June 7th- Inspector Bank, Homicide by mvernet

Sweet Revenge from an unusual perspective.

Yes, I must not despair. He has knocked at death’s door before and death has never welcomed him in. He is young and strong. So young…

Blasted incompetents! Get this noxious tarpaulin off of me! There will be dire consequences for you when my colleagues return!

Inspector Pig E. Bank was livid. To some uninitiated souls he might look like a brightly painted, plastic piggy bank smoking a never empty pipe. But the truth was that he was so much more. He took great pride in being assigned to assist homicide Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson. Today his usual place, the middle ground between the two partners desks, had been disturbed by painters.

Up until now, he had been tolerant of the workers, regarding them with a suspicious eye and a thoughtful puff on his pipe. He didn’t even complain when Hutchinson gently placed him on the edge of the desk to supervise an impromptu ping-pong game. After all, boys will be boys. But now the lunchtime entertainment provided by the odd detectives was over.

Back to work, the painters had shoved all the clone-like black phones with their untidy wires and clumsy receivers in the corner, tumbled together with office odds and ends. Inspector Bank had thought nothing of it ‘til he was tossed willy-nilly onto the pile. He might have forgiven their faux pas, knowing it was only a matter of time ‘til Starsky and Hutchinson would reclaim him and avenge him in their barbaric, yet effective way.  But the painters had taken his friend and fellow Inspector Hoots T. Owl from his safe perch on Babcock’s file cabinet and thrown him on the pile also. Hurting Hoots in any way was not to be tolerated.

Inspectors Bank and Hoots had been with the department a long time. They had originally been assigned to Metro by the former Chief of police. They had served with him and admired him. Back then, they were assigned the duty of guarding the dignity of the office, collecting fees whenever a foul-mouthed copper used an inappropriate word in the presence of the Chief or his secretary.

Hoots patrolled the outer office at his perch atop the highest file cabinet. Inspector Bank guarded the inner sanctum, regarding each officer of the law who sat in the Chief’s hot seat with a warning gaze. When said officer cursed, a quarter was deposited. All funds were eventually used to buy toys for needy tots.

It was a good assignment. Bank hardly noticed the time pass and the graying of his Chief. But all too soon, rumors of retirement fell on his pointy ears. The Chief left him behind with a final pat of his jaunty red cap. Bank was secretly hoping for a new assignment, eager to use his finely honed detective skills. But sadly, he and Hoots were assigned to the requisition cage in the basement where they stood guard over dingy desk lamps and typewriter ribbons on a forgotten dusty shelf.

Until the day Detective Starsky spotted them and talked the tiresome Bernie into giving them a new assignment in Homicide.

Bank was brought back to his present predicament by the mournful cooing of his best friend.

Hoot? Hooot?

There, there, my dear Hoots. Do not fear the dark. I am right beside you. Simply a boorish oversight by the painters. Our boys will soon see things are made right.

Hoooot.

Bank sighed and hoped the boys did return soon for Hoots’ sake. But with the office in disarray, and his boy Starsky’s enthusiastic talk of a free meal, he feared he wouldn’t see him again ‘til morning. It would be a long night, but he wasn’t alone. They had been in worse positions. And as always, Hoots was by his side.

Hoots was considered by most to be a birdbrain. His one word vocabulary caused them to disregard him as a non-entity. But Bank knew that beneath that big-eyed, simpleton demeanor was the heart of a dove and soul of an eagle. Bank grew to know every nuance of Hoots’ verbal expressions and while he found him not his intellectual equal, he was the owl Bank would prefer to have at his side above all others.

Hoot. Hoot?

I am fine, Hoots. No damage done. Not to worry. I must admit I am a bit distracted. I do not like the boys to be out on the mean streets without my input and we have barely spoken in recent days.

 Ho-oot Hoot.

 Yes, I know. You cannot keep an eye on that affable dolt, Simmons, if you are under this damnable covering. I emphasize completely. But I suppose our boys can do without us for a short time. We have taught them well.

 Hooo-T

Inspector Bank chuckled and took a pull of his pipe.

True. But really, my dear owl, how much trouble could they get themselves into in one day?

They settled into companionable silence. ‘Til the sound of distant gunfire and breaking glass made them instantly alert.

Hoot! Hoot! Hoot!

I heard. Multiple gunshots. Blast this devilish darkness. Something is amiss and we cannot see!

They listened intently to the sounds of running feet and loud, authoritative calls. Bank recognized Dobey’s deep voice in the hall, “Dear God, no!” Followed by the big man’s rapid footfalls.

Bank held his pipe in a death grip as his brilliant mind tried to deduce what was happening. The shots sounded like they came from the parking area. The shooting must have involved officers or Captain Dobey would not have sounded as he did. Starsky and Hutchinson had just left to retrieve Starsky’s Gran Torino.

