Flash Drive, Part 2

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“This makes no sense. We saw you two days ago.  Just this morning we were chasing a bunch of teens in a gray car down I-5 by Six Flags.”  Hutch sat on Huggy’s couch in his condominium as Starsky paced around the living room.

 

“You need to take a load off, Starsky.  My eyes are twirling like a chipmunk on crack.”

 

The antsy detective stopped the striding and looked at Huggy with a narrowed, confused stare.  “Crack?”

 

“Type of cheap, injurious coke.”

 

“Huggy, what happened?”  Hutch interjected quietly.

 

“You askin’ me?!  How’m I supposed to know what you white dudes have been up to.”

 

“We told you – to us, yesterday was June 12, 1981.”   Starsky was getting more agitated with each step.

 

“And I’m telling you that now it’s June 3, 2013.”  He paused at the distressed look on his friends’ faces.

 

“All I remember is you guys were out in Starsky’s god-forsaken little doll-car up somewhere on the Old Road-”

 

“Old Road?”

 

“That’s the I-5 for all you time displaced.  And the dudes you were chasing got in an accident, if I recall.  They swore they were bein’ chased by a red car and that you were right behind ‘em.  But you didn’t hit them.  Everyone just figured you crashed somewhere off road, like in the forest, but no one could ever find anything.  Thought maybe you were burned to a McRib.”

 

“A what?”

 

“Ignore him, Huggy.  All he heard was ‘rib’ and he’s hungry.”

 

Starsky just gave his partner a scornful look.

 

“Who’s we?” asked Hutch, as he took his own advice.

 

“Everyone.  The PD, your friends, Dobey…” Huggy’s voice trailed off.  “Oh, damn.  You don’t know.”

 

“Don’t know what?”

 

“The big man.  He retired shortly after you all vamoosed.  He and the Mrs. retired south somewhere.” Huggy paused as his voice quieted further.  “He died about three or four years ago; right about New Year’s.  Heart attack.”

 

The news hurt; this wasn’t something either considered.  It wasn’t real to them. 

 

Starsky sat down hard in another chair.  “Who else?”

 

This time Huggy didn’t say anything.  The atmosphere was more than overwhelming.

 

“Who else?”  Starsky was firm.

 

“Your mother.”

 

His eyes closing to hold back his emotions, Starsky propped his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees.

 

Hutch stood up and went to his friend’s side and laid a hand on Stasrky’s shoulders.  “How?”

 

“Don’t know.  Didn’t ask when Steve Babcock told me.  I figured he told me, ‘cause he knew we’d been good friends.”

 

“What about…?”  Hutch was almost afraid to ask.

 

“Nobody ever told me anything about your folks, Hutchie.  Sorry.”

 

Right now the passage of time and all its concerns were too abstract.  Shaking off the news of his mother’s passing, Starsky brought up a more paramount concern:  where they were going to live.

 

“Well, obviously we can’t stay at my place, and someone’s living in yours.  We’ve got some money, but I’ll bet it doesn’t last long.”

 

“I imagine prices have gone up some,”  Hutch agreed, as they looked to Huggy.

 

He agreed.  “And then some.”  Their friend suggested they stay with him for now.  “Until needs be.”

 

Hutch pointed out they needed to find a way to get back home and jobs to earn them money in case it took some time.

 

“If we even can,” muttered Starsky downheartedly.

 

At that Hutch looked horrified.  He couldn’t picture not being able to get back to 1981 and said so.

 

But to be prudent, both he and Starsky agreed to take Huggy up on his offer – even if it meant they were sleeping in the same room and bed for the time being.

 

“Wonder if we could get our old jobs back?” Starsky mused, only half-joking.

 

The lanky, now older man held out his arms.  “Whoa.  You guys can’t just go out and be yourselves.  You’re dead as far as the world knows.  You’re trying to crack a nut with a sledgehammer.”  He was sorry for the harsh words and the winces they caused, but it was better to be forthright.  “People gonna talk or they’ll be splashing this intel all over the ‘net, with all sorts of bunk.”

 

Starsky shook his head at their friend as he continued his pacing.  “Huggy, we had difficulty understanding you then, now you’re worse.”

 

“And I’m telling you – you can’t just appear back up like the last 25 years never happened!”

 

“Any suggestions?”  Even though Hutch appeared calmer, it was obvious to the other two that the blond was just as distressed as the more frantic partner.

 

Huggy shrugged his shoulders.  “Change your identities?” He suggested.

