a daughter in college, so I assume so.” Hutch shifted with discomfort. “I’m going to have to tell her that I saw the newspaper clippings. I wouldn’t want it to slip out accidentally.”

“Surely, she’ll understand. She obviously didn’t have it boxed up well.”

“Yeah.” Hutch thought a long moment. “It almost seems a little strange that she’d have all those articles. Seems like it’s something a person would want to forget.”

“Maybe a relative had them or something, and then maybe died and Darlene decided to keep them.”

“Yeah. That makes more sense than her having cut out articles back then.”

Hutch propped his elbow against the door frame of the Firebird. The sun shone with promise late this Thursday morning, the air fresh from the smell of rain.

Starsky looked both ways, and then eased the Firebird out of the lot of Serene Swans Recovery Center .

Hutch was surprised that he’s the one who had to speak first. “I think Nick is doing well. He seems genuinely remorseful and almost like he’s shocked to realize what he’s done, now that he hasn’t been able to gamble in over a week.”

Starsky merely grunted. Then he said, “Maybe it’s my imagination, but I could swear that he was sort of hinting that if he’d been given one more shot, he could have won all that money back.”

Hutch thought about the conversation they’d had with Nick and a counselor. He shook his head. “I didn’t get that impression. I think you’re just so pissed at him.”

Starsky released a a long breath. “Yeah. I am. We warned him.”

Hutch glanced at his love. “Nobody wants to be lectured to.”

“Well, he’s getting plenty of it now, in rehab.”

Hutch felt his heart pound as he moved up the sidewalk to Darlene’s door. She’d called him earlier that day to let him know she was now back home, and Hutch had assured her that Samson had been a good boy. Then, before giving himself a chance to hesitate, he said he’d like to drop by and see her for a few minutes, because he wanted to talk to her about something. She’d seemed puzzled but said that was fine.

Now, Hutch rang the doorbell beneath the porch light. Starsky had offered to join him, but Hutch felt it was more appropriate for him to talk to her alone.

“Hi, Ken,” she greeted, holding open the door. “Come on in. I’ve got some German chocolate cake that I picked up at the store.”

Hutch waved a hand. “Thanks, but I just ate. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

She indicated the kitchen table. “Have a seat. What’s on your mind?”

Hutch sat. “I just wanted you to know something.” He watched her go to the back door and slide it open. Samson came bounding in.

“Hi, there, Samson. Hi there, boy!” Hutch spent a few moments petting him, while Darlene sat down opposite him with a slice of cake and cup of coffee. He waited until she took a bite, and then said, “I just felt it’s only right to tell you, that one night it was raining, so I couldn’t take Samson for a walk. I threw the ball around here, inside the house.”

She glanced around in puzzlement. “Did it break something?”

“Oh, no, not that. But he couldn’t find it, and he was looking through the boxes in the living room,” Hutch gestured with his chin. “I found it, and I couldn’t help but notice the box it landed in had some old newspaper clippings.”

Her fork paused mid-slice. “Oh.” She kept her gaze lowered to the cake.

“You’re Darlene Stover, aren’t you?”

She reached for her coffee and quickly took a sip. Then she met his gaze. “Yes. I am.”

Hutch shifted restlessly. “I’m really sorry. It wasn’t my intent to snoop.”

She waved a hand. “It’s all right. It’s not like I had that stuff boxed up well. Those clippings used to be at the bottom of the box, but I had to dump some stuff out, because I was looking for my car registration, and I since I was planning on putting everything away eventually, I didn’t make an effort to cover stuff up.” Then, “Sometimes, I think I should just throw them out, but my best friend from junior high always kept them, and gave them to me when she got married and moved away.”

Her attention went back to the cake, and after a moment of silence, Hutch said with a smile, “I’m pretty impressed that you’re brave enough to be living alone and moving to a new state and all that, considering what happened to you.”

She swallowed thickly. “It wasn’t an easy road, at first.” She forced a smile. “But I’ve managed to have a good life.”

After another silence, Hutch went on, “I told my partner, David — we’re the same age, so we both remember that case. But I haven’t told anyone else, and I won’t.”

She smiled and nodded briefly. “That’s the main reason I decided to keep my married name, even after the divorce. But, inevitably, sometimes people find out.” She shrugged. “I guess I don’t mind so much now, after all these years. It’s just when people get so into the ‘you poor thing” and “that must have been awful” thing, it gets a little annoying. It happened. There’s nothing anyone can do about it now, just as I couldn’t do anything about it then.”

Hutch nodded. “Sounds like a great attitude.”

“Having other things to focus on — like raising a daughter, and now my work — certainly helps.”

Hutch felt that saying anything more about it would be pushing things — however much the detective in him was curious — and he changed the subject. “Hey, there’s something else I wanted to mention.”

She sipped her coffee, waiting.

“David and I know a couple of other women, similar to yourself. Single. Career women. We had a great time a while back, when we invited them over for card games and Scrabble. We want to have them over again soon. We wondered if you might be interested in joining in. We bought one of those Trivial Pursuit games, and all five of us could play that.”

She smiled eagerly, setting down her cup. “That sounds like fun. Sure, let me know which evening. I’d love to come.”

Hutch was feeling proud.

Of Darlene, because within the first hour of their gathering, she casually let it be known that she was kidnapped as a teenager, and verified Judith’s eventual question that, yes, her last name had been Stover.

He was feeling proud of Judith, because she asked a few questions like a friend, rather than a therapist.

He was feeling proud of Mandy, because while she didn’t follow those types of criminal cases much, and the name Darlene Stover didn’t ring a bell, she stayed calm and toned down at the news that their new friend had had such an experience in her youth.

Hutch was particularly proud of he and Starsky, for having brought together this group of friends and enjoying their company, albeit had taken a few weeks for everyone’s schedules to line up. He had to admit that in earlier years they would have felt threatened, and probably been belittling, of women who were so successful in their careers and comfortable with being single. Once getting together in every way, they didn’t have any need to be threatened by such things. In fact, Hutch wondered if their little group ever expanded to six, if that sixth person might be a male. It would make for a nice balance. It’s just that most males they knew were employees, and mixing socially with employees wasn’t an appealing idea.

