TKO (Boxing Day)

Table of Contents

I don’t like “The Heavyweight,” so I rewrote it. Sequel to Starsky and Hutch Take a Vacation

This story takes place in the same universe as my previous stories, About Last Night and “Starsky and Hutch Take a Vacation,” but you don’t have to have read those to understand this one. For that matter, you don’t have to be familiar with “The Heavyweight” to understand this story.

Thanks to Val for being my beta and offering lots of helpful editorial advice. Also thanks (and apologies) to Elvis Costello.

You can run all you like
From the classroom or the cot
From a great big man or a tiny tot
But from this day every day will be Boxing Day

It’s a fight to the finish there can be no doubt
As the seconds turn to minutes I can count you out

Now you don’t look so glamorous
Whenever I feel so amorous
I can count you out

-Elvis Costello, “TKO (Boxing Day)”

*******************

From This Day, Every Day Will Be Boxing Day

Starsky lay on the bed, stroking his chest with one hand and looking up at the ceiling. It was a grayish white; he wondered if it would be called “eggshell” in the catalogues at the hardware store. He thought it could use repainting. He wondered if he could convince Hutch to cover it with a mirror.

Hutch. He was thinking about the ceiling in an effort not to think about Hutch, and what had just happened.

*******************

The sun had streamed in through the windows in Hutch’s apartment, waking them both up early. It was a Saturday in January and they had the day off-unless they got beeped, of course. Starsky hoped they didn’t get beeped.

They’d just finished work on an emotionally and physically exhausting case involving their friend Ted McDermott and a bunch of crooked gamblers at the Marlborough Club, and they desperately needed the time off. Starsky thought about getting up and making some coffee, but really all he wanted to do was lie there for awhile.

He felt Hutch pressing his groin hard against Starsky’s ass. Smiling, he wiggled against his partner.

But Hutch pulled away. “No,” he said gruffly. “Lie still.”

Starsky complied. Hutch moved back against him. They were both still naked from the night before, and Starsky could feel Hutch’s cock stiffening against him.

Hutch reached around and tweaked one of Starsky’s nipples roughly. “Ouch!” Starsky cried in surprise. “Hey, be careful there, I’m not made of Play-Doh.” But Hutch’s caresses did not get any gentler. He pulled and pinched Starsky’s nipple, which stiffened beneath his fingers. Then he moved on to the other one and did the same. Starsky closed his eyes and groaned. They didn’t usually play rough like this, but if that’s what Hutch wanted, he didn’t mind.

He felt Hutch rubbing up against him again, and this time when Starsky pressed back, Hutch didn’t move away.

“I want to fuck you,” he whispered roughly in Starsky’s ear.

Starsky shivered. “We’ve never-”

“It’s time we did, don’t you think?”

“Okay.” Starsky shifted on the bed a bit, and reached over his head for a pillow to put under his hips, to make things easier for Hutch.

But Hutch grabbed the pillow away. “No, no pillow. This isn’t going to be soft.” He put his hands on Starsky’s hips, and pulled him closer. He had taken the bottle of lube from the bedside table and was smoothing some onto his cock.

Well, Starsky thought, maybe it wasn’t going to be soft, but at least it would be smooth.

Hutch was pressing the head of his cock into Starsky’s ass, against his opening. He seemed impatient.

“Open for me, Starsky,” he whispered against Starsky’s neck. “Open yourself up for me.”

Starsky concentrated on relaxing the muscles in his buttocks, on relaxing in general, but the moment that he did he felt Hutch shove himself inside, not gently, not taking care like he knew he should.

Starsky started to protest. “Hutch, what do you think you’re-”

But Hutch stopped him. “Do you want me to fuck you, Starsky?” He had stopped moving, so that he was inside his lover but only part way.

“Y-yes.”

“Do you want me to move inside you?” Hutch was whispering again, and his whisper was both menacing and seductive.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to feel my cock in your ass?”

“Yes, oh God, Hutch. Yes!”

“Then shut up.” And again, he rammed himself into Starsky without warning or tenderness.

Starsky was suddenly thankful for the lube.

But after the initial pain, the friction between their two bodies grew pleasurable, and Starsky forgot his protests. Hutch moved rhythmically inside Starsky, filling him with his cock, his strong body locked onto Starsky’s.

But Hutch, who was usually a generous lover, thought only of himself this time, and Starsky had to jerk himself off to climax along with him.

Soaked in sweat, they separated. Starsky wasn’t sure what had just happened. He lay, inches from Hutch, not saying anything.

After a few moments, Hutch reached over with what seemed like his first gentle gesture of the morning, touching Starsky’s mouth with his finger. He ran his thumb along Starsky’s lower lip, then put it into Starsky’s mouth.

“Suck it,” he commanded, and Starsky did. Hutch closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and withdrew his finger. Without another word or glance at Starsky, he got up from the bed, went into the bathroom and shut the door. After a minute, Starsky could hear the shower running.

What the fuck was that? thought Starsky. He lay on the bed for a few minutes before getting up and knocking on the bathroom door.

“Hutch?” He opened the door a crack, and peeked in. The room was filled with steam. “Hutch?”

“I don’t really feel like company, Starsky. If you don’t mind.” The voice again-cold, though not as rough as before. Starsky acquiesced and closed the door. He strode back to the bed, wondering what to do. Finally, he got back onto the bed.

*******************

He stared at the ceiling and idly stroked his chest. Ceiling could use a paint job, he thought again. Eggshell. Definitely eggshell.

*******************

Eventually, Hutch emerged from the bathroom, wearing a dark green towel around his waist. He came into the bedroom and started digging through his closet, looking for something to wear.

“You wanna talk about it?” Starsky asked.

“Talk about what?” Hutch picked out a solid green turtleneck and pulled it on.

“About what just happened.”

“Not particularly.” He pulled on underwear, then selected a pair of dark brown cords and started pulling them on.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Hutch? You’re not even lookin’ at me.”

Hutch turned to face Starsky. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me? There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m not the one who was groping a sixteen-year-old girl.” He sat down on the bed, facing away from Starsky, to put on his socks.

“Oh, come on, Hutch. You know you wanted to, before I won.” Starsky was talking to the back of Hutch’s head.

Hutch turned around, a sock in mid-air. ” ‘Won’? What exactly did you win? And what kind of stupid competition was it?”

“Oh, come on, Hutch,” Starsky repeated. “It’s just our thing; it’s what we do.”

“Competing for the attentions of a teenager? Well I’m sick of it.” Hutch went back to putting on his socks. When he was done, he reached for his boots, which were on the floor by the side of the bed.

“That was your choice. You’re the one who wanted it to be this way.” Starsky’s voice was no longer cajoling, and his face had hardened into seriousness.

“I said we should still date other women. Not teenagers. Julie was just a kid, for Chrissakes. We knew her when she was in pigtails.”

“You were just as interested as I, at first,” Starsky reminded him.

“Oh, please, I wasn’t interested. I was just playing our game, our-what did you call it? Our thing. ‘It’s what we do.’ I wasn’t actually interested in her. She’s a child. Not like a real woman. Not like Judith.”

“Ah.” So that’s what this is about, Starsky thought.

“But you, you had your hands all over her, your tongue down her throat…”

“You had your hands on her too, if I recall correctly.”

“Please.” Hutch waved his hand dismissively. “It meant nothing to me. But you…a teenager. She’s just a teenager.”

“Not like Judith Kaufman,” said Starsky. He was smirking, but Hutch couldn’t see, because he was looking the other way.

“No. Not like Judith. Judith was a grown-up, a real woman.”

“Right. A real woman.” Starsky paused. “A real woman who lives 2000 miles away.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Starsky shrugged. “Dunno. Just that you happened to fall for a woman you knew you couldn’t have. You knew she wouldn’t stay. You wouldn’t have wanted her if she did.”

“What, you think that means something? You think there aren’t any women in L.A. I could fall in love with? Let me tell you something.” Hutch pointed his index finger at Starsky for emphasis. “I don’t happen, as a cop, to meet the city’s finest class of women. I don’t know if you noticed, but most of the women we meet are file clerks or prostitutes. It’s not every day we meet a nice doctor or nurse.”

“Yeah, and even when we do, they don’t always turn out to be what you think.” Starsky said, thinking of Diana.

“I know,” said Hutch, reading his mind. “Besides, it’s not like you’re going around picking the best women. You knew Rosey was off limits when you met her.”

Starsky looked away. “Not when I first met her.”

Hutch’s eyes were blazing and his hands were gripping the bedcovers. Starsky looked up at him questioningly. Hutch finally relented.

“What-what are we doing here? What’s happening? Why are we acting this way? It’s ridiculous.” He turned again to look at Starsky. “Why aren’t you dressed? Come on, get dressed. We were gonna go to the flower show today. I want to get there early, before all the good stuff gets taken.”

“All right, all right,” Starsky said, pulling on a pair of jeans. ” ‘Good stuff.’ What, your favorite fern might be gone? No more resplendent rhododendrons?” Starsky snickered.

“What would you know about it? I don’t want to get stuck with a half-dead ficus that hasn’t been watered in two weeks, that’s all.”

“As long as we have time to stop at Merl’s after. He just did a paint job on a green Camaro that I want to check out.”

“You and your cars.”

