The Finale
“Hey, come on, let’s go!” Hutch called upstairs. “We have reservations at five!”
“Who the hell eats dinner at five?” Starsky muttered as he walked down the stairs and into the living room.
“Us.”
“Since when?”
“Since now.”
“And since when do we need reservations at Huggy’s?” Starsky looked around the room. Still no birthday presents.
“Since we’re taking up six of his tables.” Hutch grinned, knowing what Starsky was looking for. “It’s your birthday – everybody’s going to be there.”
“Are they bringing presents?”
“Grow up, Starsk.” He slapped him on the back. “At your age, it’s about surviving another year, not getting presents.”
“Remember that when your birthday rolls around.”
“Hey, take a look at this.” Hutch handed him one of the calendars he’d made for Merle. One of the real ones. “I’m thinking of putting together a portfolio of my best stuff.”
“These babes fit that description.” Starsky grinned lecherously. “The cars are nice, too.”
“There’s one I’m especially proud of – “ He flipped the pages. “Miss March.”
“The lady cop?” Nodding, Starsky helped turn the pages to the right one. “These are a lot classier than the last few calendars he’s had, Hutch. You did a good job – no – a great job. You did a great job.”
“Thanks, buddy.” Hesitating for a moment, Hutch put his free hand on Starsky’s shoulder, squeezing gently. Starsky looked up and smiled at him, and Hutch flipped the page to reveal Miss March. “I tried my best on this one.”
“I know, she’s – “ Starsky blinked. Miss March was still in her sexy police uniform, but the car in the picture with her had changed. The black and white cruiser was gone. Instead, her stiletto heeled pump was up on the bumper of a bright red and white striped Torino.
“What do you think?” Hutch asked softly.
“This is my car! This – “ He looked up at Hutch. “Where – who has it – I’ll buy it – “
“I don’t think it’s for sale, Starsk.” Hutch shrugged. “The guy really loves it.”
“But – but – it’s my car.” He sat down on the sofa. “It’s my car.”
Walking to the window, Hutch pulled aside the curtain and signaled to Huggy.
“Is this my car? This has to be my car.”
“Are you sure?” He didn’t have to hide his smile; the picture had Starsky’s complete and undivided attention. “Are you sure it’s the same red?”
“The same red? There’s only – “ Starsky held the calendar up. “Hutch, you gotta help me get my car!”
There was honking from outside, and Hutch glanced out the window again. “Would you look at that?” He stomped to the front door and flung it open. “This guy’s parking in our driveway!”
“What? Who cares?” His attention was once again on the car in the picture. “I want my car!”
“Hey!” Hutch yelled over the continued honking. “Starsky, get over here – get this guy out of our driveway!”
“Just yell at him.” Holding the calendar under the lamp, Starsky peered at the car closely. “I swear this is my car.”
“Starsky!” Too much of this and their neighbors would be calling downtown.
“All right! All right!” Setting the calendar down, Starsky got up and walked to the front door. “Just yell at the guy, would ya?”
“You do it.” Hutch stepped aside.
Starsky made it two steps out onto the porch before he saw the car. Another half a step before it registered. Hutch caught him as he stumbled.
The Torino, gleaming and shining like when she was new, sat in their driveway.
“Surprise!”
Starsky jumped as Huggy, Merle, his mother, and several of their friends came out from around the corner of the house, yelling surprise and throwing confetti at him.
“It looks like my car. Hutch – “ He walked down the steps. “Hutch, it looks like my car.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Hutch, look at it!” Cautiously, Starsky reached out and touched the fender.
“Starsk, this is your car.” Hutch tapped the corner of the windshield on the driver’s side. “Check it.”
Peering through the windshield, Starsky read the VIN number. “This – it’s –“
“Your car.” Holding up the keys, he shook them gently so that they jingled. I knew you had that memorized, buddy.
“How?” He turned to Hutch. “Where did you find her?”
“In a junkyard.”
“A junkyard? She was in a junkyard?” His eyes were wide and horrified.
Starsky turned back to the car and then back to him again, and Hutch could see that he was overwhelmed. “Come on, let’s go for a ride.”
Opening the door, Hutch guided him inside before going around to the passenger side. “We’ll be back.”