After a shrimp dinner, they’d been playing Trivial Pursuit for the past thirty minutes. Now, Mandy rolled and moved her piece. “Finally. Hopefully, I can get an Arts and Literature question right.“.

Starsky, who was to her left, drew a card from the box. “Brown?” He glanced at the board, then back at the card he held. “Okay. Which Renaissance artist liked to pump iron by lifting weights, and was strong enough to bend an iron horseshoe with his bare hands?”

Mandy put a hand to her forehead. “I have no idea. But since it’s the Renaissance period, I’ll just guess Leonardo da Vinci.” She crossed her fingers.

Starsky nodded at her. “Good guess. That’s correct.”

“Ha!” Mandy declared, while Judith handed her a brown piece to add to her token. After placing it, Mandy rolled again and moved her token. “Sports.”

Starsky drew another card. “Indianapolis 500 winners traditionally celebrate by drinking what beverage?”

“I know that,” Hutch declared.

“I haven no idea,” Mandy said. “Champagne seems too easy.” She shrugged. “Bourbon?”

Starsky grinned. “Wrong. Milk.”

There were noises of disbelief from around the table. “How did that get to be a tradition?” Judith asked.

Starsky replied, “I think some driver back in the past used to drink a lot of milk, and since he won once, the other winners starting drinking a glass after winning.” He shrugged. “Something like that.”

Hutch noticed that Darlene was quiet as she gazed at the board. He wondered where her mind had gone off to, so he asked, “Did you know that?”

She glanced up. “Yeah.”

Now there were noises of amazement. Judith asked, “You watch car racing?”

Darlene presented a bashful smile. “No, it’s just… when I was kidnapped, one of the guys was watching the race and said something about the milk thing. Just one of those things that sticks in your mind.”

Hutch furrowed his brow. “There was more than one guy? I only remember the one going to prison.”

“Yeah. Bob Carlson was the brains and the main guy. But he had a helper. They never caught him.”

“That’s too bad,” Starsky said firmly. “I only remember the press talking about Carlson.”

Darlene shrugged. “Everyone seemed to think that it was all about Carlson, and the other guy was too minor to be concerned with, especially since he supposedly called his sister and said he was committing suicide."

Judith eyed Darlene. “Was the other guy truly only a minor part of it?” she asked gently.

Another shrug. “I was too young to really understand anything.”

Their attention returned to the game.

Starsky pulled his Firebird into the garage, next to Hutch’s Accord. He grabbed the bag of toiletries he’d picked up at the drugstore and left the car, eager to see what Hutch was making for dinner.

As soon as he opened the door from garage to the laundry area, Hutch urgently said, “Starsk, come ‘ere. Hurry.”

Starsky dropped the sack onto the wash machine and trotted across the foyer to the office area. Hutch was looking out the curtain that faced the street. “What?”

Hutch stepped back. “Do you recognize that man? I know I’ve seen him somewhere, but I can’t place him.”

It was dark but a street lamp was next to Darlene’s house. A man was leaning against a car parked in front of the house, cupping his hands around the cigarette in his mouth.

The man lowered one hand, the cigarette now lit. He had short, overly sleek dark hair. His face was round with saggy jowls. His middle extended over his belt. With his other hand, he pulled the cigarette from his mouth and exhaled smoke.

“You recognize him?” Hutch prompted.

“Yeah,” Starsky said softly, thinking hard. He snapped his fingers. “Yeah, yeah.”

The man opened his car door and got in.

Starsky could see the man in his mind’s eye. Sitting at a round table in a large room with many other tables. Speaking frequently and causing others at his table a great deal of laughter. The life of the party.

The car drove off.

Starsky snapped his fingers a final time. “At the detective association’s annual banquet last summer. He was sitting at the table next to ours. Cracking jokes.”

Hutch let the curtain fall from his hand.. “He was one of the speakers,” he nodded thoughtfully. “A name that should be easy to remember. Like Flicker. Or Flatter.”

Starsky shook his finger at Hutch. “Felix Flats.”

Hutch’s eyes lit up. “Yes. Felix. Felix Flats” He glanced at the window, his voice subdued. “He came out of Darlene’s house a few minutes ago.”

Starsky shrugged. “Maybe they’re seeing each other?” They hardly seemed like each other’s type. Flats struck him as too overly jovial, as well as quite a bit older than Darlene.

Hutch shook his head. “I doubt it. When he left Darlene’s house, he had a paper in his head — like a check — and put it in his wallet.”

Starsky considered that. “So, you think Darlene is paying him for detective work?”

Hutch shrugged. “Maybe. What else would it be?”

“Don’t know,” Starsky muttered. “But if she needed a detective, why wouldn’t she hire us?”

“Maybe because we’re friends? And she wanted somebody objective?” The oven beeped and they both moved to the kitchen. Hutch added, “Maybe there’s something she doesn’t want us to know.”

Hutch took an oven mitt, and then pulled a pan with stuffed peppers from the oven. He placed it on a burner. “I just wonder what she’d need a detective for.” He turned on a different burner.

Starsky watched Hutch take a pan from the cupboard, which he assumed was going to be for vegetables. “When you met her, and told her what we did for a living, how did she react?”

Hutch poured water into the pan, and put it on the warming burner. He leaned back against the counter with a contemplative expression. “I don’t think any way different than most people. You know, probably said something about it being interesting or exciting, or not your usual occupation.”

“But not like she was particularly interested?”

“Uh-uh. At least, not enough that I noticed.”

Starsky sighed, not knowing what to think. He pulled out a chair and plopped into it.

Hutch opened the freezer and pulled out a big of mixed vegetables. “I guess it’s really none of our business.”

Starsky waited until Hutch turned to meet his eye. “Say that like you mean it.”

Hutch sighed.

Starsky found himself restless, once turning in for the night.

As they lay awake in the darkness, Hutch asked, “Are you thinking about the second man that Darlene said kidnapped her?”

Starsky wasn’t surprised that his love had picked up on his train of thought. “Yep.”

Hutch sighed. “Maybe we should try calling the Detroit P.D. See what they’ll tell us about him.”

Starsky grunted his agreement.

After a long silence, Hutch noted, “We could be completely on the wrong track, buddy. And even if we’re not… it doesn’t have anything to do with us.”

