Steve

~*~

Steve Marriott was a tall, slender man, with deep-set brown eyes, a straight chin and wavy brown hair. Smoothly shaven, casually dressed, calm looks, thoughtful in his words and actions. An eye catcher was the ugly scar above his right eye that ran from his eyebrow up to his hairline. It was thick and swollen, as if a piece of thread was roughly sewn under the skin. It had a nasty reddish glow to it. Every now and then Marriott shyly brushed his hair over his forehead, trying to hide it from curious eyes, but his hair fell back according to its own rules.

“Everyone calls him Hutch,” Starsky said as they were introduced and shook hands, “and I’m all the other things. Strong, intelligent, handsome, bright, quick, fast – but I listen to Starsky too. Or David, whatever you prefer.”

Steve laughed softly. “I’m… I’m Steve. Marriott. So I’m told.”

“And so are we, so that adds up,” Hutch nodded and shook Steve’s extended hand.

Steve Marriott didn’t behave like a victim. He made a calm and confident impression, trying to assess the situation he was in and how it affected the men he was going to be with for a couple of weeks. He helped think ahead and made a pleasant, amicable impression without being all too familiar or forwarding at once.

“Where’re we going to?” Steve informed once they were in the car in which they would drive to a safe house. Starsky and Hutch had scanned the area thoroughly before Marriott was brought to the underground hospital parking garage where the Torino stood waiting.

“A friend of mine’s got a house near the shore,” Hutch said. “That’s where we’re going to have our bunks for the next fortnight.”

They’d thought it over, and came to the conclusion that neither Hutch’s nor Starsky’s place would do as temporary lodgings. Too small, too conspicuous. They needed something bigger and more secluded, and so Hutch informed and got the keys to a friend’s place that was uninhabited for three months. The ideal place.

“Is there anyone who knows about it?” Steve asked.

“Nope. Just us.”

“Your captain?”

“Not even him. We’ll report regularly, but he knows that if we have to stay low, there’s a reason for it.”

“So no cavalry if we get into trouble?” Steve’s voice was almost melancholic.

Starsky laughed. “No cavalry. But Hutch here would normally say I make can cause more mayhem than an entire regiment, so no sweat.”

Steve smiled, voice warm with mocked amusement. “You know how to a reassure a guy.”

Two pair of blue eyes met. This guy is okay, both men said without exchanging words.

After a two hour drive –mainly caused by heavy traffic jams in Bay City- they reached a white, big wooden house near the shore of a small town outside Bay City, called Mahony Cay. While Starsky put the car in the garage and checked the area, Steve and Hutch brought their hold-alls in the house.

Hutch took in the rooms, the landing, the bathroom and threw his luggage onto the bed.

“Steve? You take the middle room, okay? That way we’ll be closest to you if necessary and we’ve got all the exits covered.” There was no answer. He looked up at Steve, who rested one hand on the balustrade and took shallow breaths. The knuckles of the hand that held the suitcase were white.

“Steve?”

Steve had his eyes closed. Hutch saw a thin sheet of sweat on his forehead, the thick scar pulsating lightly. In two steps he was with the tall man.

“Hey, Steve,” he said gently, “Easy there. Let me do the carrying, alright?”

He wasn’t sure Steve’d heard him, so he put his hand on his arm and carefully took the suitcase from his hand. Weary eyes opened.

“Hey pal. Come on, let me take this. Why don’t you rest a bit?” He guided him into the centre bedroom and made him sit down on the bed.

What now? Hutch thought. Normally, if this were Starsky, he’d urge him down and made sure his friend rested and slept, and he would check in on him often. But Steve was not familiar enough to do such a thing.

“Steve? Do you need anything?”

Steve, looking pale, wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “No. No thanks, Hutch. I’m a bit tired, that’s all. I guess I’ve got zero stamina. I’ll be okay in a while.”

“You want me to unpack for you?”

“No. I’ll be fine. Just give me some time, I’ll be okay.”

