Chapter Text
Huggy had been to more funerals than he cared to remember. Sometimes they were a result of the inevitable; still sad, but everyone had known what way things had been going for ages. Some, even while sad, were also celebrations; these tended to be held for people who'd died old, surrounded by people that loved them, having lived a full and generally happy life. Almost all of them had music that made Huggy wish for a few minutes, at least, that he was a religious man.
This funeral was none of these things.
He had heard about it by accident when he was waiting in Ninth Precinct police headquarters to see Hutch, who, he had been told, was not available by phone. (Not available by phone, indeed, he'd thought, when he'd heard the truth). He'd gone down to headquarters because it had sounded to him like the message Starsky had given him to pass on was really important. The department had been giving Huggy the royal run-around when he happened to overhear an officer he didn't know telling a junior officer to get on over to the “funeral for Detective Hutchinson” before he was late. He was stunned for a moment or two, but, realizing that Starsky's message should get to Captain Dobey if Hutch was that unavailable, he took note of the location the officer gave for the thing, and hurried out.
It was at a nearby church, a dinky little thing, and there was hardly a flower in sight, nor a note of music to be heard. Someone had dropped by a convenience store and got a “bouquet” of three yellow flowers, and stuck it in an ugly vase at the front of the room, on the grounds that it was better than nothing, probably. There were about twenty-five people in the room when Huggy got there, only five of whom were not obviously policemen: an obviously homeless graying man who was talking to Captain Dobey, and two older people who looked classier, and sadder, than any other people in the room. Two middle-aged men in suits brushed past Huggy on their way out as he entered the place; they weren't hanging around for the service.
It was Dobey Huggy needed to see, so he approached him, head respectfully bowed as he waited for the captain to finish his conversation.
“They've gone,” the homeless fellow said, nodding to the doorway from which Huggy had come.
“They're not the only ones,” Dobey said, sighing. “Alright,” he added, apparently giving in on some point or other, “it's your funeral, so to speak.”
“I appreciate that,” said the man, and turned and walked away to take a seat in the back on the far side of the room.
Dobey turned away from the conversation and almost smacked into Huggy. He looked up, and then frowned. “Oh, it's you,” he said distractedly. “This is a private function.”
“I was invited... kind of,” Huggy said.
Dobey glared. “Kind of?”
Huggy smirked. “Yeah, that's right,” he said. He glanced around, looking for a place that they could talk privately – and not really seeing one. “Look... can we have a word... in private, I mean?”
Dobey was both busy, and not convinced that what he was busy with was a good thing to do, and so he was even less patient than he ordinarily was. “What do you think this is?” he demanded. “Who told you you could come in here?”
“I can't tell you out in the open, man,” Huggy said.
In reply, Dobey gave him a look. Huggy sighed quickly, and leaned in close. “Starsky,” he whispered, under his breath and through clenched teeth.
“What's that?” Dobey asked.
A little more clearly, hoping it wasn't too loud, Huggy repeated the name.
Quickly, Dobey hushed him with another look, and hustled him away from the group, into a tiny chapel or something. Dobey shut the door with decision and turned to Huggy.
“What's this about Starsky?” he asked quickly. “Have you seen him?”
“He came into my place last night, with a bunch of guys I don't know. I think he's undercover, because he wasn't quite himself, if you know what I mean.”
“I know he's undercover; get to the point!”
“He just said he wanted me to track Hutch down for him. He said Hutch had been following him for a while, him and another guy, I guess another cop, and they've both been no-shows for the last couple of days. And he says he needs Hutch to be with him and can I find him for him. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that this is the closest anyone will ever get to Hutch again.” He motioned towards the door Dobey had just shut.
“Never mind that,” Dobey said. “What else did Starsky say?”
Huggy looked at Dobey critically for a moment. “So Starsky's your favorite, huh?”
Dobey just glared.
“All right, all right. But that was it, man; he wanted me to track Hutch down.” Huggy shook his head mournfully.
“How are you supposed to contact him?” Dobey pressed him.
Huggy was surprised by Dobey, and a little put off. “Hey, man! What is this? Hutch is dead and all you can talk about is where is Starsky? At least the dude's alive, man!”
“It's a terrible tragedy,” Dobey said, less convincingly than Huggy had ever heard him say anything. “But I have to think of my man still out on the field. How did Starsky say you could get a hold of him?”
Huggy was appropriately chastised. “I can't,” he said. “He said he'd try to catch me sometime next week.”
“Just wonderful,” Dobey muttered. He sighed quickly, looking at his watch. “It's time to get this over with. Excuse me.”
He brushed past Huggy and pushed through the door. Huggy followed and took a seat nearby as Dobey took his place at the microphone that had been set up in the pulpit at the front of the room.
“Thank you all for coming at such short notice,” Dobey said into the microphone. “Please take your seats.”
The people, most of whom were Dobey's men anyway, obeyed.
Captain Dobey began to speak. “According to the last wishes of the deceased, this is going to be a simple service. As I'm sure you're all aware by now, Detective Hutchinson was involved in a fatal car crash in Kern County, on assignment with another department. I'm going to open up the microphone now for anyone who wishes to say anything. After that there'll be a hymn, and that will conclude the proceedings. Again, thanks for coming, those of you who... are here.”
Dobey stood back from the pulpit, and Huggy, along with everyone else, turned to look for whomever it was that would volunteer to speak. Huggy knew he really ought to, but his head was full of other things; he wasn't prepared to speak seriously about Hutch, especially not to a group of policemen. He wondered what on earth Dobey was about, planning that this should take place precisely when it was impossible for Starsky to attend. He personally would not want to be around when Starsky found out all that had happened, that was for sure. And of course it was Huggy that would see Starsky next. Huggy was deeply concerned with just what in the **** it was he was going to tell him. He did want to live through the experience.
Dobey stepped back up to the microphone. “Anyone?” he inquired.
A young police officer in uniform stood up awkwardly. “Sir?” he asked, looking like he wasn't sure whether or not he was speaking out of turn. “Well, none of us really knew the guy... it is in the middle of the shift, and they only told us about it this morning... Gosh, I wouldn't be here myself if my lieutenant hadn't told me to come. If you wanted people to talk you maybe should planned this for a few days later? I mean, the guy's partner isn't even here.” He sat down, still not sure of himself.
Dobey sighed. “Thanks for that – input – Markson,” he said tiredly. He looked out over the audience. “Anyone else?”
There was uncomfortable silence for a few more moments. Just as it was getting painful, the homeless-looking man in the back stood up. “Well, darn it, I'll say something,” he said, and came towards the front.
Dobey did not look thrilled, and shook his head. But he didn't stop the man.
“Go ahead,” he said, as if he was resigned to it.
“I'm, uh, Pendergast,” he said, “John Pendergast. Hutchinson had my beat... I mean, I used to see him around. He'd talk to me, real polite... that's something all you young cops could emulate...” He trailed off. He had been looking around the room at the audience, but as he set eyes on the two people at the front that were definitely not cops, he faltered, and couldn't seem to look at them very long. “I... I... I can't do this,” he said suddenly, and hurried away from the pulpit. He stopped before he'd gone very far, though, and then came gingerly back to the microphone. “Sorry,” he said, and then hurried to the back of the room, and sat back down.
Dobey was, apparently, appalled. “Thank you for that,” he said in a tone that meant the opposite, glaring daggers at Pendergast. Huggy grinned. Hutch wasn't uptight about this sort of thing – Huggy thought he'd find it kind of funny.
“Anyone else?” Dobey asked yet again.