From: HILLEMANN@MACALSTR.EDU
Date: Tue, 18 Apr 1995 20:59:08 -0500 (CDT)
Subject: "Partners"  (Part 3 of 11)
Message-Id: <01HPHVIV7SI0AKZBID@MACALSTR.EDU>

"Partners"  (Part 3)
By Beth Hillemann


Sam and Hutch headed for Hutch's car in the hospital parking lot, intending to
return to headquarters to wrap up their shift.  By now it was early evening and
Sam was beginning to realize that he rather urgently wanted dinner.  As they
reached the car, dispatch called to say that a man named 'Huggy' wanted to see
them at the Rafters.  Hutch responded to dispatch that they were on their way
and to log them out as offshift.  He gestured for Sam to get into the car.

"Huggy?" Sam questioned, as they drove from the parking lot.

"Huggy Bear," Hutch told him.  "He's a friend.  "Not an informant, but he finds
out what the word is on the street.  Currently he's managing a restaurant/bar
sort of place for a friend of his."

"Any chance we could get some dinner while we're there?" Sam asked.

Hutch shrugged.  "I'm not hungry.  But you might want to eat there--the food is
reasonably good."

"Will you join me, at least for a little while?" Sam pressed.  "I have some
more questions about these cases."

Hutch paused, then shrugged.  "All right," he agreed quietly.

At the Rafters Hutch led Sam to a table inside.  They were just settling in
when a tall, wiry black man dressed in a tight-fitting black and pink outfit
made of silk, called out to Hutch and made his way over.

"Huggy," Hutch acknowledged.

"Hutch, my man!" Huggy said, fairly jumping up and down with pleasure.  "It's
been too long since you last graced this humble establishment."  Hutch rolled
his eyes at the effusiveness, and slumped back in his chair.  "And who is
this?" Huggy asked, peering at Sam.

"This is Mike Jennings, Huggy.  He's working with me."

"I see," Huggy said, and for a moment his dark eyes met Hutch's blue.  Then
Hutch looked away and Huggy's smile came back full force as he turned to Sam. 
"Mike," he said, "a real pleasure to meet you."

"How do you do, uh...Huggy?" Sam smiled.

"Huggy Bear is my name, and pleasurin' folks' my game," Huggy confirmed.

"What did you want to see us about, Huggy?" Hutch prompted.  "Oh, and Mike's
looking for some food."

"Ahh, goin'to try out some of the Raft's culinary delights, eh?"  Huggy beamed. 
"Well tonight is your lucky night 'cause we're having a special on catfish
that's so fresh you might as well be out in the wilds catchin' it yourself!"

"That sounds fine," Sam said.

"The call, Huggy," Hutch reminded him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm gettin' to that," Huggy said.  "It'll wait 'til after dinner. 
What do you want to eat, Hutch?"

Hutch shook his head.  "Nothing to eat, but I would like a drink.  Tequila."

Huggy hesitated, looking uncomfortable.  "Uhh, Hutch," he said, lowering his
voice.  "When was the last time you ate, huh?  You remember what happened last
time..."

Hutch looked up at Huggy, his eyes hard, but he said mildly enough, "I asked
for tequila, Huggy.  Are you going to bring it or not?"

Huggy's lips drew down in a frown, but he sighed and said, "Yeah, tequila,
comin' up."  He glanced at Sam.  "You want anything to drink?"  Sam asked for
beer and Huggy retreated to get the drinks.

A somewhat strained silence fell at the table.  Sam was wondering about the
exchange of words and thinking about the relation of alcohol and suicide.

Hutch surprised him, however, when he gave Sam a considering look and in a
deceptively casual voice explained, "Huggy thinks I've been drinking too much
recently."

"Have you?" Sam asked, keeping his expression neutral.

There was a rather long silence, then Hutch sighed and closed his eyes. 
"Maybe."

"It's...understandable," Sam offered.

Hutch looked at him, and he smiled slightly as he leveraged himself out of the
chair.  "Look, I'm going to the john.  When Huggy gets back tell him I'd like
some dinner, too.  Catfish.  Beer to drink with it."

