STARSKY AND HUTCH: BEGINNINGS

The past. Ken Hutchinson's family.

"Keeennnnnyyyy!"

Twelve-year-old Kenneth Hutchison sighed at the squeaky voice of his eight-year-old sister. He put down the Sherlock Holmes book he was so engrossed in, knowing when his sister was on a mission to find him, she would not give up. Just like a detective with her nose to the ground. She beamed at him when she found him swinging in the hammock and he was once again reminded that she loved him the best of anyone in the family, including her parents. She gave her adored brother a hug, albeit a dirty one and began chattering. "That hideous oaf Stanley says I cannot hit better than him; girls can't play baseball, and girls can't be detectives."

"Mickey" Hutchinson pouted and at the same time slammed her left hand into her well-worn glove.

Ken pushed his Nordic blond hair back and gave a soothing pat to her face. He and Mickey looked like their maternal Nordic grandmother Ingrid, the only two in the family that did resemble her.

"I love you, Kenny. More than anyone."

"Don't let Mother and Father hear that," Ken warned, smiling into the earnest blue eyes.

At times it felt nice to have his younger sister so openly adore him, but it also took a lot of his time.

"Are you reading Sherlock? I can't wait until I can. I'll show those stupid cousins of mine who is smarter." She skipped happily to the back yard, dropping her mitt and picking up a small bat. "Okay, Kenny, give me your best shot."

She did look adorable with her long hair, Yankees baseball cap on her head and her favorite pinstripe Yankee t-shirt with the number seven on the back just like her hero, Mickey Mantle. Two missing front teeth did not spoil her happy grin.

"Wait, Mickey, you're batting left-handed," Ken reminded her from the pitcher's mound. She was naturally right-handed, the same way he was.

"Is she still trying to be Mickey Mantle?" Older brother Carlton sneered as he swaggered into the yard. "Mickey Mantle is a man. And you're a dummy, Pudge, for encouraging her. Mom says dinner is about ready and you two need to wash up – especially you, Marcie. You look like you've rolled in a pigpen. We have company, and you don't want to be a disgrace to our family."

"Stop calling me Marcie! I hate that! Just because I clapped and yelled ever time you were sacked last week . . ."

"Maybe I'll just call you brat instead!"

"Hey!" Ken said sharply, blue eyes flashing. "Just because you are in high school, Carlton and driving doesn't mean you can be mean to your little sister."

"And who's gonna make me stop, Pudgy?" Carlton sneered. Taller by several inches and heavier than his younger brother, he leaned into Ken, poking him in the chest. Tormenting his younger siblings was a source of amusement to the self-important middle Hutchinson boy.

"You are an egotistic pompous ass, Charlatan!" Mickey retorted, joining the brothers with an angry glare at Carlton.

"You're gonna get it for that, brat!" Carlton hated Ken and Mickey's name for him and then Mickey swung her bat and caught Carlton in the leg. He grabbed her bat, threw it to the ground and shoved her backwards. Just as Carlton knew he would, Ken threw the baseball to the ground and tackled Carlton and pounded him, both rolling over several times. It had rained heavily recently, and the ground was muddy. Carlton swore, as he had not thought Ken could knock him to the ground and began hitting Ken as hard as he could. Mickey threw herself on top of Carlton, and used a combination of pulling his hair, biting him, scratching and kicking; but when that didn't work, she picked up the bat and slammed it into the back of his head.

"Ouch!" Carlton yelled, jumping up and starting after her. He was a bit dizzy and Mickey was a fast runner and easily eluded him to run into the house, crying, "Carlton is trying to kill Kenny!"

Her father got up hurriedly and dragged a furious Carlton in the house and then went to help his youngest son up. Then three children then stood in the living room, suddenly conscious there was company, and hated company at that, Uncle Fred and Aunt Eunice who were eying the children with distaste.

All three were muddy; Carlton was rubbing the back of his head; Ken was sporting several bruises along with a bloody nose along with the mud; and Mickey stood with hands crossed, her long blonde hair caked with mud as well as all over her clothes and face, glaring at Carlton with her arms crossed.

"Are you quite sure these are your children, Cynthia?" Aunt Eunice stated snidely. "They all look like they have been rolling in a pigpen."

Stately Cynthia Hutchinson's lips thinned. "Go and clean up now. Dinner will be delayed until you are all washed up, so hurry."