“I know. But let’s give them a call and see what they say.”

“Yeah,” Hutch agreed softly.

Lois appeared at their office door. “This was dropped off by Federal Express. It’s from the Detroit Police Department.”

“Awesome,” Starsky said, taking it from her. He began to tear open the large cardboard envelope with the word “Overnight” plastered across it. Hutch was on his phone and, upon seeing what Starsky had, quickly ended the call.

The detective they spoke to in Detroit had said the police couldn’t send a copy of the entire file — it was too large and considered an open case, so they wanted to keep some things close to the vest — but they were willing to share more peripheral information. Part of it was out of professional respect; another reason was because the last information they had on the second man in the kidnapping — Wyatt Holt — was that he might be In southern California, having used a series of false names. Granted, that information was some four years old.

Starsky spread the various papers along the counter that ran between their desks, and then they both began reading, and all was silent for a few minutes.

“Damn,” Hutch said softly, gently touching a page of the report, “it was Holt who sexually assaulted Darlene. Not the mastermind that’s in prison.”

Starsky indicated the pages he’d been most focused on. “They had reason to think Holt committed suicide, like Darlene said. But his body was never found."

Hutch sat back in his chair. “I wonder if Darlene knew that he hadn’t killed himself. If she’s been tracking him all this time, and that’s the real reason she moved out here.”

“If that’s true, maybe she hired Felix Flats when she was still back in Detroit. Maybe they know for sure that Holt is still alive and still in this area.”

“But why wouldn’t they share that with the Detroit P.D.? The file hasn’t had any updates in four years.”

Starsky sat down, not liking where his thoughts were taking him. “I suppose there’s a reason she hung on to those newspaper clippings.”

Hutch said, “Surely, she’s not looking for vigilante justice. Felix Flats isn’t an armed detective.”

“Unless she’s going to hire someone to take Holt down, once she’s certain of where he is.”

Hutch sighed heavily. “I wonder if we should confront her. Tell her that was saw Felix in front of her house, and just act innocent and point out casually that we know him. See what she says.”

“That could really embarrass her. Especially if she’s just, say, liking a guy at work and just wanted to have him checked out. And then have to explain why she didn’t ask us to do that.”

Hutch tilted his head thoughtfully. “Yeah. We’re doing a lot of speculating. Maybe we should just keep an eye out, as best we can, and see if she has any other interesting visitors.”

Hutch debated about whether he really wanted to take the vacuum cleaner out of the hall closet and clean the living room. There were crumbs on the floor, from the accumulation of a few weeks, but that didn’t necessarily mean that they needed to be cleaned tonight, as opposed to tomorrow or the next day. The sitcom Roseanne was on tonight, and Starsky intended to be back from the department store by then, since they both enjoyed the show. Hutch wondered if he should park himself on the couch to watch whatever was on leading up to Roseanne, and the anticipation of the evening’s main event was reason enough to abandon the idea of vacuuming.

He heard the distant sound of a door slamming.

Hutch went to the guest bedroom and peeked out the window to the Tuesday evening darkness. With help of the street lamp, he saw that Darlene was had closed the passenger side door of her station wagon, which was parked in the driveway. She now moved around the car to the driver’s side.

Hutch narrowed his eyes. She was dressed in tight fitting black clothing, a knit cap on her head.

What the — ?

The garage door was open, the light on within, and Darlene now moved into the garage with a sense of purpose. A moment later she came out, holding something in one hand while resting it against the crook of the opposite arm.

A chill went up Hutch’s spine. He couldn’t see what she was holding, but the associated mannerisms were strongly suggestive.

Darlene opened the driver’s side door and leaned in. When she straightened, she was no longer holding anything. She faced the garage, reached up, and then pulled down the door. A final effort to make sure it was closed securely. Then she returned to the station wagon, getting into the driver’s seat.

Hutch dropped the curtain and rushed to the kitchen table, grabbing his car keys. Within a minute, he had started the Honda and backed out. He could see the lights of Darlene’s Mercury breaking at their neighborhood’s four-way stop in the distance. Thankfully, it had a light base color, broken up by dark brown paneling on the sides.

He realized that his breath was heavy. Hutch made a point of breathing deeply, and releasing it slowly. He glanced at his car phone and grabbed the receiver. He hit the numbers for Starsky’s Firebird and wasn’t surprised when the phone rang eight times before he gave up. Starsky was obviously still shopping for new clothes and messages couldn’t be left on car phones.

Hutch focused on keeping his distance from the station wagon, while not losing sight of it, and was grateful for the sparse evening traffic. He wondered if Darlene had chose a Tuesday evening for that very reason.

She stopped at a light, with two cars between them. The light seemed to last a long time, and Hutch wondered where he was expecting her to go. Even if his instincts were correct, what business was it of his?

He remembered Starsky saying some months ago, “If John Jones down the street is dealing drugs, what do I care?” They weren’t cops anymore, so others obeying or not obeying the law was no longer their concern.

But still….

Hutch shut off the instinct to trace his own motivation. He needed to know where Darlene was going. Why she was dressed in black. Why she had been holding something reverently, before placing it in her car.

The station wagon braked at a red light. There was now just a pickup truck between them. Hutch took the opportunity to try Starsky’s car phone again. No answer.

As they headed to a more industrial area of town, which was dark and silent, the pickup turned off. Hutch slowed, keeping his distance from Darlene, since it was now easier to follow her.

Hutch’s phone rang. He grabbed the receiver. “Hello?”

“I’m now officially an old geezer. I bought my first pair of boxer shorts. How come you’re in your car?”

Starsky had obviously tried the house phone first. “I’m following Darlene,” Hutch replied.

“Darlene? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Hutch answered honestly.

“Huh?”

“I saw her dressed in black, getting into her car. I couldn’t tell for sure, but she might have been holding a gun.”

“What?” Starsky asked around a gasp.

“I know. Surely, she’s not going after Holt. I hope not.”

“Where are you?”

“We just went through the industrial area north of town. We’re starting to come out of it, near 58h Avenue.”

There was a moment of silence. Then, with trepidation, “What are you planning?”

“I don’t have any plans. I just felt that I should follow her. If she’s going after Holt… I have to stop her.” Hutch silently questioned his own reasoning, but kept driving.

