Chapter 23A

Blame it on the lies that killed us
Blame it on the truth that ran us down
You can blame it all on me...
It don't matter to me now
When the breakdown hit at midnight
There was nothing left to say
But I hated him and I hated you when you went away
And after all this time to find we're just like all the rest
Stranded in the park and forced to confess
            Backstreet -- Bruce Springsteen

    Starsky entered the stark, white interrogation room without knocking, and closed the door quietly. A slight-built Caucasian male in his mid-thirties sat huddled in one of the chairs behind the table. The man was turned away from Starsky, one knee drawn up on the chair, head resting on it. His posture reminded Starsky disturbingly of himself just a few hours ago, when he had curled up in self-defense against the nightmarish images Russo hurled at him. The man didn't turn to look at Starsky or acknowledge his presence in any way.

    It should've all felt so familiar, but it didn't. How many times had he stepped into an interrogation room to question a witness, harass a suspect, work an informant? He must've spent half his life as a cop here, sometimes alone, sometimes with Hutch, doing the good-cop/bad-cop bit, or playing tennis with some guy's mind, confusing him until he gave up the goods.

    But that was before. Before he'd experienced prejudice, discrimination, and police brutality first hand. He knew he'd never be able to view these rooms quite the same way again. He was a different cop today from the one who'd last stepped into these rooms so nonchalantly a few weeks ago. He hoped it would make him a better cop. A better person.

    He was tired. They'd only left the lockup less than an hour ago, and the amount of energy he'd expended tonight had drained him thoroughly. But this couldn't be put off. K.R. wouldn't let him, and even Hutch agreed that it was something Starsky had to deal with right away. He agreed with them in spirit, but he ached with fatigue, and all the bumps and bruises he'd earned at the hands of the rogue cops were making themselves felt. He knew Hutch had to be hurting, too.

    It was hard to believe that this slender, nondescript, mousy little guy could've been the lynch pin of all this trouble. Playing with one of the world's most dangerous men, Gunther, and his ambitious lawyer, the guy was lucky to be alive. Or maybe not. That remained to be seen. Starsky stared at him, filled with turmoil. He still wasn't quite ready to accept everything K.R. had told him. It was too hard to believe. This was his chance to find out if this guy had buffaloed her.

    Quietly, he walked around the room, eventually picking a spot as far from the man in the chair as he could, so that he would be less threatening. Leaning back against the wall, he crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his arms.

    Taking a deep breath, he said, "Aren't you going to say hello, Eddie?"

    Without looking at him, the man in the chair said, "My name's Joey. Joseph. Joseph Simmons. 5375 Wilshire Boulevard, Los Angeles, California--"

    "You're not a prisoner of war. You don't need to give me your name, rank, and serial number."

    "Oh, yeah?" the man said. "That's what you think. That's exactly what I am. A prisoner of war."

    "Well, according to the information I have, it's a war you volunteered for."

    The man's slim shoulders started to shake, and Starsky saw a tear fall to the floor, then another. He'd suffered too much personal heartache lately not to be affected. His heart twisted. Gently, he asked, "Eddie...what happened to you?"

    He was crying hard now. "You happened to me, David." He rested his forehead on his raised knee and sobbed softly.

    Starsky let him cry, unable to understand him or provide any comfort. But inside, he ached.

    "Tell me," Starsky whispered. It had taken all his resolve to get those words out.

    "You remember what it was like, when we were kids?" the man who'd been the boy he'd known as Eddie asked. His face was still turned away, as if he couldn't bear to let Starsky see him cry.

    Starsky swallowed. "I remember." I remember your mouth. I remember using it. Most times, I was barely aware of the rest of you.

    "It was so perfect, when we were kids. You--you were so good to me. So kind, so gentle. And you were so beautiful. I loved you so much."

    Starsky closed his eyes. He felt again the deep shame he'd suffered when, after they were separated, his mind had replayed the passion he'd felt for the boy who had become this man. He'd fostered the illusion of feelings to ensure the pleasure his young body craved. The man he was now cringed at that.

