“You Are What You Eat”

By Pepper Ckua

“Man, I love this place,” Starsky said as he sat down at the picnic table outside of Bergie’s Burger Barn. “Not only is the food terrific but that two-for-one coupon I found on my desk makes my day to treat for lunch that much cheaper.”

Hutch placed his tray down on the table and swung his long legs over the bench. “Is that all I am to you, Starsk, a cheap date?”

Starsky waggled a fry at him. “Babe, you are that, and so much more.”

Hutch unwrapped his sandwich and peeked under the bun. “Christ, it’s got mayo. I told them to leave it off.” He grabbed a napkin off of his partner’s tray and tried to wipe the top of his burger clean.

“What’s the big deal about the mayo, Hutch?” Starsky unpeeled his straw, stuck it into his cup of soda and took a sip. “It’s never bothered you before.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need the calories.”

Starsky laughed. “Hutch, you sound like a chick.”

“Laugh it up, funny guy, just because you can eat all the crap you like, doesn’t mean everyone else can.” Hutch scowled. “Do the words, ‘required yearly physical exam’ and ‘field test’ mean anything to you?”

“Sure, they do. Say, that’s right! That’s next month.” Starsky looked a little concerned. “You worried about something, pal?”

“Nothing medical. Let’s just say my eight minute mile became a ten minute mile and I’d like to keep it from becoming a twelve minute mile. Just feeling my age, that’s all.” Hutch said, putting the straw in his own drink. “Besides, anyone ever tell you that you are what you eat?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that. I guess that would make you a soybean pie.”

Hutch snorted, “And you’d be a walking burrito.”

“Just as long as it tastes good!”

“Is that your motto, Starsk, or what you want on your gravestone?”

“Perhaps both. Hey, do you remember that guy at the academy? All he ate was green food. You know, green beans, broccoli, lettuce, the mold on the outside of cheese, lime sherbet. It was weird, Hutch.”

“I knew that guy. His name was Gary, no Graham, used to sit in the back of the class and sleep.”

“Yeah, that was the guy.” Starsky nodded. “Did I ever tell you about the month Nicky ate nothing but carrots and sweet potatoes? He’d heard it would turn your skin orange and wanted to see if it was true. And it was! Talk about bein’ what you eat.”

Starsky took another long drink of soda and popped the last bite of his burger into his mouth. “Think I got time for another one?”

The crackle of the radio made them both look up. “I’ll get it,” Hutch said. He quickly made his way to his car.

Starsky sat and finished his drink. He looked up to see Hutch waving him to the Ford. He wrapped up the rest of Hutch’s burger.

In his haste, he knocked over Hutch’s drink. It drenched his groin and left pant’s leg.

“We got a call, Starsk,” Hutch told him when he got to the car.

“No kiddin’, Sherlock.”

“What happened to you? You piss yourself from excitement?”

“Not hardly. I spilled your drink.”

“Thanks a lot, pal, I didn’t even have any of it. Let me have some of yours.”

“No deal. It’s gone. I finished it off. Besides, you need two hands to drive,” Starsky said as he tossed Hutch’s burger onto the front seat and opened up the passenger door. “What do we got here anyway?”

“Nothing too big. It’s a 10-33 at the docks. We’re code three.”

“Gotcha,” Starsky said as he checked his pocket for his extra clip.

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The silent alarm at the warehouse turned out to be nothing but an embarrassed truck driver who had accidentally backed his truck against one of the doors in an effort to make a tight turn around.

Hutch settled the paperwork with the driver. Starsky said he was going to call it in to Dispatch. He got about half way to the car when he felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. He stopped and leaned up against a pallet of boxes. Looking up, he tried to clear his head. It didn’t help. It just made him want to sit down.

Starsky took a deep breath and tried to focus in on Hutch’s car. There it was. Hutch’s squash.

Squash. It made him think of Nicky, his skin a mellow orange from his childish food strike.