A whispered soulful sound came from his companion.

Hooo?

No! No, we do not have enough facts to make that deduction. We must not speculate. It will cloud our judgement. We need more data!

Several hours went by as Banks and Hoots clung to the whispered gossip of the painters. All they could gather was that there had been a shooting and an officer was in critical condition. It seemed like the entire police force was mobilized, except for the two inspectors waiting anxiously for news under a drop cloth. The painters, uncharacteristically, finished quickly as if afraid they might be the next targets. They left the office as it was so they could escape early, a few vowing to never return.

Hoot.

Yes, I am quite disheartened. At least the rumors did not speak of death, my dear.

Hoo… t

Not yet, no, not yet.

The inspectors heard footsteps and familiar voices as the door was flung open.

Hoothoothoothoothoothoot!

“Babcock, I’m telling you! It had to be a contracted hit. We’ll never find that black and white.”

Hoothoothoothoothoothoot!

Bank tried to hush his over excited friend.

Be still, Hoots! We need to hear!

Hoots quieted, his breath coming in little pants.

They heard someone open a desk drawer. Then Babcock sighed. “I know, Sport. But I gotta do something. I mean did you see Hutch’s face? Let’s do the grunt work for him at least.”

Simmons must have nodded in agreement. There was a silence and a shuffling of papers. Then Simmons said quietly, “You think Starsky’s gonna make it?”

“I don’t know. It was real bad. He took three bullets. How do you come back from that? But I hope he makes it for Hutch’s sake or I think we’ll lose them both.”

Bank released a soft cry. No.

“Babs, I never say this stuff, but after seeing Starsky… after the hit… I…”

There was the quiet sound of rustling jackets and awkward back pats. “Hey, I know, Sport. I’m glad you’re still by my side, too.”

They sounded like they moved apart. Simmons tried to lighten the mood. “Where’s Hoots? If somebody took him, he’ll have to answer to me. He was nearly full and we were gonna use that money on the slots at Vegas!”

Hoothoothoothoothoothoothoothoot!

“I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. We’ll find him tomorrow. I want to go to the hospital and talk to Dobey. Find out what we can do to help.”

Hoothoothoothoothoothoothoothoot!

Hoots squeaked in frustration as the door closed behind his boys.

Hoot?

I just need a moment, Hoots. I cannot fathom it. Starsky? Dying? Hoots, I… I find myself at a loss…

Hooooot, hooooot.

Yes, I must not despair. He has knocked at death’s door before and death has never welcomed him in. He is young and strong. So young…

Hooo-t.

If only I could see Hutchinson. To give him our support and advice. The poor boy must be devastated. I do hope someone is watching his back. He is bound to do something foolish.

When an inanimate object first experiences the love of a human being, it brings their soul to life. Love is the strongest power in the universe and bestowing it on someone or even something leaves its mark on both. Humans take such actions lightly, but those brought to life by love are forever grateful and loyal to a fault.

A favorite doll will wait years for the return of the sticky embrace of a child. The saddest thing in the world is a beloved toy left behind when childhood fades. But some adults, like Starsky and Hutch, never lose  the magic touch that brings hope and love to all around them. And now Starsky’s own flame was fading.

The two friends under the painter’s tarp waited in the dark. Each had entered the private place inside themselves where the blue flame of their diminutive souls was damped down ‘til a human would once again touch them and their embers would grow warm and flicker orange and red under a caring smile.

Inspector Bank was the first to shake himself and react when the dreaded tarp was thrown back by an angry Hutchinson.

“Where the fuck is Starsky’s phone!” Hutch stomped around the disheveled room, then kicked at pile of phones, grunting and cursing ‘til he saw Inspector Bank almost completely hidden by a gray metal paper tray.

As soon as Bank caught his eye, the Inspector knew he had his work cut out for him.

Hutchinson! Calm yourself, my boy. This erratic behavior will not help Starsky one bit. Now give us a hand up. There’s a good fellow.

Hutch quieted a bit and got down on one knee. “Aw, Pigs. What are you doing down here?”

Hutch moved the paper tray carefully so he wouldn’t hurt his friend and picked him up gently. All the rage seemed to leave him as he sank to the floor and held Bank tightly to his chest. “Starsk is dying, Pigs.”

There, there, dearheart. You must not give up hope.Tell me what happened so I can help.

“Gunther… put out a hit. They took Starsky down. Three bullets. Three, Pigs. Massive damage they say.” Hutch held Bank closer and absently patted Bank’s red capped head.

Good, Lord, Hutchinson! A hit? Not our Starsky! How dare that evil snake bring harm to my boys. We will track him down and he will pay for this heinous act. I swear it.