"Okay," Sam acknowledged with a smile.  He hesitated, then said, "And the
tequila?"

"One drink," Hutch said quietly.  "I...do want one."  He walked away toward the
back of the restaurant.

Sam sat back, realizing only then how tense he had become.  This conversation
had reminded him of something...

"I've seen guys like him," Al suddenly commented, popping in beside Sam.  "I've
even been there."

"Al!" Sam said, diverted from his thoughts.  "Where have you been?"

Al looked exasperated.  "Where have I been?" he repeated.  "I've been tracking
down all that information you asked for.  That's where I've _been_."

"Oh," Sam said, abashed.  "What'd you find?"

Al gestured with his cigar.  "I'll tell you later, it looks like you're about
to have company."

Sam followed Al's gesture and saw Huggy coming back, carrying two glasses, a
bottle, and a plate with a lime slice on it.

"Where'd he go?" Huggy asked Sam, nodding toward the empty chair, as he put the
drinks down on the table.

"Bathroom," Sam explained.  "He said to let you know he would like the catfish
for dinner and beer with it."  Out of the corner of his eye Sam noticed Al
examining Huggy's attire with a rapturous expression.

Huggy looked both pleased and relieved.  He snagged a chair and sat down at the
table, talking to Sam as he poured the tequila.

"How long've you been working with Hutch?"

Sam let out a slight sigh.  "This is the first day," he said.

"I see.  Dobey partnered you with him?"

"Yes."

"You must be aware of the circumstances."

Sam glanced at Al, then back to Huggy.  "I know that his partner died," Sam
said cautiously.

Al looked surprised.  "Hey, how'd you find out about that?" he asked.

Huggy nodded, his expression somber.  "Yeah, Starsky.  It was a terrible thing. 
And Hutch...he hasn't been the same.  You should understand," he continued
earnestly, "Starsky was his best friend.  They were closer than brothers.  I-I
lost a good friend, but Hutch..." Huggy shook his head, at a loss for words. 
"Hutch lost his _partner_.  They'd have done anything for each other--and they
did."  Huggy hesitated, searching for a way to explain when there were no
words.  Then he caught Sam's gaze with his own.  "Starsky explained it to me
this way: He said, 'Like this,'" Huggy lifted his hand to chest level.  "'Hutch
and me are like this'."  And Huggy's fingers closed into a tight fist.  Sam
looked at the clenched hand and swallowed.  Beside him, Al stood solemn and
still.  Huggy exhaled slowly, and relaxed his hand.  "Now Starsky's gone.  Can
you understand how that left Hutch?"

Sam's eyes fastened on Al.  "Yes," he said, nodding slowly.  "I understand very
well."  Al gazed back at him, and nodded, but with an unreadable expression
that puzzled Sam.

Huggy nodded as well, looking pleased.  "Good," he said.  "Maybe it's not my
place to say all this, but could be it'll help you deal with Hutch--and then
maybe you can help him."  There was sincere worry in Huggy's expression as he
talked to Sam.  "The only thing that's kept him going is his sense of duty. 
Being his partner is gonna be tough, but...he shouldn't be alone."  Huggy
looked up and saw that Hutch was coming back to the table.  "Listen," he said
quickly, "any time you need help or advice or anything about Hutch, you just
let me know."

Sam nodded, saying, "Thank you Huggy," just as Hutch arrived.

"'Thank you Huggy' for what?" Hutch asked, sinking down into his chair.

"He's thankin' me for all the sage advice I've been givin' him," Huggy
announced.  "Particularly the bits about pickin' up some of them fine lookin'
foxes that come into this wonderful establishment," he added, gesturing toward
a group of young and very attractive women who had just arrived.

Hutch snorted, picking up the lime slice and the tequila as he said to Sam,
"Don't listen to Huggy if that's your game."

"Hmmpf," Huggy said, standing up.  "I'm not gonna stay here and be insulted." 
He glanced toward the women again.  "Instead I'm gonna go do my hosting
dooties..." and he sauntered away in the direction of the women.

"I'm right behind you," Al said, walking off in Huggy's wake.

"Al!" Sam hissed.  The hologram ignored him, of course.