Squash. Or was that that game played with a racquet? Speaking of racket, there was a buzzing in his head that made him think of bees. Did eating honey make you sweet? As sweet as candy bars? If that was the case, why wasn’t Dobey sweeter than he was?

Starsky shook his head and started to walk towards the car again.

He made it to the passenger side, then leaned against the hood to steady himself. Running his hand along the door, he found the handle, pulled it up and made his way around to the seat. It took him three tries to pick up the radio mike.

“Zebra Three here.”

“Copy, Zebra Three.”

“Tell me,” Starsky asked, “what didja have for breakfast?”

There was a pause. “Zebra Three, Zebra Three. 10-68, repeat. Come in please.”

“Zebra Three here. If you had a cereal for breakfast, then you’re a serial killer. You know that don’t you? That means I’m gonna have to bring you in, sister.”

“Who is this? Zebra Three, Detective Hutchinson? Detective Starsky?”

“You know, you are what you eat.”

“Detective Starsky, is that you? Are you all right? Is Detective Hutchinson with you? Dave? Is this a 10-108? Do you need assistance?”

“Nope, that’s a good 10-4, sister. We’ve got it all wrapped up here.” He pulled the mike off the radio in one hard yank.

Hutch came over to the car, slid onto the driver’s seat and clipped the book on the visor.

Without looking at Starsky, he asked, “When you called this in, did you have a chance to ask about that staff meeting this afternoon?”

“No.”

Hutch got his car keys out. “Why not?”

“Because I have a more important question. I think I just sat on your hamburger. If I sat on your hamburger, does that actually make me a hamburger?”

Hutch looked over at him. “What?”

“Does sitting on food make you that food just like eating it does?”

“C’mon, Starsk. That’s weird, even for you. Call in and ask about the meeting.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because the radio doesn’t work. I think it has something to do with the fact the mike isn’t attached to it anymore.” Starsky handed Hutch the mike. “I was going to bring it over to you and tell you.”

“How the hell did that happen?” Hutch looked intently at Starsky’s face. Starsky felt a whirring in his head and grimaced. He shook his head to try to escape the buzzing.

“Buddy, look at me,” Hutch said.

“We eat a lot of pizza, Hutch, but the only round things with our bodies are our eyes, our nipples and our nuts. I was gonna say our heads, too, but those aren’t completely round. Then again either are our balls. At least mine aren’t anyway.”

Starsky felt Hutch’s hand on both sides of his face. Hutch was looking in his eyes.

“You want to kiss me, buddy?” Starsky asked. “Is that it?”

“Knock it off. I’m just looking at your eyes,” Hutch’s voice sounded odd, like he was a long ways away.

“So, are my eyes as blue as the ladies tell me?” Starsky tried to twist his head away from Hutch’s grip. “I don’t think they could be that blue. I mean, really, how many blue foods are out there? Blueberries, yeah. And sometimes raw liver gets a bluish look when you hold it to the light just right. But I don’t eat either of those things.” Starsky felt like crying. “I should eat more blue foods, Hutch, but I can’t think of any.”

“Starsk, I think we need to get to a hospital.” He felt Hutch pat his back. “I think something’s wrong.”

“Are you sick, Hutch?”

“No, buddy, I’m fine.”

Starsky watched Hutch put the keys in the ignition and put the car into gear. Hutch’s movements seemed really slow, like he was moving underwater.

“’Cause you shouldn’t get sick, Hutch, not with all the healthy stuff you eat. That doesn’t make sense.”

“No, buddy, it doesn’t. But we’ll get it straightened out.”

Hutch pulled into traffic on Mission Avenue. He turned to Starsky and asked, “How’re you doing? You going to throw up or anything, you let me know, okay?”

Starsky ignored him. “My mom used to tell me that eating the crusts on my sandwiches would make my hair curly. And look what the fuck happened. That doesn’t even make sense, Hutch. I mean, curly hair? It seems like that would come from eating a lot of spaghetti, but only after it’s cooked, not like straight like it is in the box. What do you think, Hutch?”