    "And you loved me, too," Eddie continued. "At least, that's what I thought. I told myself I could see it in your eyes, the way you looked at me when I was loving you. But then...after...after it happened...after they caught us...I kept thinking you'd get in touch with me. Drop me a note. A word. Something. And you never did. I waited so long. For just one word."

    He took a deep breath to get his emotions under control "I knew you went to California. After I finished school in Florida, after I grew up, I changed my name. I decided to be someone different. I tried to forget you, and how much I loved you. But I was kidding myself. Every time I put my mouth on some man, I was putting it on you. Whenever I found someone built like you, with your hair, your eyes, I made his life paradise on earth. And when they walked away from me--and every one of them did--I knew I wouldn't hear from them the same way I never heard from you. That's what happens when you grow up. You figure out your place in the scheme of things. And my place was on my knees, worshipping men who would use me then forget me. Because you happened to me."

    On some level, Starsky believed he deserved this. But even so, he couldn't help protest. "Eddie...we were kids. That's all I was, just a kid, hot, horny, dying for someone to touch me."

    "I told myself that a million times," Eddie said. "But it never helped. My love for you never went away. It was just a hollow ache inside me. After college, I worked for some film studios for awhile, but I knew I really couldn't have any kind of career unless I came out here. And God, I didn't want to. I was afraid you were still here. I was terrified of what might happen if we were in the same city. But then, one of the studios I worked for wanted to promote me--and transfer me out here. I almost didn't accept the promotion...but later... I decided to take the chance. Just being in the same city as you, breathing the same air--I felt more alive than I had in years. After I'd been here for awhile, I started checking around...trying to find you. When I couldn't, I figured that was a good thing. And then you were shot."

    Starsky blinked. That's how you found me?

    "I got hysterical when I saw the pictures in the paper, with your name, rank, and the low possibility of your survival. I asked around the bars and found someone who worked as an orderly in that hospital. For a few bucks and a regular blow job, he was happy to tell me how you were doing, whether you would live or not. He even got me your home address from your records. After you were out of intensive care, he got me your room number, and I'd act like I was visiting someone and just walk up and down the halls a few times so I could get a glimpse of you in your room. And every time I came--he was there. Your big blond. I saw how you looked at him--how you looked at each other. And I knew you loved someone else. Then you moved in with him. Hutchinson, your partner."

    Eddie had calmed down as he told his story. Wiping his eyes, he took a steadying breath and continued.

    "The orderly also told me about Huggy Bear, so I knew you hung out at his place. I became a regular, and as you got better, I'd see you in there a few nights a week. Always with Hutchinson. Always. He'd lean over and touch you so often, making sure everyone knew just who you belonged to."

    Starsky racked his brain, trying to recall seeing Eddie at the Pits and for the life of him, he couldn't. He'd been invisible, blending into a sea of other invisible faces.

    "I started to hate you with as much passion as I once loved you," Eddie said softly. "If you had been straight, I think I could've handled that better. But knowing you were living as a straight cop while being with him every night made me crazy. Eventually, all I wanted was to hurt you in the worst way I could."

    "Through Hutch," Starsky said quietly.

    "The gay grapevine said that someone would pay good money to prove you two were gay. So far, no one had been able to collect. Most of us thought it was one of those celebrity revelations kind of thing, since you'd been in the paper so much. But I had proof. So I followed the rumor to the source, and met Josh Cantrall. Gunther's lawyer."

    Eddie laughed mirthlessly and shook his head. "You would've thought I'd have learned something after all this time. He was so nice at first. Paid me well. We danced around each other for awhile, but soon discovered our agenda dovetailed perfectly. I thought it was wonderful irony--ruining both of you by proving you were gay."

    Starsky felt his jaw clench. "Was killing Hutch always part of the deal?"

