Outcast
by Cynatnite
cynatnite@chartertn.net
Slate gray, smooth and
featureless, the casket stood in sharp contrast to the bright sun overhead.
Starsky stood by it as family and friends comforted one another at the end of
the short service.
Memories assailed him like a
rainstorm backed by a strong wind, the intensity of one in particular nearly
bringing Starsky to his knees.
Starsky was almost out of breath by the time he reached the end of the
alley. He was relieved to see his friend there, taking out the trash.
“Jackson.”
As Starsky slowed to a walk, Jackson looked up and shook his head. “What
are you doing here? You’ll get caught.”
Collapsing to the cement, Starsky leaned back against the wall to catch
his breath. “Nope. Aunt Rosie and Uncle Al are playing bridge with some church
friends of theirs.” The fourteen-year-old dug a wrinkled pack of smokes out of
his jacket pocket. He lit one and looked up at Jackson. “I wanted to make sure
you didn’t get in trouble.”
With an uncertain smile, Jackson said, “Almost got caught. Got away
thanks to you, Dave.”
Starsky took a long drag, then lowered his eyes. “I’m no snitch, Jack.”
Jackson kneeled down, resting an elbow on his knee. “What’ll happen to
you?”
“No record if that’s what you mean.” Toying with the cigarette, Starsky
remembered the look on his uncle’s face at being brought home by a cop. Not just
any cop, but a neighbor, John Blaine. “I gotta work off the damage at the
garage and do some volunteering at a homeless shelter. Guess I’ll be in the
doghouse for a while.”
“Would you have got off if you had told?”
“Maybe. Some,” Starsky guessed. Seeing the troubled look in Jackson’s
eyes, Starsky hunched closer. “It’s okay, Jack. You’ve been okay with me. Not
like those other guys.”
Jackson got to his feet and grabbed the trashcan lid from the ground.
“I’ve been thinking, Dave. Maybe it’s a good idea if I quit hanging around Mike
and the guys. Mamma’s been real worried about money. I should get a job, help
out.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Ma sent me out here to get me away from the gang
at home.”
“Thought you hated her for it.” Jackson set the lid on the garbage and
turned.
“She meant well.” Though he shrugged, Starsky would never forget the
tears on his mother’s face. He looked up. “Are you quitting school? You only
got a year left.”
“No, I’ll stay in for Momma, but soon as I’m done I’ll find something fulltime.”
“Jackson.” Starsky’s eyes lowered again and the doubts inside made his
heart ache. “I won’t have any friends if we’re not hanging out anymore.”
“Sure you will.” Jackson came forward and held out his hand. When
Starsky took it, he pulled him to his feet. “I’m your friend. Always will be.”
Relieved, Starsky smiled. The screen door creaked, and Starsky tossed
the cigarette aside, looking up at Jackson’s mother.
“David Starsky!” she scolded. “Get home right now before I call your
aunt!”
“Yes, ma’am.” Starsky flashed Jackson a smile and darted down the dark
alley.
Someone touched his arm, and
Starsky turned. “Sorry, just needed a minute,” he said.
Hutch nodded. “You okay?”
Starsky gave a smile a shot.
“Gotta be. They’ll be expecting us at the house.”
Hutch patted his arm. With a
nod, Starsky followed Hutch away from the site. They were almost to the car
when he turned and gave the casket another look. It felt as if he’d left a part
of himself behind—a part he wasn’t ready to leave.
Throwing his arm over his
face, Officer Raymond T. Andrews tried to block out the bright sun pouring in
through the sheer curtains. The hangover raged, and even the Wild Turkey from
the night before couldn’t wash away the memory of the last few days’ events.
He kicked the covers off the
twin size bed and sat up. After getting a handle on the rolling nausea and his
pounding head, Ray got to his feet and staggered to the window. He pulled down
the old blind, thankful he didn’t have to fight with it.
Ray found his crumpled jeans
on the floor, slipped them on and pushed open the door leading out to the
hallway. In the living room, he stopped long enough to grab three empty beer
cans off the end table near the couch.
With a tired sigh, he
groaned at the dirty kitchen and dropped the remnants of the night before in
the trash. Ray took a glass from the cabinet, then turned to the fridge and saw
his father walking into the small kitchen. After pouring some orange juice in
the glass, he leaned against the counter to take a drink. He couldn’t look at
his father.
“Get a little more of the
hair of the dog,” Tom said. He rubbed his overhanging stomach and moved to the
fridge. “You could use it.”
Ray didn’t answer, just
drained the glass. He put some dirty dishes in the sink and turned on the
water.
“Hey, boy.” Tom popped open
the beer can and took a large drink. “Can’t let this get you down. You did the
right thing. You’ll be back to work before you know it.”
“I’ll have to find another
job till then.” When the sink was filled, Ray picked up the rag and started on
a plate.
“The boys are gonna do what
they can. We won’t starve, son.” Tom watched Ray and slugged back another
drink. “Listen, we’re getting together tonight. You’ve missed a hell of a lot
of get togethers since you put on a uniform. It’d do you good.”
Keeping his eyes on the task
in front of him, Ray said, “Sure, Dad.” Anything was better than moping around
the house for the next three months of his suspension.
Hutch shouldn’t have let
Starsky get his way this time. When Helen died, he got his way by dragging his
partner over to his place. The dinner they shared seemed to help, but this time
Starsky wouldn’t come over. Said he needed to be alone.
Hutch sat down at the table
with a sandwich, chips and a beer, his mind going over Jackson’s funeral.
Starsky put on a hell of a good front for family and friends, but just under it
was the painful loss of a childhood friend.
He knew the story well
enough. One of the worst times of Starsky’s life was when his mother shipped
him from home all the way to the opposite coast to live with his aunt and
uncle. Jackson was the first friend he’d made there. After some trouble with
the law, they’d made a pact to live on the right side of life.
Hutch wished he had thanked
Jackson. If not for the friendship, he wouldn’t have his partner. Now Starsky
was shutting him out, trying to deal with the loss. He had to find a way to
help him past it. Trouble was, Hutch didn’t have the first clue how.
It was late, almost eleven, when
Ray parked his pickup across from Venice Place. He stared at the lit window.
Thinking back to the surreal events earlier this evening, he ran through a list
of names. Cops from his precinct who might be able to do something. With every
name came a reason as to why they wouldn’t help, or a memory of being shunned.
Detective Hutchinson had a
reputation for seeing all sides. He listened with an open mind, never passing
judgment until all the facts were laid out.
Well, he’d been judged.
There was no doubt about that. Would the event of a few days ago keep
Hutchinson from helping? Ray didn’t know. The entire department had turned
their backs on him, so there were no guarantees anyone would listen, but Ray
had to do something. He rubbed his face, worrying about how he would be
received. Or if he’d even be believed.
He pushed open the car door
and stepped out, crossing the street after a passing car. Once up the stairs,
he stood in front of the door, knocking before his courage ran out on him.
The breath left Hutch’s
chest when he saw who stood in his doorway. He stared at the young rookie
before him. “What are you doing here?”
After swallowing the lump in
his throat, Ray said, “I have to talk to you.”
“What do we have to talk
about? You’re on suspension, and I won’t lift a finger to get you off.”
“It’s not about that.” Ray
half-expected Hutch to slam the door in his face, but was taken aback when he
motioned him inside.
Hutch brushed passed him,
going into the kitchen. He took the teapot off the stove and poured the hot
water into a waiting cup. “It’s late. Say what’s on your mind.”
Taking an awkward look
around, Ray wasn’t quite sure where to begin. He shifted his feet before
starting. “Some people I know . . . ”
Hutch shifted the cup on the
table, watching Ray. Gone was the cocky rookie from a few days ago. This person
was subdued, nervous and unsure of himself. “So, what about some people you
know.”
Ray couldn’t believe he was
going to say it. What he was about to do went against everything he had been
taught. “They want your partner dead.”
Frozen in place, it took
Hutch a moment for the words to soak in. He took the chair and sat. “Who?” He
watched the struggle play out on Ray’s face, and it was then he realized how
hard it must have been for Ray to show up with this information.
“Friends of my family.” Ray
turned away. “Some family.”
“Starsky had nothing to do
with your suspension.”
“Word got back to them about
what happened after . . . ”
“Over hitting you?” Hutch
got to his feet and moved to him. “Don’t you think that’s a bit of a stretch?”
“He’s a Jew.” Stepping away
from Hutch, Ray started for the door. “I knew you wouldn’t understand. Even if
you did, you don’t believe me.”
Hutch beat Ray to the door
before he could leave, grabbing his arm. “Wait. Would they do it?”
Ray hesitated. “I don’t
know. They’ve never talked like this before.”
Holding his hand up, Hutch
said, “Just wait, Andrews.” He went to the phone and picked it up. “I want you
to head to the precinct.”
“No way I’m going there.”
Looking into the young cop’s
eyes, it was obvious he was unwilling to take another trek through the place.
Hutch had heard Clayburn was already asking for a new partner. “You know the
Pits?” Ray nodded. “Go there and wait for me. Don’t leave until we talk.”
Starsky turned off the TV as
Hutch came through the door. “You said it was important.”
Hutch crossed to the couch.
“Sit down.”
Surprised at his partner’s
intensity, Starsky did as instructed. “Must be some piece of news, Hutch.”
“I had a visitor tonight,
Starsk.”
“Yeah? Who?”
Hutch began to realize how
hard this conversation was going to be. He swallowed. “I don’t have the full
story yet, but apparently some people want you dead.”
Taking a deep breath,
Starsky nodded. “Well, it won’t be the first time someone’s had it in for me.