Hutch reached over and tried to grab the mars light from underneath the seat. Starsky batted his hand away. “I’m not that kind of girl, especially on the first date.”

“Starsky, can you put the light up on the car? Can you do that, buddy?”

Starsky thought for a moment. “No, I can’t do that. Not until you tell me that if ham and hash browns both have a lot of vitamin H and if vitamin H is good for your hair and your heart, maybe your hips.”

“Yes, that’s where vitamin H comes from and yes, it’s good for all those things. Now will you put the light up?”

Starsky thought for a moment. Then he grabbed the light. “Sure. It’ll be like putting a cherry on top, just like a big ol’ sundae.” He flicked on the machine and tried to put it on the roof. Starsky’s hand hit the window. He drew back and tried again. And again, hit the window. Frustrated, Starsky threw the light into the back seat. The cord caught it before if hit the floor.

“Starsk, I think it would have helped if you’d rolled the window down first.”

Starsky ignored him. He was thinking that if you are what you eat, then he’d better get some groceries for Hutch. Hutch hadn’t finished his lunch; the hamburger under his thigh was a soggy reminder of his last meal. Starsky knew getting some food for his partner was a major priority. He couldn’t watch Hutch get smaller and smaller until he simply disappeared.

That’s when Starsky decided to leave. When Hutch stopped at the light on Hayes and 6^th, Starsky pulled the handle up, opened the door and took off at a run.

Hutch, distracted by the noise of a city bus beside him, was about two seconds too late. He put the Ford into park and jerked his own door open. The traffic light changed to green and Hutch was nearly flattened by a yellow panel truck.

By the time he got his bearings straight, Starsky was gone.

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“What do you mean you lost him?” Dobey bellowed. “How do you lose the partner who was sitting right next to you?”

“Cap, I had no idea he was going to run away.” Hutch rubbed his face. He had just spent a terrifying forty-five minutes looking for his partner on the streets. Hutch, realizing he was hobbled by the lack of a working radio, made a quick trip back to Metro to get a different car.

Hutch reached for the hallway door. “The mechanic said he thought he’d have my radio fixed in fifteen minutes. If not, I’m signing out a black and white. I gotta get back out there, Cap.”

“Hold on a minute. Did Starsky give you any indication of where he was headed?” Dobey asked.

“Not a clue. He was rambling on about food. He was making no sense. I’ve all over that area and saw no sign of him.” Hutch pointed to the Dobey’s phone. “How long’s the APB been out on him?”

“I put it out just after I got your call from the bar, what was that place? Stinky’s, right?” Dobey looked down at his watch. “That’s about a half an hour.”

“So, tell me again what happened,” Dobey asked, his voice sounded tired.

“Cap, I really need to get back out there. Can’t I call the information in after I hit the streets?”

“Tell me now. Talk fast.”

“Fine.” Hutch put his hands on his lower back. “We were having lunch at Bergie’s when we got a 10-33 call. Everything was normal until I got back to the car and realized Starsky was out of his gourd. He was talking nonsense, his pupils were dilated and he was confused. Talking about stupid food stuff. I told him we were going the hospital and he seemed fine with that. I’d have called it in, but Starsky had pulled the wires on the radio.”

Dobey looked surprised. “He was violent?”

“No, not at all. He just wasn’t in his right mind. So, I called you from Stinky’s Bar and then came here. Now, I really gotta run, Cap.”

Dobey’s phone rang and he reached to answer it. “You do that, Hutchinson. Go find your partner and get this straightened out.”

“Exactly what I intend, Cap. I’m going to check his place, then mine, then get a hold of Huggy,” Hutch said grimly.

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Starsky was hungry, but running past the Pete’s Produce Ranch just made him nervous. A banana? No way. Eating that would make him crazy.