    Eddie finally looked up at him. His eyes were swollen and puffy from crying. It had been many years since Starsky had seen him, but he was able to recognize the boy who had introduced him to the wonders of sex so long ago. "No. I swear. I had no idea. It was just the exposure. Proving you were gay. I had the perfect job in the film lab I worked for. Josh Cantrall set up a dummy corporation with fake employees--he used names of people who used to work for some of Gunther's corporations as a mask. It was this corporation that contracted to rent part of the lab and the equipment where I worked. My name was never involved. Cantrall bankrolled the whole thing. He got the cameras from one of Gunther's defense contractors. I handled the technical end, making the film, editing and distributing it."

    "Did you enjoy watching it?" Starsky asked coldly.

    Eddie looked as if he were about to cry again. "It broke my heart. You were still so beautiful. And...the scars on your chest so frightening. But...the way you loved each other. No one's ever shown me a fraction of that kind of caring in my whole life--not since I lost you."

    "How did K.R. feature into all this?" Starsky asked.

    "Accidentally," Eddie said. "A lot of really nice gay guys did volunteer work for her. Giving her a few hours a week was a good way to meet them. But over time...I came to admire what she was doing for the community. I started working for her because I wanted to help. When I got hooked up with Cantrall, he paid me extra for information I could glean from her files, but there wasn't anything there that could really help him, so that was a dead end. But as I got in deeper and deeper, I knew it was a good cover for me." He took a deep breath and met Starsky's gaze squarely. "That's all it was supposed to be--the exposure of the two of you as lovers. That's all Cantrall ever told me about. Until I was so involved I couldn't get out."

    "You could've gotten out!" Starsky snapped, angry now. "You could've told K.R. She nearly got killed!"

    Eddie ran his hands through his hair, grief-stricken. "I had no idea he was gonna do that! I wasn't involved in that part. He connected with those killers through the cops. They told him who to call and how to do it so he couldn't be caught. And I didn't know about the connection with the police department until--" He sobbed and fell apart, hiding his face in his arms.

    Starsky let him cry for a minute, then asked bluntly, "Until what?"

    "Until Cantrall told me about it. How he'd connected with this guy, Wilson. How the cops hated you both so much they wanted you dead. He said it was perfect. That you were the loose cannon, and all they had to do was kill Hutchinson and then you'd be useless. Maybe even kill yourself. I panicked! I told him that was more than I'd signed on for, that I was out of it. I was so scared, I started packing. I was gonna go back to Florida, just run. So he sent Russo and Wilson over to convince me. And it was Brooklyn all over again, only all grown up, so it was that much worse."

    Starsky's stomach dropped and he had to close his eyes. He suddenly relived the repulsive moment when he was held helpless by Russo on his knees for Wilson's sick pleasure. His anger evaporated.

    "I was trapped. I never knew when they might show up. Those sadistic bastards! They had so much fun with me! And I performed, you better believe it. Whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted it, as good as I could do it. They let me know if I didn't dance, I'd end up busted up dead in some dumpster, just another John Doe.... I was living from minute to minute, and every one of them filled with terror. Cantrall was loving it. Everyone was having a real good time. Except me. They beat Tomas just to impress me. Show me how much pain you could inflict on someone without killing them."

    "You told them Tomas was gay?"

    "I didn't want to! They told me to be at the Parrot that night they sent him in. I didn't dare not do it. But I didn't know Tomas worked with them! They never mentioned him to me. I guess they weren't satisfied with what Tomas told them about you when he left the Parrot. So they dropped in on me when they went off duty, to find out what I saw. I didn't want to tell them anything, but by the time they were done with me, I would've given them my mother. When I told them Tomas was gay, I didn't even think it mattered much since I didn't know they worked with him. I got a bonus for giving up Tomas. Cantrall made sure I always got paid. So I couldn't say I was being cheated."

    Starsky ran a hand over his face. "The night K.R. nearly got shot...didn't you have any regrets?"

    "Regrets?" He barked a humorless laugh. "The night Hutchinson took K.R. out on a date, I freaked out completely. Suddenly, I was in a blind panic, terrified I'd been wrong all along, that neither of you were gay, that I'd sold my soul for the wrongest possible reason. But by that time, Cantrall didn't care if you were gay, straight, or virginal. He was on a speeding train with one track, and I was tied onto the engine with him."

