Test of Commitment

729

Sequel to Lifetime Lover by Cheryl M in the zine, Commitment. A letter bomb going off in Starsky’s office, causes Army Intelligence to reach out to him since he was a cryptographer in Vietnam. But the assignment triggers flashbacks of a man named Jimerson, who killed Starsky’s wartime lover. Could Jimerson still be alive? And could he now target Hutch?

 

Commitment was a 91-page slash Starsky & Hutch fanzine published in 1988 by Cheryl M. and Lucy. The zine originally was produced on a high quality cream-colored paper. The art is scanned directly from the zine. Artists in the zine include Judy Jones, Ruth Kurz, Linda McGee, Katherine Robertson, and Maureen B.

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The Search Is Over by Survivor

Art by Debbie M.

The Search Is Over by Survivor

How can I convince you what you see is real,
Who am I to blame for doubting what you feel?
I was always reaching, you were just a (guy) I knew,
I took for granted the friend I have in you.

I was living for a dream,
Loving for a moment,
Taking on the world, that was just my style.
Now I look into your eyes,
I can see forever.
The search is over,
You were with me all the while.

Can we last forever, will we fall apart?
At times it’s so confusing, these questions
Of the heart.
You followed me through changes,
And patiently you’d wait ’til I came to
My senses through some miracle of fate.
Now the miles stretch out behind me,
Loves that I have lost,
Broken hearts lie victims of the game.
The good luck, it finally struck, like
Lightning from the blue,
Every highway leading me back to you.
Now at last I hold you, now all is said and done.
The search has come full circle,
Our destinies are one.
So if you ever loved me, show me that
You give a damn.
You’ll know the man I really am.

 

Starsky looked at the mountain of paperwork facing him and groaned. He’d be late getting home, again. Damn! In the six months since he and Hutch had moved in together, one or the other of them had been late sixty percent of the time. Bitterly, he acknowledged that if he hadn’t continued his college courses towards a degree and the lieutenant’s exam, they would’ve had more time together. He didn’t want to take the lieutenant’s exam. He didn’t want to stay in the District Attorney’s office, he wanted to transfer back to his old job and Hutch. But there just weren’t any openings, even with Dobey willing to bend the rules a little. Hutch had talked him into continuing the classes and had been there to help and encourage. Shit!

Rummaging in his desk for a couple of aspirin tablets, then starting for the cooler, he collided with Jason, the office mail-boy and sent mail flying.

“Jason! What the hell?” Picking the kid up off the floor, he helped to retrieve the scattered envelopes, “You’re early.”

“You had so much, I thought you’d want to get started on it right away. Besides, I wanted to tell you, I did it! I got accepted at the academy!”

Starsky looked at the eager, young face and almost tried to talk him out of police work, but couldn’t, “That’s great! Look, put the mail on my desk, I’ll get to it in a minute. After work, I’ll take you out for a drink to celebrate.” He looked at the youngster closely, well, maybe a milkshake. Nah, he’s got to be old enough to drink if he’s going into the Police Academy this year.

“I’ll sort it for you.” Clutching the mail, Jason entered Starsky’s cubicle.

Starsky once again turned toward the door. A rustle of papers behind, followed immediately by a vaguely familiar whoosh-click, warned him milliseconds before his head burst into lights and stars.

Muffled voices, distracted, distant… someone shaking him… calling his name. A loud roaring sound nearby, and it took him a minute to realize it was in his head.

“Starsky! Wake up, dammit. I don’t want to call Hutch from the hospital.”

He finally forced leaded eyelids open, and blurrily focused on the person rattling his brains. Short dark hair over brown eyes and black jacket registered before he named his tormentor… Babcock. “Stop…. Stop shaking me… my head’ll fall off.”

“Thank God, I didn’t think you’d ever wake up.”

Starsky slowly pulled himself to a sitting position, using the other detective’s arms for leverage, “What happened?” Uneasy, he looked around him at the wreckage of his office. Charred wood and paper, now soggy from the fire extinguisher someone had used to put out the fire, and a blanket-covered form, surrounded him. “Jason!” He lunged for the body, but was stopped by Babcock.

“Nothing you can do for him. Sit still, paramedics are on the way.”

“Don’t need any paramedics. Where’s Hutch? How did you and Simmons beat the Fire Department, anyhow?”

“The Fire Department was out on another call and Hutch is in Barstow, talking with someone about those hooker murders he’s been working on. He and Johnson left early this morning.”

“Does he know?”

“Not yet. I wanted to make sure you were all right, before calling him.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” The confusion on the man’s face almost made Starsky laugh.

“Don’t call Hutch. I’ll tell him when he gets home.”

“What happened, Starsky?” Babcock was all business now, but Starsky felt the concern behind the words.

“I don’t know. Jason brought in the mail. Insisted on sorting it, so I started to the water cooler… next thing I remember, is you.”

“You’re sure there’s nothing else?”

Starsky shook his head, saw stars and put his head in his hands, “Oh…shit sounds like World War I in my head.”

“Forensics and the Arson Squad are coming. No one else seems to know anything. I’ll wait here, you take him to the hospital, get his statement.” Simmons joined them and stood hovering over his partner, crouched next to Starsky.

He looked from Babcock, at his side, to the taller, blond Simmons. He felt a strange sort of kinship with the two. Babcock, smaller and with darker coloration, and Simmons, tall and blond. There was something to be said for the combination, he approved. Gathering his rambling thoughts, he looked at Babcock, “Huh?”