A peach? Perhaps. Stacy in Records calls him a peach of a guy. But then she also calls him a real hot dog, too.

“Just gotta stay away from toast,” Starsky thought, “and I’ll be okay.”

Starsky kept running. He ran past the car wash on Wall, past Jack Rabbit Print Shop and through the alley behind Malachi’s Messenger Service.

Starsky was confused. When he had decided to get out of the car, his plan was to find something for Hutch to eat. It had seemed like the most important thing in the world to do.

But the farther Starsky ran, the more mixed-up he got. His head pounded. He couldn’t stop clenching his teeth. His vision blurred and the colors of things seemed wrong. Since when were stop signs yellow? What city was he in? How had he gotten so far away from Bay City?

Starsky tried to remember what he should eat to make his vision better. Veal? Venison? Vichyssoise? Certainly something loaded with vitamin V. That’s what he needed, a nice big bowl of vegetable soup. No, skip the bowl. Make it a vat. Or a vessel. After all, presentation was everything. He’d had an aunt that used to say that, a fancy aunt who used cloth napkins and put two forks by your plate. Starsky had been afraid to use the napkins and always wiped his hands on his pants instead.

Starsky’s head felt like it was spinning, twirling so hard it was going to spin right off his neck.

He ran between the narrow space that separated Mario’s Mercado and Fuzz Harris Custom Tailors.

That’s when he thought he might be in the last scene of the movie, “Planet of the Apes.” He found himself standing in front of a place he knew very well. This whole strange city, it turned out, was on his very own planet.

Starsky’s knees almost buckled with relief.

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Hutch got the call from Dispatch on his third sweep up Main Street.

“Zebra Three, Zebra Three, see the man at the Pits regarding a grocery bill.”

“This is Hutchinson. Copy that.” Hutch made a quick U-turn and headed north.

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Hutch went in through the back door. Winding his way through the empty kitchen, he met up with Huggy by the pay phone.

“What’cha got, Hug? Information on Starsky?”

“Better than that. I got the man himself.” Huggy jerked his head towards his office. “He’s in there. I was just decidin’ if I should call an ambulance. I’m glad you’re here, so’s you can make the decision.”

“What’s going on with him?” Hutch asked as he put his hand on the door.

“He’s certainly high on something. He’s not done anything dangerous, unless you count eating my cooking. But he’s clearly uncomfortable and agitated,” Huggy explained. “I got Diane and Jaime in there with him now. But before you go in, I got something I need to give you.”

Huggy went over to the bar and reached behind it. He handed Hutch a paper sack. “His piece is in there. Seeing his state of mind, I thought it would be wise to get it away from him. He was talking about how he was what he ate, and I didn’t want him to be eating his gun or doing some other nonsense.”

Hutch asked, “You got his piece away from him?”

“Why are you so surprised? I got moves that you don’t even know about.”

Seeing Hutch’s raised eyebrows, Huggy admitted, “Besides, the first thing he did when he got here was pass out for a few minutes. That made it easy. Starsky looked like he’d been running for miles. He was exhausted. His heart was beating like a jackhammer.”

Hutch nodded his thanks. His own heart racing, he opened the door to the office. He heard his partner asking for a drink of water. “Gotta have water. Gotta have water. I want chicken, I want liver, Meow Mix, Meow Mix, please deliver.”

Starsky was sitting on the couch by Huggy’s desk. He jumped up when he saw Hutch.

“Hey, look at you, Hutch. You made it! You turned left to eat right!” That’s when Starsky started to cry and sat down again. “Hutch, I don’t feel right. I think I’m cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.”

Diane patted Starsky’s hand. Jaime looked embarrassed.

Hutch motioned towards the door. “Thanks. I’ll take it from here.”

When it was just the two of them, Hutch sat down next to his partner.

