Hutchlover's Happening's

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Flash Drive, Part 2

“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.”

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.”

My Starsky & Hutch Big Bang story: Flash Drive, Part 1: Starsky & Hutch in 2013

Title: Flash Drive

Rating: R

Genre: Drama / Slash / First Time / Big Bang Present Day / AU

Description: Starsky & Hutch mysteriously get transported to 2013 Los Angeles. Everything becomes all mixed up when Hutch is the one to fall in love with the technology, while Starsky becomes immersed in gay rights and causes.

Notes: Author considers this AU as well, due to aging of other characters in the 1970s Starsky & Hutch universe. Also, Starsky & Hutch’s jurisdiction has been expanded for believability in this story.

1981

All units in the vicinity of 5445 San Fernando Road: be on the lookout for a two-toned gray Ford Granada with at least three teen occupants. Driver is white male. Wanted for 187 in process of 211 at Jin Sing Skuteup.

“Damn. Another Korean mom & pop hit,” swore Starsky lightly. “That’s the third this month. What’s going on?” He took a turn, tightening his hands around the steering wheel.

“I’m guessing the same group of kids,” Hutch replied from the passenger’s seat, looking out the window as they drove along near Route 5, near the Angeles National Forest. “And this time they upped the ante.”

Starsky glanced over at his partner. “What the hell’s going on with these kids now-a-days?”

“You know what you sound like? An old man. Kids have been stealing from grocers since penny candy came out, and probably before.”

“Yeah, but it’s one thing to steal penny candy, and another to do it with a gun and kill someone in the process,” Starsky retorted to his partner.

“Touché.”

“Wonder how they think they’ll get away in, of all things, a Granada.” Starsky mused.

Hutch rolled his eyes. “We can’t all have fire engine red tomatoes.”

“Yeah, some of us have moldy cheese…like your latest piece of mustard colored shit.”

“Hey, the Thunderbird’s a classic.” Hutch pretended to be affronted, even though he knew his cars weren’t always in the best of condition, and prone to breaking down. “Do you know how embarrassing it is to be seen in a car that…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, only the bad guys could love, because they can see it a mile away.”

Hutch took a breath. “I meant, that only kids drive, but yeah, that too.”

“What do ya mean, ‘only kids drive’?” Starsky pitched back in faux irritation.

“Just take a look at this car!” Hutch waved his hand around. “A Mazda RX-7? Really? For a 38 year old man? One who’s had a history of bullet wounds and has to unfold himself just to get out of it?”

Starsky looked wounded at the reminder, but Hutch didn’t have time to apologize. Out of the corner of his eye, he eyed a charcoal sedan turning down Paxton toward Laurel Canyon road at a high rate of speed.

“Hey Starsk? I think I just saw them.”

“Who?”

“The kids we were just talking about. They just turned on Paxton from I-5 going north.”

“Shit, Paxton? We just passed that.” Hutch threw the Mars light on the hood and called in the information as well as a chase. Simultaneously, Starsky pulled the wheel sharply, pitching the car sharply in a u-turn and then left down Paxton, so that Hutch was thrown about like a suitcase on an airplane.

“Ow! Starsky, watch it!” Hutch rubbed his elbow, which was sore from smashing into the door handle.

With a quick glance to his right to make sure Hutch was okay, Starsky apologized. His right turn onto the I-5 was just as sharp, but not as fast.

He continued chasing the suspect teens in the gray Granada north on the I-5. Both fleeing and chase vehicles picked up speed as they left the city and began climbing the foothills of Mission Point, with the teens weaving and missing several cars driving opposite, and Starsky crossing the double yellow line several times.

“Didn’t you learn anything last time you lost control? Does me being in the hospital with a concussion and broken arm ring a bell?”

“Bitch, bitch, bitch. You never complain when we get our man.”

“Get our man? Who are we? Royal Mounties?”

“Well, we do have a lot of horsepower, and we’re going north.” Starsky grinned, drolly.

“Ha ha.”

As they approached the Newell Tunnel, Starsky automatically flipped on his headlights. Even so, with their perps being in a dark colored car, it was difficult to see them through the darkness of the tunnel. Only the beams of the Mazda bouncing off the Granada’s silver bumper gave the detectives any indication the distance between the two cars.