“I said, can you stand?” Babcock reached to help, face creased in worry lines. “We’d better get you to the hospital, you were out for at least twenty minutes.” He brushed plaster and soot from Starsky’s jacket.

“Don’t need no hospital.”

“Well, you’re going. It’s only been six months since Preston clipped you with a bullet.”

“The paramedics can…”

“Unh-unh, you’ll con them. Let’s go or I’ll call Hutch right now.”

He’s afraid he’s going to hafta tell Hutch. Still groggy, and not fully able to navigate on his own, Starsky allowed himself to be led to the Torino, “My car, I’ll drive.” God, who’s beating on my head?”

“Starsky, you idiot! You can’t even stand on your own,” Babcock let go of him and the world swam sickeningly in circles, like ripples in a pond.

Meekly he handed over the keys, admitting defeat. “I’ll get you for this. You’re as bad as Hutch.” Hutch. How was he going to tell Hutch what had happened without scaring the shit outta him? Aw, babe, I’m doin’ it again.

Forty-five minutes later, he sat on a stretcher in a curtain-enclosed cubicle. He had been examined, poked at, and stuck. Now he sat, waiting for the next torturer to appear.

“Sergeant Starsky?”

He looked up as a man in a short white coat, holding a clipboard, and pushing a wheelchair, entered

Shit, another blond. What is it, today? I’m surrounded by every blond in the world except the one I want to see. “I already saw a doctor,” he growled.

“I’m not a doctor. Come with me, please.” The voice was low, with an unusual way of clipping the words.

Starsky looked closely at the guy’s name-tag, Rick, the rest of the name was obscured by one of those yellow happy faces. “What for?” Starsky didn’t budge. More than anything, he wanted to see Hutch’s blond head peeking around the corner.

“X-rays.”

Starsky stared, then shrugged, getting into the wheelchair, he allowed Rick to push him from the Emergency Room to X-ray. The technician was silent until they were closed inside the dimly lit, lead-lined room that housed the x-ray machine. “Sergeant David Starsky, RA18341736?”

He nearly dropped his teeth as the numbers registered in his brain. He looked hard at the man facing him. “Who the hell are you? Who sent you? What the hell do you want?”

“Lieutenant Travis, G3. We need your help on a highly sensitive project.” The lieutenant looked uncomfortable, but there was a determined set to his square jaw.

Army Intelligence. “Get someone else.” Starsky shut his eyes, trying to shut out the past. As if he could… nobody got away…

“We want you.”

“Wanting me got a kid killed today.”

“That’s got nothing to do with me. No one knows about this contact except the head of G3. No one.”

Had it been that long since he believed? “You mean I won’t have a shining new office, more secure than the one that blew up?” Starsky could hear the sarcasm in his own voice.

“Since the opportunity presented itself, of course your new office will be more to our liking, but we did nothing to engineer this.”

“Of course not. What do you want from me?” Already. It was already happening… he was trapped and going under.

Art by Ruth Kurz

Travis motioned him onto the x-ray table and helped him to lay down onto his back. The cold, hard surface of the table wasn’t as cold or as hard as the stone his whole body had become.

“Some apparently innocent letters…” Travis lowered the big machine until it almost rested on Starsky’s forehead, “…have turned up in a secret file…” Travis’ voice faded as he stepped behind a glass partition that Starsky could barely see out of the corner of his left eye. Starsky could hear several clicks and beeps. “Hold still… in East Germany. Turn your head to the left, please. That’s it.” And Travis was back at his side, changing the films under the table under Starsky’s head, and gently pushing his chin to the right angle. “We’ve suspected for some time…” Again the voice faded, again the clicks and beeps. “Now turn to the right side… good… that we have a mole in our San Francisco office.” Travis stood in front of him. “Turn over onto your stomach.” He rested Starsky’s hands under his chin, the sound of metal on metal as the film was changed again. “We haven’t been able to… hold still… identify him, but since these letters… you can sit up, now,” Travis was back at Starsky’s side, helping him to sit, “…originated in San Francisco, we’re hoping they’ll lead us to him…” he paused, “…or her.”

There’s gotta be some way outta this. What do I tell Hutch? How do I explain? Oh, shit! “Whatta ya’ want me ta do?”

“Break the code. Let us know what the messages are and, if possible, who wrote them.”

“I haven’t worked with codes since ‘Nam. I don’t even do cryptograms anymore.” Starsky knew how feeble a joke it was. Travis just stared at him. “Why me? There’re dozens of other guys that do this for a living. They have more training and experience than I do.”

“All I can tell you is that, in the intelligence community, you’re less visible than they are. Anything more you want to know, will get answered only if we feel you have the need to know.”

The need to know… that damn theory that kept operatives in the dark as to their real mission, for the sake of security, has gotten more people killed than I want to remember. “And, if this goes sour, will Hutch be left to think I ran out, or wouldn’t that be something he would need to know?”

Travis ignored him. “The documents will arrive sometime Tuesday or Wednesday. I’ll deliver them with the rest of your mail. Do you have some place in your office to secure them?”

“I don’t even have an office,” Starsky snapped; he resented this intrusion into his life.

“You will have on Tuesday. Talk to no one about this assignment. No one. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir! What if I refuse?”

“You know the answer to that. You can help us willingly, or we can lock you in a security cell until you’ve completed the assignment.”