“Ah, man.” Then, firmly, “I’m headed out that direction. Stay in touch.”

“Don’t call me, I’ll call you. If I need to get close, I don’t want the phone ringing and giving me away.”

There was a heavy sigh. “Yeah. Okay.”

Hutch hung up, glad to have made that contact with his love. Still, he wished Starsky were with him now.

Lights of a small commercial area were up ahead. Darlene pulled in front of a convenience store.

Hutch pulled into the next lot, which was a dark, closed establishment. He turned his car around to face the convenience store, cutting the lights but leaving the motor running. He could see, through the glass, that Darlene was talking to the clerk, who was nodding. She reached into her purse and gave him something.

Darlene came out of the store without a sack that would indicate a purchase. She went to the pay phone next to the store and reached into her purse. She searched a moment, and then pulled out a small piece of paper. Hutch dialed the Firebird.

“Anything happening?” came the anxious greeting.

“I don’t know. She’s on a pay phone right now, outside a convenience store on Poppy Avenue, near 72nd. She was inside for a few minutes, talking to the clerk. Looks like she might have paid him some money, but it’s hard to say. She didn’t buy anything.”

“Huh. I’m fifteen minutes away.”

“Okay.” Feeling slightly defensive, Hutch murmured, “Can’t imagine why she’d drive all this way to call somebody on a pay phone.”

“Yeah, that’s weird. She still on the phone?”

“Yeah. Wait - she just hung up. We might be moving again.” Hutch watched as Darlene glanced around, and then started walking briskly down the sidewalk. “No, she’s walking. Away from my direction. Don’t know where’s she going. There’s just a couple of places open on this block.”

“72nd and Poppy?”

“Yeah. I’m next to the convenience store, but I’ll probably follow her in my car, once she’s far enough away . There’s a park up ahead, and then some older houses and apartments. I think I’m going to try to get a little closer. I’ll let you know when I know anything else.”

“Okay.”

Hutch hung up and put the Honda into gear. He could go into the convenience store and try to bribe the clerk into telling him what he and Darlene had talked about. But a group of boisterous young men were entering the establishment, almost knocking over a hunched over old man with a cane, who was also trying to enter.

Hutch felt sympathy for both parties. It could be incredibly annoying to be going somewhere swiftly and get held up by a slow moving person. Another part of him wondered if he would some day be like that — bent over and unable to walk swiftly. Hutch took heart that, however old they became, he and Starsky would help each other out. Assuming they were both still around.

Hutch gratefully let the subject go, as he got back on Poppy, in the direction Darlene was going. She was to his left, about twenty yards ahead, walking swiftly and purposely, her hands stuffed in her black knit jacket. Once passing her, he turned left at the next street, which bordered the park. He found a spot away from the street lamp, set the Honda’s brake, and then turned his head to watch.

At the intersection, Darlene turned down the street bordering the park. She continued moving past where he was, and he wondered if he was going to have to move once again to follow. Then, perhaps a fifty yards in the distance, she abruptly sat on a bus bench.

Hutch furrowed his brow, certain that she wasn’t waiting for a bus. Besides, there was a closer bench near the corner.

What was she doing here?

He dialed the Firebird.

“Yeah?” Starsky greeted.

“I’m now on 74th, just north of Poppy. In front of some houses, across from the park. She’s just sitting on a bus bench.”

“Waiting for a bus?” Starsky asked incredulously.

“I doubt it. I don’t think a bus would be operating this late in this area of town.”

“How does she seem?”

“Pretty relaxed. Where are you?”

“I forgot that 42nd no longer goes all the way through to the industrial area, so I’ve had to go around and get on Highway 6. The traffic is worse, so I might be longer than a few minutes."

“Well, nothing’s happening,” Hutch admitted, “so it’s probably a false alarm.”

“Weird, though, that she’d drive to that area of town and just be sitting at a bus bench.”

“Yeah.”

Through the corner of his eye, Hutch saw the hunched over man with a cane turn from Poppy onto 74th, moving in his direction, and therefore in the same direction as Darlene. “Something might be happening. I think I’m going to leave my car.” Hutch hung up, and watched as Darlene stood from the bench and moved farther into the park, stopping below a large tree. She seemed to be watching the man approach.

Since she was looking toward his general direction, Hutch started the motor and pulled away from the curb. He passed Darlene and made a left at the next street, which continued the park’s parameter. He parked and got out, closing his door gently.

Darlene and the man were watching each other, as the latter moved closer. Hutch walked casually, his hands in his pockets, with his head down, in case either glanced his way. He moved casually into the park, slanting away from them. Once the man and Darlene were a few yards apart, their attention focused on each other, Hutch changed direction and moved closer, using large elms as a series of shields.

“You must be Kate,” the man said pleasantly

“Yes, I am.” Darlene kept both hands in her pockets while she nodded. “I hear you’re really good at making rocking chairs.”

“I’d like to think so.” He nodded toward the park bench. “Shall we sit?”

“I’ve been sitting all day,” she said. “I’d rather stand, if you don’t mind. I just need to know the details and what it’ll take for you to get started.”

Hutch thought it was incredibly thoughtless of Darlene to not let a man with a cane sit down. But more than that, he was feeling enormously foolish. While this seemed like a lot of work to get a rocking chair made, and he didn’t understand why Darlene was calling herself Kate, his one certainty was that he’d never live this down.

He could see it now — Darlene had somehow heard about this man that made rocking chairs, but he probably worked out of his home and didn’t have his own shop. This wasn’t an ideal area of town, so maybe he was careful how he met people. Since Darlene had a day job, and perhaps he had other commitments, and so they’d had to meet at night. Maybe the man didn’t have a phone and perhaps visited the convenience store regularly, and the clerk told him when someone wanting his services was waiting for him.

But why not meet outside the store? And who had Darlene called from the pay phone?

“Sure, I can get you two hundred dollars in a few days,” Darlene was saying.

Hutch turned away, hoping he could escape back to his car just as stealthily, without being seen. How could he ever explain himself if Darlene spotted him and then recognized him?

Just as he took his first step toward the opposite end of the park, Darlene’s voice changed to a hard tone. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

Hutch paused.