Hutch loosened his grip and looked Bank in the eye. “Pigs? What am I going to do without him?”

Bank sighed. Taking revenge on Gunther would have to wait ‘til he took care of Hutchinson. Bank could see he was only holding himself together by a single string that was quickly unravelling.

Do not give up on Starsky yet, my dear. You are overwrought. The silent chaos of this room is echoing the chaos in your heart and only adding to your grief. Come, put me back in my rightful place, and make yourself a pot of that petrol you call coffee.

Bank observed Hutchinson carefully. He seemed to be feeling better after pouring his emotions into his own obliging soul.

Hutch took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Coffee. I need coffee.” He stood and placed the Inspector on Starsky’s bare desk. He looked around for the coffee station and found it across the room from its usual spot. “Man! Those motherfuckers better have left a can of coffee and some sugar.”

Bank grimaced at the foul language, but knew Hutchinson was just trying to cope in his crude way. Good thing his old chief wasn’t around to hear it or he would be overflowing with quarters by the time Starsky got back. He refused to think any other way about his boy.

Bank puffed on his pipe and watched as Hutch pulled the coffee station back to where it belonged, plugged in the pot, and began the familiar routine of making the squad room’s coffee. He made a full pot, even though he was alone.

As he waited for it to brew, he returned to his search for Starsky’s phone, this time trying to figure out in which pile it would be. He found Babcock’s phone and next to it was Starsky’s. He picked up the phone and gently caressed the receiver.

Hutch lifted it to his ear and closed his eyes. Perhaps he was imagining Starsky cradling the receiver with his neck as he spoke in his all-business way while he exchanged notes and bright eyed smiles with him. No doubt  the phone held the faintest hint of Starsky’s aftershave. Bank watched as Hutch breathed it in. He sighed in relief as Hutch opened his eyes and caught sight of something amongst the sea of black phones.

Hootshoot? Hootshoot?

Hutch placed Starsky’s phone on the desktop and rescued Hoots, who had finally reawakened.

“Simmons would have my head on a platter if I let you come to harm.” Hutch placed Hoots on the highest file cabinet, then petted his feathered head. “Don’t worry, little buddy. Things around here will get back to normal soon. I hope they will, anyway.”

Hooooo. Hoooooo. Hoooooo.

Bank answered his distraught friends soft cries.

Our boy Starsky is in great peril, my dear Hoots. And Hutchinson is in even greater peril at the hands of a sewer rat calling himself Gunther. But we will see them through this travesty.

Hoot.

As always Hoots was in complete agreement and ready to fight by his side.

Hutch grabbed Starsky’s favorite cup and carelessly poured some sugar in, then took the steaming coffee pot in hand and filled the mug. When he turned to sit at Starsky’s desk, his foot sent something skittering across the floor. It was a ping-pong ball. Hutch scooped it up and closed his fist around it.

He set his hot coffee in front of Bank and bent over to plug in the phone, all the while keeping a tight grip on the ball. He picked up the receiver as if to make sure he had a dial tone. He replaced it and took a large sip from his coffee.

Bank noticed he looked unsettled, as if the oppressive silence of the room had unnerved him. As if he were searching for Starsky’s voice in the quiet.

“Pigs. I love him, you know? I feel like I’m the one who’s dying. Like Starsky is a vital organ that I can’t live without. “

Oh, my dear. I do know you love him. Of course you do and he reciprocates the emotion. He is your heart, Hutchinson. One can not live without one’s heart.

“My heart. He is my heart. My heart is bleeding out.” Hutch put his mug next to the phone, folded his arms on the desk and rested his head. Bank watched Hutch’s shoulders rise and fall. Banks listened to his soft hitches in breath. Hutch clung to the ping-pong ball, squeezing it tight.

Hoooooohoooooooo.

You are right. He’s despondent. For once in my life… I haven’t a clue how to proceed, my dear.

Hoots suddenly chirped out a warning and looked wide-eyed towards the door. Bank followed his gaze and gasped.

Starsky was standing in the room.

It was Starsky, yet it wasn’t. The phantom looked like Starsky and was wearing his clothes, but he shone like the full moon. He moved to Hutch’s side and stroked his hair as Hutch’s tears subsided. Starsky was wearing a sad smile and looked directly at Bank.

Hey there, Pigs! I can see you. The real you. You are cute as the dickens. Hi, Hoots!

Hoots!

Starsky? You can see me? What is going on? Are you… dead?

Starsky looked around, never taking his hands off Hutch who seemed to be gaining strength from his touch.

I guess I’m in a coma. That’s what the doc said. All I know is I was above my bed in the hospital looking down at… myself and I desperately wanted to see Hutch. He needed me; I could feel him. Next thing I know, I’m here talkin’ to you. How is Hutch doin’?