“My partner…?”

“Doesn’t have the need to know.” Travis stared hard at him, then thawed a little, waved his hand in a ‘what-the-hell’ gesture. “Tell him who you’re working for, if you want, but not why. Keep your activities as normal as possible. Memorize this number.” He handed Starsky a slip of paper. “You can contact me there day or night.”

Starsky studied the number: (213) 298-7777, then tore the paper into tiny pieces and handed them back to the other man.

Carefully pocketing them, Travis said, “After I deliver the documents, there’s to be no contact between us while you’re decoding the letters, unless there’s an emergency.” For the first time, he allowed himself to relax. “Do you have any questions?”

Whole slew of ’em, but since you won’t answer them, why ask? “No.” What’re you bastards trying so hard to hide? But he kept his thoughts to himself. There were other ways to find out what he wanted to know, and he’d use everyone of them if he had to. He wasn’t going into this blind.

“If you’re sure you have no questions, get into the wheelchair, I’ll take you back to emergency.”

Once back in his cubicle, he cooled his heels for another hour. Pacing was out of the question because he could hardly put one foot in front of the other, and his head hurt so bad that just sitting kept him occupied and his thoughts disorganized. He wanted to be home… with Hutch close by… wanted to wake up in his lover’s arms and find this was all a bad dream, but knew it wasn’t. The doctor that had examined him earlier, he couldn’t remember his name, returned.

“Your x-rays are negative, but I’d like to keep you overnight for observation.”

“I told you before, I’m all right.” No way is anyone else gonna tell Hutch about this and nowhere else but our house, where he can come as unglued as he wants.

“Is there someone at home who can watch you? Wake you up during the night?”

Starsky fought back a smile. You betcha there is and he loves wakin’ me up. “Yes, I’ve been hit harder than this before. I’m tellin’ you I’m okay.”

“Who’re you trying to convince? All right, all right, but come back if you have any dizziness, blurred vision, or vomiting.” The doctor tore a sheet of paper off his clipboard, and handed it to Starsky, who was already shrugging into his shirt and jacket. Not satisfied, he followed Starsky into the waiting room and approached Babcock. “Are you with Sergeant Starsky?” At Babcock’s nod, he said, “Be sure he follows the instructions on the piece of paper I gave him. He seems fine now, but there’s always the possibility of concussion. It was a nasty blow.”

“Yes, sir, thank you.” Babcock handed Starsky his automatic, then followed him to the Torino. “Shit, you walk like a drunk! Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Do you mind driving? My head’s ready to explode.” All he could think about was home and Hutch… and what he had to do instead.

“Sure…” He held out his hand for the keys. “I’ll take you home and Simmons can…”

“Not home, Metro. The D.A.’s office is closed on Monday for Labor Day. We’re off the whole weekend, and I don’t want to spoil any of it. Someone can take my statement tonight.”

“Are you two always so lucky?”

“Whatta ye’ mean?” He shot a sharp glance at his companion.

“Dobey gave Hutch and Johnson the weekend, too.” Babcock opened the car door and slid into the seat, reaching over to unlock Starsky’s door.

“He did? Great! They must’ve busted the hooker case.” Starsky sat down, head back, eyes closed.

“Yeah, just wish Simmons and I could get some time off.”

The trip to Metro took only a few minutes, but it was several hours before all the work was done. The statements of other witnesses and the preliminary reports from the Arson Squad and forensics had been gathered while Starsky and Babcock were at Memorial, but there remained the reports that only the on-scene officers could file. By the time Babcock drove Starsky home, with Simmons following, it was almost midnight.

“Want me to come up with you?” Babcock handed the keys back to Starsky.

“Huh-uh. No sense you gettin’ chewed out for not making me stay in the hospital.” God, Hutch was gonna be pissed. Someone shoulda called him.

“He worries, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I would, too, if Simmons took the risks you do. You take too many chances.”

“I didn’t take any chances tonight and look what happened.”

“True, but when you were on the streets, I remember…” Babcock let his voice trail away and shook his head slowly.

“It gets the job done.” But he knew what a poor excuse that was. He was suddenly exhausted. “G’night and thanks for stickin’ around.”

Babcock waved, then got into the other car.

Starsky padded slowly up the stairs. Near the top, he squinted at his watch. Shit, after midnight. Hutch’s probably chewin’ nails. Shoulda called him. He opened the door cautiously, hoping his lover was already in bed. He knew Hutch was home because his car was in its parking space downstairs. A single light burned by the sofa and the apartment was still. So far, so good. Slipping off his jacket and holster, he dropped them on a chair, then crossed to the kitchen where he filled a glass with water. He was reaching for the aspirin bottle when the light clicked on.

“Where the hell have you been?” There was more concern than anger in Hutch’s tone.

Swallowing the white tablets quickly, he turned. Oh, oh, too fast. He clutched the sink behind him for support, then closed his eyes against the spinning room. He thought for a moment that he was going to be sick, but controlled it and forced his answer through clenched teeth. “Working.”

Arms went around his shoulders and he accepted the support gratefully.

“What happened? There’s blood on your shirt.”

Taking a deep breath and keeping his eyes closed against the pain he knew the answer would cause, Starsky said, “My office exploded.”