“What?” the man asked in confusion. “You’re Kate. Aren’t you?”

“What a wonderful life you must live,” she cooed. “Making rocking chairs. Having everyone believe you’re such an upright citizen.”

“What are you talking about?” The man sounded genuinely confused.

Hutch’s heart pounded. He didn’t have a gun. Did Darlene have one?

“I know who you really are. Wyatt.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, I know you remember,” she taunted. Her hands were still stuffed in her pockets. “Little Darlene Stover. Oh, what easy prey she was for you. Just a girl. All tied up. No way to defend herself.”

The man’s voiced firmed. “I’m going home.” He started to turn.

Darlene pulled a gun out of her coat. “Not so fast, Wyatt.”

He drew a sharp breath.

Hutch’s heart pounded faster. He couldn’t let Darlene shoot Wyatt Holt. Would she really shoot a crippled old man, whatever atrocities he’d committed in the past?

“It was all Carlson,” Holt protested. “It was all his idea. He wasn’t one to be told what to do, and I didn’t have the back bone.”

“Oh, you pathetic weasel,” Darlene snarled. “I know you don’t have any back bone. You think I don’t know that it was YOUR filthy dick that was inside of me? Your pathetic little dick. No wonder you only have sex with children.”

“I was crazy then,” he protested. “I didn’t know what else to do. I was glad Carlson is in prison. I was as much a victim of his scheming as you were.”

Darlene shook the gun. “On your knees, you little worm.”

Hutch didn’t think. He kicked a pebble at the tree he was near, praying that the gun wouldn’t go off when Darlene turned to look in his direction. She did and Hutch stepped out from behind the tree. “Darlene. Don’t.”

“Who - “

“It’s Ken. Ken Hutchinson.”

Her eyes narrowed, trying to see him in the light from the street lamp. “WHAT?”

Holt looked from one to the other and started moving away as quickly as he could with a cane.

Darlene turned toward him and Hutch commanded, “Don’t. Give me the gun.”

Holt kept moving.

“Fuck you,” she hissed at Hutch.

Hutch blinked, having not expected that response.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

Hutch was relieved that she was resigned to Holt getting away. He had to believe that if Darlene knew enough to find Holt here, then the police could, too.

“I followed you.” He stepped closer and she put the gun in her pocket.

“What?” she asked angrily. “Followed me? What for?”

“We’ve — David and I — have found out a few things. And when I happened to see you leave your house tonight, all dressed in black, and looking like you were carrying a gun, my cop instincts kicked in — “

“BASTARD!”

The sting that hit Hutch’s face made him realize that it had been many, many years since he’d been slapped. Starsky hadn’t ever hit him since they’d been together.

Then there was another.

And another.

Darlene was saying something about him having no right. As both hands now landed against his face, again and again, Hutch recalled Diana Harmon pounding on his chest with her fists and him having no desire to defend himself, because he was wounded, and because some part of him felt he deserved it.

As he deserved it now.

“Darlene!” came a blessed voice. “Stop!”

Abruptly, it was over as Starsky pulled Darlene away. “Stop it! What’s going on here?”

“She has a gun,“ Hutch warned. “In her coat pocket.”

She put up a fight as Starsky wrestled it away from her pocket.

“It’s not loaded, you stupid fuck!” she shouted at Hutch. “You ruined it! You ruined everything!”

Starsky verified that the gun was empty.

She grabbed it back from him. “I own it legally, you moronic ex-cop. It’s not yours to take.”

Starsky’s face reflected Hutch’s confusion. “Is Holt here?” he glanced around.

Hutch nodded. Then, amazed at his own calmness, despite his breathlessness and confusion, Hutch told her, “This isn’t the way Darlene. Vigilante justice never is.” Though he wasn’t sure how she could be a vigilante without a legitimate weapon. “The cops can pick him up, if you know where he is.”

“I know exactly where he is! They’re picking him up right now.” She glanced down the block, where Holt was no longer seen. “He lives the next street over. They’re waiting in unmarked cars, so they can arrest him when he gets home.”

Hutch blinked and looked around. “Then what was this about?”

She yelled at him, “What damn business is it of yours?”

Hutch had no answer.

“What?” she pressed. “The big strong macho men needed to save the helpless little lady from her own actions? The poor little Darlene Stover, who couldn’t fight off the worthless prick who stuck his pathetic little weenie into her, because he’s too worthless for a grown woman to want him?”

Hutch muttered, “I thought you were going to execute him.” Then, for Starsky’s benefit, “You told him to get on his knees. At gunpoint.”

She sputtered so strongly that she was almost incoherent. “I just wanted to scare him! Just for a moment. Just for a few fleeting seconds for him to know how it feels to be helpless.” Then, to both, “I know how to handle guns. I knew better than to aim a loaded one in a tense moment. You think I want to go to prison?” Then, gasping, “I just wanted, for a few seconds, to have the moment I’ve been dreaming about for decades. Before the police got him.” Then, to Hutch, “And you ruined it! Pissed all over it with your need to show your manhood.” She turned away, hiding her face in her hands, her shoulders shuddering.

Hutch was trembling. He realized he was feeling enormous guilt, in the midst of a stream of relief that no one had been hurt, and was wanting desperately to believe that he’d done the right thing.

Starsky stepped closer and squeezed Hutch’s arm.

Darlene collapsed to the ground and pounded it with her fists. Then she abruptly drew a deep, calming breath and got to her feet. She straightened her clothing, made sure her pistol was securely in her coat pocket, and approached them.

She stopped, her voice calm but hard. “I was a scared teenager then. I don’t do scared anymore. I don’t need saving.” She marched off in the direction of the convenience store.

They got into Starsky’s Firebird because it was closest. They drove past the next block and saw that there was a swarm of police cars, both unmarked and not. Parked around the corner was a CNN truck, as they’d obviously been tipped off that something was about to happen with the thirty-two year old Darlene Stover kidnapping case. They traveled a few more blocks down Poppy before seeing a local news truck on its way to where the arrest was being made.

Starsky kept going, away from where they’d left Hutch’s car, though he didn’t want to leave it in this neighborhood. “What the hell do you think happened? How did this unfold?”