“What’s going on, buddy?” Hutch asked. “What did you run away like that for?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Starsky instantly went from tears to anger. “You are what you eat. You should fucking know that! God, you can be such a shithead! I mean what do you think is going on?” He started for the door. Hutch grabbed his arm to keep him from leaving.

Starsky sat down again.

“Starsky, I need to know something,” Hutch prodded. “I need to know if anything hurts. Are you in pain?”

“Silly rabbit, Trixs are for kids. You, of all people, ought to know that. You should know that, Hutch. Hutch,” Starsky said, looking intently at Hutch’s face, “you’re the one who knows.”

Starsky’s skin was flushed and sweaty. His pupils were dilated to the point where Hutch could see no blue at all.

Starsky grabbed Hutch’s shoulders. “Did you know the human eyeball has a diameter of one inch? Were you aware of that?”

“No, buddy, I didn’t know that. But I do now.”

Starsky stared at his partner, then took his hands back. “Good. Make sure you don’t forget it.”

Staying between the Starsky and the door, Hutch picked up the phone on Huggy’s desk. He called Metro’s switchboard.

“Hutchinson here. Get me Dobey.” Hutch kept an eye on Starsky.

Starsky was keeping an eye on a plate of French fries on Huggy’s desk. Hutch could hear him muttering, “Fries. I’m so fried, man. Fries. I’m not touching them.”

“Dobey, Hutch here. Cancel the APB, I got him here at Huggy’s. I’m going to bring him into Memorial. No, I don’t need an ambulance, I’ll just drive him. He’s hopped up on something. Yeah. I’ll bring Huggy as my backup. Yeah. We’ll get it sorted out.”

“Thirsty. I need water. Silly habit, licks are for liquids.”

Hutch grabbed a half-full bottle of Seven-Up off of Huggy’s desk on their way out the door. He handed it to his partner, who said in a flat monotone, “Hey, it’s the un-cola, never had it, never will. Hey, remember me? I’m a teenager.”

Hutch just shook his head. He guided his partner by his elbow and they met Huggy by the car in the back.

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“Hutch, am I under arrest?” Starsky tried the door in the backseat of Hutch’s car. It didn’t open. He tried it again. He could try the other side, but that meant he’d have to crawl over Huggy.

“No, buddy, you’re not under arrest,” Hutch told him, taking a left on Harbor Drive.

“Then why am in the back seat like some perp?” Starsky thought a minute. “Oh, I get it. It’s Huggy’s that’s under arrest. And I’m back here making sure he doesn’t bail, right?”

Huggy laughed. “Yeah, I’m under arrest. I’m one big, bad brother, and you’re taking me in.”

Starsky was suspicious. “What are we taking you in for? Did ya violate some health code? Fence something?”

“Naw, it’s just that you finally figured out that I’m the head of Bay City’s biggest crime families.”

Starsky narrowed his eyes. “So all that shit down in the warehouse district is your shit? And the reason Squeaker and his girl were knifed to death last week? I outta… ”

Starsky lunged at Huggy and pushed his forearm against his throat. Huggy put his arms up in surrender and made a choking noise.

“Starsky, he’s joking. Back off!” Hutch’s voice was urgent. “Shit, Huggy, don’t joke around like that.” He started to pull the car over.

Starsky released Huggy and sat down hard. “Christ, I think I’m a Fruit Brute. That’s what I had for breakfast. Though that would make Hutch… ” Starsky remembered what Hutch had for breakfast and was terrified.

“Toast, Hutch, you had toast. You gotta get some help. Tell me what you need.” Starsky felt a sharp, pointed rock roll around in his stomach. It bumped up against something solid. That’s when Starsky threw up in his own lap.

Hutch looked in the rear view mirror at Huggy’s worried face.

“Fuck, can’t you drive any faster?”

Hutch could. The mars light on the roof helped. Hutch even remembered to roll down the window first.

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Starsky remembered his date with that chick from the bank. Tessie? No, it was Jessica.