Not good, my dear boy. Rage and utter despair are both vying for control over your poor partner. I do not wish for either to win the fight for his soul.

Starsky leaned closer to Hutch and whispered in his ear.

I love you, babe. You hang in there. I want you by my side for a long, long, time.

Hutch groaned, as if the pain in his heart eased a bit. “Oh, Starsk. Please. Please… don’t die.”

I’m trying, babe. I don’t want to leave you.

Three sets of eyes watched with concern as Hutch sat up and arranged the phone in front of him. He began to bounce the ping-pong ball, while Banks suspected his thoughts were full of nothing but Starsky.

Phantom Starsky didn’t know what to do for his best friend. He placed his hand over the bloody bandage on Hutch’s wrist.

What happened here? How did he hurt himself? And… and why wasn’t he taken care of properly?

Inspector Bank was shocked he had not noticed the injury before.

Hoot. Hoot. Hoot. Hoooo…t.

Starsky glared at Hoots.

Gunther? He’s trying to take down Gunther on his own and got into trouble?

Hoot.

Hutch, you listen to me and listen good. You don’t need to avenge me. If I wake up from this coma and you’re dead. I’ll dig you up and kill you again.

Hutch continued to bounce the ping-pong ball. He picked up the phone, dialed, waited a moment then asked to speak to Captain Dobey. “How’s he doing?”

Hutch! Please! Don’t take Gunther down alone. Wait for me, babe. I swear I’ll try harder to wake up. I won’t let you… I… Ahhhhh.

Bank looked from one to the other of his boys. Something was very wrong. Hutch dropped the ping-pong ball and ran from the room. Starsky straightened and clutched at his heart.

Pigs! Something is going on. I… I think I’m gonna die. I’m scared, Pigs.

HOOTHOOTHOOTHOOTHOOT!

Yes, Hoots, Pig told his friend. I understand. I’ll go. You watch over Hutchinson while I’m gone. I’ll see you soon my dear owl.

Pigs?

Take me with you, Starsky. And hold on tight!

Starsky was standing in the squad room again. Only this time it was an open empty space with only two desks, cluttered with files, tape dispensers, pencil holders, and other office knick-knacks. Starsky knew in some way it was his and Hutch’s desks. The ceiling was open and white clouds moved through a gray sky casting an odd pale shadow over the two desks. Starsky himself was shades of white as if a light shone through his skin and blotted out all color. The only color in the space was Inspector Pig E. Bank’s red pants and cap and a triangular nameplate between the two desks with Inspector Pig E.Bank written on it in green letters.

Pigs? Where are we?

The Inspector was animated in this place. He could move a bit more and seemed more alive. He puffed at his pipe and white smoke swirled around his head.

I haven’t visited this place before, but I know where we are. We are in the nothing space, where nothing exists, but no thing can exist without it.

Starsky glanced around again. He felt oddly calm. There was no pain and no danger. But there was too much nothing for his tastes.

Wanna run that by me again, Inspector Bank?

Bank smiled around his pipe. “You know, Starsky, I never minded you and Hutch calling me Pigs, but your using my formal title… makes me proud.”]

I have deduced that you are in some sort of medical distress, my dear boy. Hovering between life and death. And our Hutchinson is rushing to your side. You have some choices to make.

Starsky sat at his desk, folded his hands and listened intently.

You may die and go on to the other realm, what you call heaven. You will spend eternity in peace surrounded by love. You will experience utter happiness for your kind.

Starsky smiled and nodded. How do you know this? What happens to your kind?

My kind is well aware of this place. Some of us spend hundreds of Earth years right here. We are dependent on the human spirit to infuse us with life and love. When that disappears, we exist here in nothingness. We have a flame inside us that diminishes when we are without physical contact with the human spirit. Eventually our flame goes out for all eternity.

Starsky nodded his understanding. He knew the choice he had to make. Eternal peace and love or go home to Hutch to another kind of love that would be heady with danger yet all the sweeter because of it.

What will happen to Hutch if I move on?

The Inspector puffed his pipe in contemplation.

How can a man live without his heart?

Starsky nodded again. He understood everything. He understood the choice he had to make. He understood that life with Hutch was what he wanted and needed. He couldn’t live without his heart either.

When I go back, will I remember?

If you choose to, you will.

I want to remember what Hutch means to me. I want to be able to tell him I love him. To hold him and ease all his pain.

Then you will.

Starsky smiled and stood. He was going back to Hutch.

I won’t forget who you are, Inspector Pig E. Bank. I love ya, pal.

The room faded and Bank opened his eyes to find himself back at his desk. He grinned at Hoots.

Hoohoohoohoo?

Very well, dearheart. The boys are going to be just fine. Now, let’s get to work on bringing down that vile Gunther, shall we?

Hoots!

The End