“What!” Hutch’s arms tightened convulsively and Starsky fought to breathe, unable to utter a single word. Seconds passed and the silence settled on them like a shroud. Hutch shoved his partner back, maintaining a bruising grip on Starsky’s upper arms, “Explain…”

Starsky gulped air for several moments, expecting Hutch to start shaking him before he was able to speak. “Jason brought the mail as usual and he had started opening it, while I went to the water cooler. The next thing I know, Babcock’s picking me up off the floor, Jason’s dead, and I don’t have an office anymore.” He opened his eyes slowly.

Hutch stood there, face white, blue eyes wide with fear. “Are you okay? Did you see a doctor?” The grip loosened and he was subjected to a not-so-gentle examination every bit as thorough as the doctor’s.

“Yes, mother, and he let me come home. Just have a little headache.” He tried to smile, but knew he wasn’t fooling his lover.

“Just a headache, huh? And the room isn’t spinning, either, right?” Hutch stared at him.

He grinned deliberately then, and kissed the worried mouth. “Not anymore.”

Keeping an arm around Starsky’s waist, Hutch propelled him towards the bedroom. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“I’ve been thinking about that all day,” Starsky confided, patting Hutch’s arm.

“To sleep, Starsk, to sleep,” Hutch chided, easing him down onto the bed before pulling at the soiled shirt.

Starsky cast his eyes downward toward hands clasped between his knees, mouth puckered in a pout. “I’ve got three days off. You gonna make me spend it in bed, resting?”

“Yeah, if you don’t do what the doctor told you. You need some sleep and so do I.”

“I guess you’re right. Okay, anything you say.” Who was he kidding? He couldn’t raise a finger, let alone anything else.

“Starsk, are you sure you’re all right?” Long fingers lifted, tilted his chin.

Uh, oh, agreed too fast, now he’s suspicious. “Told you I was okay.”

“Yeah? How does your head feel? Did the doctor give you any instructions?”

“I know it’s there, but I’ll survive, and yes, he did.” He pulled out of Hutch’s grasp.

Suddenly Hutch was angry. Starsky could see the white around the lips, the ice in the eyes, and the pounding of the pulse in his neck. He understood where it came from and knew there was nothing he could say to diffuse it. He’d have to wait for it to blow, then comfort Hutch as much as he was allowed.

“I thought they said you’d be safe. Where the hell was security? How much do you really know about Jason? Maybe he…”

“Jason’s an innocent kid who’s dead because some crazy had a grudge against the establishment. He had nothing to do with anything.”

“Dammit, Starsky, I’ll be glad when you’re back in homicide where I can keep an eye on you.” What was unsaid was far more important than the words.

Starsky couldn’t tell Hutch that they thought it had been a letter bomb… didn’t dare tell him, because, when he told him about Travis, Hutch would try to put two and two together and he’d end up dead. “Well, I don’t like trusting you to a rookie for a partner, either.”

“Ray’s okay, at least I’m not working alone.”

“I’m not alone, babe. I’ve got the whole task force in my corner.”

“Lot of good they did you, today.”

“Just a freak incident. I’m not going to let it worry me for at least three days.”

“You really have the weekend?” Blue eyes widened, their corners crinkling with pleasure.

“I’ve been saying that ever since I got home, but you were too busy playing mother hen.”

“That’s great! Dobey gave Ray and me the weekend off, too.”

“I know. Why’s he so generous all of a sudden?” Starsky lay down, closing his eyes. He rolled onto his side, patting the bed.

“Said he owed us for so many long hours last week.” Hutch, yawning, sat down, reaching to stroke Starsky’s curls.

“I’ll say, this is the first time I’ve seen you awake since last Saturday. Hey, did you crack the hooker case?”

“No,” Hutch sighed deeply, “…found Bruce in Barstow’s morgue.”

“At least the case is closed.”

“More like dead-ended; whoever killed Bruce, ordered those girls killed. When’s it all going to end?”

Starsky pulled Hutch down beside him. “When we’ve put an end to all of Gunther ‘s organization.”

“Get on it, then,” Hutch ordered.

Starsky smiled at the irritation in Hutch’s voice. “Sure, on Tuesday. I want my weekend, first.” He opened his eyes and looked up at Hutch. “Whatta we gonna do, tomorrow?”

“Clean house. This place is a disaster area.” Hutch twisted and sprawled across the bed, reaching for the clock. “How often did the doctor say to wake you up, this time?”

“Aw, Hutch, I’m fine, honest.”

“How often?”

“Every two hours.”

Hutch sighed. “I was hoping they’d decided that was too often.”

Starsky was tired out and his head hurt. Stomach’s a little queasy, too. But he didn’t tell Hutch. Three days together and he wasn’t about to spend any part of it in the hospital. All he needed was a few hours sleep and he’d feel good as new.

“Starsk, are you asleep?”

Yes, I’m asleep. “No, not yet.”

“Why didn’t Babcock call me?”

“Because I told him not to. I didn’t want you taking any chances getting back from Barstow. I didn’t expect to be so late.”

Silence. Maybe that’s all. Maybe…

“What if we put someone in the mail room to check all the mail?”

Shit, that’s all I need. Might as well tell whoever wrote those letters where they are. “Hutch! Thousands of pieces of mail go through there every day. Just because Jason was a mail-boy doesn’t mean the bomb was placed by someone in the mail-room.”

“It does if it was a letter bomb.”

Why did Hutch always have to be so damn smart? “What do you know about letter bombs?”