Starsky pretty much figured that evening had been a loss when all Jessica wanted to do was talk about her cats. She also had insisted on going to the Magic Pan for dinner.

“You get to watch the chef dip the bottom of a hot pan in the batter and voila, off comes a crepe,” she told Starsky.

Starsky was not impressed with the Magic Pan. He thought filling thin little pancakes with things like broccoli and mushrooms was silly. Sitting through that meal with Jessica and downing a couple of crepes, it was all he could do to keep from saying, “Let’s skip this joint, grab a burger and head to my place.”

Later, at her apartment, she kept referring to his dick as Mr. Frisky. When Jessica wanted him to meow like a cat when he came, Starsky knew he had to get the hell out of there.

Come to think of it, Starsky wondered if his meal at that Magic Pan was what was making him feel like crap right now. It made sense, but that would have meant the name of the restaurant would have to be the Magic Pain instead.

Magic Pain, Magic Pan. Crepes, crap. Really, it all was swirling around in his brain right now.

Talk about being you are what you eat!

After his feline-flavored fornication, Starsky remembered thinking, fuck the crepes; he’d have rather have had a blintz instead.

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“How is he?” Dobey asked when he arrived at the hospital.

“No real change, Cap,” Hutch drank the last of his coffee and glared at the dregs at the bottom of the Styrofoam cup. “As far as the docs know, he got dosed with something hallucinogenic, and it’s playing havoc with his brain. He doesn’t seem to be feeling a lot of discomfort, aside from puking in the car on the way over, but he sure as hell is flying high.”

Hutch pitched the cup in the trash.

Then he hit the wall with his fist. “Why him? Should I be looking for some creep that’s got it out for Starsky and not me? Some Bellamy wannabe?”

Hutch rubbed his hand and looked down the hall. “Doctor Mayer talked about giving him chlorpromazine or Valium, but as long as Starsky doesn’t get any worse, then the doc would rather see him ride it out. They’re keeping a close eye on him, though.”

Dobey took out his handkerchief and rubbed his face. “Any idea of where and how he was slipped the stuff?”

“The doctors are running the blood tests now, which will give them more information. I gotta tell you, Cap, it had to be something he ate at Bergie’s Burger Barn.” Hutch narrowed his eyes. “Which reminds me, I need to find out where Huggy parked my car. There’s a half-eaten burger on the front seat. I should get it to the lab people.”

Hutch touched Dobey’s upper arm. “I stepped out for just a minute to grab a cup of coffee. Will you sit with him while I head downstairs?”

“Certainly, just tell me which room.”

“It’s the last one on the left. Just listen for the running commentary on food. Starsky’s a regular galloping gourmet.”

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Dobey knocked lightly on Starsky’s door. Then he let himself in.

The window shade was drawn, and the lights were low. Dobey felt like he was walking into a linoleum womb.

A nurse was taking a blood pressure cuff off of Starsky. She placed it back on the rack over the bed and picked up her clipboard.

Starsky, dressed in a hospital gown, was lying on top of the covers on in his bed. Scowling, he was drumming his feet on the footboard. “I want out of here. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Now, David,” the nurse said. “You are just going to have to wait a little while longer. You know that, hon. We’ve been over this before.” She gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“You going to be okay with him in here, sir?” she asked Dobey. “I’ll just be right out in the hall. We’ve also got an extra orderly at the desk in case David gets a little rambunctious.”

Starsky started to slide out of bed. Dobey put his hands on his shoulders. “Where you going, son?”

“I just gotta check under Hutch.” He slid his hands under the mattress and felt around.

“Now that, Harold C., is the strangest thing.” Starsky poked at the mattress again and looked confused. “Seeing how he is what he eats, I could’ve sworn I was laying on Hutch.”

“Hutch eats mattresses?” Dobey decided to position his chair between Starsky’s bed and the door.