Just as the lead car approached the end of the tunnel, it over-corrected the tight turn of the road into the gravel berm. The tires skid, throwing the car sideways right into the path of the oncoming RX-7.

With nowhere to turn to avoid the flailing gray car, the red car with the detectives was poised to hit directly full force into the driver’s side.

“Starsky!”

“Son of a bitch!”

Then everything turned bright pale yellow and orange…..

Whoosh!

With a loud crack in the air, like lightning, a bright orange flash, and a jolt, the Mazda RX-7 tore out of the northern end of the Newell tunnel.

Starsky applied the brakes hard, tires squealing, and the car pitched back and forth, tossing Hutch into his partner, behind the wheel.

After the car came to a stop, both rattled officers took a deep breath they hadn’t known they were holding, and looked at each other, amazed they and the car were in one piece.

“What…where? What happened to the kids in the Granada?” Starsky’s thoughts were fuzzy and his stomach felt churned up.

“How the hell did we miss hitting them?” Hutch wondered in astonishment, looking out the windshield for any evidence of the gray Granada – tire marks, skids in the gravel berm, evidence of an accident.

Starsky straightened out the car and proceeded to drive slowly, both men looking carefully around just in case the teens had run off the road. Both men were quiet, each beginning to realize that something was off, but unable to figure out just what exactly was wrong.

As Starsky finally opened his mouth to say something, a mid-1990s Ford Taurus drove past going in the opposite direction. His jaw dropped open in confusion.

“Did…what..what the hell kind of car was that, Starsky?”

“Not sure, Hutch. And I know all the Big Three models. That must be an experimental one, or maybe something from the Germans.”

“Looks like a damn jelly bean to me.”

Starsky snorted in amusement. “Can’t see anyone wanting to drive around in Easter candy. It’ll probably flop bigger than the Edsel or Corvair.”

Just then, a Kia Soul drove around the slower Mazda, crossing the double yellow lines before crossing back and moving on at a faster pace than the detectives were driving.

“What the hell is that?! Soul? What kinda name is that?”

“Maybe a British car?”Hutch just shrugged his shoulders, then noticed something looming in front of them. “Uh, Starsk? What’s up on the left ahead?”

Starsky looked at Hutch sideways, while still keeping his eye on the curving road. “Did you hit your head on the side of the door? Rattle those big brains of your again? Forget that ‘Magic Mountain’ is right up the road?”

“Smart-ass. I know Six Flags is coming up. What I’d like to know is what is that!” ~~And~~ Hutch threw his hand out in front of him.

His partner followed the pointed forefinger to above the trees just ahead, and saw… “When the heck they add a new coaster? And how tall is that sucker?” Starsky began to get excited. “Oh, I know what I’m doing next day off! I can’t wait to try that puppy out!”

“Starsky, they don’t put those coasters up overnight! Not only that, have you ever seen one that tall? And they’ve either been on a massive building binge, or some of your aliens have come down and placed fully built rides into the park.”

With a look of wry disdain at his non-believing partner, Starsky taunted Hutch. “Just wait. One day you’ll find out there is intelligent life on other planets, and then all us believers will fly off to exotic and exciting lands, and you’ll be stuck here all alone without me.”

“I hope there’s intelligent life on other planets, because sometimes I’m not sure there’s any on Earth.” With a nod to Starsky, Hutch finished, “Present company included.”

“I guess that means you too,” Starsky shot back happily. “So, do you want to make a day of it next time we…. Son of gun! What the heck happened here?” Now that the car had approached the entrance to Six Flags Magic Mountain, it was apparent that things were different. “Did some giant’s kid’s Tinker Toy set explode?”

“Starsky, do you get the feeling that something’s not right?”

The other man didn’t say anything, but pulled into the entrance of the amusement park. He drove down the driveway that was much better paved than he remembered.

“I am now, Blintz,” he replied as he looked around the parking lot. They spied all sorts of unusual vehicles, skimpy clothing on people walking toward the main gate, and the many large differences to the amusement park he and Terry had loved to visit.

“Pull over and let me get out for a second. I want to check out some of those plates.”

Starsky, who’d had the same idea, put his RX-7 in park behind some very futuristic looking vehicles, while Hutch jumped out to examine a few license plates.

