After The Worst

by 

Lin P

   Starsky lay in bed staring at the dusky, blended shadows on the ceiling. His gaze wandered down to the outline of the uniform hanging by the door, obscure in the darkness. A few of its brass buttons that had glistened earlier in the afternoon's sun now reflected only the faint light from the window like dull, yellow eyes. Images moved in his head, sounds echoed. Clipped commands and slow, tandem steps forward. A bugle playing Taps. His share of the weight balanced on his shoulder. A volley of shots and birds scattering upward. Faces that only flickered expression then became unreadable again. The final salute. That had been the hardest.

   He tossed the covers aside and struggled into his clothes.

   Outside he drew the warm, fragrant air into his lungs and head then climbed into his car and drove off.

   Much later he found himself standing in front of the small, darkened house by the canal. He climbed the three steps to the narrow porch and sank wearily down into one of the wicker chairs. Staring out over the brackish water, he never moved. Just sat and listened to the meager sounds of water lap up against the embankment. In the distance a boat's horn cut through the still night but he was barely aware of it. His hands squeezed the arms of the chair as the funeral procession advanced solemnly back into his head. Polished black shoes in measured paces, white gloves against a gleaming casket . . .

   "Starsky?"

   Starsky startled at the sound then twisted around to see a bathrobed Hutch standing in the doorway, regarding him strangely.

   "Hey."

   "What're you doing here?" Hutch asked as he stepped out and let the screen door swoosh closed behind him.

   Starsky shrugged a little sheepishly. "Couldn't sleep. Drove around and ended up here."

   Hutch grimaced. "I haven't slept a wink either." He eased himself into the chair beside Starsky and dragged a hand over his tousled hair. "What a day, huh?"

   Starsky nodded slowly. "You all right?"

   "I'm fine. You?"

   Starsky gave a feeble smile in reply but it disappeared as he looked out over the water. "Annie looked terrible."

   "She did." Hutch sucked a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "Three months, Starsky. That's what he had left till retirement day. Three lousy months. Now, instead of finally going on the road trip in that big motorhome she's going to be sitting alone at her kitchen table. Wondering what happened."

   "Yeah," Starsky agreed softly. He was pensive for a moment then said, "You can't stop thinking when something like this happens, can you?"

   "We've both done our share of thinking. It gets you nowhere," Hutch replied dryly. "When you were shot I did all the angles, buddy. Nothing, no matter how hard you try, makes sense for a while."

   Starsky peered out into the darkness. "Some things never make any sense," he said almost to himself.

   Hutch waited until Starsky cast an ironic, cheerless grin at him. "From my cousin's suit that was two sizes too big to full-dress uniform."

   Hutch returned his own sad smile and nodded in understanding. "Know what I kept remembering today? My first days out there on the street. God," he shook his head in disbelief, "I was wet behind the ears. Didn't exactly ooze confidence. They partnered me with Tom. He must have wondered what he had on his hands when he watched an eighty-year-old lady getting the best of me. I was trying to ask her about her purse being snatched." His eyebrows lifted a little in old surprise. "First time I ever heard some of those words. And, thank goodness, the last time."

   Starsky laughed softly.

   "Tom took me under his wings," Hutch continued, "showed me the neighbourhood, the ropes. Man, he clapped me on the back so hard, so often, it was toughen up or crawl away."

   "Yup. That was his initiation." Starsky's eyes twinkled at the memory. "Send all us rookies flyin' forward a couple 'a feet."

   "He taught me a lot that year. He was a good cop," Hutch said admiringly. "Everyone there today owed him something."

   They contemplated the dark night until Starsky broke the silence. "I wonder if he saw it coming."

   Hutch pondered this for a moment. "I don't know. I hope not." His eyes left the water and he looked over at Starsky. "You still don't remember, do you? Getting shot."

   Starsky shook his head. "Nope. Don't necessarily want to either. Some stuff you're better off without."

   They fell quiet again, watching Starsky's toe poke lightly, back and forth, against a railing. Starsky's forehead creased as he deliberated whether to speak or not. "You know, sometimes. ." he faltered, ". . .sometimes . . "

   "Sometimes what?"

   Starsky sucked in a deep breath and forged ahead. "Back then, when I was recovering. For a while I wished I'd never been told."

   "Told what?"

   Starsky looked over into the curious blue eyes. "That I'd died."

   He tore away from Hutch's gaze. "It's just . . it wasn't my body anymore. It gave me the willies for a while, ya know?" He shrugged helplessly. "I don't know how to explain it. I was uncomfortable. It was like this . . . thing. . . that had clothes on. And it'd totally walked out on me once." His eyes narrowed a little. "Felt like my enemy. I didn't trust it. Or like it very much."