"Al?" Hutch inquired, after drinking the tequila.

"Al...lright!" Sam corrected himself.  "That Huggy is really something, isn't
he?"

Hutch looked at him strangely, but agreed equably enough. 

Huggy was right; the catfish was delicious.  The two men talked over the
dinner, mostly about the cases the Department was currently working on.  Sam
tried to steer the conversation to more personal topics, but Hutch always
politely steered it back to the job.  Eventually Huggy came back their way to
talk about what he had called them for.  Al, Sam noticed, had disappeared--or
was busy ogling.  When Huggy told them that a woman named Grace Keller wanted
to set up a meeting with Hutch for the next morning, Hutch looked astonished.

"You're sure she wanted to see me?" he asked Huggy.  Huggy nodded
in confirmation, and Hutch protested, "That doesn't make sense, Huggy.  Grace
Keller inviting a cop to meet with her?"

"Who is she?" Sam asked.

"She runs one of the biggest bordellos in the city," Hutch replied.

Huggy shook his head, a disgusted look on his face.  "She doesn't run a
bordello, Hutch.  She runs a classy place for companionship," he explained to
Sam.

"It's a bordello," Hutch insisted stubbornly.

"Why does she want to see Hutch?" Sam asked practically.

Huggy looked uncertain.  "I think I'll leave that for Grace to explain.  She
wants to meet you, tomorrow morning at 10:00 at Parson's Park.  She said to
tell you it was important."

Hutch shrugged, looking perplexed.  "Okay," he said, "we'll meet with her.

Huggy went to contact Grace that the meeting was set up.  Sam and Hutch
finished their meal, then went back to police headquarters for Sam to pick up
his car.

Sam drove to his apartment (after checking a city map), mulling over the events
of the day.  All in all he thought he was making progress on his mission. 
Hutch might be keeping a wall between them right now, but Sam thought he'd be
able to scale it, or break through.  Mostly he wanted Al to show up again and
fill him in on some details.

Sam wasn't surprised when Al met him at the door of his apartment--but he
wasn't prepared for Al to pop out _through_ the door.  "Don't _do_ that!" Sam
exclaimed, trying to keep his heart from jumping out his throat.

Al's contrite expression was belied by the wicked gleam in his dark eyes.  Sam
just rolled his own eyes and went inside.  The apartment was a simple one
bedroom, with the look of a newly occupied furnished apartment.  After
exploring the interior for a few moments, Sam settled down on the couch,
loosened his tie and top shirt button, leaned back and looked expectantly at
Al.

"How'd your day go?" Al asked.  He seemed more nervous than usual to Sam,
almost edgy.

Sam shrugged, studying Al.  "It went all right.  Hutch managed to keep a kid
from killing himself."

"Yeah?" Al was looking down at the handlink.

"Yeah.  What's going on Al?  What's bothering you?"

"Nothing's bothering me," Al said, turning away from Sam.  He looked back over
his shoulder.  "How're you getting along with Hutchinson?"

Sam was puzzled.  "As well as can be expected.  He's barricading himself away
from other people, but I like him.  I'm worried about him, too."

Al nodded, as if he had expected that.  "That's fine," he said, "but you be
careful, all right?  He's not exactly operating on all cylinders right now, if
you know what I mean."

Sam, relieved, said, "Is that all?  Al, Hutch may be going through some
problems, but he's a good man.  I'll be fine.  Now, what did you find out?"

Al began pacing, squinting at the handlink from time to time, and gesturing
with all his usual enthusiasm.  "Well, you heard about his partner."

"Yes," Sam confirmed.  "But I thought he told Dobey he worked alone."

"No," Al shook his head.  "It was only a little over three weeks ago that his
partner, umm...David Starsky, was killed in an explosion."  Al paused, looking
at Sam as he continued.  "According to the report filed by Detective
Hutchinson, he blamed himself for the death."

"That's what Linda said," Sam nodded.  "But she also said that he wasn't
responsible."

"No; he wasn't," Al agreed, but his expression was dark.

"What else did you find out?" Sam asked, watching Al curiously.