“No, blocks of tofu. Way too much of it if you ask me.” Starsky looked at him and laughed. “Okay, you of the candy bar, you of the peanut bar, you of the choc-o-late peanut butter bar. I want to ask you two questions, Mr. Sweet Man.”

Dobey raised his eyebrows. “You do?”

“I do. First, if chocolate and peanut butter are two great tastes that taste great together, is Hutch the first one or the second one?”

“First or second what?” Dobey felt like he was in a fun-house.

“Chocolate or peanut butter, man! That’s what I’m talking about.”

“I’d say Hutch is the peanut butter,” answered Dobey, feeling really stupid.

“Yeah, that he is, the creamy kind, not the kind with the nuts. That’s ‘cause I get chocolate on his peanut butter.” Starsky patted his hospital gown. “Yeah, got a fifteen cents, Cap? ‘Cause if you do, then with the dime I thought I had, you could get a candy bar.”

Starsky scowled again. “Nuts. Nuts. Nuts. Why is it most of my jobs involve people tryin’ to shoot me? I mean, this job, the fuckin’ army, what’s with that anyway? I gotta be nuts, even if I sometimes don’t feel like one.”

Dobey didn’t have an answer. “I don’t have an answer to that, Starsky.”

“If you are what you eat, then Edith must eat a lot of stuff my ma used to make, things that are good for you and taste like home.” Starsky looked like he was going to cry. “I want to go home.”

Dobey didn’t know what to do. “Let’s just hang out here for a while longer.”

“Do you remember my grandmother, Cap? If so, you’d realize the old lady Hutch and me picked up last week for shoplifting cheese at the 7-11 was a lot like her.”

“Really?”

“You’d think rememberin’ my grandmother would be a good thing, wouldn’t you, Cap?”

“It isn’t? I thought your grandmother was the lady who lived over the Italian restaurant when you were a kid. You’ve always said nice things about her.”

“Her? She was my mom’s mom. She one was a good lady. Boy, if we are what we eat, then she’d be a matzo ball, dense and round. It’s my other granny you had to watch out for, my dad’s ma,” Starsky grimaced. “She smelled of Listerine and had a vicious backhand. After my pop died, I never saw her again. I don’t know who was more afraid of that grandmother, me or my mom. Nicky, on the other hand, seemed to get along great with her. She was the one who taught him how to cheat at cards and jimmy a lock using only a paperclip.”

Starsky sat up and held his head in his hands. “That’s the grandmother the old cheese thief reminded me of, someone all curdled up inside. You should have seen her go off on Hutch. I think he revised his stance on handcuffin’ little old ladies.” Starsky groaned and worked his fingers through his hair.

“You okay?” Dobey asked. “You want me to call anyone?”

“I just gotta get out of here, that’s all.” Starsky swung his legs over the side of the bed again and started to look around for something.

That’s when the door opened and the doctor, followed by Hutch, appeared.

“It wasn’t something he ate, it was something he drank. It wasn’t the hamburger, Captain,” Hutch said. “It was the soda.”

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“See now, everyone says the Torino has a white stripe. And they’d totally be wrong. I bought that car when it was white. I had the red painted around the stripe. Betcha’ didn’t know that? So, Hutch, do you know why the Torino is a real gas? I mean, you got to admit it is one sweet car. And here’s my main point, the Torino is a gas because it eats gas. And I got the bills to prove it.”

Hutch was exhausted. He’d listened to Starsky’s non-stop nonsense for close to seven hours now.

In a way, it wasn’t that much different than Starsky hyped on too much coffee and not enough sleep. It would have been anyway, if it weren’t for the periodic bolts for the door, both to the hallway and more and more, to the bathroom. Starsky’s stomach was giving him a run for his money, sometimes from both ends.

The last time Starsky made a dash for the toilet, Hutch heard him mutter, “Christ, what could I have eaten to make that?”

“You need any help in there, buddy?”

“Back off!” was the response Hutch had gotten.