Hutch stood in the room, feeling somewhat useless. “Me and Starsky, we’ll be downstairs. If there’s anything, you just holler.”

“Sure.”

“You wanna eat something later on? I make a great veggie soup, despite my partner’s opinion.”

He was rewarded with a tired, wan smile. “Sure.”

“I’ll leave you. Get some rest, okay?”

He closed the door behind him and heard the soft squeaking of the springs of the mattress. Good, he thought, he’s resting.

He actually liked the guy. From the instant he’d shaken his hand, he knew Steve was alright. And judging from Starsky’s reaction, Curly thought the same.

~*~

“Where’s our guest?” Starsky wanted to know when Hutch came down. He’d already been going over the doors, windows, escape routes and the floor plan of the house, Hutch could tell.

“In bed. Resting. I forgot he’s still recuperating. He was pretty tired.”

“Nice place,” Starsky said, hands on his hips, looking around. “Torino’s in the garage, plenty of room. Doors are locked. I didn’t spot any cars following us while we drove up here. You?”

Hutch shook his head. “No. Think we’re pretty safe here.”

“When are you going to call Dobey?”

“In two days, at his home address.”

“Alright! So – we’ll just have to make ourselves comfortable and sit this one out, right? I’m going to start with a quick jog on the beach, if that’s alright with you.”

“Sure. Go ahead. No chicks on the beach, though. Weather’s too poor.”

Starsky grinned. “I’m not going for the chicks. I’m going bird watching.” And with a loud laugh he went upstairs to get changed.

*~*

“You’re a cop?” Hutch informed later that day, when the three of them were sitting at the kitchen table and eating dinner that he cooked them.

“This is nice,” Steve said with an appreciative nod at the meal, “much better than the hospital food.” He looked better after his nap, regaining some colour on his pale face. He swallowed a fork full of green pasta and then slowly shrugged his shoulders to Hutch’s question. “I guess. I can’t remember. I’ve read my file, your captain handed me a copy. But nothing sounds familiar. I could be… Ernie from Sesamestreet for all I know.”

“Nah,” Starsky shook his head and waved his fork, “He’s got a different nose. And his hair’s slightly darker.”

Steve smiled. “Thanks, David. That’s a relief.”

“What’s it like?” Starsky continued with ill-concealed curiosity.

“What’s what like?”

“Amnesia. I’m trying to understand what you must experience. What do you feel? What do you remember? How does it affect you? Does it scare you? Worry you? What comes naturally? And what not?”

Hutch got a wrinkle between his eyebrows, taking offence to Starsky’s direct questions. But Steve looked just at him with a surprised look in his brown eyes. These were not the questions he had expected, clearly. “It’s mainly… confusing. Like someone would say to you ‘hey, how was the movie yesterday? Nice girl by the way.’ You’ve got absolutely no idea what he means, which movie, where, with whom you were there… you don’t even know THAT you were there at all.”

“Scary?”

“No. Just confusing. The scary part is that I managed to survive despite a bullet in my head. If I think it might have gone half an inch deeper…” He shivered slightly and took another bite, blinking his eyes to get rid of what he just visualised.

“You said you read your file. Surely some of the names there must ring a bell?” Starsky tried and used his fingers to split the bone from the salmon.

“That’s what people use forks for, Starsk,” Hutch said and slapped him on the fingers with the blunt side of his knife. “Behave.”

“Yes mum,” Starsky laughed and licked his fingers, much to Hutch’s irritation. Steve laughed too – he quickly caught the atmosphere and the bond between the friends and naturally hooked up with their sense of humour. Then he answered. “I was married, the file says. Her name was Anne, she died of cancer. I can remember a woman… a female face… and I remember the pain when she was gone… but I can’t recall a name to the face. Anne means nothing to me, just like Steve doesn’t. I don’t doubt that’s my name, but it just doesn’t feel like – like coming home, if you know what I mean.”

“So what DO you remember? More memories?”

“Starsky…” Hutch said warningly but Steve gestured it was okay.