    "Were you in the Parrot a lot?" Starsky asked, realizing he had no memory of seeing him there, even now.

    He nodded his head. "Just to watch you. See you move. Walk around. You were always wearing that damned jacket with the bullet holes. And the more I was there, the more distant you and Hutchinson got. I could tell Whitelaw was interested in him, and that seemed okay with him. I just kept getting more confused. When it hurt too bad, I'd go back to the Pits. Neutral territory. The night K.R. was shot, that's where I was. Saw it on the news. I called K.R. in a panic, just to make sure she was really okay. And she said one of the cops was with her. I figured it was Hutchinson again, that maybe they were really developing something. But it wasn't him--it was you. You were there, alone with her-- I didn't know which end was up anymore. Until I went home and got another visit to keep me focused...."

    Starsky shuddered. Russo was so furious that night when his attempt to arrest Starsky had been thwarted. He didn't want to think about how he and Wilson had taken their frustrations out on Eddie.

    It really wasn't that different a story, Starsky realized. He'd heard plenty like it. Malleable kids, natural-born followers, getting dragged into really wrong things by the sharks around them. But he'd never really understood it before. Why they couldn't get themselves out of it just by walking away. Just by deciding not to cooperate. He remembered being overpowered by the cops in the raid, being delivered to Russo to be abused however he and Wilson wanted. He tried to imagine that happening to him on a regular basis. With no escape. No refuge. No Hutch ready to fight to the death to save him.

    He remembered K.R. telling him, just before he entered this room, I don't care what preconceptions you carry into that room with you. You let him tell his story. The whole thing. Then you decide how to punish him. In spite of the way Eddie had betrayed her, she'd already decided to be his defense lawyer.

    "Eddie...this is some serious shit...," he said lamely. "There are going to be penalties--"

    "You think I don't know that?" he yelled back. "You think I don't know what they are? Years locked in places with hundreds of men like Russo and Wilson, doing whatever they want with me whenever they want? You probably think that's pretty appropriate, huh?"

    The reality slapped Starsky hard. Eddie wouldn't last a week in prison. He'd be passed around like a pack of smokes. That's not my fault, he told himself. Is it? He didn't know.

    He could still hear K.R. You owe him something, David. Only you can figure out what that is. Hutch had argued with her, insisting that Starsky was just as scarred by what had happened to them, but Starsky had stopped him. He knew that wasn't true. He'd had a good life all these years. A worthwhile career. Fulfilling relationships with women. And he'd had Hutch. Even before now, before they were lovers, he'd had the best relationship, the best partnership, anyone could've wanted. Eddie had never had anything like that. Thinking of the years of loneliness and isolation Eddie had endured, clinging to a distorted view of their relationship and an empty longing for him, affected Starsky profoundly. It was too close to what he'd put Hutch through these last weeks.

    "No, Eddie," Starsky said, "I don't want to see you go to prison. I think you've already paid a heavy price for making some bad decisions. I wouldn't want to see that happen to you."

    Eddie had turned away again, as if unwilling to believe anything sympathetic that Starsky might say.

    "Listen," Starsky said, "we've got some serious hard evidence on Wilson and Russo." Russo would be in a neck brace for weeks, but he'd live. "If you'd testify to their...coercion...it would go really far to ensure strong penalties for them. We've got some others willing to testify, some of the cops involved in the plot. You should know, Eddie, that when you scratch a bully there's always a coward underneath. Half of them are trying to sell the other half out for a deal. Your testimony is critical, since it links Gunther, Cantrall, Wilson, and Russo together."

    "Cantrall will have me killed." His voice was low with fear.

    "I don't think so. Cantrall kept meticulous records. We're going through them now, but we're pretty sure we'll find hard evidence tying him into the mechanics that tried to hit K.R. He's going down hard. Wilson and Russo, too. You could be the one to nail that lid down, Eddie."

    "So I can end up as their cell mate?"

    It was a fair question. "K.R.'s going to try to get you immunity, since your testimony is so critical. You don't have a record, not even a parking ticket. According to you, all you wanted to do was reveal what you thought was the truth about me and Hutch. Cantrall never told you the rest until you were in too deep. I think she'll get it. If she does...will you testify?"

