David Starsky stood unmoving in front of the isolation chamber’s huge plate glass window, focused on the room’s sole occupant. His partner, Ken Hutchinson, slept uneasily, half obscured by the transparent oxygen tent covering his head and upper body. It was almost midnight although neither man was aware of time as measured by the clock’s hands. Hutch felt time as seemingly endless pain and Starsky only saw time as the enemy, bent on a relentless countdown to death. “The name of the game is Hu-Hutch is dying…”
Starsky flinched and blinked, trying to clear his mind of Hutch’s earlier words. He heard footsteps approaching from further down the hall and turned instinctively to check out the intruder.
He confronted Dr. Judith Kaufman, who stopped to his left, by the isolation glass. “Dave,” the young infectious disease doctor said, trying to cover a yawn, “how long have you been here?”
Starsky shrugged and turned his gaze back to the window. “Not long.” He forbore asking for an update on Hutch’s condition; he could see his partner’s deterioration with his own eyes, no need to have it medically confirmed.
Judith also gazed into the isolation chamber, at the very sick man who had become much more than a patient in the short time that she’d known Starsky and Hutch. “Do you want another lipstick?” The cleaning crew had erased the bold red “STARSK” that Starsky had written on the glass the previous night.
“Nah. It’ll only make him mad. I’m supposed to be on the streets, checking out the sewers, not watching him di-sleep.”
Judith remembered the conversation she’d overheard. “Did you hop in the holes?”
“Every damn sewer and hole I could find,” Starsky spoke tightly. “Nothing! And I got nowhere with Meredith, either.”
Judith quietly defended her colleague. “He sees the big picture, Starsky. He has to see the plague in its entirety, not just its affect on Hutch, or any other patient.”
Starsky faced Judith and mentally shouted, Don‘t you get it? Hutch IS the big picture. He managed to keep his thoughts to himself, and tried to see things Judith’s way. After all, she was only being loyal to Meredith, her colleague and friend. Loyalty was something Starsky understood and respected. His gaze returned to the observation window.
“You can’t do anything else for him tonight. You should be home, resting. Tomorrow-” She had to swallow before she could continue. They both knew that tomorrow could well be Hutch’s last day. “Tomorrow is going to be a long, hard day.” She tapped a finger on the observation window. “He’ll need you at your best, not falling asleep on your feet.”
Starsky whirled around, his deep blue eyes glaring at Judith. He opened his mouth to rant, but he paused, subconsciously hearing Hutch’s voice, urging him to relax and take a deep breath. Reluctantly, he nodded then focused on the observation window. “G’night, Hutch. See ya tomorrow.” He walked away from the window, heading for the elevator.
* * * * *
Starsky left the hospital’s parking lot, driving on autopilot. Judith’s words echoed in his head: “You can’t do anything else for him tonight.”
He thumped his right hand on the Torino’s steering wheel. The hell I can’t! There’s gotta be something else I can do!
A green Ford pickup that had been directly behind him swept by the Torino in the passing lane, then cut back into Starsky’s lane, only a couple of feet in front of him. The pickup sped away, then its brake lights gleamed red as it was caught by the changing traffic light. Starsky cursed, braking hard as well, stopping bare inches behind the pickup. He scowled at the truck’s tailgate, getting an extremely close look at its advertising. The painted red silhouette of a bantam rooster stood to the left of the establishment’s lettering: Daybreak Cleaning… Always Something to Crow About… 555-8224.
The light cycled green and the pickup surged forward. Abruptly, Starsky turned right, heading for Venice Place.
He found a parking space less than half a block away, parked and strode briskly down the sidewalk. A blur of cream and chocolate colored fur streaked past as a Siamese cat crossed his path. At least it’s not a black cat, Starsky thought as he approached the street level entrance to 1027 ½ Ocean. He opened the elaborately carved wooden door and rapidly climbed the stairway to Hutch’s second floor apartment. Starsky let himself in with his own key, then closed the door behind him. The truck’s advertising sign had reminded him that neither he nor Hutch had been here for days, and Hutch’s jungle doubtless needed tending; in fact the whole place could stand some attention.
Starsky crossed over to the kitchen, flicked on the kitchen light and hunted up Hutch’s watering can. He filled the can up with tap water, then went over to Hutch’s greenhouse, conscientiously watering each plant he encountered. He knew Hutch talked to his plants, even sang to them on occasion. “Sorry, guys, ain’t got much to say tonight. But Hutch’ll be home soon,” he mumbled as he checked soil dampness and watered his way through the jungle.
That task finished, Starsky replaced the watering can in the kitchen, noting a few dirty dishes in the sink. He rinsed the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher, then eyed the living room appraisingly. He walked across the living room’s red shag carpet to Hutch’s closet and opened it. He spied the Hoover vacuum, but decided that Hutch’s neighbors wouldn’t appreciate him vacuuming at one-something in the morning, so he grabbed Hutch’s bucket of cleaning supplies instead.
He entered the bathroom and started cleaning. He squirted the toilet bowl cleaner around the rim of the commode, briskly scrubbed it with the brush, then cleaned the sink and tub while waiting the required ten minutes before flushing. He made short work of the bathroom, then backtracked to the living room, liberally spraying Pledge on all the wood surfaces he could reach. Then he proceeded to the bedroom and gave the dresser and headboard a thorough dusting. He stripped and remade the bed with fresh linens. About that time, he realized that his cleaning had become a tad obsessive, and it was after two a.m.
Starsky returned to the living room, still restless. He looked the room over, then retrieved Hutch’s portable television set, angling it on the table so that it was visible from the sofa. Turning the set on, he clicked through the dial, unerringly finding the late-late creature feature. The movie had just started, so he caught the opening credits: “Destroy All Monsters.” Oh, if only I could.
He plopped down on the sofa, sinking into the cushions and stretching his feet in front of him. He genuinely liked Godzilla films, and he tried to follow the movie, but the exhausting day caught up to him and he fell into a fretful doze.
“Conn’s Electronics Store, grand opening of the Westchester branch is this weekend, folks!” The television blared, its volume even louder than Godzilla’s roars, which Starsky had managed to sleep through. He blinked at the TV, not quite tracking the commercials. The raucous announcer’s voice was replaced by an orchestra as the next commercial aired.
“Yes, you can own the entire collection of Verdi operas.” The musical selections changed as the cultured voice exhorted, “Rigoletto… Il Traviata… Falstaff…and the beloved Aida… All for just nine dollars and ninety-five cents…but you must act now, folks--” Starsky rose from the couch and turned the TV off, then he walked over to the closet and removed a pillow and spare blanket from the top shelf. Returning to the sofa, he paused long enough to set the alarm on his watch, and kick off his Adidas. Starsky removed his belt from his jeans, but that was as far as his undressing went, he had to get up in a few hours, anyway. He placed the pillow where he wanted it, stretched out on the sofa and threw the blanket over himself. He thought about Callendar as he drifted off. I’ll find him for you, Hutch, I promise.
THE END
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