Who?”
There was no getting around
it. “Some of Andrews’ family.”
“Andrews? Raymond T.?” At
Hutch’s nod, Starsky shot up and put his hands on his hips. “What makes you
think he’s telling the truth this time around?”
“Starsk, if you’d seen him .
. . ”
“Don’t try and sell me on
him, Hutch.” Starsky headed for the kitchen, taking a beer from the fridge. He
looked up as Hutch walked in. “He killed Jackson.”
“We have to talk to him,”
Hutch said evenly. “We have to find out what he knows.”
“So where is this shining
example of a cop?”
Hutch sighed. Starsky was
furious, as he’d known he would be. “The Pits. We’re meeting Dobey there.”
Setting the bottle back in
the fridge, Starsky moved around Hutch and retrieved his jacket. “Let’s go.”
“Starsky,” Hutch followed
him to the door. “It took a lot of guts for him to come to me.”
Slipping his jacket on,
Starsky nodded. “Sure. Don’t want to scare the punk off.”
Hutch trailed behind him,
foreseeing a hard night ahead.
Ray looked nervously at the
door and when a group of women walked in, he sighed. He took a look at his
watch. For almost half an hour he’d been waiting. He would have asked for a
beer, but given the hard look coming from the owner, Ray knew he wouldn’t be
served.
He wished he smoked or
something . . . anything to pass the time. A large shadow moved past the table,
and Ray straightened when Captain Dobey sat down in the chair across from him.
Dobey motioned for Huggy and
got a wave in return. He turned back to Ray. “You sure you want to be seen with
me?”
“I didn’t know you’d been
called.”
“When one of my men’s life
is involved.” He looked up at Huggy, who set a beer in front of him. “Put it on
my tab, Huggy.”
The nod and quick departure
told Dobey enough. He looked at Ray. “If this is anything but the full truth,
Andrews, any future hopes you have about being a cop won’t mean a damn thing.”
“Yes, sir.”
For some reason, Ray was
relieved to see Hutch headed in their direction. When he saw Starsky coming in
behind him, he stiffened. They stopped long enough to pick up two glasses of
beer.
Ray set his hands on the
table and ignored Starsky’s eyes boring into him. His bitterness towards the
detective churned in his gut.
“Okay, Andrews,” Dobey said.
“Start at the beginning.”
“Some nights . . . ” Ray
swallowed. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do. “Family and friends get
together, drink, talk . . . you know.”
“Why would they want Starsky
dead?” Hutch asked.
“What happened in the alley
was more than just him slapping me.” He licked his dry lips, wishing for a
drink, and stole a quick look at Starsky. The heated gaze on his never wavered.
“He’s a Jew and my people’ve got a lot of pride.”
“And you killing Jackson?”
Everyone’s eyes went to Starsky. “What do they say about that?”
Ray’s eyes lowered and he tightened
his mouth. “You get the idea.”
The tension was growing
thick. Hutch watched Starsky, on the alert. “You said ‘my people.’ What does
that mean?”
“Tight group of family and a
few friends.”
“Any of them cops?” Dobey
asked.
Ray shook his head. “No, most
of them work at the oil refinery.”
“How many people are we
talking here?” Hutch asked.
“Five or six people were
talking about it.”
Dobey leaned forward. He’d
been around long enough to know the truth when it looked at him. “How organized
is this group?”
“It’s a small chapter.
Enough to go on about business without being noticed by most. Thirty people . .
. maybe forty.”
“Chapter?” Starsky was
confused. He looked from Dobey to Hutch. “What does that mean?”
“Starsk.” Hutch turned in
his seat and put a hand on his arm. “The KKK.”
Gripping the glass until his
knuckles whitened, Starsky’s rage upped another notch. He could feel the heat
of his anger racing into his face. “What the hell is a cop doing in the KKK?
They’re the bad guys!”
“There’s some good people
there!” Ray fired back. “All we’ve got is each other!”
“Bullshit!” Starsky yelled.
“Easy!” Hutch squeezed
Starsky’s arm. “We’ve got a crowd here, Starsk.” Snapping his mouth shut,
Starsky took even breaths.
Dobey brought his attention
back to Ray. “Why did they trust you with this?”
“I’m one of them.” Ray
shrugged his shoulders.
“Captain,” Hutch said.
“There’s no telling if this is just a bunch of talk or if they’d go through
with it. Given what’s involved, I don’t think we can ignore it.”
“We need more than just
talk,” Dobey replied. “We need a plan. Conspiracy charges are tough to
prosecute.”
“Everything’s done a certain
way,” Ray offered. “A lot of it is just talk during the meetings. When they’re
over . . . that’s when they get down to business.”
“We need an experienced cop
in there.” Hutch leaned back in his chair and looked at Ray. “Can you get me
in?”
“I don’t know. You’re his
partner. They’d suspect.”
“Hutch, if what he says is
true, they’d put a bullet in your head just as easy as they would mine,”
Starsky said.
Dobey rubbed his jaw.
“Andrews?”
“You’d have to get a
blessing from more than just me,” Ray told Hutch.
“Starsky, all they know is
that we’re partners on the job. They don’t know we’re friends. I can talk a
good line.” Hutch looked at Ray. “How can I get a pass?”
“My Dad.” Ray lowered his
gaze and focused on his hands. “He started the chapter. If you’re in good with
him, there wouldn’t be a question.”
“Okay,” Dobey said. “Hutchinson,
toss in a line and see how it goes.” He looked at Ray. “I’ll walk you to your
car.”
When they were gone, Hutch
watched Starsky nurse his beer for a few minutes. “Well?”
“Well what? You’re going in
without backup.” Without me. Starsky’s voice was terse. “You already
made up your mind.”
Hutch took a quick drink.
“So’ve you.”
No way Starsky was answering
that. “I’m not the one putting my neck on the line to get in good with a bunch
of racist motherfuckers.”
“Listen, until we get a
better idea, why don’t you stay at my place?”
“Not a good idea. What
happens if a white-sheeted asshole should show up?”
“You can slip out the back
quick enough. I don’t want to chance them coming to your place.”
Starsky raised the glass to
his lips. He looked past Hutch, gazing at nothing in particular. “Just don’t
ask me to give him a reprieve because he suddenly got a conscience, Hutch.”
Early the next morning,
Starsky arrived at the Walters’ residence. Elma Walters opened the back door.
The sadness in her eyes was like a punch to the gut. He wondered if such
intense pain ever subsided when a parent lost a child.
He hoped he’d never find
out.
“You’re here early.”
Starsky walked past her into
the kitchen. “I thought I’d get a start on fixing that hole in the roof.”
Elma went to the stove.
“Just sit right down, David. Breakfast’s just about done.” She stared down at
the scrambled eggs and bacon still in the pan. “Jackson always complained about
not getting the bacon cooked enough to suit him.”
The words made Jackson’s absence
even more apparent. Starsky expected his friend to walk in, kiss his mother on
the cheek and swipe a piece of bacon as she scolded him. He couldn’t count how
many breakfasts he had shared with this family.
Resting his hands on her
shoulders, Starsky leaned in close. “I miss him, too.”
Patting his hand, Elma
smiled. “He cared so much about you, David. Always looked up to you.”
“Me?” Starsky was stunned.
Jackson had managed to keep his family together through so many tragedies,
while it only took one to almost tear Starsky’s apart.
“He wished he could help
people the way you do. It’s a gift he never thought he had.”
With a little smile, Starsky
said, “I always thought he was the smart one.”
Wiping away the tears, Elma
shooed Starsky towards the table. “Get the milk out and let me finish cooking
this before it burns.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Starsky
grinned and went to the fridge. “Junior already leave for school?” He took out
the carton and turned when he didn’t get an answer. “Mrs. W?”
Elma scooped the eggs out of
the pan and onto a plate. She set it on the table and looked at Starsky. “No.”
She turned back to the stove and finished cooking the bacon.
Starsky poured milk into a
glass and put it back. “Junior’s strong. He’ll be okay.” Once the bacon was
finished, Elma went to the table, set the platter down and took a seat.
“Maybe you can talk some
sense into him, David.”
Starsky salted the eggs and
picked up his fork. “What’s wrong?”
Worry etched her features
and she looked as if she would cry again. Starsky hated that she had to worry
about Junior after losing her son so recently.
“He quit school yesterday.”
“Quit?” Starsky was floored.
“Whatever for?”
Looking down at her tea,
Elma picked up the spoon and stirred it. “Jackson’s life insurance will pay off
the house and most of the bills, but it don’t leave much for getting by. Junior
plans on finding a job to help support us.”
“But he’s gotta finish
school. Without it . . . ” Starsky stopped. He didn’t have to say any more.
Elma knew what it meant. “Want me to talk to him?”
“Junior’s out looking for a
job, David. He’s trying so hard to be a man . . . doing what his father did.”
Jackson didn’t quit school. Starsky almost said it out loud. “I can ask around
and see if anyone’s got anything he can do after school.”
At the gratitude in Elma’s
eyes, Starsky reached over and took her hand in his. “It’ll be okay. I
promise.”
That afternoon Hutch met Ray
at a small café. He waited until the waitress left after serving them coffee.
“Any problems getting away?”
Ray shook his head. “No, I
told Dad I was looking for a job.”
“Good.” Hutch picked up his
cup.
“Since the refinery’s full
up, I’ll be looking elsewhere.” Ray stirred sugar into his coffee.
“I need a little history,
Andrews. How’d your father wind up starting a chapter of the KKK in Bay City?”