Hutch drew a breath, and then talked as though thinking out loud. His voice was flat. “I’m thinking she’s had Felix Flats working the case, maybe for years. Or maybe there were other detectives before him. And then once Holt had been found, and perhaps after Felix reported that Holt had a bum leg, I guess Darlene must have decided she could take him on by herself — just scare him, I guess. Maybe Holt doesn’t have a phone, but he makes rocking chairs, and Darlene had told me that an old rocking chair got destroyed in the move. So, she must have told the clerk at the convenience store that she was looking for Holt to make a rocking chair and to meet her on that side of the park.” Abruptly, Hutch said, “I don’t want to leave my car out here.”

“Yeah,” Starsky agreed. But he felt they both needed to unwind. Still, he looked for the turn lane of the next major intersection.

Hutch was silent a moment, and then said, “I saw Holt enter the convenience store, with his limp, without knowing who he was, shortly after Darlene left. So, she had to know — probably from Felix — that Holt went there regularly. What I can’t figure is who she was calling on the pay phone. She had a piece of paper in her hand, like it had a phone number.”

Starsky considered, “Maybe the cops? Maybe she’s been in contact with a local detective.”

As Starsky made a left to start the trip back to where Hutch’s car was, he saw Hutch draw a deep breath, and then bow his head. Starsky prompted, “Talk to me, baby. What are you thinking right now?”

Hutch shrugged with a brief snort. “This was all above board on Darlene’s part, except that little charade in the park.” He shook his head, as though just realizing, “This wasn’t any of our business. What right did I have to think that it was?” He looked over at Starsky with pained eyes.

“You had reason to think she was getting herself into trouble. All our other suppositions were apparently correct, as far as her hiring Flats and all that. If I’d been there, I would have agreed to follow her.”

There was an audible swallow. “Because she’s a woman and can’t handle herself?”

Hutch’s voice was unsteady. Starsky didn’t have any such doubts. “Yes. Because it doesn’t make any sense for a woman to be dressed in black, have a gun, and go off by herself at eight o’ clock at night.”

Hutch pressed, “But if she’d been a man, it would have been okay?”

Starsky sputtered, not sure what words he wanted to use. “Maybe. So what?”

Hutch rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “She wanted her own little moment of revenge. I took that from her.” Before Starsky could speak, Hutch quickly said, “And don’t sit here and pretend that we’ve never done it. When we were cops.” He snorted loudly. “We aren’t even cops. And yet I thought, ‘lady getting herself into trouble, it’s time to act.'”

Starsky was well aware of moments where he’d gotten revenge on Hutch’s behalf.

Hutch went on, “I barge right in and interfere with a woman who has suffered the worst sort of violation, and came through it just fine.”

Starsky muttered, “I’m not so sure she’s all that fine.” He heard the defensiveness in his own voice.

“Because she’s tough?” Hutch challenged. “And women aren’t supposed to be that tough? Because, as men, we’re too threatened by them?”

Starsky didn’t reply right away. When he did speak, it was a plea. “Don’t get all analytical about this. Hell, Hutch, she had a gun! How were you supposed to know it wasn’t loaded? Didn’t you say she aimed it at his head?”

“She told him to get on his knees, with the gun aimed at him.”

Knowing he was getting off the subject, Starsky defended, “Can’t imagine him being able to kneel with that bum leg. And complying just so she could torture him a bit, like a cat batting around a mouse before it decides if it’s hungry enough to eat him.”

Hutch’s voice had its own plea as he looked over at Starsky. “Do you blame her for wanting to be able to dominate him? After he’d done what he did to her, when she was so young and helpless?”

“There’s a right way and a wrong way to go about things.” Starsky’s knew he didn’t sound convincing, since he and Hutch had felt justified in choosing the ‘wrong’ way many times.

Hutch gestured. “It’s up here. On the right, in front of the blue pickup.”

Starsky slowed upon spotting the Honda. He wanted very much to have some humor before they parted for a half hour or so. “Guess she won’t be coming to anymore Trivial Pursuit parties.”

Darlene’s house appeared dark and vacant when they arrived home. They turned on CNN.

There was footage from the arrest. Holt in handcuffs, his head bowed. The reporter was saying, “Law enforcement will be holding a press conference tomorrow morning. But what we have been able to find out is that they were tipped off that Holt — using the name Jeremy Hanson — was living here. The police tell us they suspected Holt was in the general area, but they didn’t know exactly where he was until there was information from the tipster.”

The news anchor said, “I need to interrupt you, Edward. We’ve just received an official statement from Darlene Stover. It reads, ‘I am so grateful that Wyatt Holt has finally been captured. I always doubted that he had taken his own life, as his sister stated all those years ago, and now this nightmare can finally be over. I ask that the media please respect the privacy of myself and my family. This is the only statement I will be making about the arrest. Thanks again to law enforcement.”

Starsky said incredulously, “She had a statement all prepared. And is acting like she had nothing to do with his being found. And of course she’s never going to tell anyone what went on at the park. And Holt has no reason to tell.”

Hutch looked like a whipped pup and muttered, “I guess it’s good that our names will be left out of it, too, huh?”

Starsky tilted his head. “I bet Felix Flats has a lot to do with this. He likes to be at the center of things. I bet it eventually comes out that he was involved with finding Holt, and maybe Darlene will even let him take credit for tipping off the police — once she’d had a chance to humiliate Holt a bit.” He didn’t need to add that Hutch had taken the latter away.

Thoughtfully, Hutch said, “Maybe it was Felix that she called from the pay phone. Maybe said she was expecting to meet Holt soon at the park, and he could go ahead and notify the police where Holt’s residence was.”

Hutch was able to get in to see Judith that Friday. Though they were more friendly now than they’d ever been before, he wanted to see her in her office, so that they were fewer distractions.

He told her what had happened with Darlene and concluded, “It’s like I don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore. It seems that as soon as you look at someone else and say ‘What they’re doing is wrong’, then the next thing you know, you realize you’ve done or are doing the same sort of thing. If you didn’t feel it was wrong for you, then how can you judge it as wrong for the other person?”