“Yeah, me and my cars. You and your plants.” Starsky glared.

Hutch stared back. “Let’s go,” he said, and he tossed Starsky his jacket. Starsky scowled. He was already plotting his revenge.

Punch the Clock

They were working a case on the docks involving stolen shipments and a mob boss named Haley Gavin. One cop was already dead: Frank Marchetti, a family man, with a wife and two little kids. Marchetti had been killed before he’d been able to get his hands on any hard evidence, so Starsky and Hutch were working undercover as longshoremen, trying to gather more information. So far they’d come up empty. But they had befriended another dock worker named Spenser. Spenser seemed like a decent sort, and Hutch hoped they’d eventually get him to talk.

But Hutch noticed that Starsky was having trouble concentrating on the case. He seemed to be intent on annoying Hutch with tales of his latest conquest, Sharon, a stewardess.

“L.A. to Honolulu, man, and she can really fly, even without an airplane,” Starsky said. They were sitting in the squad room, drinking coffee and poring over all the files they had on Gavin and two of his goons, Berl and Cruiser.

“Oh, yeah?” Hutch looked up.

“Yeah. You should see her when I put the screws to her. She fucking loves it. I never heard a woman scream so much.”

“Hmmm.” Hutch pretended to be bored, and glanced back down at the file he was reading. “Says here that Berl served some time in prison. Seems he was running numbers for Gavin.”

“Oh, yeah?” Starsky rubbed his back, which was sore from lifting boxes. Berl and Cruiser were a salt-and-pepper set who also worked the docks, and they’d been less than friendly to Starsky and Hutch.

“Yeah. Whaddaya say we go check him out?”

“Won’t we be blowing our cover?”

“Our cover’s not getting us very far. I think it may be time for the good cop/bad cop routine.”

Starsky seemed to consider this for a moment. “Nah, I think I’m gonna go home and catch a little shuteye. Sharon’s coming in tomorrow night, and I wanna be well rested.”

“Starsky, we’re working a case. What the hell are you doing?”

Starsky shrugged. “It’s six o’clock. We’re done, we’re off the clock. We can wait till tomorrow to check out….”

“Berl.”

“Berl. I’m sure you’ve got plans for the evening.” Starsky winked lecherously, though he knew Hutch didn’t. Hutch hadn’t been seeing any what’shernames lately.

Hutch looked away. “Sure. Fine. We’ll go tomorrow. But you better get some sleep tonight. I don’t want you dragging your ass around behind me tomorrow like you did today.”

Starsky winked. “Nope. I hate to drag my ass without good reason.”

*******************

“Which one’s Berl again?” Starsky asked, rubbing his eyes in the sunlight.

“Berl’s the blond.” Hutch was wearing aviator sunglasses and driving his beat-up LTD, because he felt like being in control. He didn’t know what was going on with Starsky, but he didn’t like it.

“And he lives where, again?”

“Santa Monica Boulevard. Come on, Starsky, focus! You do remember what we’re going to ask him, right?”

“About the shipments.”

“Right, about the shipments.” Hutch gripped the wheel tightly. He didn’t like this feeling, like he had only half a partner.

About ten minutes later, they pulled up in front of a shabby apartment building, parked, and got out. They went through the front door and into a small reception area. Hutch flashed his badge at the man behind the desk. “We’re looking for a Thomas Berl. He live here?”

The man, a short balding fellow with bad teeth, started to sweat. He nodded his head vigorously. “3D. But I don’t want no trouble.”

“Well then, that works out perfectly,” said Hutch. “Because we don’t want any trouble, either.”

The detectives made their way to apartment 3D, and knocked on the door.

“Yeah, whaddaya want?” came a voice from inside.

“Thomas Berl? Open up. Police. We need to talk.”

From inside came crashing sounds, then a window being violently opened.

Hutch looked at his partner, and Starsky seemed suddenly awake. Without a word they broke down the door, Hutch going high and to the left, Starsky low and to the right, guns drawn. But the room was empty, as Hutch had feared. In two loping strides he was at the window, just in time to see Berl get into his car and drive away.

Starsky moved beside him and holstered his gun. “Terrific. What do we do now?”

Hutch considered this. “Well, at least he hasn’t made us. Why don’t we go to work and see what happens.”

Starsky groaned. “Another day hauling boxes is gonna be the end of me.”

Hutch smiled and patted Starsky’s stomach. “Aw come on, Starsk, it’s not that bad. Give you a chance to build up those abs. For what’shername.”

“Sharon.”

“Whatever.”

Keep You Clocking On

They were loading boxes of Bartlett pears onto a flatbed truck a few hours later, when they had their next run-in with Berl. At least, the boxes said they were Bartlett pears; Starsky didn’t think there were any pears nearby. He and Hutch were taking a little break, sitting there and minding their own business. They wore jackets to guard against the winter chill, and to keep their weapons hidden from view.

“Do you have any idea what this work is doing to my love life?” Starsky asked Hutch.

“Making your body firm and irresistible?” he answered, smiling. The sun hit his hair in that way it did sometimes. He was the one who was irresistible, Starsky wanted to say. But he was in complaining mode, so he continued.

“Last night, I had Sharon over for a candlelight dinner.”

“Yeah.”

“A bottle of Beaujolais, soft music. You know what happened?”

“Food poisoning?”

Starsky glared at him. “No. I fell asleep on the couch.” But he couldn’t finish his story, because suddenly a loud noise came from above them. Starsky turned to see Berl smash a hammer into one of the boxes. He was accompanied by Cruiser, his partner in crime, and a third goon they didn’t know. The three of them jumped up onto the truck and suggested the boys clock off for the day.

“Well, that’s awfully nice of you to offer,” Starsky said. “But we don’t need any help.”

“Yeah, we’ve almost got this thing half-loaded already.”

“That’s the idea,” said Cruiser. “Just think of all the work you saved us.”

Starsky decided to try a different approach. “Why don’t we all work together? You know what they say: many hands make light work.” He gave them his most winning smile. They weren’t buying.

“Didn’t you guys get the word? We work wherever and whenever we want.”

Starsky looked at Hutch. Why would they be interested in this truck, he wondered. A load of Bartlett pears couldn’t possibly be worth ripping off.

Starsky was starting to wonder what they should do. It was three against two, which wasn’t exactly fair play. Of course, he and Hutch were packing heat under their jackets, so they could’ve shown their guns and blown their covers. But Starsky knew it would be better if they could save that till they got each one alone. Bad cop/bad cop interrogation worked best two on one.

Suddenly, Spenser appeared and saved them all a lot of trouble. A one-two-three left-left-right combination and goon number three was down. Berl and Cruiser quickly changed their tune.

“We didn’t know they were with you, Spense.”

“Sorry, man.”

And they took off.

Starsky breathed a sigh of relief. Hutch turned to Spense. “You got some pretty nice moves there, ever do any fight-Spenser, Jimmy Spenser. That’s you.”

“That’s me.”

“Huh. I saw you fight down at the sports arena. Pretty good,” Starsky said.

“No wonder those guys steered clear of you,” Hutch said.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got a fight tonight. That was just warm-up.” Spenser looked serious. “Hey, those two guys, Berl and Cruiser. I’d steer clear of ’em if I were you. Work for a guy named Gavin. Pretty heavy stuff.”

Starsky looked at him. He thought that this could be the break they needed. “How heavy?” he asked.

“Heavy. Keep your mouth shut and mind your business, and you’ll be fine. Keep picking up that paycheck at the end of the day.” Spense jumped down off the truck to get the next load of boxes. Starsky and Hutch looked at each other. Maybe they wouldn’t have to go the interrogation route after all, Starsky thought, and he knew Hutch was thinking the same thing. Spense could be their ticket in.

After Berl and Cruiser were gone, and Spense was at the far end of the truck, Starsky motioned to Hutch to come over to where he was. He knelt down, looked around to make sure no one was looking, and took a box-cutter out of his pocket.

“I really want to see what makes these pears so valuable,” he said, squinting up at Hutch in the late-afternoon sun. He ran the cutter around one edge of one of the boxes, and pried the edge up. The box was made of heavy-duty cardboard, and it wasn’t easy, but eventually he’d lifted enough of one corner to see inside.

He took one look, and then looked up at Hutch. “Pears, huh? I never heard of pears that were black and shiny and had power cords.”

He showed Hutch. The box was full of electronic equipment and crumpled paper.

“This is what we’re unloading, not fruit,” Starsky said.

“And this must be what Gavin is ripping off.”

“Where do you think this truck is going?”

“I dunno. Maybe Dobey does.”

“Maybe. We can check with him in the morning. Right now, I need a beer.” Hutch raised an eyebrow. “And maybe some useful conversation,” Starsky explained. They walked over to where Spenser was, to see if he was thirsty.

*******************

After they clocked off, the detectives drove over to The Pits. Spenser was meeting them there, along with his trainer, Jeeter. He’d invited them to the fight tonight, so Starsky insisted on stopping at a pay phone to call Sharon and invite her. Hutch sat in the car, fuming. Starsky turned his back and lowered his voice, then laughed loudly so Hutch could hear. When he hung up and went back to the car, he could see Hutch was annoyed. Starsky acted dumb and pretended not to notice.

“Sharon said she can make it. She’ll meet us there at eight.”