“We moved out here from
Kentucky when I was ten. The coal dust gave him the headaches and he had to
quit. Back then, most everyone was leaving and he thought California would give
us a good start. He got in good with management at the refinery.”
“Family and friends
followed?”
“Yeah.” Ray kept his gaze
low as he sipped the coffee. “A lot of ’em got on at the refinery. Those that
didn’t looked other places, but jobs were getting harder to find.”
“And they blamed anyone who
wasn’t white who got jobs instead of them.”
“Some had to work for ’em.
Blacks, Jews, Koreans . . . it wasn’t easy.”
“Pride,” Hutch muttered.
“That’s when the chapter started.”
“Dad said we couldn’t rely
on anyone but ourselves. The KKK helped a lot when we lived in Kentucky. Food,
bills, medicine. Being a part of it meant something then. Getting government
help means mixing with them, and Dad never thought we’d get a fair
shake.”
“How’d you wind up a cop?”
Running his finger along the
lip of the cup, Ray remembered how excited he was upon being accepted into the
academy. “I wanted to do my part. Help my family pay the bills, help make the
world the way they thought it ought to be.”
“You believe that’s how it
should be?”
“I don’t know. I don’t
remember a lot of Kentucky, but to hear them tell it, life was about as perfect
as anything. Maybe it wasn’t, but the good outweighed all the bad they found
here.”
Hutch rubbed his eyes, then
leaned forward. “Any doubts about what we’re doing, I need to know right now,
Andrews. I’m not putting my hide on the line for you to have second thoughts.”
“I know.”
“Do you? This is your family
. . . your father. Think you can pull the wool over his eyes?”
“I don’t want anyone else to
die. Does that answer your question?”
Hutch searched his eyes. Was
he sorry for killing Jackson? He didn’t know. After getting to his feet, Hutch
pulled a few bills from his pocket. “Let’s go. I’ll follow you over there.”
Pulling in behind Ray’s
truck, Hutch looked at the house. He shouldn’t have been surprised by how it
looked, but seeing it formed a knot in his gut. Three old tires sat stacked
near the porch, a broken down old Chevy sat on blocks in the driveway and the
trashcans near the curb were left lying by careless garbage men. The lawn was
littered with trash and the house looked like it hadn’t seen paint in twenty
years.
Hutch got out of the LTD and met Ray near the
truck. “As far as your father is concerned, I came to you. Don’t forget.”
“Before we go in there . .
.” Ray looked at the house, then back at Hutch. “Things like family, loyalty
and honor go a long way. They’re not just words to people like my dad, no
matter how rough he talks.”
“Sure.”
Ray wasn’t convinced Hutch
understood. “Mixed in with it you’ll hear nigger, kike, Chink, gook. Probably
more.”
“I expect it.”
“It’s different when they’re
in your face.”
“What do you think Vivian
Fellers thought when you said it?”
Ray didn’t bother to answer,
instead walking past Hutch towards the house. His anxiety increased,
perspiration popping out on his forehead. He took steadying breaths the closer
he got to the house.
Inside, tacked onto the far
wall above the couch was a full-sized Confederate flag. Aged, well worn and
frayed, the symbol was more than just a reminder of days long past. It
overshadowed the old, worn furniture in the room.
“Where you been, boy?”
Hutch’s attention went to
the man standing in the doorway leading from the hallway. Ray’s father was as
he expected—late fifties, thinning gray hair, crooked teeth, belly hanging over
his jeans. Tom Andrews wore an old white T-shirt that was a few inches shy of
covering his pale stomach.
Ray took a deep breath and
stepped forward. “This is my Dad, Tom. Dad, this is Detective Ken Hutchinson.”
Putting on his best smile,
Hutch held out his hand. “My friends call me Hutch.”
Stepping back, Tom turned on
Ray. “What the hell’s the matter with you, boy? He’s the partner of that
goddamn kike!”
“Dad . . . ” Ray was
surprised his father knew who Hutch was. Sweat dripped down his temples.
“Mr. Andrews,” Hutch said.
“If I were in your shoes I’d feel the same way, seeing the partner of the man
who struck your son. I asked Ray to bring me here.”
Unsure of what Hutch was
doing, Ray looked from him to his father.
“What the hell for?” Tom
asked, his mouth curling into a half-snarl that told Hutch this wasn’t a man to
turn your back on.
“I wanted to assure you I’m doing everything I can to see Ray is
reinstated. Some of us at the station think Sgt. Starsky should’ve been the one
disciplined.”
Tom brushed past Hutch and
went to the well-worn brown chair in the corner of the living room. He sat and
appraised Hutch as if he were an old truck. “You talk like a college boy.”
Seeing the mistrust in Tom’s
eyes, Hutch stuck his hands in his pockets. “You’re right about that, sir.” He
moved to the center of the room keeping his focus on Tom. “I always liked Ray
and thought he made a hell of a good cop.”
“And you think you can get
him his job back?” Tom was skeptical.
“It’ll be tough.” Hutch took a look around the room. “May I sit?”
Permission was given with a
motion of Tom’s hand. As Hutch sat, Tom said to Ray, “Get us a couple of beers.
I want to hear what he’s got to say.”
Ray went to the kitchen and
Hutch leaned forward. “The department’s not like it was twenty years ago.”
“Yeah, you got that nigger
captain.” Tom took the beer from Ray and pulled off the tab. “I know what goes
on there. What Ray and a few others tell me is you boys let all types in.”
After taking a drink, Hutch nodded.
“We’ve got our work cut out for us, but we’re not giving up.”
“You get my boy back on the
job and I’ll take a second look at you.”
Ray stepped forward. “Dad,
it’s not that easy. You heard what Hutch said.”
“You just do what you’re
told,” Tom ordered. He looked at Hutch. “Sometimes he don’t know when to shut
up. Get him back to work.”
The man wasn’t about to
listen to a long list of excuses. If Hutch didn’t deliver, they wouldn’t get
far. After taking a large drink, Hutch stood and handed the can to Ray. “I was
thinking of going out tonight and hitting a few clubs, Ray. You up for it?”
Ray was a little surprised
at the invitation. Hoping it didn’t show, he nodded. “Sure.”
“Come by about nine and
we’ll go tear up the town.” Hutch reached over and shook Tom’s hand again. “It
was nice meeting you, Mr. Andrews. I’ll be in touch.”
When Hutch was gone, Ray
went to the kitchen and poured out the rest of the beer. He had little taste
for alcohol after the other night. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tom in
the doorway. “He’s okay, don’t you think?”
“Never thought you’d bring
the likes of him here,” Tom grumbled.
“I need him to help me get
my job back, Dad. You know that.” Ray tossed the can in the full trashcan and
began pulling out the bag to take it out. “I like him, too.”
“Suppose you do, boy,” Tom
admitted. “Watch out for him. He’s partners with that son of a bitch that hit
you.”
“Not his fault. They got
assigned together.” After tying the ends of the bag, Ray straightened. “That’s
how it works.”
With a deep chuckle, Tom
stepped forward and gave Ray a firm pat on the cheek. “Sure, Ray. You always
had a good heart, just like your Ma.”
Ray didn’t answer. He
stepped around Tom and left to take out the trash.
It took over four hours of
work to patch the holes in the roof. Years of neglect and a lack of money had
taken its toll. If Starsky could have afforded it himself, he would have had
the thing replaced.
He climbed down the ladder
and was met by Elma holding a cold glass of lemonade. With an appreciative smile,
he took it and went to the chair. They chatted on the front porch while Starsky
finished. Afterwards he went to the bathroom to wash away the grime and noticed
the faucet leaked. He took a look under the sink to find the problem.
After telling Elma he’d be
back, Starsky drove to the hardware store and purchased the needed items. What
he’d thought was a twenty-minute job turned into two hours of work. By the time
Starsky finished, he was half-soaked and exhausted.
A towel was tossed in his
direction and Starsky looked over his shoulder at Junior. “Hey.”
“What are you doing?”
“Oh.” Starsky wiped off his
face. “There was a leak and . . . ”
“I know about it.” Junior
folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “I planned on fixing it this
weekend.”
“Well, I figured since I was
here . . . ” Starsky stopped. He felt like an intruder given the hard look he
was getting from Junior. “Next time I’ll ask.”
Junior turned and started
down the hallway. Starsky caught up with him and stopped him at the top of the
stairs. “I heard you quit school.”
“I told Grandma not to tell
you.”
“She’s worried about you,
Junior.”
“Jackson,” he corrected.
Starsky nodded. It was
Jackson now. He wouldn’t forget again. “You gotta get your education. You know
that.”
“It’ll have to wait. Grandma
can’t pay for her medicine on what she gets now.”
“Listen, I know some people.
I bet I can help get you something after school.”
Shaking his head, Jackson
wished Starsky would understand. “It’s gotta be full time. Part time don’t do
me or her any good.”
As much as he’d have liked
to, he couldn’t force Jackson to go back to school. Treating him like a little
kid could only backfire in the worst possible way. “You put it off now, you
won’t go back later.”
“Maybe.”
Feeling helpless, Starsky
didn’t move as Jackson went down the stairs. There had to be something he could
do. He needed rest and a shower to clear his thoughts. And maybe Hutch would
have some ideas.
Hutch looked up from the car
window at his apartment. He was relieved to see the light on. Inside, at the
top of the stairs, Hutch opened the door and found Starsky in his kitchen. He
could smell onions in the air. “Smells good. What are you making?”
As soon as Hutch walked into
the kitchen, Starsky opened the oven door.
“Meatloaf?” Hutch asked.
“I can’t remember the last
time I had a good meatloaf.” Starsky looked at his partner studying the dish.