 

“Who am I, if I’m not Dave Starsky?”

 

“Mr. Night and Mr. Day?”  Hutch said jokingly, in a strangled voice which gave way that it wasn’t a joke.

 

Starsky narrowed his eyes and threw his partner a derisive look.

 

“Why don’t you just keep things copacetic?  Change only your birth years and maybe mix up the names.  People’s was always mixing you up.  You can be Ken Starsky and Dave Hutchinson.” 

 

Now Huggy got the Dave Starsky scathing look that he knew only the real Dave Starsky could give out.

 

“We need birth certificates, Huggy.”

 

“Anybody with some good graphics can fudge a birth certificate.  In fact, I know some people.”

 

Hutch just rolled his eyes.  “You always know people.”

 

The now older man looked at the dubious faces of his two friends.  “Oh boy, you got more to get used to than new cars and higher gas prices.  Just leave it to Huggarino the Magnificent.”

 

“In the meantime why don’t we try to find out what we can about our case?”

 

“That sounds weird, ya know?  Our case.”

 

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First problem with their plan, Starsky and Hutch realized, was that they couldn’t just show up at Metro or Parker without doing some serious explaining.

 

Knowing that libraries have access to public records and microfiche newspapers, that’s where they decided to head to first.

 

At the library they asked a young receptionist for help finding microfiche for newspaper articles from the Bay City Examiner dated around June 12, 1981.

 

“You can just use the computer.  Everything that was fiched is now archived on our website.”

 

“I’m sorry, a web-site?  What’s that?”

 

The disbelieving librarian scoffed.  “Have you been living under a rock?”

“No, just the Seventies,”  Starsky retorted.

Hutch grasped Starsky’s elbow.  “Can you show us how?  We’ve never been much for computers.”

As the woman walked the men over to a bank of what looked like small TV monitors, Hutch pulled on Starsky’s arm. “Be nice.  Or better yet, let me handle her.  She obviously thinks I’m cute,”  he whispered in library quiet.

“She must, because she sure can’t be thinking you’re too smart,”  his partner lipped back.

After a few false starts, Starsky & Hutch got the hang of maneuvering around the library’s website.  Sitting together at one monitor, they were amazed at the bright screen and bold graphics.

“What if I want to find information out?”  Hutch looked up and asked the young woman, who probably wasn’t even born when they disappeared.

“Just Google it.”

“Google?  What’s a google?”  They both asked.

She sighed and pitched her voice in annoyance.  “The search engine?”

“Can you show us?” 

She was able to spend a few minutes going over a few things they needed to know how to search this ‘inter-net’.

Starsky was intrigued despite himself.  “So I can find out all sorts of stuff?  Even obscure facts?”

Not to be outdone, Hutch asked,  “And I can read what’s going on all over the world?”

Starsky tried rolling the unfamiliar terms over his tongue.  He continued to pester the young lady with questions.

“I can watch movies and tv shows?  How?”

“Weekee-what?  Is that Indian?” 

“You can alter pictures?”

Hutch finally got a question in.  “What’s a mouse?” 

“A rodent with beady eyes.”

“Ignore him.  He couldn’t tell a Beta from a VHS.”  Hutch thought he’d show off his superiority.

“Beta?  Like the opposite of alpha?”  The young woman was momentarily just as confused.

“Tweeting?  Web? Facebook?  Blog?  Youtube?  Photoshop? Google?  Surfing?  What are all these terms?  What do they mean?  Why would anyone want to go around sounding like a bird?  What’s the use of a web?  Is it a term for covering the computer?  Is Facebook a bunch of pictures of people?  Is it called surfing because of the radio waves?  Can you put VHF on U-tube, or is it only for UHF?”

“Are you sure you guys didn’t just wake up from comas?”

Finally Hutch asked what he felt was the most important question.  “Can I go somewhere to learn how to use one of these?”  He waved at the computer on the table in front of them.

“Of course.  We offer several introductions to internet and Microsoft Office classes as well.  You can look on the library’s home page – that’s the first page – for all our instructional classes.”

When she left to help other patrons, Starsky & Hutch could no longer avoid reading about their disappearance in the Examiner.

 

‘BAY CITY COPS MISSING NEAR NEWELL TUNNEL’

 

‘NO EVIDENCE OF FOUL PLAY IN CASE OF MISSING DETECTIVES’

 

And a year later,

 

‘STILL NO SIGN OF COPS MISSING ONE YEAR’

 

Just to see if they were remembered, Hutch continued to type in various years representing benchmarks:  1986, 1991, 2001, 2006, but came on nothing in the headlines, until the last one.