"They had been partners for about 6 years.  Their record was impressive, lots
of commendations, even a medal of valor for each of them, although there were
some complaints about, umm, unorthodox methods and insubordination."  Al's
expression was mixed.  As an admiral he disapproved of insubordination in the
ranks, as a person he practiced it regularly.

"Tell me how his partner died," Sam prompted, watching Al's movements with some
amusement.  The story Al told, however, drove the humor away.

"They were investigating a series of arson bombings," Al began quietly.  "They
had a suspect they were looking for and received a tip about his location--an
abandoned insane asylum out of town.  When they arrived they separated to cover
the building.  Someone, probably the suspect, lured Hutchinson into a room in
the main building and managed to lock him in after pinning him with gunfire. 
He was looking for a way out when he heard shots out back.  There was a small
window in the room and from there he was able to see the suspect--uh, Evan
Thorpe--dragging Detective Starsky into an auxiliary building."

"Was he dead or just unconscious?"

Al shrugged.  "No one knows," he said.  He punched at the handlink again and
continued.  "Unable to get out any other way, Hutchnson went through the
window.  That's when the auxiliary building exploded.  Huge fireball.  The
firemen discovered two bodies in the wreckage.  One was identified as Evan
Thorpe, the other was unable to be identified.  There wasn't enough left."  Al
smacked the handlink once, and paced.

"And Hutch blames himself for getting locked in that room," Sam said.

"Yeah."

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "And that's why he committed
suicide?"

Al shrugged his shoulders.  "Well, he was found back at that asylum, one shot
in the brain, fingerprints on his gun.  and the police report said that his
friends and co-workers said he had been drinking more than usual leading up to
the suicide."  Al shook his head.  "Guilt eats away at you," he said somberly. 
"And some things can't be lived with."  He was thinking of a few things he knew
about.

"Al..." Sam said, disturbed by the undertones.  He sat up, reaching for the
hologram, although he knew he couldn't touch his friend.

Al looked at him and a small smile broke the intensity.  "All of my ghosts are
laid to rest," he assured Sam.  "Or at least under control," he added under his
breath.  "But, I never blamed myself for my best friend's death either."

"Yeah," Sam agreed heavily.  After a moment he shook his head.  "Is that all?"

Al nodded, his expression still pensive.  The handlink, however, squealed at
him, and he jumped.

"What?" Sam prompted.

Al glared at the handlink but replied to Sam.  "Well, there were a couple of
strange things in the report.  For one, the autopsy on Hutchinson showed only a
small amount of alcohol in the blood.  You'd think if alcohol were a
contributing factor to the suicide that there'd have been more present.  And
one of his friends swore up and down that it wasn't a suicide."

"Who was that?"

"Um, Officer Linda Perillo.  She was a beat cop--still is for that matter," Al
added, peering at the handlink.

"She didn't get the promotion," Sam commented to himself.

"Huh?  What?" Al asked, distracted.

"Nothing," Sam shook his head.  "So except for Linda, everyone else believed it
was suicide with alcohol as a contributing factor?"

"Yeah.  And Ziggy says you have to keep him from doing that."

Sam rubbed his forehead.  "From what Linda told me, I'd think it would be hard
for him to adjust to a new partner.  Maybe that's why I'm here.  That, and to
keep him from drinking," Sam added, then he looked at Al hopefully.  "He chose
not to drink tonight after all."

Al shrugged.  "We both know it takes more than just one time," he said.  "And
we don't know what he's doing right now, for that matter.  You've only got
three days, Sam."

"I have to do something," Sam said with conviction.

"It took months with me," Al reminded him pessimistically.

Sam gazed at him with the glimmer of a smile in his eyes.  "Well, _you_ had
been drinking a lot longer.  And now I know the pattern."

"We had also been friends longer," Al pointed out.

Now the smile spread openly.  "You're also more stubborn than anyone I've ever
met," Sam countered.  "After you, anyone else would be a snap."

"That's because you've never met yourself," Al said somewhat indignantly. 
"_You're_ the stubbornest person in the world."

"Exactly," Sam agreed, and grinned.

--End of Part 3--

Beth Hillemann
hillemann@macalstr.edu