“I served in Vietnam. That I do know.” Steve’s voice had grown softer, more thoughtful, and in his brown eyes a distant gaze appeared. “I can see faces, and I know I KNOW them, but I don’t recall any of them. Like watching a film, realising you’ve seen the actor before and have no clue where or when. Other memories are… fragments. Smells. VC. A cook. A priest. Blood. Special Sunday bread.”

“Where did you serve? When?” Starsky tried.

Steve shook his head. His breath stuck and his eyes found Starsky’s. “I… I don’t know.”

“You’ve recently moved to Bay City. Any particular reason?”

“I only know what the file says. I’m quoting - I applied for a job at the 8^th precinct. I lived in Mount Leana. I moved to Bay City just before the murders Dobey mentioned.”

“The murders – how much do you know?”

Steve’s brown eyes turned a shade darker. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I don’t even know I’ve been witness to any murder.” Frustrated he suddenly lost his cool, his utensils fell from his shaking hands and he buried his fingers in his hair. “It’s nothing. Not even a blur. Only confusion. Amazement over people’s disability to understand that I DON’T KNOW anything.”

Starsky coloured. He looked ashamed. “I’m sorry. I owe you an apology.”

“You bloody well do!” Hutch snapped angrily. But Steve shook his head and tried to get himself under control again.

“Apology accepted, don’t feel bad about it. It’s part of the anamnesis. It must be difficult to grasp that I can’t put names to faces or places.” He shrugged. “I guess I’d react pretty much the same – trying to get the victim to remember something.”

“Starsk – the man just saved your butt.”

Steve said, before Starsky could answer, “It would be something, wouldn’t it? If you could jog my memory? It’ll look good on your record.”

“I’m not…” Starsky began to protest but Steve hushed him once more.

“I know you’re not doing it for your record. Figure of speech.”

Starsky’s face was a mixture of hurt and embarrassment.

“You started it,” Steve suddenly laughed, dissolving the tense atmosphere as he did. “Don’t look so guilty.” He added, “I’d be grateful if you could actually pull it off, David. You’re persistent enough to get it done.”

Glad Steve took the questions as healthy interest rather than an inquisitiveness the curly haired man clapped his hands together. “Hutch, it was lovely. You did the cooking – I’ll do the dishes.”

“I’ll help you,” Steve nodded.

~*~

“I’ll take the first night shift,” Starsky said. “I’m as chirpy as a cricket.”

“Beware ye villains of the world,” Hutch said and rolled his eyes. “Jiminy is watching over us.”

“Jiminy had some good helpers,” Steve reminded him with a cheerful smile. “Do you expect trouble? You think it’s necessary to keep a watch?”

“But better safe than sorry.”

“Yeah. Guess so.”

Steve went to bed early. He was still easily tired and Hutch had to remind himself that their man had only just been released from hospital.

“What do you think of him, Hutch?” Starsky asked with a curious look in his eyes.

“Seems like a nice guy.”

“Yeah, he does, doesn’t he? And how about that memory loss?”

“I don’t know. His condition sounds like the real thing, if you ask me. But I can’t say for sure yet. Either he’s really what he claims to be…”

“Or he’s a hell of an actor,” Starsky filled in, nodding in agreement.

For a while, neither one spoke and let their own thoughts run freely. The smaller man was the first to break the silence. “So, what are we going to do for the next few weeks? Your friend’s sure got a nice place here, very well equipped. Pool, Jacuzzi, VCR… not bad.”

“She’s from a wealthy family,” Hutch laughed at Starsky’s delighted face. “Open that cupboard, will ya?” He pointed towards an ebony cabinet and when Starsky did, he found over a hundred videotapes, neatly, alphabetically organised. “That must be heaven for you, Gordo. Hundreds of miles of tape, for you to endlessly watch and be idle.”

Starsky was like a kid in a candy store. He let his finger run over the backs of the tape boxes and murmured the titles. He looked up with sparkling eyes.

“She still available?”

Hutch laughed. “In your dreams, buddy, in your dreams!”

~*~

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