When he entered back in the car, Starsky questioned Hutch on what they read.

“Well, they all seem to be California plates, but none I’ve ever seen. There’s the word ‘California’ written in red across the plate, and the stickers…” Hutch faltered. “There’re stickers on them – at least I think they’re stickers.”

“Stickers? Like slogans?”

“No…no. These read dates…. I think.” Hutch’s forehead was wrinkled in bewilderment. “3-14, 8-13, 6-13, 1-14. Like that.”

Starsky’s face was screwed up in consternation. “Okay, that’s it.” Starsky picked up the mike attached to the police radio. “Dispatch, this is Zebra 3.”

An unfamiliar female voice answered, with a hint of puzzlement. “George, is that you?”

“No, it’s me, Dave Starsky, with my partner Ken Hutchinson.”

“I’m sorry, sir. This is an official radio frequency. I need to ask you to stop broadcasting.”

“I am a police officer. Dave Starsky. S-T-A-R-S-K-Y. We’re assigned Zebra 3 with the LAPD.”

The disembodied female replaced more coldly this time. “Zebra 3 is the call sign for Martinez and Hernandon. Again, please remove yourself from this frequency or I will have you arrested.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” Starsky was getting livid, so Hutch grabbed the mike from his hot-tempered partner who looked ready to charge downtown and terrify the woman.

“GPS, sir. All radios are equipped with them. If you really are cops, turn on your monitors to the dispatch station and show yourselves.”

The very confused detectives disconnected their mike and looked at each other.

“GPS?” They asked in tandem.

“There’s only one thing to do now,” muttered Starsky as he pulled the car away to leave ‘Magic Mountain’.

“Huggy.” They said in unison.

As they drove down the I-5, the atmosphere inside the car grew increasingly tense and quiet.Views out the windows showed a brighter, cleaner city with less blight and more newer looking buildings.

Without saying a word, Hutch leaned over and turned on the radio.

Bam sounded a bass drum loudly. “It’s radioactive, radioactive.”

Both men startled at the loud sound coming from the dashboard speakers and Hutch hurriedly turned the knob to the off position.

“Thanks, my ears.” Starsky shook his head. “If that’s what the radio is playing in this day and age…” He trailed off, not wanting to say aloud what both men were fearing.

They finished the drive to The Pits in silence.

But The Pits wasn’t The Pits anymore.

The large sign on the front of the building just said ‘Huggy’s Club’ and it wasn’t open yet.

“Well, at least we know he’s still around,” Hutch grumbled.

“So what do we do now?”

“Go home? See if we still have our apartments.” Suggested Hutch as he shrugged his shoulders.

“What the….! Where’s my apartment?!”

“Shouldn’t that be ‘where’s the apartment building’?” Hutch said to try to lighten Starsky’s lament.

They were both looking at the newer townhouse complex where Starsky’s apartment building should be.

“What about all my stuff? My clothes, my records, Philip… my stuff?” he mourned. “Where’m I gonna live?”

“Uh, Starsk. Maybe we should check mine out.” Hutch’s voice now had a minor tremble.

When they arrived at Venice Place, both men breathed a sigh that the building was still standing.

That relief, though, was short lived upon walking closer to the building.

“The door’s different. That tree thing’s missing.” Then Starsky also pointed out the sign that was in place where Helene’s should be. “Primo-something wine bistro? You’re the brains, what’s a wine bistro?”

“Got me.” He entered the center doorway and waved to his partner. “Come on.” He was anxious to get upstairs to see if his apartment was there. Or rather, if it was his apartment.

Reaching over the doorway, Hutch ran his hands across the lintel. No key. Then he tried the one in his pocket. It wouldn’t fit, and no one answered his knocks.

The very helpful male sommelier at the wine bistro told them a young couple lived upstairs in the back apartment and used the front apartment as a photography studio.

“You two look like you need a drink. I’ve got a real nice 1981 pinot noir from Napa Valley. Only $88 for the bottle or $10 a glass.”

“$88 for a bottle of wine they make here in California? I’m a cop and I can have the Controller down here so fast, those grapes won’t have time to ripen.” Starsky fumed over the quoted price, ready to jump over the counter at the poor wine server.

Hutch put a restraining hand on his partner’s arm. “Leave it be, Starsk.”

