WORM IN THE APPLE

by: Jo-Jo

You know how Friday nights in the bar after work always seem like a good idea at the time? You get to leave all the crap behind you, head off somewhere familiar with people you like, or forget you don't like. You get to be a real person for a while, instead of that blond Detective-Sergeant at Metro. After a few beers you get that warm glow. You forget that sometimes these nights can spiral downwards quicker than you can say Southern Comfort on the Rocks.

I'm a sucker for the idea of a few convivial beers. Depending on who's buying of course. But so many Saturday mornings I look back and think... right, Hutchinson, don't ever say yes again. Perhaps it's just cops. Maybe we're not very good at having fun.

Friday night I was there doing my best to have a good time. One of the girls from Accounts smiled at me. You know. Smiled at me. I was doing my final approach on a third bottle of beer when I found myself next to Jack Bavin, who appeared out of the crowd and jostled in beside me. I partner him sometimes when the regular guy's elsewhere.

"Hey, Hutch, how's it going?"

"Good, Jack."

"How's your buddy?"

"What?"

"How's Davey?"

"Well I don't rightly know, I haven't spoken to him much tonight."

"No, no, I mean in general."

Must admit, I was puzzled. "I'm confused, Jack, what's all this interest in Starsky's wellbeing all of a sudden?"

"Well, you know, after all that happened, man -- it can't be easy to come back to this job. He's been away a few weeks, I just wondered if he was having problems."

Here we go. Makes sense that what happened to my partner might always be on my mind. But on Jack's? Like I do, I counted swiftly to ten. "There are no problems, Jack. And I shouldn't have to be telling you that."

"Well I heard stuff, that's all."

"What stuff? From who?" Any of the warm glow from earlier just got to its feet and walked out. I got a sting of anger right across my shoulder blades but I tried to cover it up by taking up the bottle of beer and swigging it.

"Oh watch out," Bavin said unexpectedly. My partner was coming towards us looking a little weary but highly cheerful. "Here comes the big showboater himself." Jack made a face at me as if to say "don't you think?"

"Hey, Blondie," said the showboater, draping a proprietorial arm over my shoulder. I did not miss the once-over he gave Bavin. If you know Starsky well enough, the big smile is far from being as straightforward as it looks. Can hide a whole mess of stuff. "Listen, don't we have a date with a bottle of tequila?"

We can do our routine anywhere, under almost circumstances. Actually, it's one of the things that most gets up Bavin's nose. "So we do," I rejoinder, not having any idea what he's talking about, but slipping my arm around his waist anyhow. "My place?"

"Nah, crap everywhere." The smile at Bavin carried on.

"OK, yours then," I agreed. "You ready to go?"

"Well nearly, only I haven't had a fight yet," and the smile notched down to a grin, a grin with more than a hint of challenge in it. The arm came off my shoulder. He was telling me he was now standing alone and I let go of him too, although I wasn't ready.

"Don't start your wiseguy act on me, Davey, I ain't in the mood," Bavin growled.

"Well," said Starsky, still cheerful, although I was wondering about the finger he was now wagging in Bavin's face. Starsk generally didn't use the finger except to rattle my cage. "I hear that you're trying to poach my partner off me. What do you say to that?"

"What?" I said, my voice sounding loud even in the cross-currents of bar noise.

Bavin shrugged. "I think you're over-egging the pie, as usual, Davey."

"What is this?" I tried again, getting the feeling that the two of them were getting into the zone and forgetting I was there. That was when the mood really lurched. It was the Southern Comfort on the rocks moment.

"Oh, good pal Jack here has been speculating as to when I might buy the farm." He tweaked his finger across his throat. "You know, cash in my chips." The grin got down to a pleasant smile. "Leaving him free to become your new best friend."

"Are you crazy?" I said. Not sure if I was asking Starsky or Bavin.

"That's not what I said," Bavin defended himself. "You're talking bullshit as usual."

"Well OK," I went on, kind of curious as well as mad. "What did you say?"

"Just wondered how you were doing, Davey, is all."

Starsky mugged at me and then Bavin. Have to say, it could really get to you. "Jack. Jacky. I am doing just fine. I breathe, I run, I can aim and fire, I can even write up reports at a pinch. Don't worry about me."

Bavin held up his hands. "OK, I hear you. That's good. You should know though, that we work pretty well together, me and Hutch. Deputy McMichaels thinks so too."

Man, I almost heard the pop. Even before Starsky had wound up to take a step towards Bavin, I clamped one hand around the back of his neck and grabbed a handful of leather jacket with the other. The scene was attracting attention already. "We're going," I said, feeling Starsky attempting to resist me. He used to lose his temper a lot in the early days, but then he made a real effort to get it under control. Smart move, with sharks like Bavin and Simonetti always circling. Since last year, like so many things, all that had changed again. "Come on, Starsk, we're out of here." One of the uniforms, Ron Chapman, appeared at Starsky's other side.

"What's Bavin been saying?" he demanded, as the three of us bowled out through the interested crowds towards the lobby and the steps to street level.

"Oh you don't want to know," I said. "Just Jack being Jack."

"What is with that guy?" demanded Starsky at length, managing to extricate himself from my double grip. "It's alright, you don't need to throttle me. I'm not going to lay him out. Not now."