 

‘25 YEARS LATER – WHAT HAPPENED TO THE BAY CITY POLICE DETECTIVES?’

 

Reading the headlines and various articles was not easy, but they struggled through.  Most difficult was reading interviews from friends and family.

 

On a hunch, Hutch decided to see if the Bay City Police Department had a computer page.

 

At the same time Starsky had similar thoughts.  “Hey, Hutch?  See if the department has one of these screens.  Maybe we can get the real department response, versus what the newspapers reported.”

 

They were unable to figure out if any records related to their disappearance were on the Bay City Police Department location – or at least how to find them.

 

“What about this?”  There was a tab at the top of the screen that Starsky pointed to labeled ‘Departments’.  “Maybe we should click on that.”

 

Hutch looked at what Starsky was pointing at and as he clicked the thing called the mouse, the screen changed to announcements.  They moved the pointer down to see if they recognized anyone or anything.  It repositioned faster than they realized, and soon they were looking at a news release from January, 2013 about the closing of Parker Center.  After several more tries, blond man finally got the hang of the movement of the pointer – or mouse as the librarian called it.

 

The most recent announcement was for the retirement of Captain Dee O’Reilly of Homicide.

 

“Why does that name sound familiar?”

 

“Because she was the meter maid that kept harassing me a few years back,”  Hutch answered drolly.  “Or rather several decades ago.”

 

“Just think of it…a female captain.”  Starsky mulled over the changes that they missed.  “A meter chick is now captain of Homicide.”  Then he was with an idea.  “Hey – let’s try and crash the party; get the low down on what’s going on in the department.”

 

“I hate to point out the obvious…” his partner began.

 

“No, you don’t.  You love it.”

 

Ignoring Starsky’s cynicism, Hutch continued, “But don’t you think some people might recognize us?”

 

“Not if we disguise ourselves.  You did it pretty damn good several times, I recall.”

 

Hutch reached out to muss Starsky’s mop of curls.  “And how do we cover this mess up?”

 

“We don’t.”  Starsky grinned roguishly.  “If asked, we pretend I’m a relative.  Some distant cousin or other that Nick asked to check out our case when he heard that I was moving here.”

 

“Good thing to have a cover story.  In case we’re stranded here.”

 

A look of horror came over Starsky’s face as that unforeseen situation dawned on him.

 

“Hasn’t it ever occur to you, Starsky?”

 

“No!  I’m still trying to process all this!”

 

Presently a tune – if you could call it that - burst out from one of the patrons at another computer terminal.

 

Both detectives jumped at the garish sound and unusual lyrics.  They looked at each other as a young kid – barely a teenager – fumbled with something that resembled a slender radio, and pressed something to turn it off. 

 

‘Opa Gangum’? They mouthed to each other, confused.

 

Being the more curious, Starsky walked over to the teen and asked him how his radio worked.

 

When the teen looked up blankly, Starsky pointed, “your radio, kid.”

 

“You mean my iPod?”

 

“Eye-what?  Kid, I just want to know what kind of music that is.”  Starsky’s voice level matched his frustration, trying not to catch the attention of the librarian.

 

To be safe, Hutch was at his side, pulling him away.  “You’re making a scene,” he said, through a clenched smile.

 

The two men spent several hours at the library.  When the librarian notified them that they were only allowed 2 ½ hours on the computers, they decided to explore the library shelves on their own.  Hutch went in search of news magazines and felt more comfortable when he recognized quite a few – Time, National Geographic, Smithsonian, hell, even People was a welcome sight.

 

Starsky, on the other hand, spent time observing others.  Once he went in search of a card catalogue, but couldn’t locate one.  He felt too embarrassed to ask a librarian, they already were watching him and Hutch with sideways glances.

 

By the time they left it was past 6:00.

 

“I don’t know, Hutch.  Social Network, Netflicks, Muggle, Reality TV, Cardasheon, 24-7, Starbucks, iPod, Metrosexual, Kurig.”

 

“Where did you learn all those?”

 

“At the library,”  Starsky explained.  “Listening to people or reading the computer.  All these words mean nothing to me, but apparently are now part of the American Lexicon.”  Starsky sounded defeated and irritated at the same time.

 

Hutch raised his eyebrows as he looked at Starsky in astonishment.

 

“Learned that one on the computer, too.”