As they were leaving a well-dressed man with thick, brown curly hair graying at the temples, perhaps in his late 40s, asked them if the Mazda RX-7 was theirs.

“Yeah, it’s mine. Why?” the equally dark haired detective replied, suspiciously.

A distant look came over his face. “Man, that takes me back. I went to my prom in one back in ’83.”

“ ’83?” Both detectives spoke the question in tandem.

“Yeah. Hot little date. This was back in Pennsylvania. Not much room in the back for any hanky-panky, though.”

Starsky and Hutch stumbled out of the bistro and almost fell into Starsky’s car. They looked at each other, faces white as can be.

“1983!”

“Well, the lights are on inside the joint,” Starsky remarked when they pulled back up to Huggy’s Club. “Let’s go find out what the hell is happening.”

As the two bewildered detectives walked into the darkened room, a familiar voice called out from behind the bar. “Emilio, that you? You’re late, your black ass is late.” Huggy’s voice trailed off as he stood up and glared at who he thought was a tardy employee.

Even with his darker coloring, it was obvious that the blood had drained from Huggy’s face. “Oh, shit…” The tray of clean beer mugs he was holding fell from his hands and crashed onto the floor. Pieces of glass shattered like the Big Bang explosion so many eons ago.

“No...no. It’s, it’s not possible.” The proprietor put his hands over his eyes.

Starsky put his arms out, hands up in a placating manner. “Hug, it’s us. Starsky and Hutch. Something weird’s going on and we need your help.”

Ignoring the curly-haired man, Huggy muttered to himself as he closed his eyes and grasped onto the edge of the bar. “They can’t be here. I must be hallucinatin’ in the twilight of my being. Maybe I got Alzheimer’s.”

He stumbled to sit at the nearest table.

Slowly, Starsky and Hutch made their way to their friend, looking around and noticing the differences in the bar – or club as the sign said outside.

There was a small dance floor and raised platform where the pool table used to be. The bar was the same, but the swinging doors to the kitchen weren’t next to the bar as they should be. There were autographed pictures on the wall. Some that the detectives recognized, like The Love Boat’s Gavin MacLeod, but who was the short-haired blond with the pert nose and narrowed eyes and a Spanish last name of Diaz?

When they got to their friend’s side, where Huggy was holding his head, they noticed that he looked…older, with wrinkles and glasses.

“Hug, what’s going on?” Hutch asked softly, reaching out to put his hand on their friend’s arm, but Huggy pushed it away.

“How…how do I know it’s you and I’m not havin’ some flashback from smoking the wacky weed? Tell me.”

“Why would you think you’re hallucinating?” Starsky asked him, as he sat down on Huggy’s other side.

“Because you’re not supposed to be here. And if you are, you’re sure enough not supposed to be looking so young. Unless you got taken away by the…” and he made a whoop, whoop sound while twirling his forefinger toward the ceiling.

Hutch snorted and shook his head. “Only you, Hug would come up with a story like that.”

The now older man stood up and shouted, “What the hell am I supposed to think, what you with you two sittin’ here looking all like 1981!”

A young man dressed in a white chef’s outfit came from the back hallway. “Um, Huggy, you okay out there?”

“Sure, Gianni. It’s cool, man.” The proprietor waved his hands and sat down.

Starsky shook his head. “What the hell is going on? Of course it’s 1981!”

“It’s 2013, man. You guys disappeared over 25 years ago!”

Wow, It's been years!

I haven't posted in several years.

Since then, I've had a couple of temporary jobs, two "real" jobs that I got laid off on, Andrew's gotten his driver's license and a job, let the house go, lost my dad in 2013 to an aortic separation, lost Daisy in 2012, gotten Lily in 2009, Kelly & Stanley were transferred to NC to a marine base, Keith Edward has had two children, Stanley's gone to and came back from Afghanistan and saved several lives while he was there, oh...

I BECAME A GRANDMOTHER TOO!

Leighton Kendrick Maculewicz is now 2 and looks mostly like Daddy, but has Mommy's lips and eyes. He was born a month early, and is still a little behind in size, but he is the most adorable baby since mine were born!

I'll try to post more. In fact I wrote a long Starsky & Hutch 'Big Bang' story which was recently posted. Flamingo released it as the first of the series, so I was excited and proud.