“You don’t like meatloaf? It’s the all-American dish.”
Hutch pointed at the
meatloaf. “What’s that?”
“What?
“That.”
Starsky leaned in to get a
better look. “Oats.”
“Oats? As in my organic
expensive oats that I use for my health shakes?”
“Yeah, it helps the texture.
Besides, I didn’t think you’d mind me adding a little bit into it. What’d you
expect me to use, that instant crap they call oatmeal at the store?” Starsky
closed the oven door and went to the fridge. “Hutch, you of all people should
appreciate gourmet cooking.”
“It’s not gourmet, Starsky.
It’s meatloaf.” Hutch took the beer his partner held out.
“For one who appreciates a
fine meal such as myself,” Starsky said with pride, “it’s gourmet.”
Hutch grunted and took a
drink of his beer. He watched Starsky set the salad on the table next to the
condiments. Rather than get into a discussion of the current case, Hutch
finished off the bottle, tossed it in the trash and headed to the bathroom.
After a brisk shower, he dressed and returned to the kitchen to find dinner
served.
They ate in silence for
several minutes, then Starsky couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m guessing Andrews
didn’t blow your cover today.”
Keeping his eyes down, Hutch
pushed the vegetables around the plate. “Before I get the KKK stamp of approval
I’m expected to get him back on the job.”
“That won’t happen,” Starsky
mumbled. “It hasn’t even been a week since . . . ”
Their eyes locked and Hutch
set down his fork. “I figure if I put on a good show of attempting to get Ray
back in uniform, it’ll help my credibility.”
“Ray, huh?” Starsky leaned
back in his chair. “Sounds like the two of you are buddies already.”
“Come on, Starsk. Don’t be
this way.”
“I shouldn’t be pissed a
racist shot down one of my best friends? Is that what you’re saying, Hutch?”
“No. Just don’t take it out
on me for doing whatever it takes to keep you breathing.”
Sighing, Starsky slowly relaxed,
resting his elbows on the table. “Sorry. I went over to Jackson’s today. It’s
not good.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Jackson quit school.”
No surprise there, Hutch thought. “So he could get a job.”
“Yeah, there’s not enough
money left to cover everything.”
Hutch picked up his fork.
“That’s too bad.”
“Is that all you’ve got to
say?”
“What do you want me to say,
Starsky? It’s a shitty deal, partner, but there are some things you can’t do
anything about.”
“I hoped you might have an
idea on how Jackson could stay in school and still work.”
“A part-time job won’t be
enough.”
“I know that, but there’s
got to be something else.”
Looking at Starsky, Hutch
wiped his mouth and set the napkin on his lap. He was about to say something
when a knock interrupted. Starsky was already out of his seat when Hutch looked
at the clock. Damn, he thought. He
had forgotten about Ray.
The last person Starsky
expected to see when he opened the door was Ray Andrews. The urge to punch the
young man out returned as fiercely as it had that night at Huggy’s.
Ray stood silently,
expecting violence to erupt. He saw the look in Starsky’s eyes. His own
animosity towards Starsky remained strong. He didn’t know if he’d fight if
Starsky hit him. Before he could find out, Hutch came forward.
“Starsky, Ray and I’ve got
to make an appearance at a couple of clubs tonight.”
Stepping aside, Starsky
said, “Sure.” He wasn’t about to stay around Ray any longer than he had to.
Hutch looked over his
shoulder at his partner, who took a beer off the kitchen table and headed for
the greenhouse. Turning his attention to Ray, Hutch took a deep breath. “So,
you ready?”
“Sure.” Ray watched Hutch
putting on his holster and noticed the guitar sitting in the corner. He walked
over to it. “You play?”
“Some.” Hutch picked up the
Magnum and checked the chamber.
“How good are you?”
“I can hold my own, I
suppose. Why?”
Thoughtful, Ray gazed at the
instrument, then at Hutch. “If you can pull off some bluegrass, it would go a
long way to impressing a few folks.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of like
blood for us. Goes through you and connects you to people. Hard to explain.”
“I do play around with
different genres.”
“It’s gotta come from the
heart, though. You can’t have sheets of music in front of you.”
Hutch picked up the guitar and
moved into the living room. He set his foot on the arm of the couch and propped
the guitar on it. It took a moment, but before long he was playing some old
hillbilly music. The words came back to him:
Old and in the
way, that's what I heard them say
They used to
heed the words he said, but that was yesterday
Gold will turn
to gray and youth will fade away
They'll never
care about you, call you old and in the way
Once I hear tell, he was happy
He had his
share of friends and good times
Now, those
friends have all passed on
He don't have
a place called home
Looking back
to a better day, feeling old and in the way
Ray smiled when he finished.
“Wow, that was good. I’ve never heard it before.”
“Thank Jerry Garcia. The
man’s a genius.” Hutch set the guitar back in place.
“Jerry Garcia?”
“Yeah, a few years ago he
and a few buddies put a band together long enough to put out an album. It was
called ‘Old and In the Way.’”
“All bluegrass?”
Hutch smiled. “Yeah.” He
went to his albums and looked up. Starsky stared at him from the greenhouse.
Averting his eyes, Hutch felt somehow guilty. He pulled out the record and
handed it to Ray. “You can borrow it if you like.”
“I better not.” Ray gave it
back. He walked to the door, still seeing the dark look on Starsky’s face in
his mind.
“Let me know if you change
your mind.” Hutch laid the album on his stereo and followed Ray out the door.
With the sun bearing down on
him, Starsky stepped out of the Torino and looked at the small café across the
street. His mind was on the conversation with Hutch last night, and seeing Ray
there with him. He wished the damn case would just go away. It was an all too
painful reminder of Jackson’s death.
Once inside, Starsky spoke
with the owner and was directed to the alley. There he found Jackson dumping
trash into the large dumpster. He hated seeing the youth wearing a dirty apron
doing such menial work.
“What are you doing here?”
Jackson set one of the cans down and reached for the next.
“I’ve been doing some
thinking, Jackson, and there’s a way for you to go back to school.” Starsky
stepped closer and took a deep breath. “You can still work part-time if you
want.”
“I already told you—”
“I know what you said.”
Starsky reached into his back pocket, getting out his billfold. “I’ll pay for
your grandmother’s medicine. It’ll help take some of the—”
“You’re serious about this.”
“Of course I am. You’ve got
to go to school.”
“No. It’s my responsibility.
Not yours or anybody else’s.”
“Jackson, this is the rest of
your life we’re talking about.” Starsky motioned at the trash in the alley. “Is
this what you want?”
“You don’t have to tell me a
thing. Daddy taught me about what it means to work hard. Whether it’s this or
something else, I’ll take care of Grandma. I’m the only one she’s got.”
“You’ve both got me,
Jackson. Let me help.”
“You want to help? Be my
friend.” Jackson picked up the cans and started for the door. “Don’t do this
again.”
Disappointed, Starsky put
the wallet away. “Jackson—”
“I got to get back to work.”
The door closed and Starsky
was alone in the alley. He bit back a curse and resisted the urge to kick
something.
Hutch stood in the backyard
with Ray’s family and friends, gathered together for a cookout. A small group
of men stood in one corner, holding Styrofoam cups. Tom Andrews and another man
were at the old grill poking at the hamburgers and hotdogs. Across the lawn
some kids ran after a ball rolling towards the fence.
Three men sat at a picnic
table, picking at the musical instruments. Bluegrass music filled the air with
a hominess that Hutch could easily get used to. Songs of old gospel and songs
of family and sorrow brought a homegrown ambience and yearning for simpler
times.
As he soaked in the
atmosphere, Hutch began to gain a greater understanding of the life Ray had
led. There was still much he didn’t know, but this insight was far more
revealing than anything else he’d learned so far.
He smiled when Ray came over
carrying two plastic cups. “This is nice, Ray.”
“Glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
Ray handed a cup to Hutch. “Take it easy with this stuff. It’ll kick your ass
if you’re not used to it.”
At the first sip, the drink
caught in Hutch’s throat. He coughed and it took a moment to find his voice.
“What the . . . !” Hutch gasped.
Ray couldn’t hide the smile.
“It’s home grown.”
“I’ve had moonshine before,
but this . . . ”
“From around here?”
Hutch nodded. “It’s nothing
like this battery acid.”
“This recipe’s been in the
family for about a hundred years.” Ray took a drink and nodded towards an old
man holding a glass jar filled with the hard liquor. “Uncle Red makes it in his
garage.”
“For your sake, I hope no
one’s selling it.”
“It stays in the family.
Call it pride.”
They turned their attention
to the music and when the song ended, Ray saw an opportunity. “Travis!” he
called out.
A middle-aged man wearing an
old John Deere cap came over carrying his banjo. “Ray. How you holding up,
son?”
“Fine. This is a friend of
mine. Hutch. He can hold his own on a guitar.”
Travis chuckled a little and
shook his head. “A California boy?”
Hutch started to feel as if
he was on display. He decided he didn’t like it. “I think I can keep up.”
“We’ll see ’bout that.”
Travis walked over to the picnic table, picked up the well-used guitar and held
it up in challenge.
Looking at Ray, Hutch asked,
“Is this where they separate the men from the boys?”
“If you can drink that and
play like them . . . yeah.”
Taking another drink of
courage, Hutch hoped his fingers could keep up with the fast-paced music. He handed
the cup off and went to the table. After a few strums on the guitar, the banjo
started and he found a place to jump in. The tune was simple, but it still took
work to keep up with the rhythm. Before long, Hutch had found his stride and
began enjoying the impromptu session. Others joined in, adding their own style,
which elevated everyone’s mood. The gathering crowd and the smiles on their
faces told Hutch he’d made some inroads. As the song ended, everyone clapped.