“Terrific,” Hutch said, staring out at the traffic as they pulled onto Pico Boulevard. Starsky smiled. Sharon’s stupidity was part of her allure-the better to bug Hutch with. Of course, he wasn’t gonna tell Hutch that. He wanted to see how much Hutch could take before he broke.

“So, what do you think of Spense?” Starsky asked, changing the subject. “You think he might know something?”

“I dunno. Maybe. The question is, will he tell if he does know?”

“Good question. He got family?”

“I dunno,” Hutch said again. “Let’s find out.”

*******************

“Hey Spense, didn’t you take Billy Coyle at the Garden about six years ago?” Huggy asked as he delivered another round of beers to the table. They were sitting at a table in the otherwise empty bar-Spenser, Jeeter, Starsky, and Hutch-in the late afternoon. Jeeter was a middle-aged black man with deep bags under his eyes and a graying beard.

“Yeah, third-round knockout. The Kid was really something,” Jeeter remembered. “Course, he was fighting middleweight then.”

Spenser’s face flickered momentarily with regret. “Yeah, a few thousand years ago.”

“You were really up there, weren’t you,” Hutch said. “There was talk about a title fight, or something…”

“Ranked number three! They said he was another Tony Zale. And the kid’s still got a lot of good fight left in him.” Jeeter slapped Spenser playfully on the arm.

Spenser laughed. “You got my number one fan club right here. He’s the only one I know who still calls me kid.”

Starsky smiled. “You two been together a long time?” He took a sip from his beer glass.

“Ever since I seen him lay three guys out on a loading dock twelve years ago,” Jeeter said proudly. “Pro written all over him. Like I said to Gavin-”

“Gavin?” Hutch’s ears perked up. “Haley Gavin? What’s he got to do with Spense?”

“Uh…he’s-he’s sort of Spense’s angel,” Jeeter hesitated. “He keeps him working in between fights and helps get him a match or two every now and then.”

Starsky and Hutch exchanged a knowing look. “Heard a lot of stories about Gavin,” Starsky suggested, hoping Jeeter or Spenser would bite. “Is it true that he’s, uh, in with the mob?”

Jeeter seemed nervous all of a sudden. He hesitated a moment, then said, overanxiously, “Nah!” Suddenly, it was time to go.

“Hey, we can’t be sitting around, sucking up beer all day,” Jeeter proclaimed, getting up from his chair. “We gotta get down to the gym and work the heavy bag.”

“Yeah, let’s go. See you guys tonight,” said Spenser, as he got up to leave, too.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Hutch said, smiling. He’d been watching Spenser carefully as Jeeter spoke, noticing his nervousness once they’d mentioned Gavin. That told him more than any three-hour interrogation might have. He said as much to Starsky once they were alone.

“You notice the way he squirmed once Gavin’s name came up?”

“Yup. He knows something.” Starsky took another drink from his beer glass.

“Sure does. How do we get him to tell us, is the question.”

“We’ll think of something. Hey, you in the mood for a fight? The smell of sweat, the cheering crowd, the feeling of popcorn getting stuck to the bottom of your shoes…”

“Like I said,” said Hutch. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Boxing Clever

Olympic Stadium was packed full of roaring fight fans. The place smelled of sweat, stale beer, and popcorn. Starsky and Hutch had good seats, right up close to the ring. Between them sat Sharon, and to Hutch’s left sat a little boy of undetermined origin. Hutch watched as Starsky explained some of the rules to Sharon, who had never been to a fight before. He suddenly realized how much Sharon looked like Julie, the sixteen-year-old girl they had (now that he had thought about it) behaved badly toward just a few weeks ago.

Jimmy Spenser was in the ring with Booker Wayne, a tall, fit black man who looked lean and muscular in contrast to Spenser’s less fit, more flabby body.

Starsky had his paws all over Sharon, Hutch noticed with disgust. He was probably just using the fight as a prelude to sex, an aphrodisiac that would work by associating Starsky with the manly world of boxing. How better to make Sharon crazy for him?

The little boy sitting next to Hutch took advantage of his inattentiveness and stole some of his popcorn. Hutch was startled to notice little fingers withdrawing from his popcorn bag, clutching several kernels. The boy was about ten years old and had a head full of shiny, straight brown hair, just like Spenser’s. Hutch stared at him, and slyly moved the popcorn bag to his right hand, just out of the boy’s reach. When the boy realized what Hutch had done, he gave him a dirty look. Hutch shot back a look of mock exasperation.

In the first round, Booker was all jabs and straight rights, while Spense spent a lot of time covering and not much time throwing punches of his own.

“That’s right, that’s right, keep your hands up,” shouted Starsky, keeping his own hands up, as if to illustrate.

“Come on, Spense,” Hutch shouted.

Spense and Booker were in a clinch against the ropes when the first-round bell rang. The referee helped them apart, and Jeeter got Spense some water over in his corner.

“Oh, that was terrific!” squealed Sharon. “Who won?”

Hutch and Starsky exchanged looks. At least Julie hadn’t been stupid, Hutch thought.

The second round started, and Booker was full of fight. Jab-jab-hook, jab-jab-hook seemed to be his favorite combination. Again Spense was offering little resistance, simply keeping his gloves up and covering. Hutch was puzzled; he’d seen Jimmy Spenser fight before, and he knew he had some good moves. Even with fifteen extra pounds on him, he should’ve been doing better than this.

Booker landed a right hook to the head that knocked Spense to the ground. Spense managed to get up before the second-round bell rang. The crowd was going wild, really letting them have it. There were loud cheers for both fighters.

“Aw boy,” Starsky said, looking concerned. “Spense is getting killed.”

“Oh, that one’s Spenser!” Sharon gurgled. Hutch rolled his eyes.

The third round began. Booker came out swinging-left hook, then right hook, then left hook again. Spenser was immediately caught off balance and fell after only the third punch, without getting to land one of his own.

The crowd went crazy. They were yowling and hooting and hollering for Booker now. Everybody loves a winner, and Booker looked like the easy winner here.

The boy sitting next to Hutch ran over to the ring. He was at eye level with Spense, who was on the floor. “Get up!” the boy yelled. “Get up!”

Starsky and Hutch joined in the shouting. “Get up! Get up, Spense!”

As though obeying the shouts, Jimmy Spenser got up from the ground before the referee finished the ten-count. And, seemingly for the first time in the fight, he was throwing punches. Right hook, right hook, right hook to the body in quick succession, then a left hook to the body and a left hook to the face, and Booker was down. It was over in less than ten seconds.

“Yeaaaaaaaaaah!!! That’s my dad!” shouted the little boy next to Hutch.

“What?” Hutch shouted into the shouts of the crowd.

“That’s my pop!”

“Spenser’s your old man?” Hutch asked.

“Yeah!”

Hutch smiled broadly. “Well all right! Here’s the champ!” And he raised the boy’s arm high.

Meanwhile, Starsky was hugging Sharon, ostensibly because Spenser had won, but probably just because he wanted to feel her up, Hutch thought. It was pathetic.

As the referee raised Jimmy’s hand high in the air and proclaimed him the winner, Jeeter came to talk to him in the ring. Hutch noticed that Jeeter looked less than thrilled at his buddy’s victory.

*******************

In the locker room after the fight, Hutch again felt ill at ease. Spenser asked them if they’d take his son Stevie home.

“You sure you’re all right?” Hutch asked.

“Yeah, I just-I gotta get somewhere fast.”

As they left the locker room, Hutch heard Sharon babbling on. “This whole fighting trip really turns me on. It’s so animal.”

“Hutch, could you drop Sharon and I off? I promised her I’d show her my Ventures collection.” Starsky smiled charmingly at Sharon. Hutch saw the bulge in Starsky’s jeans, and was sure that wasn’t all he’d be showing her. God, how he hated it when Starsky got like this. Why wasn’t he paying attention? Didn’t he notice that something was wrong with Spense?

“Did you notice that Spenser was in such a hurry to get out of here he didn’t bother taking a shower?”

“Well, maybe that’s because he didn’t have a date.” Starsky smiled his goofy smile at Sharon again.

Hutch cleared his throat. “Sharon, would you mind taking Stevie home?” He handed her the keys. “Starsky and I have some business to discuss.”

Starsky’s face fell. “Hey, uh, Sharon’s going to Honolulu in the morning.”

“Have a nice trip,” Hutch said. Starsky glared at him.

“You keep this up and you’ll be back in the bullpen before long,” Sharon said to Starsky. Starsky looked despondent. Hutch was pleased.

“Goodnight, Stevie,” he said. Luckily, the kid had not picked up on his trepidation.

“I smelled something back in there more than stale sweat. More like fear.”

“Yeah, well I smell something right here; it’s called frustration.” Starsky looked annoyed.

“Spense is our best lead to Gavin. And he did stand up with us.” Hutch was annoyed, too-that Starsky didn’t seem to be taking this case seriously, that his mind was elsewhere. He didn’t think he should have to plead with Starsky to do his work, and he couldn’t understand Starsky’s desire for the bimbo who had just walked away making vague threats of sexual withholding. Starsky didn’t need that-he could have any woman he wanted! For that matter, he had a stack of Playboy magazines at home, and some very comfortable chairs. There was no need for him to behave like a fourteen-year-old boy.