“I am a cop, Starsky, besides, it’s a favorite with fiction writers. Question is, why didn’t you think about that possibility?”

Because then you would assume it was meant for me and I’m not so sure it wasn’t. “I didn’t want to worry you. They do think it was probably a letter bomb, but they don’t know who it was meant for. .Jason had a lot of mail with him, not just mine.”

“Oh…maybe if we…”

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you.” Starsky muttered, resigned to spending the remainder of the night talking.

“Why did you?”

Hutch sounded hurt and confused, and Starsky hadn’t meant for that to happen. Forcing himself to stay awake and concentrate on the conversation, he steeled himself for a fight that he had no desire or energy for. “Why did I what?”

“Tell me.”

“Because I knew you’d hear on Tuesday and then the shit would hit the fan. I wanted to get it over with.”

Hutch rolled away, but didn’t leave. All Starsky could do was fight to stay awake and wait. Sooner it felt, the arms were in their accustomed place and his skin tingled where his lover’s breath touched. “I guess we were trying to do the same thing. I want you with me, to protect you, and you don’t call, to protect me. We gotta stop this and trust each other, if this is going to work.”

“I wanted you there, Hutch. I just knew how I’d drive if someone called to tell me you were hurt. I just… I…” He could no longer keep his thoughts straight or eyes open. “…so tired, sorry… love you, really…”

Cool hand brushing through his hair… cool breath on his neck… comforting warmth at his back… “Sleep, David… you’ll feel better in the morning.”

The next morning dawned bright and clear, as clear as Starsky. He felt great. Unable to sleep past nine, they were up and attacking the ever-present mundane chores that accumulated during the week. Starsky pulled the sheets off his bed, knowing Hutch was doing the same in the next room. But knowing Hutch was near didn’t help. His mind kept replaying the conversation from the night before. Ever since he’d been told he had to wait on his transfer back to Robbery/Homicide, he’d had a recurring dream; one where Hutch was missing and no one knew where he was. All he could see was a big black void. He felt like a small child hanging on tightly to some treasure and feeling it slip from his fingers, anyway.

“Give me your laundry, Starsk. I’m off to the laundromat. If you can get the dusting and vacuuming done by the time I get back, we can have some time to just be together.”

His daydream popped and he frantically shook off the vision of gloom.

“Come on, Starsk, your laundry.” Hutch stood in the doorway, hand extended.

Deliberately cheerful, he turned to hand over the bulging bag. “I’ll start lunch, too. I’m getting hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Hutch retorted, taking the bag and heading for the door.

“You know it, babe,” Starsky leered, relishing the bright pink that stained his lover’s neck and ears.

Hutch made no comment, silently leaving the apartment.

Chuckling happily, Starsky quickly did the requested tasks. He didn’t mind. Dusting and vacuuming were much better than the laundromat… he hated the laundromat. Lunch, he decided, should be chili, something that could be turned off and reheated. He was tasting the aromatic mixture, trying to determine if it needed more green chilies, when Hutch returned.

“Ummm… smells good.” He took the spoon, lifted it to his mouth. “Perfect, let’s eat.”

But the phone interrupted lunch plans. Both looked at it in dismay.

“Dobey promised…”

“Davis doesn’t know the meaning of the word. I’ll get it.” Crossing the room, Starsky picked up the offensive instrument. “Starsky…”

“Sergeant David Starsky?”

The voice was hauntingly familiar causing a faint stirring of unease. “Who is this?”

“You don’t remember me, sergeant? Too bad, but you will. What did Lieutenant Travis want with you?”

Travis? Uh-oh. “I don’t know a Lieutenant Travis. You must have the wrong number.”

“Bobby wouldn’t think so, would he? I’ll talk to you again, after you’ve had time to think.”

A dial tone replaced the man’s voice. Starsky lowered the receiver, the unease in his stomach growing. Picking up the receiver, again, he punched out the recently memorized number and listened to it ring and ring. “You can contact me there day or night.” Once more he lowered the phone. Raising his eyes, he looked at Hutch, alarms going off everywhere.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure. There’s something I’ve got to tell you.”

“I’m listening.

Starsky wiped his hands over his face, then motioned for Hutch to follow him back to the dining room table where their lunch sat.

I’ve been called back on duty with Army Intelligence. My assignment will be delivered with my mail on Tuesday.”

“What’s the assignment?” Hutch’s features were neutral, but the look in his eyes was guarded.

“Can’t tell you. It’s something with codes. That’s what I worked with in the army.”

“Who’d you try to call?”

“My contact. G3 was hoping no one would tie me to them, but I don’t think it worked.”

“No one answered?”

“Huh-uh, maybe he was out.”

“Sure and I have green hair. I’ll call Dobey, ask about vacation…”

“No! …No, don’t. The phone call might be coincidence. Gotta keep our activities as normal as possible. Don’t want to blow my cover, if it’s not already blown.”

“Okay, but I want to talk to you at least once a day.”

“Good idea. Let’s eat, chili’s getting cold.”

Starsky tried to eat, but he had no appetite. He hadn’t told Hutch that the caller had known Travis’ name, and that was disturbing. Hadn’t told him what had happened to Bobby in ‘Nam, so long ago, either.

Hands rubbed his shoulders, caressing, massaging, soothing. He took the hands and, pulling Hutch down, crossed them over his chest. “Love me, Hutch, please?”