Carlton, Senior, called Carl, was trying to hide a smile. Hiding it because he knew his wife was furious the meal would be spoiled after taking hours to prepare and make sure everything was perfect. He took his brother and sister-in-law into the living room and gave them drinks. Eunice spent the new few minutes extolling the virtues of her children while Fred grinned at his brother. Hutchinsons always tried to one-up each other and their children was part of the competition.

Carlton emerged first; clothes and body cleaned but still rubbing the back of his head. Ken and Mickey were next, Ken having had a difficult time getting the tangles out of his little sister's hair.

"Son, why are you rubbing your head?" Carl asked Carlton.

"Because she hit me with her bat!" Carlton shouted. "She probably gave me a concussion and I'll miss the game tomorrow!"

"Whatever concussion means, I hope he has it, because he was beating Kenny!" Mickey spat back.

"Marcellina Ingrid Hutchinson, if you hit anything but the baseball with that bat, I'm going to confiscate it. You can hurt someone very badly hitting him in the head," Carl said sternly.

"What about him shoving me and hurting Kenny?" Mickey glared.

Ken stood still and quiet, but the bruises were already marring his fair skin.

"Carlton, did you shove your sister?"

"Yes, because she hit me in the leg with her stupid bat! Can't you do anything about her – like send her to an orphanage?"

"Better to get away from you, Charlatan. Thinking you're so tough because you're the quarterback!" Inspired, she began a sing-song chant of, "You'll throw interceptions. You'll throw interceptions!" and danced around her furious brother.

"You're a brat!"

"You're a bully and I hope you get sacked over and over tomorrow!"

"That is enough, children. Your mother has worked hard on this dinner and we will eat and appreciate her efforts." Carl said sternly. Everyone took their place at the table, Mickey scooting as far as she could get from Carlton, and as close as she could get to Ken. Conversation was strained, with only Eunice babbling about her superior children.

Looking at the youngest sibling, she remarked. "Angela is outgrowing her lovely dresses, Marcie. They should just fit you."

"I hate dresses, Mickey Mantle doesn't wear dresses."

Uncle Fred's mouth twitched. "All this time, brother, I thought you had three boys and two girls, not four boys and Judith."

"And I'm not Ingrid, I am Mickey. I'm going to be playing with the Yankees until I retire, and then I'll be a detective, better than Sherlock," Mickey boasted.

"You mean you don't rout for the home team? We are in Minnesota, my dear," Eunice rebuked.

"Oh, come on, Eunice, she can root for the team she wants to," Fred said, trying not to laugh.

As Cynthia Hutchinson passed the food around, she said, "Judith is going to be homecoming queen. And Jonathon will be studying to become a doctor."

"Can't keep the Hutchinson twins from succeeding," Carl said proudly.

Aunt Eunice had snuck more drinks that she should have and sat down her glass rather loudly. "It is a pity you didn't stop having children with Kenneth. I'll bet Marcie was a mistake."

Mickey's eyes grew wider and her lip trembled.

Before the others could rebuke her, Ken stood up, his brilliant blue eyes flashing. "Mickey is not a mistake and how dare you say that in front of her, Aunt Eunice! Come on, Mickey, let's listen to some records!" He took the hand of his little sister and took the stairs two steps at a time, ending with a loud slamming of his door.

The Present

"Pudgy?" Starsky questioned. "You don't have an ounce of fat on you, Buddy."

"I was reading far too much and when I was ten, I was chubby. Besides, Carlton called me that to annoy me."

Hutch pulled a record from his collection and silently handed it to Starsky.

"You and me against the world. Happy Birthday to the best brother in the world. Mickey."

Hutch smiled. "Mickey got that for me on my 14th birthday. To her, it was her and me against the world."

"Just like me and thee."

"Don't know, you'd look awful in a dress, Starsky."

"Very funny."

Hutch smiled, put his right hand on Starsky's shoulder and then yawned. "I got an offer from the Chicago White Sox for a pitcher. All that pitching to Mickey honed my skills."

"You turned that down?" Starsky was shocked. He loved baseball as much as Hutch and he wouldn't have hesitated to take up an offer from a pro-team.

"I dreamed I would be a pitcher in the World Series. At the time, that's what I wanted. But things change . . . . " Ken's voice changed, and he yawned. "I'm going to try to get some sleep, Starsk. It's late. You can stay here if you want."

"Yeah, I think I drank too much to drive," Starsky lied. He wanted to watch over his best friend. Me and Thee, he thought. Me and Thee.