When they got back to the locker room, Hutch saw that his hunch had been right. The three goons from the docks had Spenser cornered.

“Starsk, look out!” Starsky turned and ducked just in time to miss being hit by Berl, the bulky blond goon. Cruiser, his black cohort, took on Hutch. He swung at him with both fists, but Hutch was too quick. He stepped out of the way and Cruiser smashed head first into a row of lockers.

Starsky was quick, too. He’d managed to evade Berl so far, and had landed a couple of left hooks to the jaw.

Undisciplined, Hutch thought. Their fighting was undisciplined. They relied on their bulk to intimidate people, but when that didn’t work they really had very little skill. He blocked another left jab by Cruiser and landed a right to his face. Off balance, Cruiser toppled to the ground.

Starsky had grabbed Berl’s arm and was twisting it behind his back, forcing his face into the wall. The minute he let go, Berl made for the door. Hutch picked up Cruiser, and with Starsky’s help tossed him, too, out of the locker room.

Now it was just Starsky, Hutch, and Spenser.

“With love from the boys at work,” Hutch noted wryly, panting heavily.

“Five’ll get you ten one Haley Gavin was behind that,” Starsky noted, catching his breath. “You mind telling us what that was all about?”

Spense looked up dumbly. “I don’t know. It was just a misunderstanding, I guess.”

“Aw, come off it, Spense. Gavin just knocked your head around. We can help,” Hutch said.

“You can help,” sneered Spense.

Starsky and Hutch exchanged looks, and Starsky took out his badge and showed it to Spense. “We think Gavin has something to do with the murder of a cop,” he said. “Maybe you can help us.”

Hutch took a picture of the dead cop out of his jacket pocket and showed it to Spense.

Spense looked at it for a long moment. “I didn’t know that guy was a cop,” he said slowly. “I didn’t know he was dead. Look, you guys are real good at what you do, and I appreciate the help. But I don’t know nothing. Just leave me alone, okay? I thank you.” And with that, he left.

Starsky looked after him for a moment, stunned. Finally, he shouted “You’re welcome!” after him, down the hall.

Hutch still wasn’t sure what was going on, but he was beginning to have some ideas.

“What happen? Wrong guy win?” he asked, when Jeeter mysteriously appeared. Where had he been during the fight, Hutch wondered. “So Spenser was supposed to play the dive routine. Only he didn’t follow the script, is that it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Jeeter, rubbing his head. Hutch realized he’d been knocked out of the locker room fight early. He must have been lying in the adjacent room, either unconscious or consciously waiting for the fight to end. Some partner, thought Hutch. Twelve years. Real loyal.

“Somebody tried to put Spenser in a box tonight,” Starsky said. “We think it might be Gavin.”

“Look, if you’re really friends of Spense, just stay out of it. He’s in enough trouble already.”

“Yeah, ‘stay out of it.’ That might be alright for you. But it’s not our style,” said Hutch. With that, they left the locker room, and left Jeeter to wrestle with his own demons.

*******************

Once Gavin found out that the goons he’d sent to mess up Spense had failed, there was no telling what he might do. Hutch reasoned that Gavin had lost a lot of money because of Spense, and he was not likely to take that lying down.

“Starsk, we’ve got to find Spense.”

“Hmmm?”

“Spense. He could be in danger. We’ve got to find him before Gavin does.” Hutch kept his voice low and reasonable, but he was annoyed to see Starsky losing focus again.

“Oh, right. Sorry,” Starsky said, glancing at his watch. “I was just thinking… it’s only ten o’clock. I could still make it over to Sharon’s before bedtime…”

“Now, Starsky.”

“Can’t it wait till morning?” Starsky moped.

“No. Spense could be dead by morning.”

But they went to his place, and to his ex-wife’s, and even to Jeeter’s, and there was no sign of him. Well, Hutch reasoned, if they couldn’t find him, neither could Gavin.

“Okay, I guess we call it quits for the night. Drop me off. I’ll see you in the morning. First thing, we go see Huggy, ask him to put the word out for Spense.”

“Drop you off? Drop you off? Why can’t you for once drive to my place so I don’t have to make the drive out to the beach every night?”

Hutch smiled. “Don’t worry, Starsk. It’s only midnight. Why don’t you give her a call when you get home, see what’s up? Maybe she’ll invite you over.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Starsky snorted. “Or maybe I’m in the bullpen again, and she’s already got a pinch hitter up to bat.” Starsky looked chagrined.

Hutch spent the rest of the ride home trying to figure out the logic of Starsky’s analogy. Finally, he gave up. Sometimes he just had to, with Starsky.

You’ll Be Young Enough Forever

Instead of checking in with Dobey, Starsky and Hutch decided to stop off at Huggy’s the next morning for some coffee to go, and to find out if he could get a line on Spense’s whereabouts. Then they headed to the docks and put in the usual eight-hour shift, even though they knew neither Spense nor Berl nor Cruiser would probably show up.

They were right: the day passed uneventfully. All day long, they unloaded box after box in the blazing hot sun. Starsky took more than his usual share of breaks, but Hutch didn’t say anything. He knew it would probably be their last day; if his hunch was right, their cover had already been blown.

After clocking out, they headed back to Huggy’s, slid into their usual booth and ordered draft beers. Starsky sat with one elbow on the table in front of him, head propped in his hand. His eyes seemed to be closing; Hutch figured the beer wasn’t helping matters. At one point, Starsky seemed to actually doze for a few moments; Hutch started moving towards him, and Starsky opened one eye.

“Just making sure you’re alive,” Hutch explained. “You look a mess. What, did young Lochinvar go dashing after the beautiful princess again last night?”

Starsky glared at him. Hutch knew it irked Starsky when he made obscure literary references in casual conversation. He smiled, and mentally added another jab to his fight card.

Starsky ignored him. “I called her. She’d washed her hair. She was already asleep.”

“Mr. Excitement. I think you’re losing your touch, there,” Hutch prodded.

Starsky looked defensive. “She’s crazy about me. I can tell. It’s just that… she’s going through a very heavy experience with her ex-fiance.”

“Ex-fiance? Is that the pinch-hitter?”

Starsky glared again. “She needs space, that’s all.” He took a sip of beer.

“Space, huh? Well, why don’t you leave town?” Hutch asked, with just a hint of edge to his voice. Starsky’s exploits with bimbo Sharon were starting to either bore him or get on his nerves, he wasn’t sure which. Maybe both.

Before he could think about it further, or Starsky could punch back, Huggy came over and sat down at the table.

“What’s happening, man?”

“Hey, Huggy,” said Hutch. “So, has your intelligence network down on flophouse row come up with anything on Jimmy Spenser?”

“Look, it ain’t easy finding a guy who looks like he’s been in a fight. Fits half the clientele in that part of town.”

“If it was easy, we wouldn’t need a man with your expertise,” said half-asleep Starsky.

Huggy smiled broadly. “Well, in that case, a dude fitting Spenser’s description checked into the Dolphin Hotel last night.”

Hutch gave his partner a look. “Well, what are we doing here?”

“Pit stop.”

“Funny.”

*******************

The Dolphin Hotel was a flophouse down on Third Street, where rooms cost three dollars a day and maid service was a pleasant fantasy. The detectives got Spenser’s room number from the desk clerk and walked up the three flights of stairs; they barged into his room without knocking.

Spenser was sitting in a chair, reading a book when they came in. Surprised, he got up, the book falling to the floor.

“How’d you guys find me?”

“We’re good at what we do,” Starsky answered.

“It’s just a matter of time before Gavin talks to the same people we did,” Hutch added. “Look, Spenser, help us put Gavin on ice, please.”

“You guys know what you’re tying into? I mean, they already killed one of you cops. I didn’t know Marchetti was a cop-I thought it was some turkey they caught stealing.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Hutch asked, trying to keep his voice steady. Last night Spenser had said that he “didn’t know nothing.” Now that appeared to be not quite true.

“Gavin and his monkeys. They hit Gavin over the head-remember I told you guys? I didn’t know the guy was dead.” Spenser didn’t look too broken up about it, and that concerned Hutch. Either he just didn’t give a shit, or he was too far gone to care about anything.

“Looks like we got a case that we could take to the D.A.,” Starsky commented.

“There’s no way,” Spense was laughing. “They already want a piece of me for not taking the dive, and if they thought I knew about the cop, my life wouldn’t be worth a cup of coffee. I take the stand, they go after Jeeter or my kid. Hey, I know you guys are cops, but you can’t fight a guy like Gavin.”

So that was it; Spenser had given up. Hutch frowned. “All right, you want protection, you got it, for you and your family.” But even as he said it, he knew…

“Let me tell you something.” Spenser was smiling that world-weary smile again. “I learned the rules a long time ago. You keep your mouth shut and you stay in line and that’s the way it is.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” reasoned Hutch. “We could protect you, there are ways…”

“If you testify, then we could get Gavin and lock him up, we could lock him up good,” said Starsky. “That’d be the end of it.”

“Uh-uh. I ain’t gonna say nothing; I ain’t gonna be no hero. Just get outta here. Leave me alone-get outta here.”

Starsky sighed. “I guess we just had you figured wrong. Thought you were a bigger man than that.”

“See you around,” Hutch added, looking at Spenser sadly.