“Take your time, Kenny.” Isa gave him a quick kiss. “We’ll get the food ready for the party.”
“Are you going to start the car?” Hutch slid the key into the ignition. “Or did you want to sit here all day?”
Carefully, Starsky turned the key, smiling at the sound of the engine as it roared awake. He eased the gearshift down into reverse and backed out of the driveway as if it were the first time he’d ever driven.
They drove off at a sedate pace and Hutch sat quietly, letting Starsky get used to the feel of the car once again. He wished he’d thought to bring his camera – the smile on Starsky’s face was priceless.
There was no particular place to go, but as Starsky made turns and crossed intersections, Hutch began to recognize the area. When the Torino pulled to a stop at the beach, he wasn’t surprised. They’d spent many an hour out on the beach, killing time, recovering, resting, getting drunk – the beach and the water made for a good place to sit and think.
“It all looks new.” Starsky ran his hand over the dashboard. “Maybe better than new.”
“A lot of it is.” Hutch turned in the seat to face him. “Everything – and I mean everything – had to be replaced.”
“She was in bad shape, huh?” Starsky asked quietly.
“Yes, she was.” Watching Starsky slide his hands around the steering wheel, Hutch smiled. “Well, except for this.”
“What?” Starsky looked up.
“The steering wheel.” Reaching out, he ran his hand along the top curve of the steering wheel.
Starsky rubbed at one of the marks. “You left the old steering wheel?”
“I thought – “ He pulled his hand back. Saving the old steering wheel suddenly seemed like an incredibly stupid idea. A sentimental moment that Hutch wished he hadn’t had. “It’s stupid – we can have Merle put a new one in.”
“Your face is red.” Turning slightly, Starsky laid his arm across the back of the seat, resting his fingertips on Hutch’s shoulder. “I like it. It’s a – a connection to the past, sorta.”
“That’s what I thought.” Hutch smiled again.
“You’re a sentimental softie.”
“Guilty. Oh, hey – “ He tapped the radio. “This is new, and it isn’t what it looks like.”
“It looks like a radio.”
”But it’s not – well it is – but – “ Hutch opened the glove compartment and
took out a slim case. Opening it, he lifted out a silver disc and fed it into
the front of the radio.
“How’d you do that?” Starsky peered at the radio. “Hey, that’s a CD player! You said you’d never own one of those things!”
“I still don’t.” He handed the case to Starsky. “You do.”
“James Taylor?” Rolling his eyes, Starsky scanned down the song list. Sure enough, there was You’ve Got a Friend about halfway down. “I revise my earlier opinion. You’re a big fat sentimental softie.”
Hutch didn’t answer, pushing at the buttons until he hit the track he wanted. “There’s eight speakers.”
“Eight?” Music was pouring all around him, but he didn’t see any obvious speakers.
“Two in the dash, one in each door, and four in the back.” Closing his eyes, he hummed along with the music.
“I can’t believe you did all this. How did you – “ Starsky gestured at the new interior. “How did you even find her?”
“Luck. The place I stopped at to get my car looked at a few months ago had a field full of old cars. I wandered out there to take pictures and there she was.” Hutch opened his eyes, grinning at the memory. “I bought her from the old guy and had her hauled home and told Merle I wanted to fix her up.”
“This must’ve cost you a fortune.” The cost of restoring an old car could run into thousands of dollars. “How did you afford to do this?”
“I had a little money saved. I told Merle to start and that I’d get the rest somehow.”
“You shoulda told me – I could’ve helped.”
“No, Starsk, it worked out. Huggy’s cousin needed pictures and Merle needed calendars – “
“Why didn’t you ask me to help?”
“It all came together. Starsky, it was beautiful.” Now that the secret was out, Hutch was excited to share all the details with Starsky. “Ginger wanted pictures – she’s my agent, can you believe that? And there was Crazy Larry – the guy with the Harley shop just down from Merle's – “
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Starsky interrupted him. “Why didn’t you ask me for help?”
It hit him that Starsky was hurt and possibly angry. “Starsk, I wanted to surprise you.”