    There was a long pause, then Eddie asked, "It means a lot--to you?"

    "Putting those guys away--yeah, that means a lot to me." So, I guess no matter how I feel about it, I'm still a cop. Wanting to do the right thing. Put the bad guys away. "They hurt a lot of people. Our friends at the Parrot. K.R. You. They don't deserve to be free where they can hurt others."

    Eddie nodded slightly. "Okay. I'll testify."

    He had to be honest with him. "It could get nasty. You'll have to talk about your involvement. You'll have to talk about the things they did to you."

    Eddie nodded. "I figured that. I'll do it."

    "Hold out for the immunity," Starsky told him.

    "Okay," he said listlessly. He looked up at Starsky again. "Can I ask you something?"

    "Sure." I owe you that much.

    "Are you? Gay?"

    Starsky hesitated, collecting his thoughts. The answer wasn't so simple. "I'll tell you the truth, Eddie. After...after you and I separated.... I never did anything with another guy after that. Never thought about it. I wanted to put that experience behind me. Not because I didn't love what you'd done for me, but because the consequences had terrified me so much. So, after that, I definitely was not gay. I was as un-gay as I could be. Racked up the ladies, developed a rep as a serious stud. Was proud of that."

    Eddie's expression told Starsky he had his complete attention.

    "Me and Hutch, we'd been together as partners, I don't know, seven, eight years, and had known each other for years before that. We were tight. He was the best friend I ever had. I really loved him, but as my friend, not as anything romantic or sexual. Until the night we were drugged. That made us, made me, realize the love we felt didn't have to have boundaries. But when that night was over, I couldn't accept it. All I could do was focus on the consequences. So I tried to pull away, put it behind us, so I could be straight again. But real love is hard to deny. Real, true love.

    "Coming so close to losing Hutch, it made me understand something I was too young to understand with you. That love is too precious to waste. That it doesn't matter what the consequences are, because love is enough to get you through that. So, if you had asked me the night before we were drugged, was I gay? I'd have said no, big time, and copped an attitude besides. But you're asking me now. And I'm a really different man now than I was then. I'm in love with Hutch, and I'm happier about it than I could ever have imagined. I have you to thank for that in an odd way. But in the world we live in, if a man chooses another man, there's only one thing he can be, no matter what he might've ever been before. So, the answer now is, no question...yes. I'm gay. And I've got too much respect for the people who wear that label to ever deny it."

    Eddie looked stricken as he listened to Starsky. "Will...will they let you be policemen anymore?"

    "We think so. There was so much corruption involved in all of this that we've become the shining examples of courage under fire. The press has been amazingly supportive. Looks like we're about to officially become LA's first gay cops. And we're hoping Tomas will eventually recover well enough to work. So, he'll be the third. Police department's gonna have to make some major attitude adjustments. But me and Hutch are good at adjusting attitudes. I'm lookin' forward to it." He smiled amiably.

    "I'm glad about that," Eddie said, his voice cracking. "I--I really am. I...I don't know why I ever wanted anything bad to happen to you. Now that you're here...now that I've seen you again, talked to you...I could never want that for you."

    Loving someone who can't love you back is a painful thing, Starsky thought. It can make you crazy.

    "Eddie," Starsky said, "there's one other thing I wanna say to you. I want to apologize. I abandoned you in Brooklyn. Kid or not, I was wrong to do that, to leave without ever trying to see or talk to you, to find out if you were okay. I never even knew what all happened to you that day...and I'm ashamed that I didn't try to find out. I've lived with that all these years. It changed me. And part of me has been trying to make up for it and failing. It's pretty inadequate after all this time, but...I'm sorry."

    Eddie's face crumpled and he turned away again, facing the wall to cry like a child.