“Yeah,” said Spenser. “See you around.”

*******************

The detectives headed out of the hotel and back to the car. Starsky had managed to find a parking space right in front, as he always did. Hutch chuckled; that was Starsky’s gift, he thought, always finding a great parking space.

“Whadda we do now?” Starsky asked as he slid behind the wheel, yawning.

“I dunno. I guess there is someone else we can talk to about last night’s fight, anyway.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s that?”

“Booker Wayne.”

I Don’t Need Your Permission, I Can Count You Out

The Main Street Gym, where both Booker and Spense worked out, was like any other gym; like Vinnie’s, the one Hutch belonged to, there were heavy bags and speed bags, weights and mats, showers. When they got there, Booker Wayne was working the heavy bag. He wore a white tank top and gray sweatpants; his black skin glistened with sweat. His face was a study in concentration as he pounded the bag again and again. Hutch noticed his rippling muscles, his strength. He was built but not overbuilt. He had an air of fierce determination about him.

He did not appreciate the implication that Spenser had been paid to take a dive. “The fix was in, Booker my man. Don’t tell me you didn’t know about it,” Starsky mocked.

Booker was not amused. “Hey man, look, I don’t need no fix to take a bum like that.” He looked menacingly at Starsky and was about to say more, but Hutch cut him off.

“Somebody paid a visit to Jimmy Spenser last night with bats and pipes, almost put him in cold storage.”

“Well, that’s his problem,” said Booker.

“That’s cold, man,” said Starsky.

“Hey, you listen up. All my life, I been down with the world on my back. And nobody ever gave me nothing. Everything that I got, I took. With these.” He held up his gloved fists. “So don’t tell me nothing about Jimmy Spenser, ’cause I don’t wanna hear it. See, he just another piece of meat between me and the title.”

“Let me give you a news flash, Booker. You’re not the first one that clawed his way out of the slime, and you won’t be the last,” said Starsky. He was staring at Booker with a look he usually reserved for perps, full of venom and hostility. He looked like any moment he was going to start sparring with him, which probably would not have been a good idea, given Booker’s body.

“You don’t wanna know about Jimmy Spenser? Well maybe you should want to know. Because Jimmy Spenser is you, ten years from now.” Hutch gave Booker a long look, then walked away. Starsky stood there, glaring down Booker with his hands on his hips. Eventually, he followed his partner out the door.

*******************

“Hey, what the hell was that about?” asked Hutch after they were back in the Torino.

“What was what about?”

“That scene with Booker. You looked like you wanted to punch his lights out. Which, let me tell you, would not have been a good idea.”

“I hate that ‘I’m from the street, so I don’t give a shit about anyone else’ attitude. Where does that get you, anyway, if you can’t treat other people like human beings? You’re still no better than you were before, even if you have money now and a fancy apartment.” Starsky stared hard at the road ahead of him. “And I coulda taken him.”

“Sure you coulda. In your dreams.”

“What? I’m fit. I work out.”

Hutch chuckled. “I know you do, buddy, I know you do.” They rode on in silence for awhile.

“I didn’t like the way you were looking at him,” Starsky said quietly.

“The way I was looking at him?” Hutch repeated, surprised.

“Yeah. Don’t think I didn’t notice. He had a pretty good body, even if I coulda taken him down.” Starsky refused to concede on that point.

“Hey, we’ve got an open relationship. Can’t get mad at me for checking out the competition.” Hutch smiled. The cool air coming through the open window blew his hair around.

“We have an open relationship when it comes to women. Not other men. That’s not part of the deal.”

“Oh, really. What, are these some more rules for me to learn? Sorry, I’m having trouble keeping up.”

“You don’t have to get all snotty. It’s just-that wasn’t part of it, I didn’t think.” And then, more annoyed: “Besides, it’s your idea that we keep seeing other people-women. That wasn’t my request. That was your thing; I’m just going along.”

“Very enthusiastically, I might add. Speaking of which, when are you seeing Sharon again?”

Starsky mumbled something incoherently.

“Oh, that soon? Huh.” Hutch smiled again to himself, and looked at the passing traffic. Then he realized something. “Hey,” he said to Starsky. “Where’re we going, anyway?”

Starsky had turned the car around and was heading back to the gym.

*******************

Starsky’s idea was that maybe they could try and pressure Jeeter into talking to Spense, maybe get Spense to go to the cops. But it turned out they had the wrong idea about Jeeter.

“What can I do?” Jeeter asked, barely looking up as Starsky and Hutch entered his office and asked about Spenser.

“He’s worried about you. We’re thinking maybe you could talk to him, tell him it’s the smart thing to do, go to the cops and tell them what he knows.”

Jeeter turned away from the towels he was folding. “If he’s smart, I hope he’s outta town already. I hope he don’t call me. I don’t even want to talk to him.”

Starsky’s face registered a glimmer of surprise. “I thought you two went way back.” He exchanged a look with Hutch.

Jeeter shrugged. “I helped him get a coupla fights, that’s all. We’re not really that close.” He slammed some lockers closed, not looking at the detectives. “As a fighter, he’s all washed up.” Then he picked up his gym bag and walked out.

“Huh. That’s an interesting turn of events,” said Hutch.

“At least there’s one good thing about crossing Gavin,” said Starsky.

“Yeah, you find out who your friends are,” said Hutch. They turned and left the gym.

But Hutch was thinking. Back on the street, he turned to Starsky. “You think Jeeter’s protecting Spense?”

“How? Whaddaya mean?”

“I mean, let’s say he knows something. Gavin has him on the payroll, just like Spense. Only now, Spense is a free agent. Gavin wants Jeeter to turn on him, Jeeter doesn’t have much of a choice, unless he wants to end up at the wrong end of a tire iron, just like Marchetti. So he uses us to send Spense a message. He pretends he isn’t really close to Spense, in case he gets in trouble. We’re assuming Jeeter’s protecting Jeeter, but what if he’s protecting Spense?”

Starsky considered this. “Could be. You think Gavin and his goons might pay Jeeter a visit?”

Hutch nodded. “It’s a definite possibility.”

Starsky sighed. “You’re thinking stakeout, I know it.”

“What’s the matter? I thought Sharon was in Honolulu till day after tomorrow.”

“She is. I was thinking I could catch up on my beauty sleep.”

“Don’t worry, Starsk.” Hutch jabbed Starsky in the shoulder playfully. “We’ll take turns, like always. You’ll get your share of z’s.”

“Sleeping in fits and starts in the back seat of a car is not my idea of a restful night’s sleep. But maybe we could find some other way to kill time.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Hutch rolled his eyes. “Not on a stakeout, Starsk. Gotta keep alert. Don’t worry, though; I’ll bring plenty of coffee and a deck of cards.”

“A deck of cards-now you’re talking. I can’t wait to beat you at gin rummy again.”

“Again? I think we’ve still got the tally from the last round in the glove compartment. Want me to check?”

“Aw, you’re no fun,” Starsky grumbled as he turned the key in the ignition and headed towards Hutch’s place for a change of clothes, a thermos and a deck of cards.

The Element Within Us

They had traded Starsky’s car for Hutch’s beat-up LTD, which was a lot less conspicuous on a stakeout. They had what they needed-burgers and fries and Cokes for now, coffee for later, cards, binoculars-and now it was just a matter of waiting. Jeeter’s car was parked outside the Main Street Gym, so they knew he was still in there. It was 8:15.

Hutch unwrapped his burger and took a bite. His nose wrinkled in disgust when he tasted whatever was in the burger. “Starsky, this is disgusting,” he said, his mouth still full. “What did you have them put in here?”

Starsky shrugged, and looked through the binoculars at the empty sidewalk in front of the gym. “The usual. Ketchup, mustard, onions, relish, beans…”

“Beans? You put beans on a burger?”

“Yeah, why not? Tastes good in a burrito…”

“A burrito and a burger are two different things. Maybe if you paid more attention to what you put into your mouth you’d know that.”

“Are you saying you won’t eat it?” Starsky looked hopeful.

“No, I’m not saying I won’t eat it,” Hutch said, opening the bun and scraping off the beans onto a napkin he’d neatly placed on his lap. “Sometimes I think you do this on purpose, just so you can have two of everything. Meanwhile, I starve.”

“Oh, poor baby. Why don’t you get some of that sea kelp you’re always talking about?”

“Well, maybe if you stopped at someplace besides Taco Heaven or Burger Palace, I would!”

Starsky frowned and turned back toward the street. He looked through the binoculars again.

“Anything?” Hutch asked.

“Nope, nothing. Any idea when he usually leaves the gym?”

“How would I know that?”

Starsky shrugged. “I guess we wait and see, then.” He finished the last bits of his burger and took a sip of his Coke. Hutch ate his de-beaned burger quickly. He figured he’d have heartburn anyway, and he wanted to be ready to speed off as soon as Jeeter left. They figured he’d just be heading home, but you could never be certain what side trips he might make. They didn’t have permission for a tap on his phone, so they couldn’t tell if he was making any plans from inside the gym. All they could do was follow him and hope he led them to something useful.

*******************

They spotted Jeeter leaving at 9:15. He shuffled slowly over to his car, an old green Chevy sedan with plenty of dents. He seemed in no particular hurry to get anywhere.