Enjoying the handshakes and
slaps on the back, Hutch looked in Ray’s direction and saw the approval in his
eyes. But the good feeling was disrupted when shouts came from the house
behind. Everyone turned to see three black men coming towards the back fence.
“Hey, you goddamn honkies!” one yelled. “Take that shit back to the hills, you
backward fucks!”
The women pulled the
children back to the house. The men walked forward, Hutch moving with them,
hanging back just a little. Travis walked past him, shotgun in his hands. They must have their guns within easy reach,
he guessed.
He shouldn’t have been
surprised to see Ray at the front standing next to his father. Hutch spread his
feet and got ready should he have to intervene. All that separated the two
groups was a fence.
“You got something to say,
boy,” Tom challenged. He took the weapon from Travis and cradled it like one
would an infant.
“I ain’t your boy!” The
largest man spat.
“That’s for goddamn sure,”
Travis laughed. The rest of the group chuckled along with him.
“Hey, Charlie,” Tom said.
A young man probably no
older than Ray said, “Yeah, Tom.”
“Think these niggers could
use a lesson in southern hospitality?”
Charlie’s eyes leveled on
the black men across from him. “You bet.” He was handed a thick rope and
dropped it down to expose a noose.
The three men stilled. No
one had to tell them what kind of people they were dealing with.
“Come on, boy,” Tom taunted.
“It’d be just like back home. All we need is a nigger, a burning cross and a
big oak.”
The standoff lasted another
minute, then the black men turned away. Ray’s family and friends continued with
the taunts and catcalls until they were gone. Hutch walked over to him and
spoke in a low voice. “This happen often?”
“No. They moved in a couple
of months ago. It’s too public for Dad or anyone else to follow through with
their threats.”
As the crowd broke up, Hutch
and Ray were urged inside where the rest of the day passed without incident.
Carrying the thick photo
album, Starsky bounded up the stairs to Hutch’s apartment. He halted at the door
when he heard music from the other side. Normally he wouldn’t have hesitated,
but this type of music gave him pause. Hutch always did have eclectic tastes,
but this was different even for him.
Starsky eased the door open
and stuck his head in, stepping inside as Hutch came out of the kitchen,
wearing his robe. “Hey, I expected to see a hillbilly or two.”
“Hey, Starsk.” Hutch smiled
and waved him in.
Closing the door behind him,
Starsky went to the living room, setting the album on the coffee table. “What
in the hell are you listening to?”
Hutch motioned to the
stereo. “Incredible, isn’t it?”
“Can’t dance to country
music like this.”
“Starsky, this isn’t country
music.”
“Bluegrass.” Starsky went to
the kitchen and opened the fridge. “What’s the difference?”
“It’s a mix of Scottish,
jazz and blues.” Hutch watched Starsky open the beer bottle. “Country’s roots
are in bluegrass.” He went to his partner. “Did you know bluegrass didn’t even
have a name until after World War II? It’s the evolution of Scottish and Irish
music over a good hundred years.”
“Thanks for the music
history lesson,” Starsky said dryly. “You going out again tonight?”
“Yeah, just for a couple of
beers.” Hutch eyed Starsky, waiting for some kind of reaction, but none came. “You
okay with that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I know it’s been tough on
you, Starsky.”
It was on the tip of
Starsky’s tongue to remind Hutch of Jackson’s hardships, but he held it. “Go
have a good time. I’m more interested in an old Bogart movie tonight.”
Starsky waited until Hutch
was in the bathroom. When the shower was running, he went to the coffee table
and checked the photo album to make sure everything was in place.
Ten minutes later, someone
knocked at the door. Starsky already knew who it was when he opened it. “Come
here,” Starsky said. “I want to show you something.”
Unsure of what to expect,
Ray followed, sitting down on the couch with Starsky and watching him open the
album.
Starsky pointed to an old
picture of Jackson and himself as teens. “This is me and Jackson. We thought we
owned the world in those days.” He smiled at the memories. “It took some
getting in trouble to figure out the world owned us.”
Ray watched Starsky flip to
the next set of photographs, wondering what this was about.
“This is Jackson and his
wife, Phyllis. They were like fire and ice, but fit together about as perfect
as any couple could. Junior was about six months old at the time. He was barely
two when Phyllis was killed in a car accident.”
The pit of Ray’s stomach did
a slow churn and began knotting up. He stared hard at the photograph as if in a
trance. Just a normal, happy family. Ray’s heart pounded and he couldn’t
concentrate on what Starsky was saying.
On the next page was a more
recent picture. Jackson Sr. stood with his arm around his son’s shoulder. Both
wore large smiles. Starsky rested his finger on the photo. “This one’s only a
few months old. Jackson was having a little bit of trouble with Junior at the
time, but it almost seemed to go away when they were together. He would’ve done
anything for his son.”
Ray shot up off the sofa,
but before he could go anywhere, Starsky had a tight grip on his arm.
“You’re going to sit through
it all!” Starsky bit out. He was ready to cuff Ray in place to make his point.
“Go to hell!” Ray yelled. He
shoved Starsky away, nearly knocking him down, heading towards the door. Hutch
came out of the bathroom at that moment. Seeing Starsky standing on the other
side of the couch and Ray leaving in a hurry, Hutch didn’t have to guess what was
going on. Without saying a word to his partner, he followed Ray out the door.
“Ray!” Hutch called out,
hurrying down the stairs, but Ray ignored him, starting up his truck and
speeding away. Slowly, Hutch walked back up to his apartment and back to Starsky,
who hadn’t moved. Hutch looked down at the coffee table and saw the open photo
album. He picked it up. “What the hell were you thinking, Starsky?”
“He needs to know exactly
what it means to kill someone.”
Hutch slammed the album shut
and dropped it on the coffee table. “It’s all I can manage to keep that rookie
cop’s head together and you drop this on him! Goddamn it, Starsky!” Hutch
yelled. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
“Me?” Starsky pointed
towards the door Ray escaped through. “That cop you’re protecting is walking,
talking and breathing fresh air!”
“I’m protecting him in order
to save your life, in case you’ve forgotten. I’m not getting into it with you
about how unfair life is, Starsky! He has to help throw his family in the
slammer and he doesn’t need a damn guilt trip on top of it all!”
“Tell me, Hutch—does he feel
guilty? Has he said two words about shooting Jackson down in cold
blood?” Hutch was silent. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Starsky grabbed the
photo album and stormed to the door. “I’m crashing at Huggy’s tonight.”
“Starsky, wait—”
“I was just a few years
younger than Jackson when Pop got shot down, Hutch. It tore my whole world
apart. He’s got to know what he did.”
Starsky slammed the door on
the way out. Hutch collapsed on the couch. Rubbing his eyes, he wished
fervently that the case were over. Starsky couldn’t move on until it was. They
couldn’t move on. The entire mess was taking a heavy toll.
Ray never explained himself
to people. Throughout his life, he did what he thought was right and most never
questioned him. In the academy he didn’t offer explanations of his actions.
Knowledge and skills were the requirements. Simple, to the point.
When he didn’t see Starsky’s
car, Ray parked behind Hutch and shut off the engine. Looking up, he saw the
light on. If he went inside there was no turning back. It was paramount to an
admission.
His Dad didn’t own up to any
mistakes and never would. Parents don’t, his father had told him more than once.
It set a bad example to appear weak in any way.
He was already going against
everything he was taught anyway. No reason to stop now. Ray took his time
getting out of the truck and walking to the door. Taking a breath, he knocked
and waited.
When it opened, Ray looked
Hutch in the eye. “Can I talk to you?”
Hutch stepped aside and
closed the door while Ray went to the living room. “You want a drink?”
“No.” Ray gazed out the
window into the darkness. It was easier not to look at Hutch. “When we lived in
Kentucky, Dad would take my sister and me to his uncle’s farm in Alabama for
the summer. We’d go fishing, swimming in the creek, and ride an old mare. It
was the best time I ever had.”
Hutch wasn’t sure where Ray
was headed with this. He leaned against the couch and listened.
“Dad would drive down with
Uncle Travis the week before we were supposed to head home. It was always like
a family reunion.” Ray smiled a little. “It was the only time we all spent time
together as a family.” He looked down towards the street. “Some nights, Dad,
Uncle Travis and a few others would take off. I always asked to go, but Dad
promised I could when I was twelve. They’d be gone for a while. Sometimes they
didn’t get back until early in the morning.” Leaning his head against the
window frame, Ray closed his eyes. “I’d be awake when they got home, no matter
how late it was. Dad would let me stay up, and I’d sit on his lap. They laughed
and joked about what they’d done.” Ray raised his head and wiped a tear away.
“I couldn’t wait until I was old enough to go with them. I wanted to be a part
of it . . . to be just like them.”
“Jesus,” Hutch whispered.
Children always wanted to
grow up fast and be like the adults they admired. No one should be surprised
when they did.
“That day . . . during the
chase,” Ray continued. “In the car, with the siren going, the radio blasting .
. . it was like I thought it would be. Everything I was ever taught was
bad was in the other car. Catching them would mean everything—I wouldn’t be a
kid anymore, nobody’d be calling me a rookie. I’d be a hero like my Dad. But .
. . ”
The pause hung in the air.
He shut his eyes as tight as
he could against the images in his head. They were like the pictures Starsky
had shown Ray, only these were covered in blood. “We stopped. His arms were up.
He came towards us. I can still hear the sound of his body hitting the ground.