    Suddenly, Starsky was a child again, too, a kid confused and filled with wants and needs he couldn't understand, but who knew when another friend needed something from him he could provide. He went to where Eddie sat, and pulled his huddled form out of the chair and enveloped him in his arms, cradling the broken man against his chest. He hugged him tight, saying, "Eddie, I'm sorry, so, so sorry," over and over again into his hair.

~~~

    "GARRITY'S GRIPES by Michael Garrity

    "I was beginning to think that everyone in our city government had lost their minds, especially when it came to the politically delicate situation surrounding the city's two most controversial cops, Dave Starsky and Ken Hutchinson. After these guys--who've been suspended without pay since their involuntary movie debut--subdued and arrested two hired killers attempting a mob-like hit in a public place, I figured this story was dead. Any politician--and our dear Mayor never stops being a politician even on his best days--would have to use some common sense and give these boys their badges back.

    "But no. We found out, after discussing the situation with their lawyer, the notorious K.R. Callahan, that the Mayor's office only reluctantly met with her to negotiate the situation. Even after the shooting (in which an innocent young woman was gunned down and left to die in the street), the Mayor's office never changed its inadequate offer: i.e., to allow these two dedicated cops to return to desk duty only after having been separated as partners.

    "After the unbelievable events of last night (see C.D. Phelps' article, page A1), which exposed a nest of corruption in the police department of staggering proportions, we now have to wonder whether or not the Mayor's unrelenting stance reflected his possible involvement in this conspiracy. Over fifty police officers took the law into their own hands and trampled over the civil rights of dozens of law-abiding citizens--who just happen to be gay. This situation has practically ensured K.R. Callahan a lifetime career in civil suits based on discrimination. The Mayor is answering a lot of embarrassing questions this morning. However the voting public might feel personally about homosexual issues, one thing is for sure--LA isn't ready to be the United States' answer to Hitler's Germany. We're not about to see any group of our own citizens singled out for blatant unjust persecution.

    "The LA Police Department's motto is 'Protect and Serve.' Apparently, the only two cops who took that message to heart were Starsky and Hutchinson. The Mayor isn't answering any phone calls this morning, and there's a possibility he might step down--be still my beating heart. The Deputy Mayor is left handling an ugly, embarrassing situation, and the entire country is waiting to see what he will do.

    "It's really pretty easy, Mr. DM. GIVE STARSKY AND HUTCHINSON THEIR BADGES BACK! Let the only two really honest cops in this city do the job they're good at. It's obvious to everyone these guys need to work together to be the most effective. Considering how INeffective we've repeatedly shown the bulk of the police department to be, the city wants its best two cops back on the front line.

    "But what about the real issue here--or at least as real as some supposedly straight-laced, clean-living politicos have painted it to be? What about their personal lives? Is LA ready for two openly gay cops? It's the same question I'm ashamed to say I've been asking in these pages these last few weeks. But after last night, all I can say is, if we could find more cops like Starsky and Hutchinson, this city wouldn't care if the entire force were gay. Personally, it doesn't matter to me if those guys are making it with pink elephants when they go home at night. They've proved repeatedly they're willing to put their lives on the line to protect each other and the people of this city. Let's not wait until we can only return their badges in a posthumous ceremony. These guys deserve more from this city than that.

    "The Spartans knew the truth of it. An army of lovers cannot be defeated."

~~~

    Starsky folded the newspaper quietly as he sat in the front seat of the Torino. Dobey had made sure the media got their hands on some of the film from the lockup camera. Michael Garrity told K.R. privately, the cop in the film was the one who'd shaken him down and cost him his marriage. So Garrity's article didn't surprise Starsky much.

    He looked again at the front page. There was a big blow-up of one of the film frames. There was Russo, face pressed against the bars, taunting Starsky, who had turned his back on him. The bullet holes in Starsky's jacket were plainly evident. Every article and news report, he knew, would mention them and rehash the Gunther hit. In the frame, everyone in the cell was clustered in the back as far from Russo as they could get. The costumed dancers all looked like frightened, vulnerable young girls. The accompanying article--written by C.D. Phelps--detailed the contents of the film. She explained how the cops were so used to ignoring the security camera setup that routinely filmed prisoner abuse, that they'd completely forgotten it was running when they had unjustly incarcerated the people from the bar. Starsky didn't know about it either. Not every facility had one, and this one was out of his jurisdiction.