Hutch pulled out into traffic, staying about one car behind the Chevy. Jeeter didn’t seem like the type who’d be checking his rearview for a tail, but Hutch didn’t want to take any chances. Slow and cautious wins the race, he always thought.

Jeeter drove east on Santa Monica Boulevard for several miles before finally turning off onto Tenth Street, a narrow street with small, neat bungalows lined up almost on top of each other. Jeeter pulled up in front of number 26, cut the lights and the ignition, and then did nothing for some time. Hutch pulled up across the street and several houses behind him. He and Starsky watched the Chevy. Jeeter appeared to be leaning on the steering wheel, just sitting there with his head down on his hands, which gripped the wheel. Hutch looked over at Starsky, and Starsky gave him a knowing look. Hutch knew they both were thinking that Jeeter was crying, or close to it.

Finally, he got out of the car, slammed the door, and walked up the front steps. The night was dark and moonless, but Hutch could see his movements clearly because of all the streetlights and porch lights that lit up the neighborhood. This was a neighborhood of tiny, well-tended gardens, of small front porches that had been swept and watered, of miniature rosebushes and azaleas that the homeowners had purchased in the hopes of making their houses prettier and more welcoming to guests. Hutch guessed that the men living here were bus drivers, mechanics, janitors; the women were nurses, desk clerks, receptionists. All trying to do better in a hard world that cared little for them; all trying to make things easier for their kids. Jeeter was one of them, and now some mob boss who knew nothing about him was making his life miserable, trying to take it all away. It didn’t seem fair, but then, what was fair?

The lights inside the house came on-living room, kitchen, bath.

“Probably making himself some spaghetti,” Starsky said.

“Mmm-hmmm.” Hutch suddenly realized that Starsky hadn’t mentioned Sharon for quite some time. He also realized that, despite his initial grumblings, Starsky wasn’t complaining about the stakeout anymore. His bad attitude of the last few days seemed to have melted away since their confrontation with Booker. Hutch considered this for a moment, then filed it away for future reference.

The living room curtains were open and Jeeter came into view with the day’s newspaper and a beer. Maybe he’d put a pot of water on to boil in the kitchen. Maybe he was going to be having spaghetti. There was nothing for the detectives to do but wait and watch.

“Up for a game of gin?” Hutch asked.

“Why, I’d be delighted,” Starsky said, doing his finest W.C. Fields impression.

Hutch got the deck of cards from the glove compartment, and started shuffling.

*******************

Eleven-thirty. They’d gone through half the coffee and Hutch had put it away, saying they’d have to ration it from then on. They’d been playing gin for nearly two hours, and Hutch had had about as much as he could stand. Still no action at Jeeter’s house, and it looked like all the rooms were dark except for one: the bedroom, Hutch guessed. Hutch’s back was starting to hurt, his legs were cramped, and it wasn’t even midnight. He leaned his head back on the headrest and sighed.

Starsky must have noticed, because he said, “Tired of gin?” Hutch nodded.

“Me too.” Starsky took another sidelong glance at the house. “Nothing happening here.”

“Nope.”

“Wanna give up and go home?”

“Nope.”

Starsky shrugged. “Okay, if you say so, we stay.” Then he gave Hutch a mischievous look. “Hey, remember how before you said I should pay more attention to what I put in my mouth?”

“Mmmm.”

“Sometimes I do pay attention, you know,” Starsky said, leaning over the bench-style car seat towards Hutch. “Sometimes I pay very close attention.” He was closing his eyes now, his face so close, his mouth touching Hutch’s lightly, a brief, fluttery kiss on Hutch’s mouth, then one on his chin, on his jaw, on the side of his neck.

Hutch had closed his eyes as well. “Starsky, do you think this is a good idea? We’re on a stakeout. We’ve gotta keep watch, no matter how boring it is.”

“Well then, keep your eyes open. I’m just gonna make it a little less boring for you.” Now he was trailing kisses down over Hutch’s shirt, his hands reaching for Hutch’s belt buckle.

Hutch struggled to keep his eyes open. He opened his mouth slightly and let little moans escape. He licked his lips as he felt his partner undoing his fly and taking out his cock, which was already responding.

Starsky held Hutch’s cock in his right hand, bent down and licked its head. He swirled his tongue all over the head, his tongue stabbing lightly at the opening at its tip, his hand starting to stroke the shaft.

Hutch gripped the steering wheel with his left hand and put his right hand on Starsky’s head, trying not to push down, just stroking softly through the curly hair.

Starsky had now engulfed the head of Hutch’s cock, lapping at it with his tongue and lightly sucking.

Hutch struggled to keep his eyes on Jeeter’s house. “Oh God, Starsk, that feels great. I love it when you suck me like that.”

Starsky looked up for a moment. “You like that?”

“Oh yeah. Yeah, I like it.”

“You want me to keep going?”

“Mmmm. Please, please. Don’t stop.”

Starsky went back to licking the head of Hutch’s penis, licking and kissing, while he jacked the shaft with his hand. “You like that? You want more of that?” From above came indistinguishable moans and cries, so he continued. “You taste so good, Hutch,” he said between licks. “So sexy.” Then he stopped talking. He took as much of Hutch as he could into his mouth and began to suck.

“Oh God, Starsk. Yes, that’s it. Don’t stop.” Starsky’s head was moving up and down, his cock sliding in and out, the friction electrifying, torturous. Starsky’s hand had moved to his balls and was stroking the delicate skin there now, adding to the sensation.

Starsky let go and moved up so he could nuzzle Hutch’s neck and whisper in his ear. “You close to coming? I want you to come for me, come in my mouth.”

Hutch thrashed his head back on the seat. “Oh God, Starsky, don’t stop. Don’t stop!”

“Are you close?”

“God, I’m so close. Please.” He pushed Starsky’s head back down where he wanted him. Starsky took Hutch into his mouth again, resuming the up and down, in and out motion. His hand moved from Hutch’s balls to the base of his cock, jacking the part that couldn’t fit in his mouth. His left hand, on Hutch’s back, had lifted up his shirt and was stroking Hutch’s bare skin.

Hutch could feel his climax building, almost uncontrollably. It was all too much for him-the feel of Starsky’s mouth, the smell of his hair and of his sweat, the knowledge that someone could walk or drive by and see what they were doing. Starsky’s other hand, touching him lightly, so lightly, almost tickling. The sensations built one on top of the other until finally he came in a crashing wave, bucking his hips up into his partner’s face, his semen spurting deep into his partner’s throat.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then remembered and quickly opened them. Starsky was at his throat, at his ear. “Was that good, Hutch? Did that feel good, lover?”

Hutch touched his cheek. “Good as always, Starsk.” He kissed him, on the mouth, tasting himself there. “You do great things with that mouth of yours.” He smiled, and then realized he’d been looking away from the street for a few moments, and looked back.

“Anything?” Starsky asked, following his eyes.

“Nothing.”

“Another boring stakeout,” sighed Starsky, moving back to the passenger’s side but keeping one hand on Hutch’s thigh.

Hutch moved to adjust himself and zipper his fly. “Not as boring as it could’ve been.” He smiled, and looked over at Starsky. Starsky smiled back.

“I owe you,” said Hutch.

“I’ll thinka something,” said Starsky, and he looked back at the road and grinned.

*******************

Six a.m. The sun was rising over the Hollywood Hills. Hutch yawned, poured himself the last bit of their coffee, and thumbed through a comic book Starsky had brought. In the back seat, Starsky snored. His arms were folded across his chest, and his legs were up over the passenger-side head rest. He looked like he was sleeping well for someone in so awkward a position. But then, Starsky never had any trouble falling asleep, anywhere. Hutch smiled, thinking about some of the unlikely positions in which Starsky had fallen asleep.

They had last traded spots at three a.m. Hutch had slept from midnight to three, and now Starsky was getting his three hours. They’d be dragging around all day, and for what? This had been an unsuccessful stakeout; no one save the milkman had shown up at Jeeter’s house.

Starsky gave another loud snore, and awoke with a start.

“What? What?”

“I didn’t say anything. You must’ve had a bad dream,” Hutch answered.

“A bad dream? No, actually I was…you were in my dream. You were smoking a big cigar. Think it means anything?” Starsky grinned and rubbed his eyes.

“I don’t smoke,” Hutch said. “I especially don’t smoke big cigars. You can get cancer of the mouth that way, you know.”

“Yeah, but sometimes a cigar is more than a cigar,” Starsky prodded.

“And sometimes it’s not.”

Starsky was sitting up now, and leaning up against the front seat. He nodded in the direction of the house. “Anything?”

“Not a thing. I think we wasted our time here, Starsk.”

“Well, it wasn’t a complete waste, was it?” Starsky lifted his eyebrows suggestively.

Hutch looked away. “When’s Janet coming in again?”

“Sharon. Tonight. Why?”

“The whole fight trip really turns me on,” Hutch mimicked. “What an idiot. Honestly, Starsky, couldn’t you do better?”

“Well I wasn’t exactly interested in her brains, you know.”

“Starsky, you’ve dated much more attractive women, most of whom have been willing to fall into bed with you at the merest suggestion of such a thing. Why you are putting up with this withholding, idiotic bimbo is beyond me.”