Judith leaned forward in the chair that faced him. “Ken, as a citizen of this area, I for one am very glad that when one person holds a gun on another, that someone is willing to step in. You didn’t know the gun wasn’t loaded. Imagine if it had been. She could have shot Holt and you just stood there and watched.” She shook her head firmly. “I wouldn’t have wanted that to happen, regardless of what he did to her thirty years ago.”

Hutch protested, “I shouldn’t have followed her in the first place. It wasn’t my place to. I keep thinking about it, and I really do think it’s a gender situation. If I a guy — someone I care about — says, ‘No, I don’t want your help. This is something I have to take care of myself.’ Then I’d say, ‘Be careful.’ But I’d respect his decision to do what he felt he needed to do, however dangerous. Even if it was illegal, since I’m not a cop anymore.” He shook his head. “But I can’t see a woman making that kind of decision. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, so I need to interfere.”

“If it makes you feel better, I think most women would feel you were justified, even if for reasons of gender. Just like, if you’re boarding an airplane, and you happen to glance into the cockpit and see that one of the pilots is a woman, you’d find yourself wondering if she’s really capable of flying the plane. So would I. I know full well that the average woman is at least as intelligent as the average man, but the idea of women flying commercial airplanes is still too new to feel comfortable with.”

Hutch appreciated Judith saying that. Still, he emphasized, “That doesn’t change the fact that I took away Darlene’s one moment in time, when she wanted to have the pleasure of having Holt squirm a bit.”

Judith furrowed her brow. “It sounds like she did have a moment or two. She did confront him before you stepped in.”

Hutch well remembered the continuous slaps against his face. “She wanted to milk it some more.”

Judith put her finger to her lip a moment. Then she asked, “Has it occurred to you that, deep down inside, she was relieved that someone stopped her? A lot of times, when we’re doing something that feels ‘big’ and against the grain of society’s norms, we hope that somebody cares enough to stop us. Like a child who wants to run free across the street, but is eager for the boundary that he should look both ways first, or ask permission from his mother before he crosses.”

That hadn’t occurred. Hutch snorted, “I guess I’ll never know. I’ve tried to call Darlene, knock on the door of her house… she won’t have anything to do with me. Or David. She’s already got a For Sale sign up, and once she’s gone, there won’t be any chances to talk it out.”

Judith drew a breath. “I really don’t think your feelings about the situation have anything to do with her. She was just the catalyst. Your feelings have more to do with issues that you feel guilty about.”

As he did at times, Hutch was amazed at Judith’s insight. He began, “Well, it does seem that, in recent months, David and I have a lot more philosophical discussions, especially about when it’s justified to interfere with someone else’s life.”

She smiled slightly. “But it’s never that black or white, is it?”

“No. Definitely not. Still, it’s hard not to feel like a hypocrite.”

“I give my clients all sorts of advice, all day long, about what to do in various situations, because I can be more objective from where I sit. But that doesn’t mean I use that same advice in my own personal situations. I can suggest to someone how to handle a difficult clerk at the grocery store, and when I’m not happy at the checkout at the grocery store, I can give the clerk a piece of my mind.”

Hutch grinned, enjoying that Judith was admitting that.

She went on, “I can assure you, from my years of doing this job, that everyone on planet Earth is a hypocrite in some way or another. And if everyone is, then no one is, because the word loses its meaning if it applies to everyone. I have actually had someone sitting in my office a few years ago, a firm believer in kindness to animals. And yet, that very same person gleefully detailed to me the tortuous ways he’s killed mice in his garage. In his mind, one had absolutely nothing to do with the other. Beady-eyed little mice taking over his garage aren’t in the same category as cute little puppies and kittens, even though they’re all mammals who surely just want to live a good life and raise their young.”

Hutch's smile broadened. 

Judith glanced at the clock, and then leaned forward. “Ken, you did what made sense to you at the time. Like we all do, every day. That’s what you have to make peace with. It might take a while for you to fully appreciate it, but I for one am very glad to hear that no one got hurt, that Wyatt Holt was finally arrested after all these years, that Darlene got some degree of justice. Despite your interference, I think she’s going to be able to close that door to her past life for the very first time.”

A few hours later, Hutch was in the conference room at the office.

The stout, white-haired Mr. Fletcher closed the thick three-ring notebook Hutch had shown him. “You’ve done a really nice job on this. I’m so impressed.”

Hutch smiled while closing the file folder that rested on the conference table. “Thank you. I’ll be sure and let David know. The ancestry tracings are pretty much all handled by him.” Starsky had other appointments outside the office today. Hutch removed the top page from the folder and placed it before Mr. Fletcher. “As you requested, here’s our invoice.” Normally, Lois would have mailed the bill.

Mr. Fletcher reached into his coat pocket and took out a checkbook. As he began filling out a check, he glanced at the notebook. “This will get a safe place in our dugout.”

Hutch wasn’t sure he heard correctly. “Dugout?”

Fletcher smiled as he continued to write. “That’s what we call it. My family has a bunker on some land we own in Idaho. You know, in case of a disaster or nuclear war.” He tore the check from the book, his voice still pleasant. “If civilization is wiped off the face of the Earth, and few remain, at least the descendants in my family will be able to know all about its roots.” He patted the notebook. “That’s one less thing on my to-do list before there’s an Armageddon.”

Hutch wasn’t sure what to say. Then, hearing the hint of disbelief and humor in his voice, he said, “And here I thought that the world was safe, once we got passed 1980 and all the predictions early in the century of a cataclysm by that time.”

Fletcher held out the check. “Thanks again.” He stood, gathering the briefcase he’d brought with him. “We’re never safe. I’ve got some brochures here on how you can build or buy your own bunker, if you’re interested.”

“I’ll pass.” Hutch forced a smile. “At least for now.”

Fletcher shook his hand. “It’s never too early to plan for the future. Have a good day.” He took his briefcase, and the notebook of his family history, and made his exit.

Standing alone in the conference room, Hutch looked at the clock. He felt that he should feel happier that it was four-thirty on a Friday afternoon. Armageddon?

Starsky was already home when Hutch had arrived. As though he’d known exactly what Hutch needed, Starsky had taken him to bed and made tender sweet love to him.

Now, they both lay on their backs, gazing at the ceiling, as the afterglow waned.

The first words spoken were in a forlorn tone from Starsky. “I’m forty-six.”