   He chanced a look over at Hutch's numb features and suddenly felt self-conscious. "Kinda stupid, huh?"

   Hutch's reply was almost a whisper. "No. No, it's not, Starsk."

   "Don't worry. I got over it. I mean, after all," Starsky cracked a thin smile as he waved a hand across his torso, "if women think this is some kinda temple, who am I to argue?"

   Hutch gave a half-hearted snort then fell quickly serious again. "Still. . "

   "Still nothin'." Starsky cut him off, his smile wider now and assuring. "It was a weird time. Weird thoughts." He turned his attention to the water and, after a moment, so did Hutch.

   "In the line of duty." Starsky recited into the warm air.

   "Sounds dignified, honorable, doesn't it?"

   Starsky looked at him quizzically. "Whad'ya mean? It is."

   Hutch's eyes grew intense as he looked out to the water. "Tom was out there for years, walking the beat. Making it a safe place. Well, safe as you can nowadays. Everybody admired him, even half the damned crooks he busted. What does he get in the end?" His eyes narrowed and the words tumbled angrily out of his mouth. "Some little junked up son-of-a-bitch blows him away in an alley over a stolen radio."

   He hesitated, but his features remained hard. "After all he did, after the life he led, to die like that. . ." he trailed off in disgust.

   Starsky let the words sink in then quietly said, "He died an honorable death."

   "That's my point, Starsky." Hutch's voice was laced with bitterness. "It wasn't honorable."

   "How a man lives is how he dies."

   "Oh, come on. We make it honorable." Hutch countered.

   Starsky gazed ahead and became silent.

   About to say more Hutch suddenly stopped and noted his friend's fixed profile. The anger vanished quickly, replaced by remorse. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Starsk. I just.., " he scanned the air helplessly, gave up and sighed in resignation. "I guess I'm not very good at burying friends."

   Starsky looked at the troubled face then squinted out again into the blackness. After a long moment he spoke. "If I'd have died or, more to the point, stayed dead, how long would you have carried all that around? The anger and blame you were stocking up on?"

   Puzzled, Hutch answered slowly. "But you lived."

   Starsky turned probing eyes on him. "What would you have done? Blown everybody off? Become a bitter old man hiding on a mountain somewhere? Huh?"

   "Don't talk stupid."

   "You know what I'm saying, Hutch."

   For a second Hutch looked like he was about to argue but his shoulders sagged. "All right. You know I wouldn't have handled it very good."

   "Yeah, and that would really piss me off."

   Hutch looked confused. "What are you saying? You wouldn't want me to miss you, mourn you?"

   "Sure. But don't give me any of that one stone, two birds crap."

   Seeing the lost look on Hutch's face Starsky's voice was softer, slower. "Yeah, miss me. But don't . . don't turn everything we had, everything we were, into some kind of tragedy. That'd be so unfair."

   Their eyes remained locked until Starsky turned away and folded his arms across his chest. "I'm sick that Tom was murdered. It hurts. But that's not going to last long. 'Cause I'm gonna remember him like I remember my father. Tom taught me a lot too, made me laugh a lot. I'm not gonna turn everything he was into a pool of blood on the cement. Some gravestone that makes me bitter. You said we all owed him something and it sure as hell isn't handing him that legacy."

   Moments passed in silence before Starsky finally shifted his eyes to see Hutch staring at him with a barely suppressed smile.

   "You know, you're a lot smarter than you look."

   Starsky threw him a sidelong grin. "Stick with me, kid, and I'll teach ya everything I know." He swung a leg over and kicked Hutch gently in the shin. "Go get me a beer. Grab one for yourself too."

   "Gee, thanks." Hutch pushed himself off the chair and arched his back, stretching the tired muscles. "You know, you do surprise me now and then. Give me food for thought."

   "Yeah, and shame on me when you don't know when to stop chewin'."

   Hutch ambled over to the door but hesitated with his fingers on the handle. Starsky swiveled around to see him deep in thought. "What?" he asked.

   "Oh," Hutch raised his head off his chest, "I was just thinking. I was looking at some old photographs this morning. Wanted to find one of Tom. Then I got into pictures from my Academy days and when I was even younger."

   "And . . ?" Starsky prodded quietly when Hutch seemed to drift off again.

   "The look in my eyes then and the look in them now. Want to know what the most important thing I ever learned from you is?"

   "What's that?"

   Hutch's smile was warm, genuine. "That I can spit into the wind. I just have to duck fast."

THE END