“You found my car, and you did all this – and it’s great – “ Starsky squeezed Hutch’s shoulder. “But why didn’t you tell me? Let me help? You hate this car!”
“I don’t hate it!” He protested.
“You do, too!”
“Okay, maybe I do – and I’m not saying I do – “ Hutch held up a finger to stop Starsky from saying anything. “But you love it.”
“Then why not let me help? This must’ve taken months.”
“I wanted to surprise you.” Reaching up, he put his hand over Starsky’s where it lay on his shoulder. “I didn’t want you to see her like that.”
“Like what? I imagined she was scrap metal in China or something.” Starsky laughed. “Anything’s better than that.”
“He just – he took so much from you.” Hutch dropped his hand and looked away. “Your health, your career, damn near took your life – and then you sold your car – damn it, you love this car!”
“Hutch, it would’ve been okay.”
“No – no it wouldn’t.” He looked back, meeting Starsky’s eyes and not caring that he was tearing up. “I didn’t want you to see – not rusted and battered – injured –“ Blinking hard, he forced the words out past the dry lump in his throat. “I wanted her to be new – and beautiful – “
“You fixed her up like you did me?” Starsky was finding it hard not to cry, himself. Hutch’s baby blues were pleading for him to understand. He didn’t really, but if it was important to Hutch then it was important to him. “Patched her up and got her on her feet again?”
“It was just one more thing – I just didn’t want you to see – “ Opening the door, Hutch got out. “I need some air.”
The door closed, and Starsky watched him walk around to the front of the car and lean against the fender to stare out at the ocean.
Running his hands over the steering wheel, he closed his eyes at the feel of the warm, smooth surface.
Memories went by.
“…I like being Zebra Three, I don’t know if I could sleep nights…”
“This is Zebra Three, we are in the area and are responding…”
“Zebra Three, see the man…”
“…you jump – I’ll drive…”
Opening his eyes, Starsky looked at Hutch again, still leaning on the fender, his shoulders hunched and his head hanging. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Hutch had taken on a colossal project like this without telling him. Hutch had always been the one to take something broken and put it back together.
There’d been no reason for Hutch to quit the force. He’d been healthy and smart – he might have been a lieutenant by now and looking at a captaincy soon. As smart as he was, Hutch could have gone back to medical school, or gone back to Minnesota and worked for his father.
Instead, Hutch had chucked his career as a cop and worked crappy jobs and lived in a two bedroom dump – just to get him back on his feet.
“But we’re okay now.” Starsky said aloud. “We crawled out of the toilet bowl and we’re okay. Hell, Gunther did us a favor in the long run.”
He patted the steering wheel. “We’ve got a nice place now, with a nice garage you can live in – there’s another car, but don’t be jealous – I love you best.”
Getting out, Starsky walked around the front of the Torino to lean on the fender next to Hutch. “Isn’t that where we threw our badges away? Right over there?”
“No.” Hutch pointed down the beach. “Down there, I think. Right there is where we had the campfire with Terry and they made us put it out.”
“You told me not to use wet wood.” He shrugged.
“You never listen.”
“Come here.” Starsky pushed off the car. When Hutch straightened, he pulled him into his arms and hugged him tightly. “He took from both of us, Hutch.”
Hutch didn’t answer, simply holding on and resting his head on Starsky’s shoulder.
“He took from you – you didn’t have to stay with me and take care of me.” Rubbing his hand up and down Hutch’s back, he tried to put his feelings into words – something he wasn’t very good at. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Hutch.”
“You too.” He patted Starsky’s back. “You’re my friend – I had to take care of you.”
“Didn’t have to.”
“Had to.” Hutch insisted. “I couldn’t lose you – “
“He didn’t win, Hutch. He took from us. He took from us – he beat us down – “ Putting his hands on Hutch’s face, Starsky forced him to look him in the eye. “But we won – we beat the bastard, and we got it all back – and more. We beat him!”
“We did.” Hutch rested his forehead against Starsky’s. “I just couldn’t bear for you to see, that’s all.”
Starsky took a deep breath. “You know – you know – I love you – right? – I mean – I do – you know?”
“I know, Starsk.” Knowing how hard it was for Starsky to vocalize his feelings, Hutch bit back a laugh and squeezed him until he grunted. “I love you, buddy, but you don’t have to say it.”