They moved toward the bedroom where Hutch tried to respond to the whispered plea, but was overpowered by Starsky’s sky-rocketing need. Almost frantic to be close to his lover, Starsky built and climaxed with dizzying speed, falling into a deep slumber, when his breathing and pulse rate slowed.

Awakening hours later, he reached for Hutch but found empty space. Startled, he opened his eyes to see a blue and gold wrapped package on the pillow where he expected blond silk. The smell of onions cooking registered and he knew his partner was in the kitchen.

Pulling himself to a sitting position, he picked up the present. His name was written in a familiar hand. “Hey, Hutch, what’s this?”

“Why don’t you open it and find out?”

Starsky looked up to see Hutch watching him from the doorway. “I mean, what’s it for?”

“It’s so you’ll never doubt that living here and loving you is what I want. Open it, okay?”

Quickly divesting the parcel of its paper, Starsky hesitated slightly before opening the box lid. “Hutch.” He breathed the word in awe as he gazed at the heavy, gold, two-headed unicorn nestled in blue velvet.

“Do you like it? I wasn’t sure…

“Like it? Oh, God, Hutch, it’s beautiful. Me & Thee engraved on the back. It’s… it’s… I… put it on, please?”

Starsky watched as Hutch lifted the unicorn out, then opened the clasp of the braided gold chain it was attached to, before turning to let his lover put it around his neck. The gold felt warm, snuggled in the hair on his chest, and, fingering it, he turned to face Hutch.

Leaning forward, Hutch kissed him gently, and for the first time since the night after Preston tried to kill him, Starsky felt like they were real. Without breaking the companionable mood, Hutch sat back, reaching up to place a hand softly against the side of Starsky’s face. “I thought about a ring, but didn’t know how we’d explain it to I.A.”

Starsky grinned. “I don’t think we’ll hafta worry about I.A. Simonetti’s daughter was one of the girls listed with L&M Escort. We kept her name outta the reports. Simmons and Babcock took her home. When they got back, Simmons said he doubted that any of us would ever have trouble with the head hunters, again.”

“Why was Simmons worried about I.A.?” Hutch looked curious.

“He and Babcock have had a thing going for years.” Starsky shook his head, grinning at the expression on Hutch’s face.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. They haven’t had the courage to move in together, but now, they’re looking for a place.” He met the piercing gaze.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Hutch asked softly.

Starsky felt the heat rise in his face, it wasn’t often that Hutch could make him blush. “What’s for dinner? I smell onions.”

“The Paul Muni special. Thought we should celebrate a weekend off together. I’ll dish it up.”

Hutch left the room. Starsky pulled on a pair of jeans and joined him at the table, where they tackled the perfectly done meal in silence. Later, after the food was eaten and dishes washed, Starsky lounged back against the counter patting his stomach. “That was terrific. what do you want to do, now?”

“I don’t care; do you have something in mind?”

“There’s a W.C. Fields film festival that I’ve been wanting to see.” He puffed out his cheeks.

Hutch laughed, “Okay, but only on the condition that you promise not to start imitating Fields,” he warned, pushing Starsky out of the kitchen.

Bubbling inside, Starsky relaxed. This is gonna be a great weekend, after all. “We could see that show at the planetarium you mentioned.”

“It’s not until Monday, but we could go then, if you still want.”

The film festival had just started when they arrived. Quickly settling into good seats as the house lights dimmed, Starsky prepared to enjoy himself. As was routinely done in the theaters during the height of Fields’ career, the first film was a newsreel depicting allied advances during World War II. Ignoring it, Starsky concentrated on the pleasure of Hutch’s presence, reluctantly focusing on his surroundings when the credits of the first feature film rolled onto the screen. But his mind began playing tricks on him. One minute he was laughing at the ridiculous idea that a building could collapse without hurting anyone, and the next, he was gripping the armrest with one hand and Hutch with the other. On the stark, colorless screen, buildings were burning as people ran through the streets screaming… running from men in black pajamas, carrying rifles. Old men, women, and children ran as two armies fought for possession of the tiny hamlet, regardless of the civilians caught in the middle. Starsky blinked his eyes hard and the comedy was once again on the screen. Damn, it’s been a long time since that’s happened.

Stubbornly concentrating on the screen, he relished the remainder of the presentation. It was nice to sit and hold Hutch’s hand without fear of exposure and he pulled free sadly when the last reel stopped.

Minutes later, they pulled into the near-empty Pits. Starsky was certain Hutch had noticed his reaction during the first film, but nothing had been said on the ride to Huggy’s.

“What’s up, Hug? Someone moving in on your territory?”

No way. This here is the hot spot of hot spots, but tonight is the night the founding fathers of this fair state voted us into the U.S. of A. Everyone’s at the water-front watching the fireworks.”

“Hey, that’s right. Want to go, Starsk?” Hutch looked expectantly at his lover.

“Nah, fireworks lost their appeal after ‘Nam. I’d rather stay here, if it’s all right with you.”

“Sure, two beers, Huggy.” Hutch looked around and Starsky followed his gaze. Nets of every color, size, and description hung from the walls and ceiling. There were lobster nets and fish nets, even an olive drab camouflage net hung on one wall. “New decor since last week? What’s with all the nets?” Hutch asked.

“That’s to celebrate the addition of shrimp to my menu. Care to indulge?”

“No, thanks, I’m still full from dinner. How about you, Starsk?”

“Beer’s fine.”