    He wondered how Russo felt about being the star of a movie he didn't know he was making. The film was grainy but Russo's bulky body was easy to identify, as was Starsky's leather-clad one. His stance was one of passive resistance in this frame, as if he were struggling against responding to the bully threatening him. Everyone else in the cell looked terrified and Starsky had placed himself--without thinking about it--between Russo and them.

    Starsky thought it was interesting how C.D.'s article never mentioned his attack on Russo or what happened after that. However, there was a smaller picture of himself leading a passive resistance demonstration. He wondered how much she was enjoying making her editor eat crow. The stories about them after the hit on the bar had been way too hot for her editor not to run them, especially after she had been an eyewitness.

    Starsky had a sudden flash of memory to that day in the locker room. It felt like ten years ago since the day they'd taken the last of Gunther's cartel down. He remembered how Russo had called him and Hutch "glory hounds," complaining about how they were always garnering media attention. He knew that would never change now, that they would be forever in the media's eye. And he didn't kid himself. He knew that same media would turn on them in a heartbeat if they ever fucked up. From now on, he and Hutch would always be "those gay cops."

    What was it Helen had said to him a million years ago when she had complained about how difficult it was to be the lone female detective in a squad of resentful males? Oh, yeah. They would have to be twice as good to be considered just as competent. Fortunately for them, that wasn't difficult. Starsky planned for them to live long enough to be the first two gay cops to retire from the police force with honors and a comfortable pension besides.

    He tossed the folded newspaper gently into the back seat. He didn't want to disturb his Sleeping Beauty. Not just yet. Hutch had fallen asleep after Starsky had stopped for the morning paper on the ride home. Eventually, his exhausted partner had collapsed against him, which is where he rested now, body slumped bonelessly, head nestled on Starsky's shoulder, his body held secure by Starsky's right arm. Having arrived at his destination, Starsky couldn't bring himself to wake him. Hutch was sleeping so soundly, and he was so tired. So Starsky had contentedly read the paper for awhile just to get the pulse of the city.

    Hutch had told him about the media feeding frenzy that had gone on in the courtroom as he and K.R. presented the facts to the judge, and how the judge really had no choice but to go down and witness the demonstration himself. Everyone was released with a flustered apology. Sugar had milked it for all it was worth. She was thrilled knowing she'd be featured on all the morning talk shows. She didn't even care that her hair was no longer perfect.

    Starsky knew he should be drop-dead exhausted himself, but he was too wired. Too much had happened for him to be able to relax. His mind was working like a guinea pig on a treadmill. The reclaimed memories were all still so new, so raw, so immediate. He felt like he was watching a film overlaid by another film. He mentally compared the film he'd seen of them making love with the scenes in his now restored memory, filling in all the missing parts, all the intense dialog, his confused and impassioned feelings for Hutch. And the love. It was like being hit by a truck. Just as shocking, just as disorienting. He was still reeling.

    The sun was rising on a day still so new that no one was stirring yet. It was quiet in a way LA was rarely quiet. He could hear birds singing and little else. Even the ever-present highway noise was absent. It was too early on a Sunday morning.

    He looked at Hutch and felt that warmth spreading through him again. His Hutch. His.

    Hutch's eyes were tracking beneath his lids. He was dreaming. But it wasn't a good dream. Starsky could tell by the furrowed crease in Hutch's brow, by the frown beneath the moustache. It pained Starsky. There had been enough bad dreams. He didn't want Hutch to ever suffer through another one, and certainly not on his account.

    Hutch made a small, pained noise and Starsky thought this might be a good time to wake him so they could go upstairs. But then he'd remember the bad dream too vividly. Starsky thought about that for a moment. Leaning over so that his mouth was nearly pressed against Hutch's ear, he said softly, "You're walking on a beach. It's a beautiful beach, pristine, white. The sky is blue, beautiful with big fluffy clouds. And the water's calm...."

~~~

Chapter 23B