“Ease off the ribs, would ya?” He gave Hutch an affectionate slap on the back as he let go.
“Come on, we better get back before they send out a rescue squad.”
“Or somebody eats all the cake.” Starsky started for the car door. “There’s cake, right?”
Hutch grabbed his arm before he could walk away. “Hey, did you see the license plates?”
“I didn’t even look.” Backing up, he looked at the front plate. “Tomata?”
“Yeah.” Hutch smiled. “Fits, don’t you think?”
“Tomata?” He glared at Hutch. “She does not look like a tomato!”
“Starsky, come on – it’s a big striped tomato!”
“You have no appreciation!” Stalking around to the driver’s side, Starsky got in and slammed the door.
“I have no appreciation?” Hutch walked to the other side and got in. “You know, you’re right – I hate this car!”
“Ah ha! I was right – I knew it!”
“You know what else?” Fastening his seat belt, Hutch braced his feet against the floorboard; he had the feeling the ride back wouldn’t be quite as sedate. “This striped hunk of junk did save my life – and yours.”
“I don’t wanna hear – “ He hesitated as he turned the key. “What? I think you forgot your lines there, buddy.”
Laughing, Hutch smacked him lightly on the shoulder. “Merle took off the gas tank to clean it out – and there’s a big ding in one spot.”
“Yeah? So?”
“So? So there’s a bullet hole in the back fender that lines up with it.” He smacked Starsky’s arm again. “A bullet bounced off the gas tank!”
“Really?” Starsky patted the steering wheel. “See there, I told you.”
“Come on, let’s get back before they eat the cake.”
“What kind is it?” Revving the motor, Starsky held the brake down and slid the gearshift toward drive.
“Chocolate.” Hutch grabbed the dashboard and hoped the new seatbelts would hold as the Torino rocketed out of the lot and into the street.
“What do you think?” Hutch sat down next to Starsky on the porch steps. “Good birthday?”
“Good birthday. The best.” He took his eyes off the Torino long enough to smile at Hutch. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet, you’ve got one more present.”
“Holy cow.” The photo album Hutch handed him weighed a ton. “This is some book.”
“I couldn’t decide which ones to put in.” Hutch laughed. “I just kept adding pictures.”
“Let’s see what we got here.” Setting the album on his lap, Starsky opened the cover. “Hey! Lookee there!” The first picture was the one of the two of them standing on the roof of the Torino. “Look at us, we were babies.”
“Drunk babies as I recall.” They’d had a few too many beers to celebrate Starsky’s new car. At some point, they’d decided to climb up on the roof and have Huggy take their picture.
“Technically this isn’t the same car, you know.” Starsky said softly.
“I know.” The first Torino Starsky had bought and Merle had painted the outrageous stripe on had been a 1974. The car had gone up in flames when they were trying to find out who was behind Joe Durniak’s murder. “Maybe it’s her daughter?”
“Maybe.” Laughing, Starsky turned the pages. There were several pictures of one or both of them with the Torino. He flipped another page and his smile faded.
Bay City Police Officer Murdered At Police Headquarters
Under the headline was a photograph of Hutch holding him in his arms, the blonde head bowed.
“That’s when they were so sure you were going to die.” Hutch reminded him. Funny how the press got there before the ambulance – then again, the vultures were always hanging around the station.
“They were wrong.”
The next page was a picture of the Torino cordoned off with police tape, blood staining the ground beside her.
“I – I can take those out.” Hutch said softly. “I thought it – I thought it helped tell the whole story.”
“It does.” Starsky turned the page. “She was wounded too.”
“And she saved my life. Remind me to show you the holes inside your front fender.” He pointed at the Torino. “Holes that aren’t in my front fender.”
“Told ya.” The pair of photos Hutch had sold to Bay City Magazine made him smile slightly. “It changed our lives. We never saw it comin’.”
“Maybe it’s better that way.” Hutch wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t be tempted to change things if he could.
The next pages showed the Torino restored from the shooting, her scars hidden thanks to the BCPD – once they’d gotten a letter from his lawyer, that is. Then a black and white shot of her sitting in the weeds, axles resting in the dirt.