Pre-occupied with the netting, the voices of his friends faded. The surroundings changed and he looked down onto a cot encircled by mosquito netting. Two men, obviously lovers, lay entwined. One was dark, the other fair. The room beyond was aglow with lanterns.

“Get the queers.”

“Look at the fuckin’ fairies. We don’t need your kind here.”

“The army’s for men, not fags.”

Starsky noticed that each speaker held a club upraised. The first blow landed, then the second. Soon, they came so fast he lost count. The green netting turned red, but he was paralyzed by the horror of the scene and couldn’t cry out.

“Starsky. . .what’s wrong? Starsk!”

He felt strong hands grip his arms and shake until the room was, once again, Huggy’s. Remembered fears washed over him, and the desire to hold onto Hutch engulfed him. Gulping his beer, he stood. “Let’s go home, Hutch.”

“Sure, whatever you say.” Hutch pulled out a ten and handed it to Huggy, “Thanks, man, adios.”

“De nada.” Worry clouded Huggy’s features.

Just inside the apartment, Hutch turned, hands on hips. “Okay, Starsk, what’s going on? You still feeling dizzy from that clip on the head?”

“Flashbacks, from ‘Nam. I…” Before he could finish, the phone rang and he answered. “Starsky…”

“Have a nice time at the film festival, Sergeant? Such a touching scene, the two of you holding hands.” The mocking voice was only too familiar.

“Who are you?” he demanded, avoiding Hutch’s eyes.

“I’ll bet you liked holding hands with Bobby.”

“Jimerson!” he breathed. Fear rocked him and he swallowed hard.

“Bingo. I want to know what Lieutenant Travis and you discussed.”

Starsky found his voice with difficulty, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hutch was frowning now, very aware that something was wrong.

Silence followed and it was seconds before Starsky realized the caller had hung up. Hands shaking, he replaced the receiver.

“Flashbacks? You haven’t had any of those since I met you. Why now?”

Too many things reminding me of ‘Nam, I guess. “I don’t know what triggers them, but they don’t last long. Maybe that hit on the head did it.”

“Who is Jimerson?”

You don’t want to know. Jimerson–tall and, like the lifers used to say… lean, mean, fighting machine. With his shaved head and muscle bound body, he looked like every bad guy tinsel town had ever produced. Starsky shut his mind to memories of the things he knew Jimerson had done, and looked miserably at Hutch. “What?”

“The name you said on the phone, Jimerson. Who is he?”

“My old C.O. from ‘Nam.” Forget about him, Hutch, please, just forget you ever heard the name. “We don’t like each other too much.”

“Why does he scare you?”

Because he’s going to kill you and I’m not sure I can stop him. “Because he liked his job too much.”

“That was in Vietnam. He’s probably different here, in the States.”

Play it cool, Davey-boy, very cool or Hutch’ll start investigating the guy. “Maybe you’re right. I haven’t seen him since I was discharged.”

“Forget a career, sergeant. Take your discharge or I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re queer.”

“Right. Why’s he back, now? Is he connected with your assignment?”

Probably is my assignment. “Uh, yeah, but I can’t tell you anymore than that. You’re not even supposed to know his name. Boy, I could get in deep shit if they found out…” He let his voice trail off, shamelessly playing on Hutch’s protective impulses, knowing it would keep him out of trouble better than anything Starsky could do or say.

“Why don’t you like him?”

For the same reason I don’t think I’d like your father if we ever met. “Jimerson had a son, Jess. He was just a kid–eighteen, nineteen…”

“And you were old and grey, right?”

Starsky grinned, fleetingly. “Well, I felt a whole lot older. It was my second tour. Jess enlisted and got himself sent to ‘Nam instead of entering West Point. He didn’t want a military career. He wanted to study music and art. God, Hutch, he could draw the greatest pictures. He even made the jungle look beautiful.”

“Jungles can be beautiful,” Hutch murmured, putting his arms around Starsky and guiding him to sit on the couch.

“‘Nam wasn’t beautiful. It was wet and hot and stunk so bad the smell almost smothered you.”

“Jess was beautiful and he was there.”

Starsky laughed, “Jess wasn’t beautiful, his pictures were. Jess was all arms and legs, with bright red hair and freckles. He was just a kid trying to make his father proud of him, but… well, he was killed on patrol two days before his father hit country.”

“I’ll bet his father wished he’d have let the kid go to school like he wanted.” Hutch brushed at Starsky’s hair.

Starsky remembered the cold fury that Jimerson had responded to the news with. The first thing the man ever said to Starsky was, “I want to know how you got my son killed.”

“He blamed me.”

“You?”

“Yeah, Jess used to write home a lot and I guess he talked about me a lot in his letters. When Jimerson got to camp, he walked in on me and…” You know you’re not the first. Just the most important. “…my lover and figured I’d replaced Jess already. No one could ever convince the man that his son wasn’t gay. We tried but, he just wouldn’t believe us.”

“What else could you have done to protect him?”

Art by Ruth Kurz

The jungle was a solid wall of green that took hours to penetrate. It was hot, wet and smelled like death. Rain from the night before trickled down from leaf to leaf until it reached the rotten carpet of decay. Everything was wet and soldiers on patrol were no exception. Even with the sun up, you could barely see beyond the length of your arm but it didn’t stop the heat. The sniper was in a tree. Starsky caught his scent at the same moment that he fired, setting off a series of explosions that wiped out half the patrol, including Jess Jimerson.