God, what a fucking awful sound.” Turning around, Ray shoved his hands in his
pockets. “That whole time during the chase, it was like I was flying as fast as
the car was. I felt invincible. Even when I was talking to you, it still hadn’t
gone away.”
“Adrenaline,” Hutch
explained. “It’s like a drug. It takes a while to come down.”
“Dad told me our kind’s got
to stick together. We back each other up no matter what. If somebody saw you
tossing a rope over a tree limb, everyone that was with you would swear you
spent the night playing poker and drinking home brew. I guess I didn’t think
it’d be any different. Hell, even at the academy they taught us to take care of
each other.”
“And when Starsky hit you?”
Ray’s eyes locked with
Hutch’s. “He shouldn’t have done it,” he stated, no equivocation in his tone.
“Jews may look white, but they’ll stab us in the back just as fast as a
nigger.” Ray took a deep breath. “That’s what I’ve been told my entire life. I
became a cop, and it changed things. I was starting to . . . question things.
But in that alley I was my Dad.”
“Ray . . . ” Hutch began.
“No!” Ray yelled. “You don’t
get it, Hutch! I stood over a black man who lay dying from a bullet I put in
him! I told myself he deserved it! I was convinced of it!”
“When did you realize
differently?”
“Oh, come on!”
Hutch walked over and
grabbed Ray’s arm. “If you still believed that, you wouldn’t be standing here
in my living room pouring your guts out, Ray! Tell me.”
Lowering his head, Ray said,
“After I got suspended . . . I told my Dad.” He slumped back against the couch.
“He got on the damn phone, called everyone up and we had a fucking party. I
killed someone and got a hell of a party out of it.” He remembered escaping to
the garage with a large glass of home brew and a bottle of Jack Daniels.
“You’re not your father,
Ray. You haven’t been him for awhile, even before that day.”
“What matters is what I was,
and now a decent man is dead!”
There was nothing to be said. Ray knew what
he had done, knew everything came together the day Jackson Walters died. Too
late.
“I don’t think you’re in any
shape to leave tonight. You can sleep here on the couch,” Hutch said. After
some urging Hutch got Ray to agree to stay and gathered some bedding for him.
Once in the privacy of his bedroom, Hutch undressed and crawled between the
sheets.
One brutal, simple act, done
without thought or compassion, finished in the span of a single heartbeat. On
the surface it almost seemed simple. Closer scrutiny exposed the destruction of
much more than a single life in that same heartbeat
Hutch nodded off, no clear
solutions coming to ease the pain of those around him.
Starsky put the car into park
as Jackson stepped off the porch. With the passenger window rolled down,
Starsky hollered, “Jackson, you wanna ride to work?”
Jackson thought for a
minute, then grabbed the door handle. “Sure.” He got inside and leaned against
the back of the seat. “Is this going to cost me a lecture?”
“It’s on the house.” Starsky
put the car into drive and started down the street. “How’s the job going?”
“Okay. Boss said I might get
to start helping out the cook. It’s more money.”
“That’s great.” Starsky
turned the corner and glanced at Jackson out of the corner of his eye. “I was
thinking maybe one of these weekends we could work on that old clunker of your
Dad’s. You could get your license and drive yourself.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Better than walking,”
Starsky told him with a half-smile.
“Guess so.”
It took another ten minutes
to reach the café. As soon as Starsky parked, Jackson reached for the door.
“Wait a sec. I got something to show you.” He leaned towards Jackson and opened
the glove box, taking out a pamphlet and handing it over. “I talked to a
teacher friend of mine and she says you can still get your diploma without
having to quit your job.”
“I already told you—”
Starsky turned in his seat
towards Jackson. “Just hear me out. You’re doing this for your grandma,
Jackson. I respect that. It’s a hell of a lot more than I ever did when my
father died, but this,” Starsky motioned at the pamphlet, “is for you. You can
take night classes a couple of times a week.”
Jackson fingered the
brochure and looked at Starsky. “I miss Daddy. You know? I still can’t get used
to him not being around.”
“He still is, Jackson.”
Starsky put his finger over his own chest. “Where it counts. He’ll always be
there.”
“Thanks.” Jackson smiled a
little. He stepped out of the car and closed the door.
“Want me to pick you up?”
“No, I can manage.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Starsky leaned back and watched Jackson cross the street. It was the best he’d
felt since Jackson died.
Ray pulled the truck
haphazardly to the curb in front of Venice Place. Jumping out, he hurried
inside. By the time he reached the top of the steps, he was out of breath. He
knocked several times, hoping desperately that Hutch was there, even though he
didn’t see the car out front. He banged on the door again, harder. “Hutch!” He
tried the door. Locked. Ray banged his fist against it in frustration. He ran
back down the stairs, got in his pickup and at the first payphone jerked the
vehicle over.
Ray dialed the precinct.
“I’m looking for Detective Hutchinson . . . yeah, I’ll wait.” He looked towards
the street, hoping to see the beat up LTD approach. “How long ago did he
leave?” He rubbed his eyes. “Okay, if he calls or comes back in tell him Ray
Andrews is looking for him . . . yeah, he’ll know what it’s about.”
Slamming the receiver down,
Ray leaned against the glass. He had to find Hutch. Taking a look at his
watch, he almost groaned aloud. It was getting late. Another idea occurred and
Ray picked up the phone book. He searched through the pages, dug for change out
of his pocket and slid it into the slot. After dialing the number, Ray closed
his eyes. Please, answer! Hearing the
busy signal, he slammed down the phone. Damn!
Jogging to the truck, Ray
got in and started it up, doing a U-turn in the middle of the street and ignoring
the obscene gesture from the driver he cut off.
It didn’t take long to reach
Starsky’s and at seeing the Torino, Ray was almost relieved, but Hutch’s car
was nowhere in sight. He didn’t have time to worry about what sort of reception
he’d get. Finding Hutch was the priority.
When the door opened, Ray
steeled himself for the backlash. “I’m looking for Hutch.”
While not the rage it once
was, Starsky could feel the slow burn roiling in his gut. “He’ll be here in a
few minutes. You can wait.”
Ray didn’t believe him until
he stepped aside. Walking into the apartment, Ray resisted the urge to keep his
back to the wall. He expected Starsky to cold-cock him from behind. He went to
the living room, keeping his hands in his pockets.
“Something wrong?” Starsky
picked up the half-empty pop from the end table.
“There’s a meeting in about
an hour. Hutch can go.”
Leaning against the back of
the couch, Starsky observed the young cop keeping a nervous eye out the window.
“Good.” He took a long drink, almost finishing off the bottle. “What’s wrong?
Think I’m going to shoot you down?”
With a look out of the
corner of his eye, Ray paused. “You probably think I deserve it.”
“No, I don’t.” Starsky
downed the rest of the pop. “Nobody deserves to be shot down in an alley.
Nobody.”
Ray turned to face him.
“You’ve had a hell of a lot you wanted to say since the beginning. Get it over
with.”
Starsky walked to the
kitchen, put the bottle under the cabinet with the others he saved for recycling
and came back to the living room. “You’re the one that has to say something.
Not me.”
“I see.” Ray took two steps
closer. “You expect me to say how sorry I am. You want to see me get down on my
knees, bawl my head off and beg for your forgiveness.”
“It’s not me you should
ask.”
“Would it matter who?”
“What?”
“Would it matter? Will it
make a difference to you or anyone else?” Ray shook his head. “I killed your
friend and made his son an orphan. Nothing I say or do will ever change that
fact, and it sure as hell won’t change what you want to do to me.” Ray went to
the window, watching for Hutch, wishing he’d hurry. “The only consolation prize
you get is knowing I see his face in every black man I meet.”
“It’s not enough.”
“It never will be.”
The LTD pulled in behind the
pickup. A minute later, Hutch came through the door. He looked at Starsky
sitting on the stool near the telephone, then at Ray. “What are you doing
here?”
“There’s a meeting. You got
an invite. We’ve got less than an hour.”
“Good,” Hutch said. “Get in
your car. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Hutch wasn’t quite sure how
to proceed. He had no idea how long Ray and Starsky were alone before his
arrival or if anything had happened between them. “Starsk? You okay?”
“I got some thinking to do. You
better get going.”
“About the other night . . .
”
“It’s okay, Hutch.” Starsky
touched Hutch’s arm. “I’ll meet you at your place tonight.”
Hutch smiled. “I’m holding
you to that.”
Few words were said between
Hutch and Ray on the way to the meeting. Whatever had passed between Starsky
and Ray remained a mystery to Hutch, but little doubt was left as to the impact
on both men.
They arrived at an old barn
on a desolate road, a few cars and trucks parked in front. Ray parked close to
a few men standing near the corner of the barn, swapping drinks from a pint.
They walked inside. Hutch
was transfixed by the large Confederate and American flags hanging side by side
from the rafters. Keeping to the back of the crowd, Hutch stood next to Ray
while Tom climbed a short set of steps to a small stage. He talked to the
gathered men. Complaining about what he perceived to be the latest outrage, Tom
Andrews told the story of how white rights were being eroded.
“I expected white sheets,”
Hutch said in a low voice to Ray.
“We wear those for
initiations and more formal gatherings.”
“Is the ranting session
standard practice?” Hutch asked.
“Almost funny, you know.”
Ray folded his arms. “Whenever there’s something worth bitching about, we have a
meeting. Nothing much ever comes of it.”
Another speaker took Tom’s
place. Hutch listened for a moment, then looked at Ray. “There was a time when
the KKK was one of the most powerful political organizations in the country.
There were parades down Pennsylvania Avenue with hundreds of members.”