“Can she be both withholding and a bimbo?” Starsky looked puzzled for a moment. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, it’s none of your business. And what’s she got to do with last night’s festivities?”

Hutch looked away again. “Nothing,” he mumbled.

“Mmmm, nothing, right.” Starsky smiled, but didn’t say anything more. Hutch wondered, for the hundredth time since he’d started dating Sharon, just what Starsky was thinking.

*******************

At 7:10, the front door swung open and Jeeter stepped out, dressed in black jeans and a red polo shirt and carrying a gym bag. He got in his car and drove away. Hutch looked at Starsky, and Starsky looked at Hutch, and each knew the other was thinking the same thing. Hutch turned the key in the ignition, and they followed Jeeter to where they knew he was going: the gym. Once he was inside, they turned towards the precinct to meet with Dobey.

The Invisible Man

Starsky and Hutch sat in the two chairs in front of Dobey’s desk and briefly ran down their activities of the last 48 hours. They explained that Spenser was scared and wouldn’t talk, and that Jeeter was either protecting himself or Spenser but had no interest in convincing Spense to talk.

“Listen, Cap’n, we tailed Jeeter last night, we watched his house all night. No one came to visit. He must be doing this on his own.”

“Unless someone called him. Coulda used the phone,” Starsky reasoned.

Hutch shook his head. “This kind of persuasion you don’t do by phone.”

“Well, it’s also possible,” Starsky continued, “that Gavin got to him during the hour or so we went to pick up supplies for the stakeout.”

“Possible, but not likely.”

“But possible. You gotta admit.” Starsky raised his eyebrows. Hutch nodded.

Dobey interjected. “The commissioner wants a report every afternoon. I need you checking in with me every day, not just when you feel like it. And how’m I gonna tell him my guys got a witness who won’t talk?”

“Captain, you can’t hold a gun to his head. He’s scared,” Hutch said. “And we couldn’t check in yesterday; we spent the whole day looking for Spense and talking to his friends.”

“Friends like he’s got who needs enemies?” Starsky mumbled, playing with the pen set on the edge of Dobey’s desk.

“What’s the matter with you, Starsky? You look whipped.”

“We were up all night, staking out Jeeter’s house. We thought Gavin or his goons might show, but no dice,” Hutch explained. “Cap’n, we know how Gavin is smuggling in stolen goods. He’s using fruit boxes-pears, apples, bananas-as covers for high-end electronic gear. He stuffs them half with newspaper, so their weight isn’t a giveaway. What we don’t know is where it’s going. Any ideas?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell you where. He’s got one warehouse down there buried under three layers of corporate ownership. He keeps the stolen goods in there, and later trucks them out of state. Marchetti had that much. He was trying to find invoices to tie it in to Gavin’s truck line.”

“But Gavin got wise and got rid of Marchetti,” Hutch filled in.

“Mm-hmmm. Which brings us to your witness, Jimmy Spenser. The department’s gotta have that testimony. I’m not gonna tell you how to get it. Just get it.”

“What about the goods? That evidence has gotta be worth something,” Starsky said.

“Yeah, but not much. Gavin could always say he didn’t know anything about it. Without invoices or witnesses, we’ve got no proof.” Dobey gave them his menacing look again. “We need Jimmy Spenser. Get him.”

*******************

They spent the day scouring the city for Spenser, but came up empty. They were a couple of tired cops when they walked into the precinct at eight o’clock that night, but Starsky still made for the filing cabinet, where he was keeping a bottle of red for his big date with Sharon. Hutch looked at him disapprovingly.

“You keep this pace up, Starsk, one of these days you’re gonna wake up, you’re gonna look in the mirror, and you’re gonna see a 60-year-old prune.”

“That’s part of my plan. Sharon happens to dig old pru-men.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Her ex-fiance was a sexy, mature airline-”

“Prune.” Hutch cut him off. “Well, I’m gonna go check in on Jeeter again. We haven’t seen him since we left him this morning at the gym. Maybe something’s come up.”

“You go to it. You know where I’ll be.”

“Yeah, I know where you’ll be,” Hutch said. “I’ll call you in the morning. Prune!”

*******************

It was 8:30 when Hutch walked into the Main Street Gym, looking for Jeeter. He was there, sitting at his desk, looking beat.

“Hey, Jeeter. I was just headed home, thought I’d stop by and see if you’d heard from Spenser today.”

Jeeter said nothing. Suddenly, there was movement in the corner of the room. It was Booker, dressed in jeans and a brown suede jacket. He looked accusingly at Jeeter.

“Tell ‘im what you did, Jeeter,” he sneered.

Hutch looked up at him, surprised, then back at Jeeter.

“Whaja do?” But Jeeter was still giving him the silent treatment.

“He narced to Gavin,” Booker answered instead. He walked up close to Jeeter and said mockingly in his ear, “He set Spenser up.” Jeeter looked morose.

“Where is he?” Hutch asked. He was mad at himself, mad at Starsky, for somehow missing how it all went down. How had Booker known and not them? It didn’t make sense.

Jeeter was staring at a spot on his desk, as though transfixed. He hadn’t said a word.

“Dammit, Jeeter, where is he!” Hutch slammed his hand down on the desk for emphasis.

Still no answer. Hutch looked at Booker for help.

“Gavin’s waiting for him at a warehouse on Lot 3. And I told Spenser Jeeter set him up, but he just went on anyway. I guess the boy just don’t care about nothin’.”

Hutch was looking at Booker intently. “You’re getting a little involved here, aren’t you? Booker, my man?”

“Well like you told me before, Ace: one day, it just could be me.”

“And you’d stick your neck out for a piece of meat like Jimmy Spenser?”

“Well, some things stick in a proud man’s throat. This one about choked me.” They stared at each other for a moment. Hutch thought he saw something he liked in the other man’s eyes.

“Welcome to the human race, Booker,” he said, and clapped him on the shoulder. He took a moment to note how fine Booker looked in the brown suede jacket, and then bolted for the door, and the phone outside. He needed to call Starsky, and have him meet him at Lot 3 to save Spenser’s sorry ass.

But Starsky took his time answering. Hutch rolled his eyes as he waited. Three, four, five rings. Goddamn Sharon.

“I’m sorry, the number you have reached is out of service,” Starsky said in the voice of a nasal New York City phone operator when he finally picked up. But Hutch didn’t have time to laugh.

“Starsk, Spenser’s on his way to Gavin’s warehouse. Gavin’s waiting for him-it’s a set-up. Lot 3. You’re closer; I’m on my way. I’ll call for back-up. See you there.” Hutch slammed the phone down without waiting for an answer, and raced to his car. He only had time for one thought: goddamn that Sharon.

Don’t Need Your Indecision, There Can Be No Doubt

Starsky had been making out with Sharon on the couch when the phone rang-he half-expected it to be the airline people, telling Sharon they needed her. Instead it was Hutch.

Starsky snapped to attention when he heard Hutch’s words, and felt a pang of guilt for not going over to see Jeeter with Hutch. Even before he hung up, he was buttoning his shirt and pulling on his sneakers.

“Sorry babe,” he said, kissing Sharon quickly on the mouth. “Gotta go. Bad guys need catching.”

“Should I wait up?”

“Your choice. I don’t know how long I’ll be,” Starsky said brusquely. Noticing her frown, he added, “But I hope you decide to stay. I’ll see you later.” And with that he was out the door, down the steps, and into his car.

He pulled up in front of Gavin’s warehouse a few minutes later. Hutch wasn’t there yet. Cautiously, Starsky headed inside.

The warehouse was dark, except for the emergency lights over the exits. Starsky drew his gun and waited a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dark. When they did he could see tall stacks of boxes in front of him, stacks and stacks of boxes and crates which were mostly labeled “Chiquita Bananas.” But Starsky knew there were no bananas in them.

Slowly, slowly, he edged his way around the first stack of boxes. His heart was pounding, and he could feel rivulets of sweat trickling down his back. The adrenaline made his senses keen. He was particularly aware of every sound: the odd car going by outside (he was listening for the sound of Hutch’s car, which he knew by heart), a dog barking somewhere in the distance, a clock ticking on a wall nearby. Gavin, Spenser, Hutch: they were all here, or would be soon. He had to stay completely alert; the slightest sound could be a tip-off to someone’s location in this maze of boxes and darkness.

He peered around the first stack of boxes-nothing there but more boxes. Now around the second stack; quietly, quietly, then peering around. Beyond the stack was an open space, maybe ten square feet, Starsky guessed, with a large crate in the middle. It was a sort of clearing in the forest of boxes. Someone was waiting, someone was there in the shadows, but he couldn’t see who. He could sense them, though.

A car pulled up outside, and this car he recognized. It was Hutch.

He made his way backward among the boxes, until he could see the door. When Hutch entered, Starsky motioned with his gun for him to go the other way. As soon as Hutch could see in the dark he saw Starsky and nodded, moving to his left, around boxes. Starsky moved back to the second stack, where he had a good view of the clearing.

Suddenly, Spenser was in it. “Gavin,” he shouted. “I’m here. Let’s get this over with.” He stood with his arms outstretched, surrendering. He looked tired; there were deep circles under his eyes. He probably hadn’t slept in days, Starsky thought.