“Not until tomorrow.”

“Same difference.”

Hutch made a brief snort. “You sound like Fletcher.”

“Huh?”

Hutch relayed the conversation from a few hours ago.

Starsky grunted. “I wouldn’t have pegged him for a fatalist.”

“I don’t think that’s the right word. I think they’re called survivalists. They believe in surviving the end of the world, not succumbing to it.”

It was a long moment before Starsky replied. “Whatever they’re called, it seems like that kind of attitude is lose-lose.”

Hutch looked over at his love. “What do you mean?”

“Well, think about it. If you’re trying to convince people that the end of the world is coming — and you’re right — then you’re going to die along with everyone else. So, it’s not like you can brag about being right, ‘cause everybody’s dead.”

Hutch started to correct the assumption, but Starsky beat him to it. “And even if some of them survive, because they were prepared, well it’s not any fun bragging to each other about how right they were, since they all felt the same way. They’d want to brag to those who were killed. But they can’t because those people are dead.”

Hutch blinked at the dubious logic.

“And then,” Starsky held up a finger with relish, “if they’re wrong about the world ending, they have to live in disappointment that they were wrong.” He turned his head toward Hutch. “That would be a real bummer, huh? Being upset that the world didn’t end, because it means you’re wrong about something major like that?” He shrugged. “So, either way, right or wrong, that kind of outlook is a losing situation.” He smiled. “So, I guess that means we may as well live in the assumption that things are going to turn out just fine.”

Hutch smiled, too. “Besides which, people have been predicting the end of the world for as long as mankind has existed, and none has come true.”

“There’s still some predictions left,” Starsky pointed out. “Like, I just read an article a couple of months ago, that there’s concern among the computer experts that when we reach the year 2000, all the computers are going to blow up, or go crazy, or stop working, because they haven’t been programmed to handle any date past December 31, 1999.”

Hutch had a vague recollection that he’d also read something along that line. Firmly, he protested, “Surely, all the computer geeks in the world will have figured out how to fix all our computers in the eleven years between now and then.”

“Maybe so. But then there’s the Mayan calendar.”

“What Mayan calendar?”

“The Mayan calendar that predicts the end of the world in December of 2012.”

Hutch turned toward Starsky and said firmly, “I don’t know why that would be more accurate than any of the past end of world predictions there have been throughout eons of human history.”

Starsky shrugged. “We won’t know until we know. Let’s see… I’ll be sixty-nine in December of 2012. So will you.”

Hutch rolled on top of Starsky, though he knew it was still going to be a while before a round two could take place. “What I predict is that we’ll both still be alive then. And well. And happy.” He planted his lips on the ones opposite.

“Mmm.” Starsky gently pushed him aside. “It’s going to be a while, baby.”

“Yeah,” Hutch said with sigh.

Starsky rested his cheek in his hand. “Wonder how things will be for us in 2012. Besides being healthy, happy, and well.”

“Maybe we’ll have started our therapeutic riding stable by then. Surely, we will have, if we’re ever going to do it.”

Starsky placed his hands behind his head. “When are we going to retire, anyway?”

“Our agency keeps making money. But we don’t want to give it up — sell it — until we’re sure we can get enough for it to do the things we want in retirement.”

Starsky gazed at him a long moment. “Nothing is for sure, Hutch. Sometimes you intellectualize this stuff too much.”

Hutch furrowed his brow. “Are wanting to retire sooner rather than later?” He’d never gotten that impression.

“Not necessarily. I just think there’s more to consider that just black-and-white calculations. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense for us to start our detective agency when we started it. We could have lost everything. Just like Nick did.” There was surprise in Starsky’s voice on the last, as though disbelieving that Nick’s offense could be correlated to their own choice to simply do what they wanted with the money from Hutch’s trust fund.

They were silent a long moment, gazing at each other.

Hutch was eager to soothe them both. “Nick has a family counting on him. That’s why it’s a different situation.”

Starsky muttered, “Even if he were single, I would have been just as pissed at him for blowing a quarter of a million, especially in a such a short time.”

“And I guess we could have blown the half million or whatever it was, after you recovered from that monkey bite. However much we meant well, we could have still blown it. And had to go back to being regularly working stiffs.”

“We are regular working stiffs.”

“Only because we choose to be.”

“Meaning,” Starsky said with a thoughtful expression, “that if we wanted to retire right now, we could find a way to do it. And no,” Starsky quickly held up a hand, “that’s not what I’m clamoring for. I’m just saying — again — that it’s not all just about numbers. Our agency was a success, even in one of the worst financial crisis this country has ever known.”

Hutch settled back against his pillow. “Yeah, I’m so glad we’re finally out of the recession from a few years back. That was brutal for a lot of people.”

“But not for us,” Starsky reminded. “Because life isn’t all about mathematical calculations. There’s something else going on that makes some things work and some things not.” A pause, then, with finality, “We’ve always believed in ourselves. In each other. That’s gold. No price can be put on that. That’s not the kind of thing you can teach to someone else. It comes from within.”

Hutch was surprised by the sudden seriousness — and intensity of belief — in Starsky’s tone. “We’ve had a lot of good that’s happen to us, that’s for sure. Darla was one thing.”

“Exactly. But no one thing can account for our success with our business, with our relationship, with the first horse we owned, with improving our relationships with our families. Some people could have had all the same pieces of life that we had, and not have anything good come from it. So the pieces themselves have nothing to do with how good our lives have been and continue to be.”

Hutch wondered if he would ever have Starsky’s self-confidence.

Starsky leaned over Hutch, his eyes moist, a hint of smile at his mouth. “I love us. So much.”

There was one thing Hutch was absolutely certain of. “I love us, too.”

They kissed.

THE END

AUTHOR’S NOTE: While I know to never say never, my intention is that this is the final story in the “Adventure” series. It’s covered a decade of the post-series lives of Starsky and Hutch, and I’ve been writing it for nearly that long in real time. I felt I’d reached the point for this serial to end. It’s been a tremendous pleasure to write and contemplate, and I appreciate so much those who have expressed pleasure in reading it. Comments will continue to be welcome on this story and any others I have written. I respond to all emails. charlottefrost13@gmail.com

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