Ray nodded. “Dad and the
others say rolls dropped off because people were either scared of the NAACP or
didn’t have a loyal bone in their body.”
“What do you say?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they’re
smarter than the rest of us.”
It was almost an hour before
the meeting finally broke up. Hutch had hoped for something more tangible to
take to Dobey. He started to follow Ray to join a group and was stopped by Tom.
“Anything come of getting my
boy back on the job?”
“I’m not Dobey’s favorite
cop these days.” Hutch shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t care what Dobey
thought. “I went over his head to the brass. We should know something in a week
or two.”
“Suppose that’s something,”
Tom grumbled.
Hutch put a hand on Tom’s
shoulder and stepped close. “Some of us are sympathetic to your cause, Tom.
They’ll do what they can.”
“Back home we get a medal
for shooting a coon.”
Biting his tongue, Hutch
patted the man’s shoulder. As he walked away, Ray came back. “Anything?” Hutch
asked.
“We’re staying here a while
longer.” Ray glanced over his shoulder at his father and the others talking
amongst themselves. “You can’t stay, Hutch. They still don’t trust you.”
“I didn’t expect an invite
right off the bat.” Hutch had hoped, but knew how unlikely it was. “First
chance you get, come to my place.”
Ray handed the keys to his
truck over. “I’ll get a ride with one of the guys. When we’re done, I’ll be by
after the pickup.”
“Don’t rush. I don’t want
them to think you’re reporting to me.” When Ray nodded, Hutch went outside and
got into the pickup. He hoped Ray was careful. These people might be considered
uneducated hicks by most, but they could pick up on dishonesty . . . especially
when it came from one of their own.
Starsky found his partner at
home making ice tea. He walked into the kitchen and sat at the table. “How long
you been home?”
“About half an hour.” Hutch
filled the glass with ice. He turned and leaned against the counter. “Yours
truly was not invited to the after-meeting meeting.”
Scooting the chair back,
Starsky reached for the handle on the fridge and opened it. He took out a beer.
“What’s a KKK meeting like?”
“About what you’d expect.
You want the gory details?”
“Nope.” Starsky pulled the
tab back on the can and took a sip. Rubbing his thumb across the aluminum, he
said, “Looks like Jackson will be taking night classes for his diploma.”
“That’s great, Starsk.”
The look on Starsky’s face
said otherwise. “He called tonight. I told him I’d take him to register
tomorrow.”
Hutch sat across from him.
“I thought you’d be pleased.”
“I guess I should be.”
Starsky took a long drink. “I keep thinking back to when I was a kid after
Jackson’s dad died.”
Starsky got up abruptly and
walked into the living room before Hutch had a chance to reply. A knock at the
door broke the brief silence. Starsky didn’t move from the window, so Hutch got
up and answered it.
He was glad to see Ray on
the other side. “Come in, Ray.”
Taking a step inside, Ray saw
Starsky. He didn’t feel quite as intimidated as before. “I don’t have long. I
told Dad I was getting my truck and going home.”
“Any news?”
Ray followed Hutch into the
living room. “As soon as a place is found, they’ll nab Starsky.”
“And do the deed right
after,” Starsky commented.
“Yep.”
Hutch shook his head. “It’s
not enough.”
“Travis will pick a
location. Charlie and Lester will do the kidnapping,” Ray explained.
“We need details,” Starsky
told him. “Unless we get a place and a time this is nothing more than good old
boys venting. Knowing how they plan on offing me would help, too.”
“It might be another day or
two before I find anything out.” Ray watched Hutch pick up a notebook off the
coffee table.
“I need the names of
everyone involved, Ray. We might be able to get one step ahead of them.”
Ray sat and scribbled six
names on the paper. “Soon as I know anything I’ll call.”
Taking the notebook from
him, Hutch glanced at the names. He looked up and patted Ray on the arm. “You
did good work tonight, Ray.”
The young cop’s silence
wasn’t lost on Hutch. He walked Ray to the door. As soon as he was gone, Hutch
went to the living room and looked over the names on the list. “Three of these
are family members. It can’t be easy to do this.”
“Too bad his conscience
wasn’t working before he killed Jackson,” Starsky said, his back to Hutch.
Hutch dropped the notepad on
the table. “It’d be nice if it were that simple.” He moved closer to Starsky.
“You making excuses for him,
Hutch?”
“These people have a
completely different culture of thought and ideas, Starsky. It’s reflected in
their music . . . ”
Starsky turned with wide
eyes. “You like him. Andrews.”
“He’s not all bad, once you
get to know him. People can change, Starsk.”
“I don’t want to get to know
him! I want him to pay for Jackson’s death and it’ll never happen!” Starsky
said raising his voice. “Instead I get to listen to you talk about how they
think!”
“Starsky, listen—” Hutch
began.
“Shut up, Hutch!” Starsky
moved to the other side of the couch. “I know how they think—they hate anybody
who’s different from them—blacks, Jews—my God, they think my people had Christ
crucified! That we’re nothing more than greedy backstabbers!”
“It’s been ingrained into
him since childhood, Starsky!” Hutch said heatedly. He took a deep breath. He
didn’t want to fight. “Every adult Ray’s ever known preached this level
of hatred his entire life. They use the Bible to back every unreasonable belief
and fear.”
“Looking behind the reasons
for it doesn’t change what it is, Hutch.” Starsky reached for his jacket and
slipped it on. “We’re looking at this from opposite points and we’ll never meet
in the middle.”
“Where are you going?”
“My place. We’re getting
closer to the end of this, and if these assholes think you and I are still
buddies, it’ll blow the case. I’ll call Dobey and have a car keep an eye on me
just in case.”
Hutch met Starsky at the
door. “Listen, I wasn’t trying to change your mind about Ray.”
“I know. There are some
things we’ll never see eye to eye on, Hutch.” Starsky squeezed his arm before
walking out the door.
Upon learning Jackson had
the afternoon off to register, Starsky took him out to lunch first. They
arrived at the learning center only to find it packed with applicants. What was
supposed to take about an hour turned into four hours of waiting, filling out
paperwork, meeting with a counselor and finding classes with available
openings.
Starsky paid the
registration fee only after Jackson extracted a promise that it was a loan. When
they finished it was off to the bookstore where the higher costs almost changed
the young man’s mind. It took some doing, but after agreeing on a payment
arrangement, Starsky bought the needed items.
After dropping him off at
home, Starsky left pleased with the day’s progress. While it wasn’t all that he
hoped for, he was glad to see Jackson intent on finishing school. Maybe college is still in his future,
Starsky mused.
Taking the long way home,
Starsky mulled over the last few days. The future wasn’t as grim as he had
thought at the outset. Even with the strain of the case weighing on his
relationship with Hutch, they would survive the challenges of it.
It wasn’t until a pickup was
tailgating him that Starsky took notice. He put his foot on the gas, but the
vehicle remained too close for comfort. A much older truck with a cracked
windshield zoomed past him and moved in front of the Torino.
“Shit!” Starsky was boxed
in. They blocked him from maneuvering around the one in front. He reached for
the radio, and one of the trucks rear-ended him from behind. The mike fell out
of his hand to the floorboard. Another hit from the back almost caused him to
lose control.
Seeing an empty lot coming
up fast, Starsky jerked the wheel. The Torino hit the curb hard and sped across
the dirt lot. The truck with the cracked windshield cut off his escape. Starsky
swerved, but had to speed up to keep from crashing back into the truck tailing
him.
The Torino did a 180-degree
turn and slid to a stop. Starsky reached for his gun and froze at the
sixteen-gauge shotgun leveled at his face by the passenger in the pickup. Two
men he didn’t recognize opened his car door and yanked him out, throwing him to
the ground.
Two kicks to the ribs and a
punch to the face subdued him enough for them to take the cuffs out of his back
pocket. Trying to catch his breath, Starsky couldn’t fight the strong grip on
his arms as they were pulled back and the handcuffs applied.
They pushed him in front and
toward the pickups, one of them hitting him hard in the face on the way. They
tossed him in the back. He tasted blood in the back of his throat.
Someone threw a tarp over
him. “Don’t move, you goddamn Jew bastard!” Someone kicked him in the lower
back, a foot pushing him aside as if he were a bag of potatoes. Starsky closed
his eyes and took deep breaths to control the pain. Someone started the truck,
the old motor rumbling unevenly, and then they were moving. Agony went through
his body with every bump. Hutch,
Starsky prayed. You gotta find me!
The files Hutch had in front
of him told him little. He went over every one of them, searching for anything
that might give him something to go on. He’d called Huggy an hour ago, looking
for a lead.
A group like this would need
money to operate, and what little Hutch knew at this point told him they didn’t
like traditional means such as banks. They trusted only cold hard cash, which
made the searching more difficult and time consuming. They relied on donations
from members and even a few non-members to fund their upkeep and rental of the
barn from a retired rancher who knew little of what went on at the meetings.
Hutch closed the file and
leaned back in his chair, looking over at Dobey coming out of his office. “I’m
not getting a thing. You?” Dobey shook his head. Hutch checked his watch.
Starsky still hadn’t called, but he knew registration might take a while. “I
thought I’d run by Ray’s and see if there’s anything going on. He might have
missed something.”
“Good idea.”
The phone rang and Hutch
snatched it up. “Hutchinson.”
“Bro, you have no idea how
hard it is for a man such as myself to track the whereabouts of certain
white-sheeted individuals. Mum’s the word, if you know what I mean.”
“Appreciate it, Hug.”
Hearing the disappointment
in Hutch’s voice, Huggy grinned. “I didn’t say it was impossible, Blondie.”
“You found something.”