Starsky saw Gavin emerge from another row of boxes; he was right in front of him, maybe ten feet away. Starsky positioned himself till he had a clear shot, shouted “Spenser, hit the deck!” and fired. One, two shots, not meant to hit Gavin, who had his back to Starsky, but to scare him. Spenser obeyed and fell to the ground, while Gavin raced for cover.

Starsky followed, on the lookout for Gavin’s goons. Over the top of one of the stacks he saw a blond head that he didn’t recognize-he knew it must be Berl. He headed back around the stacks, and snuck up on him from behind.

“Ah-ah-ah-ah,” he chided softly, his gun pointed at Berl’s head. “Not a sound. Don’t even whisper.” Berl lifted his hands in the air and Starsky took away his weapon. He flipped Berl around and handcuffed him, marching him over to the middle of the clearing and leaning him, face down, over the large crate there.

A few rows over he heard Hutch working over the black goon, Cruiser. Hutch hadn’t put out any distress calls, so Starsky figured he could handle himself and went looking for Gavin. It didn’t take him long to find him. He was cowering between rows of boxes. Starsky grabbed him by the collar.

“Get over here,” he said, roughly pulling him to where he had Berl handcuffed. Gavin shuffled along meekly, his fedora at an odd angle. All the fancy clothes couldn’t hide the fact that he was scum, and a coward to boot.

Meanwhile, Hutch had handcuffed his prey and was leading him back to the crate.

Spenser stood by, looking dejected.

“With your help we could put him away for good,” Starsky said to him.

“How ’bout it, Spense? You ready to go on record?” Hutch asked, still slightly out of breath from the fight.

“Well, after what you guys’ve done for me, it’s the least I could do.”

He should have been happy that Gavin had been captured and that he was out of danger, but Spenser looked miserable. Twelve years, Starsky thought. Twelve years, and his best friend turns him over to the hounds. He looked over at Hutch, and Hutch returned his look. Starsky knew he was thinking the same thing.

The Difference Between a Lover and a Fighter

“You know, he went to that warehouse knowing full well Gavin was gonna be there. He knew Jeeter had set him up, but he went anyway.” Hutch told Starsky this for about the tenth time, while staring deeply into a glass of Schaeffer beer. They were out in his greenhouse, sitting on the couch, enjoying their first day off since they’d closed the Gavin case.

“I know,” Starsky said, looking sideways at his partner. “Twelve years, and then that. Says a lot.”

“Yeah. Says a lot about what kind of man Jeeter is, and what kind of man Spense is.”

They were silent for awhile, each thinking his own thoughts.

“Well, at least Spense is back together with his wife and kid. They seemed happy. That’s what counts, right?” Starsky asked.

“Mmm-hmm,” Hutch answered, still lost in thought.

More silence. A few minutes went by as they contemplated this.

Finally, Hutch broke the silence. “So, you seeing Sharon tonight?”

“Naw. She went back to her ex-fiance. Couldn’t handle the pressure of a cop’s schedule.” Starsky smiled. He could’ve lied, told Hutch he was seeing her, boasted about the great sex they were having, but he was tired of the fight. It wasn’t fun anymore, and he was sick of sparring.

“The prune?”

Starsky laughed. “Yeah, the prune.”

Hutch pretended to study the beer in his glass again. “So, who’s next? You gonna make some phone calls, set something up for tonight?”

“Nah. I think I’m gonna take a breather for a bit. Sharon wore me out.”

Hutch lifted his eyebrows. “Really? I thought you were looking for some… release. You gonna be okay, going without?”

Starsky had a sly look on his face. “I seem to remember someone owes me something, something maybe in the front seat of a car?”

A small smile appeared on Hutch’s face, then faded away. “That doesn’t sound too…comfortable.”

“Well, we could arrange for a more comfortable…location,” Starsky offered.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Hutch said, stony-faced.

“All righty, then,” Starsky clapped his hands and rubbed them, in anticipation. “Why don’t I call up Melissa and Kathy-they’re friends of Sharon’s, stewardesses-see if they’re in town, and we can double-date? Hah? Sounds like fun, no?”

Hutch wasn’t smiling, though. “I’m not really in the mood, Starsky. You go, have a good time with your pretty girls. I’ll stay here. I need to water the plants, anyway.”

“Hutch, I don’t understand why you’re acting this way. You can have a pretty girl, too.”

“I don’t want a pretty girl.”

“Well what do you want?”

“You know what I want.”

“You know you can have it,” Starsky said softly.

Hutch turned to look at him. “No, I can’t. I can’t have it.” He looked miserable.

Starsky hated to see him this way. He rubbed his shoulder soothingly. “Yes you can. We could work it out, Hutch.”

“Starsky, you’re being wildly unrealistic. Neither of us could live like that. We’d have to constantly hide our true relationship. We couldn’t touch each other in public. We couldn’t kiss. We couldn’t tell people what we were doing on weekends. We’d have to build a web of lies just to protect our jobs and our lives.”

“Hutch, the world isn’t a perfect place. There are problems everywhere. But if you want to make the world more perfect, you have to listen to the best part of you, the truest part. Do you know what that part is?”

“What?”

“Love. It’s the part inside you that loves. Listen to it, and you brighten the world. Ignore it, and you make things worse.”

Hutch covered his face with his hands. “Oh, Starsky. You make everything sound so simple. It’s not that simple.”

“I know it’s not simple. But it’s right. You gotta admit, it’s right.”

Hutch sighed. “If we do this, I know what’s going to happen. I’ll eventually resign myself to hiding, but you won’t be able to. You’re too proud. No, don’t interrupt, Starsk. You are. How’re you gonna keep yourself in the closet? You’re gonna want the whole world to know. And what if-what if the strain gets to be too much? What if you decide it’s not worth the trouble?”

“Hutch. You gotta trust me. We hafta start there, with trust. I’m in love with you, in a way I’ve never been in love with anyone else. I want to be with you. I want to grow old with you, take boring vacations together, play pinochle all day together. You have to trust that.”

Hutch didn’t say anything. They listened to the patter of rain against the greenhouse roof. Then Hutch put his arm around Starsky, drew him close against his body, kissed the crown of his head through springy dark curls.

“Okay, we try it your way. We try it your way for awhile, and see how it goes.”

Starsky put his arms around Hutch’s broad midsection and laid his head on his chest. They were finally getting somewhere. But there was still some unfinished business between them that was bothering Starsky.

“Hutch.”

“Hmmm?”

“I think there’s still something you owe me.”

Hutch smiled. “If there’s one thing I hate, it’s running a tab. I’m a man who likes to clear his debts.” He lowered his head and started kissing Starsky’s chest through his shirt, then down along his stomach, and was at his belt buckle when Starsky stopped him.

“Nope, that’s not exactly what I had in mind.”

Hutch raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Some other form of payment?”

“Mmm-hmmm.” Starsky took Hutch by the hand and led him to the bedroom. He opened the bedside table and took out a bottle of lube. “I thought maybe we could try this again. Your technique leaves something to be desired.” Starsky unbuttoned his shirt, then took off his sneakers and jeans. He had no underwear on underneath. He saw Hutch staring, and tossed the lube at him.

“Come on, keep up,” Starsky said. Hutch caught the bottle, startled, and started undressing himself. Starsky smiled, and lay down on the bed on his stomach.

Once he was naked, Hutch lay down on his side, beside Starsky. “I’m sorry about that last time,” he whispered in his lover’s ear. “I shouldn’t have been so rough.”

“Well, you can make up for it now. It’s all in your hands.” Starsky heard Hutch opening the bottle behind him, and soon he felt Hutch’s lubed fingers on his ass, massaging him, opening him up gently. “Mmmm, that’s it, that’s right. Yeah, some more of that.” He could feel Hutch’s body responding to his words and to his moans; Hutch pressed his hard cock up against Starsky’s hip, as his hands continued their work.

“That’s right, that’s nice Hutch. Mmmm, just like that. I love to feel your hands on me like that. I can feel how big and hard your cock is for me, Hutch. I know you want to get inside me; I know you want to fuck me. Wouldja, Hutch? Wouldja fuck me now? Please?”

He heard Hutch grunt behind him, felt his mouth on his shoulder blade. He continued his encouraging commentary as Hutch entered him, slowly this time, so slowly that Starsky was soon pleading with him to fuck him harder, faster, deeper, and Hutch did, ramming his cock into Starsky up to the hilt, until Starsky could feel Hutch’s balls against his ass. Hutch had one hand on the bed for leverage and the other on his lover’s cock, stroking and pumping in time to his own rhythm. Starsky felt Hutch’s cock so deep inside him, so deep, and then pumping in and out, rubbing against his prostate while Hutch’s hand stroked his cock, and although he was still talking he lost track of the words, and of time, and of Hutch’s gasps, until he came in a delirium of moans and sweat and semen, and he could feel Hutch come right after (or had it been just before? He wasn’t sure) deep inside him, and Hutch’s body’s weight on top of him, for a long, sweet moment before he rolled over to one side and they were separate again.

The End

Chapter End Notes:

All the chapter titles in this story are taken from Elvis Costello’s album, Punch the Clock. I liked the idea of using “TKO (Boxing Day)” as the title of my story because I was interested in using the external boxing story to parallel what was going on internally in the relationship. A more literal title for both the story and the song might have been “Emotional Boxing.” Anyway, you get the point.