"He's a troubled soul," offered Chapman. "He was giving me some speech earlier on tonight. Along the lines of wondering if you should be medically retired, Dave."

Starsky stopped stock still. Then he put up a hand and clutched it to his heart. "I think it just stopped beating," he said.

I had my own Southern Comfort moment then. "That's such a long way from being funny," I snapped.

Chapman looked uncomfortable. "I didn't know whether to tell you guys."

We looked at each other. It was kind of important, and yet not.

"Ron," Starsky said eventually. "Thank you for your support. Let's forget Jack Bavin shall we."

"Yup," said Chapman happily. "Have a good weekend, fellers. See you next week."

Outside on the street a cool sea breeze was billowing up Walker Boulevard. It blew away some of the effect of the beers. One of the dents in my car came after a Friday night. We jumped through hoops to avoid Dobey ever getting to hear about it, and so tonight we walked. We walked in silence, listening to the sounds of the late-night early-morning street, sirens in the far distance, the rushing sound of the sea and wind behind the buildings. Not our usual fluffy silence. This one had spikes.

"Look," said Starsky eventually. "I won't mention this again, but what's been going on with you and Jack Bavin?"

I just stopped dead and laughed out loud. Then I composed myself to say something very serious. Then, seeing Starsky still looking at me in that open-hearted way he has... well, I gave it up. "Starsk, come on, I've been faithful, I promise."

"So where does he get this idea that I'm about to be retired?"

"Not from me," I told him firmly, not yet realising how deeply this had got to him. "He gets an idea in his head, and bingo -- off he goes. No point getting mad with him. Who knows why he finds you irritating and impossible to be with?"

"And Dobey likes this new team?"

"Hell I don't know. He certainly hasn't said that to me -- probably not even to Bavin. Jack's just in his usual alternative reality. He needs a partner or he's going to find himself transferred so he's decided on me and come up with an idea why that might happen. And," I went blundering on, seeing the look on Starsky's face but just not processing it right, "before you get the miseries, even if you do get pensioned off, put out to grass, whatever, Jack Bavin would not be on my list of potential partners. Not my long list and not my short list."

"Your list. Terrific," said Starsky. His voice had changed completely. "Who would be?" He knows the hold he has on his badge is fragile. Now I look like I'm just taking it right out of his hand.

"Let it go, Starsk," I said, going for the light approach. "I think we really ought to think about getting us home." I was already thinking ahead of ways I could get back in his good books once we got back to his place, make him forget what I said.

It was him who waved down the cab, leaping into the middle of Walker and windmilling his arms while the sparse, but speedy, traffic zig-zagged dangerously around him. Great. Really great. He surely doesn't get that from two weeks in New York?

I got in first and then had to do a double-take as Starsky slammed the door and stepped back from the kerb. "Aren't you coming with me?" I asked, winding down the window.

"No, changed my mind. Thought I'd go back and punch out Bavin's lights," Starsky said.

"Starsk..." One day, one of us was going to punch out Bavin's lights. I really didn't want it to be him. Not that I condone violence in any way, shape or form. But sometimes... Jack just begs for it.

"I'm joking, man. Kinda tired. Let's take a raincheck on the tequila." He didn't meet my eye. "I'll walk it from here."

Kinda tired set the usual alarm bells ringing. I knew better but I couldn't help it.

"You need...?"

"No, I don't need you to come too," Starsky said sharply, real anger in his voice. The scary kind of Starsky anger. "All that's over. Past history. Your career as my live-in slave is finished. You're fired."

"Listen, the short list thing... I didn't mean..."

"Just forget it, Hutch. So you've been thinking of the options... I don't blame you."

"Hey," said the cab-driver. "When you two sweethearts have finished, maybe we can get going?"

Starsky had already turned away and was walking off into the dark.

Watched him go. Asked myself, a bit self-righteous, what did I do? Yeah... I knew what I did. You have such a flappy mouth, Hutchinson. Hit the man right where it hurts, why don't you.

I was telling myself never to say yes again on a Friday night even before the cab dropped me at the end of the street. It would be hell getting up to run, I never got to talk to that Accounts girl, and we'd downward-spiralled before we'd even got the lid off the Southern Comfort.

While I was feeling for the key to the door I could hear the phone ringing inside. Getting the door open I took two running steps, vaulted over the back of the couch and snatched up the receiver.

"Hey, Hutch."

"Hey." Him gruff. Me oh so casual, not letting on for a second how relieved I was to hear him. "You beat me home."

"Listen." Voice still a little out of whack. But he was digging deep. "You know about your career as a live-in slave being finished?"

"Yeah, it's over," I said obediently. "Past history."

"That's right. It is. But, you know...uh... you should maybe make yourself available for some... temporary assignments."

Felt the reverse spiral begin. "Fine, Starsk. I'll clear my schedule."

"OK, good. Seeya then." He wasn't going to dwell on it. Cost him to be magnanimous. Me too.

"Seeya, and Starsky?"

"I'm listenin'."

"Been divorced once. Not doing it again."

A little pause and then he blew me away as usual.

"Ya couldn't afford the settlement, Blintz."

ENDS