“May not be much. There is a
certain security guard who takes time off during his shift to pay a visit to a
local girl by the name of Orange. He gets the cash for his expensive appointments
from a pasty-faced dude by the name of Travis Andrews.”
“Ray’s uncle.” Hutch glanced
at Dobey. “Where does this security guard work?”
“Seaboard Asphalt. It’s not
far from the old airport on Bridger Road.”
Perfect for its isolation, Hutch thought. “Any chance of finding out when
Orange will get her next visit?”
“Tonight. Seems she
scheduled him for a midnight showing.”
“Thanks, Huggy. I owe you
one.”
“Four, but who’s counting.”
Hutch disconnected the call and
dialed Starsky’s number. “Seaboard Asphalt. This thing may be happening
tonight.”
Dobey grabbed the phone from
Starsky’s desk. “Dispatch two patrol cars to Seaboard Asphalt.”
Hanging up the phone, Hutch
thought for a moment. “There’s no answer.” Dialing Ray’s number, he hoped his
gut was wrong this time.
“Patch me through to
Bennett’s car,” Dobey told the dispatcher. “This is Dobey. Where’s Starsky?
Backtrack to . . . ” Dobey covered the receiver with his hand. “Where do the
Walters’ live?”
“5129 Lincoln Park Drive.”
Not getting an answer, Hutch’s gut twisted in knots.
Dobey relayed the
information to the patrol car and set down the receiver. “They’ll call when
they know something.”
Hutch stood and headed for
the door. “There may not be time. I think they’ve already nabbed Starsky.”
Dobey followed Hutch out of
the squad room.
When Tom and Travis pulled
in front of the house, Ray looked up from under the hood of his truck. They
hadn’t been here when he arrived, and he hoped they were coming back armed with
information, so he could finally see an end to this case and his part in it.
“Dad, where’ve you been?”
“Come on, Ray. I got a
surprise for you.”
Ray wiped his hands on the
rag and tossed it in the bed of his pickup. “Where?”
“You’ll see.”
He searched for an excuse to
call Hutch. “I’m supposed to call Hutch soon. He thinks he’s got a way to get
me reinstated.”
“Later,” Travis told him.
“This won’t take long.”
With no other choice but to
go along, Ray got in the truck, his dad driving and Travis on the passenger
side. He’d never felt more trapped in his life.
The drive took almost twenty
minutes. Seeing the old asphalt plant, Ray almost panicked. Charlie slid open
the gate for them, then closed it back as they drove towards two other pickups.
He slid out of the vehicle
and followed Tom and Travis past the heated tanks to a small shed, the acrid
stench of burning rubber filling the air. Ray wiped perspiration from his brow.
Starsky lay on the ground
with his hands cuffed behind his back. Ray halted in his tracks, whipping his
head around to look at Tom. “What’s going on, Dad?”
Starsky rolled to his back
and looked at the small crowd. His body screamed in protest. He ignored it,
working to get on his knees. “You don’t know?” he challenged.
Ray looked from Starsky,
then back to his dad. Nothing was going right. “I-I shouldn’t be here,” he
stammered.
Tom came forward and put a
reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder. “You’re covered, you know that, son.
Everyone here will vouch for your whereabouts.”
Struggling with his panic,
Ray took a couple of deep breaths. “He’s a cop, Dad. This isn’t Alabama.
There’ll be an investigation.”
“And I told you,” Tom told
him. “We got it covered. His body won’t be found here.”
Tom handed his son a
revolver.
“You took the first step when
you shot that Negro, Ray. This’ll be easy.”
Starsky saw the doubt and
fear in Ray’s eyes. He tried to buy some time, counting on Hutch to find them.
“Expecting him to kill a fellow cop isn’t the same for him as shooting down a
black man, Andrews.”
Tom came forward and grabbed
Starsky by the jacket. “My boy knows what’s got to be done! A kike is still a
kike!” He threw Starsky to the ground and marched back to Ray. “Get it done
with, Ray. We ain’t got all night.”
There was no more time, no
more arguments left. If Ray didn’t do it, someone else would. He handled the
gun, turning it over slowly in his hands.
He held it out to his
father.
“No.”
“What’d you say, boy?”
Ray shook his head. “I won’t
do it, Dad. There’s been enough killing.”
“Ray,” Travis said. “This is
gonna happen, no matter what, son. Let’s get it done and go home.”
Still holding the weapon in
his hand, Ray shook his head. “I shouldn’t have shot that man. Shouldn’t have
shot anyone. None of this would be happening now if it weren’t for me.”
“The hell it wouldn’t!” Tom
yelled. He snatched the gun from Ray’s hands. “I raised you to know what’s
right!”
“It’s not right!” Ray
screamed back. “Jesus, Dad! It was never right!”
There was a loud crashing
sound from behind, and the shriek of metal on metal. The men turned as the gate
crashed to the ground beneath the wheels of the Ford LTD. Everyone scattered.
Ray watched his father, waiting, and saw reality dawn over his face.
“You bastard!” Tom breathed.
He struck Ray across the face with the butt of the gun, then turned and ran.
Starsky gritted his teeth
against the pain and managed to get to his feet, plowing into Charlie to keep
him from fleeing. He saw Hutch running towards him and breathed a heavy sigh of
relief. “I thought I was a goner.”
Hutch put the Magnum away
and took out his keys. “You know my timing’s the best.” He smiled, looking
Starsky over quickly and removing the cuffs. “Where’s Ray?”
“He was here a second ago.”
Starsky saw uniformed officers taking custody of the men. “I don’t see Andrews
either.”
“I better go look for them. You gonna make
it?”
“You know it.” Starsky
watched Hutch leave and almost went after him, but had second thoughts at the
pain in his ribs. Seeing Dobey, he walked over to him. “Hutch went after Ray
and his father.”
Eyeing two cops putting a
struggling Charlie into the back of their car, Dobey hollered for them. “You
two! There’s one unaccounted for!”
The darkness hindered Ray’s
search for his father. He slowed, trying to see past the shadows. It was
dangerous here unarmed, but he had to find his dad. The man had a gun and the
police officers wouldn’t hesitate to use their own weapons if they thought
their lives were in danger. Hutch’s lecture just after shooting Jackson in the
alley echoed in his ears. Never fire your gun unless your life is
threatened.
“You looking for me, boy?”
Ray whirled around and
froze. Tom stood, aiming the revolver at him. “Dad, it’s over. The cops are
everywhere.”
“You made sure of that,
didn’t you?”
“I couldn’t . . . ” Wishing
the tears away didn’t keep them from streaming down his cheeks. “I couldn’t let
you kill him, Dad.”
“So you turned on your own.”
“No, it wasn’t like that. I
knew what would happen, Dad. I was trying to protect you.”
“Protect me?” Tom raged. “By
letting them infiltrate us! That what your nigger-loving cop was here for! You
told them all about us, didn’t you?”
“I had to.”
Tom raised the gun higher
and pulled back the hammer. “And I’m doing what I have to do, boy.”
“Dad, please!” Ray begged.
“I’m your son!”
“No boy of mine turns on me,
Ray.”
“Hold it, Tom!”
Hutch came from out of the
shadows. “It’s over. Put the gun down,” he ordered.
The cold smile Tom gave Ray
sent chills down his spine. Slowly he lowered the gun.
Ray covered his eyes with
his hand. He took a deep breath, but it did little to calm him.
A hand fell on his shoulder.
Hutch.
“It’s done.”
“You’re dead to me, boy,”
Tom said. Two officers put him in cuffs. “I ain’t got a son anymore.” He spit
in Ray’s face. Ray jumped back as if burned, turning to hide his face as Tom
was taken away.
“Ray?” Hutch said.
Wiping his face, Ray clamped
down on the cry that threatened to break loose. He walked away to the cops and
family he knew. He stopped.
The looks in the eyes of
those Ray had called family were hate-filled. The cops turned their backs on
him.
Ray walked away.
A week later
Starsky and Hutch stood in
front of Ray’s home beside the pickup. Ray set the last piece of luggage in the
back.
“You can still change your
mind,” Hutch told him.
“I’d be lying to myself if I
thought I was fit to be a cop.” Ray glanced at the old house. “Besides, this
isn’t my home anymore.”
“Where will you go?” Starsky
asked.
“My dad and sister had a
falling out a few years ago. She said I could stay with her in Oakland until I
figure out what to do.”
“You’ve got a friend here if
you ever need one, Ray.” Hutch held out his hand.
Ray smiled as he shook it.
“Thanks. That means a lot.” He went to Starsky and pulled an envelope out of
his pocket. “There’s nothing I’ll ever be able to say or do to take back what I
did, but maybe this might help out a little. Could you see that the Walters
family gets it?”
An angry retort came to
mind, but Starsky said nothing. He didn’t know if he would ever fully forgive
Ray, but the price the former cop had paid was a high one. Starsky took the
envelope. “They’ll get it.”
“Thank you . . . both of
you.”
Ray got in his truck and
drove away. Neither of the men said a word, watching the vehicle grow smaller in
the distance, then disappear. They walked back to the Torino and got in.
Starsky looked down at the
money, then at Hutch. “You know something?”
“What, Starsk?”
“I don’t think things could
have ended any other way.”
“It’s not the ending you
wanted.”
Starsky shrugged his
shoulders. “It’s not the one anybody wanted, but it’s better than what it could
have been.”
“Yeah.” Hutch rested his
hand on Starsky’s shoulder. “Let’s go. I’ll buy you dinner.”
“Let’s stop off at Jackson’s
first.”
Hutch smiled as Starsky
started the car.
*****