By the ninth hour, Starsky was starting to slow down.

“Hey,” he said. “You have been sitting there the whole time,” pointing to Hutch’s chair.

“Yes, I have.”

“And me? I’ve been here the whole time?”

“The whole time of what, buddy?”

“Just this whole time,” and just like that, Starsky fell asleep.

Hutch felt like sleeping, too, but he pushed the nurse call button instead.

She came in, put her fingers on Starsky’s wrist while she peered at her watch in the dim lighting. “Doctor Mayer says he’d be in to check on him in the next hour, but that the drugs in his system should have just about run their course. He’s going be completely worn out and will probably sleep all night.” She tucked Starsky’s arm under the cover. “You just don’t know how some hallucinogens will operate; I’ve seen some bad reactions over the years. Your friend’s was pretty mild in the long run.”

Hutch just nodded. He debated about going to the waiting room and making some more calls to track down who spiked the drinks at Bergie’s. He decided to catch a few hours of sleep instead.

xxxxxxxx

“I feel like shit,” Starsky complained as he pulled on his jeans and then reached for his shirt.

“What a coincidence,” Hutch said. “You look like shit, too.”

Starsky’s head popped out of the top of the tee shirt. “Thanks a lot.”

“Don’t thank me. I just call them as I see them.”

“Haven’t you heard of a little thing called tact?”

“Sure, isn’t that something like being dishonest?” Hutch said, smiling.

“Very funny. Now hand me my shoes.”

Hutch did. “So, curious about who juiced your juice?”

“Yeah, I am.” Starsky worked the laces on his shoes.

“It was Fat Rolly. Rolly is the culprit,” Hutch said. “Zebra Six picked him up outside the Star Bar about an hour ago.”

“Terrific. So how did Fat Rolly get that close to my lunch?”

“He didn’t. He bribed the counter person at Bergie’s, a stooge named Meeker. Told him it was part of a harmless prank. Actually, Rolly he meant to dose both of us. Spilling my drink just took half of the equation away. I guess Rolly was hoping we’d both be so high, we’d do something stupid, dangerous, perhaps even fatal. I don’t’ think he cared so much what it was, just so long as it hurt.”

“Then what’s he gonna get charged with?”

“Rolly or the low-life, Meeker?”

“Both I guess.”

“It’ll be up to the lawyers, but there’s going to be a possible attempted murder charge in there. And if not, Meeker. And as for how Rolly knew we’d go to Bergie’s for lunch, that was apparently what the two-for-one coupon was for, the one that showed up on your desk.”

“I thought Benson had put it there. He’s always raving about the place.”

“Rolly gave to our charming janitor, Smitty, to give to you. Then Meeker was told to watch out for us.”

“Smitty? Man, I told you that guy’s trouble. He gonna go down for something?”

“I don’t think so. While he could have been smarter, working in a police station and all, he didn’t actually commit a crime.” Hutch shoved some garbage off of Starsky’s hospital tray into the trash.” “Dobey will rip into him though, I’m sure.”

“I’ve signed off with the doctors, I’ve got my stuff, let’s get the hell out of here.”

“You weren’t even here long enough to get any get well cards. One night doesn’t rate, I guess.”

“Works for me. Say, let’s stop for something to eat on the way home. What do ya say, Hutch?”

“The first thing you want to do is eat? I don’t believe you.”

“How about that fish place on Pacific. I hear the Ahab Basket is somethin’ else.”

“Pequod’s Place? I’m not going there. That pit is a grease fire just waiting to happen.” Hutch grimaced. “How we go back to my place, and I scramble us up some eggs?”

Starsky turned and said, “Okay.”

“Okay? Just like that? No argument?”

“Yeah, just like that. I remember I’d asked you not to talk me out of it next time you suggested it, and I expect both of us to keep our words.”

Hutch gave Starsky’s butt a swat with his release papers as they headed into the hallway.

“Eggs, it is, buddy.”