“Oh, jeez…” The background was blurred but the Torino stood out, eerily sharp and clear. “That’s kinda spooky.”
“I couldn’t believe it.” Hutch tapped the picture. “I was just wandering out there, killing time, and there it was.”
“Pure luck.”
“Something like that.” He ran a finger over the photo. “You can see why I didn’t want you to see her like that.”
“Yeah. Thanks, buddy.”
Starsky turned the pages, slowly watching as the Torino was put back together. He grinned at the picture of Merle signing his name on the hood. When he saw the picture of the gauges – filling practically the entire photo – he looked up at Hutch. “You were close to get that.”
“Well, you know – you’ve got to go where the pictures are.”
“Sure.” The next picture was of Hutch, sitting behind the wheel, rubbing at his eyes. It was slightly out of focus and shaky. Starsky looked up and grinned, delighted to catch Hutch red faced.
“Gas fumes.” Hutch defended. “There were a lot of gas fumes.”
“I bet. You started her the first time?”
“Merle made me.”
“Thank you.” He looked back at the photos, missing Hutch’s expression. “I’m glad it was you.”
Hutch couldn’t blame gas fumes for the burning in his eyes or the squeezing crush of his chest.
The pages went past Merle signing the hood, the black paint job, the striping, and the bright red paint. Page by page, and piece by piece, the Torino came back to life.
Starsky’s eyebrows went up at the shots of Miss March that were not in the calendar version. “Wow.”
“Thought you might like those.” Hutch grinned. He’d had the model pose with a few more buttons open and a few more inches of thigh showing.
“Can you blow this one up?” She was lying across the hood, smiling and dangling a pair of handcuffs from a lacquered fingertip. “I’ll just put it up over the bed.”
“She’s twenty one, you old lecher.”
“A man can dream.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Come lock me up, Officer Gorgeous.”
Starsky looked up from a picture of a blue Torino. “Whose is this?”
“Mine – and Merle's. He bought it for parts. The seats, the dash – a lot of the interior came from that one.”
“You and Merle own a car together?” He chuckled. “I didn’t even know you two were dating.”
“Smartass.” Hutch cuffed Starsky’s shoulder.
“All I’m saying is twenty some years – “ He pretended to be outraged. “He gets a car and I ain’t even got a ring.” He ducked as Hutch raised his hand again, turning quickly to the next page in the album.
Starsky could tell that some of the photos had been taken by someone other than Hutch. The shots of the Torino at a race track and at a quarter mile strip were off center and shaky. “Where were you while this was going on?”
“The swimsuit shoot in San Diego, remember?”
“A weekend surrounded by pretty girls in swimsuits?” He closed his eyes and sighed. “Who could forget that?”
“They certainly won’t.” The truth was, Starsky had been charming and very protective of the young models – but he’d never admit it.
The last page held the title to the Torino inside a protective holder.
“David Starsky.” He grinned. “That’s me.”
“Well, it’s your car.” Grinning, Hutch remembered driving home every day for two weeks to check the mail before Starsky could get home and stumble over the new title.
“What’s this one?” There was a photo on the opposite page that Starsky had overlooked when he’d seen the title. The Torino, hood primered gray, with white lettering. “Merle doesn’t write that much on a car…”
“No, he doesn’t.” Hutch said softly. Again, he wished he’d grabbed his camera to capture the moment.
Twenty four years and thousands of miles
And thousands more to go
Me & Thee
“Aw… Hutch.” Starsky leaned against Hutch’s shoulder, nudging him roughly.
“Yeah, well.” Hutch nudged him back. “Paint fumes, a moment of insanity, don’t hold it against me.”
Closing the photo album, Starsky hugged it to his chest and looked at where his car sat in the driveway. The outside lights reflected off the shiny surfaces. “She’s so beautiful. And she’s been through so much.”
“It’s a car, Starsk.” He kidded. “A striped hunk of junk.”
Putting an arm around Hutch’s shoulders, Starsky pulled him against him. “How do I thank you for this?”
He slipped an arm around Starsky’s shoulders, returning the hug. “By realizing it’s your birthday and Christmas present for the next five years?”