He picked up the can of beer that Hutch sat in front of him and swallowed half of it, relishing the coolness as it ran down his throat. “No, there was nothing I could have done. A week in country and Jimerson took me on a two-man deep probe into the jungle. One minute he was there, the next he was gone and the jungle was quiet. I knew I was alone.” A shudder washed through him at the memory and he finished the beer. “We both have reason to hate.” He didn’t tell Hutch that a similar recon mission had left his lover missing in action two days later. All the memories left a sour taste in his mouth and he felt dirty. “M’gonna take a shower.”

Hutch looked startled, “Uh, sure, it’s late, I’ll lock up.”

Starsky turned the water on and waited while it heated. Steam built as he shaved until the mirror was beaded with condensation. Pulling the curtain aside, he stepped in and let the water cascade over him, sending tension and worry down the drain for a little while. He added shampoo and was vigorously scrubbing at his scalp, when cool outside air hit his back, followed by Hutch’s warm presence and musk wood smell. Hands pushed his away and he stood there allowing his lover to gently rinse his head and soap his body. Strong arms surrounded him and pulled him close. Hutch rubbed and massaged his chest, causing electric jolts to run from nipple to groin.

“I’m going to love away all the bad memories, Starsk. Going to make you fly.”

Soft words, whispered against his ear, causing his knees to weaken and he sagged against his tormentor. Regaining a small measure of control over his traitorous legs, he pushed back, trapping Hutch’s erection between them. The desire to feel Hutch inside him swept through Starsky and he butted back again. Hutch understood. One hand moved from Starsky’s hip and insinuated itself between their bodies, moving lower until one finger could just touch the puckered opening. Once more, Starsky pushed back, fires climbing, moving, leaving incandescent trails in their wake. Somewhere near eternity, Starsky felt his partner’s hot rigid shaft enter. Leaning forward against the shower wall, he spread his legs further apart. Hutch’s hands slid up, then down his sides, stopping just above his hip bones, where they steadied him as Hutch thrust deep. Starsky’s moan of pleasure started at his toes and erupted from his mouth at the same time that he came, sending his seed over Hutch’s hand to join with the rapidly cooling spray. Now he was being held… a willing prisoner… while his captor pumped faster and faster until, gripping Starsky’s hip bones, he thrust once more, all the way to the center of Starsky’s soul, liquid flames searing him from inside out. Spent, Hutch collapsed across Starsky’s back.

Unable to support his lover’s weight for long, Starsky slowly lowered them to the shower floor.

Recovering first, Starsky turned off the now cold water, then pulled the still languid Hutch up. Gentle nudging from Starsky encouraged Hutch to step out of the shower. He toweled them both dry, getting lost for several minutes in the bright sun of Hutch’s hair, before moving them in the direction of the bed. Starsky laid down on the bed, pulling his lover down beside him, and gathered the bigger man into his arms. Here was peace and quiet… a time for the two of them. Away from the outside world. He enjoyed the silent communion, but knew it wouldn’t last. Soon Hutch turned in his arms and pulled Starsky’s head to rest, nestled on his shoulder.

“Why do you always do that?” Starsky mumbled into the skin under his cheek.

“I like to hold you.”

“Oh.” He settled nearer and listened to the ever deepening breaths of his world, breaths that told him that Hutch was fast drifting into sleep.

~~~

A long time later, Starsky lay in the comfort of his sleeping lover’s arms, fighting against intruding memories. He pushed sweat-dampened hair from Hutch’s face and kissed him. Finally succeeding in pushing the past away, he slept. The surf moving against the sand outside their beach apartment lulled him deeper into sleep.

The gentle waves licked at the banks of the river and the sun shone hot in the blue sky. A beautiful day, except for the bodies they pulled out of the water—body count. The North Vietnamese Army soldiers were piled one on top of the other as an officer made ditto marks on a clipboard.

Starsky supervised the lofty piles so they wouldn’t overbalance and fall. But he miscalculated and suddenly, first one tower, then another, toppled onto him. Panic hit as he was inundated with the mass of sloughing, macerated flesh. The stench of rotting tissue filled his nostrils, and choked off his air. Frantically he clawed his way through the layers of bodies, trying to free himself. But every time he moved one corpse, another took its place.

Bathed with sweat and breathing hard, Starsky woke with a snap, knowing immediately where he was–home, safe, with Hutch at his side. Keeping very still, he gauged Hutch’s response to his nightmare. Even, deep breathing told him that he hadn’t wakened his lover. Good, I don’t need any more questions I can’t answer. He settled back to sleep, hoping the past would leave him alone.

The night sky was lit by brilliant orange flames that licked at the blackness like a voracious monster. Kids were crying and screaming; hanging out of the windows of the overcrowded orphanage. Starsky soaked a blanket from a putrid pool and, covering his head, ran into the blazing inferno. Hundreds of hands clutched at his pant-legs and a multitude of voices of all ages, pummeled his ears. He had to get them out or they’d all burn to death, but every time he picked up a child, it exploded in his face. Time and again he reached for the small bodies only to have them burst into a trillion infinite fragments.

Fighting through the morass of sleep, Starsky woke, reaching for Hutch and once again found empty air. This time there was no package on the pillow and the house seemed ominously quiet. Jerking upright, he looked around the room. Outside, the sky was pitch black, “Huuuutch!” Unreasoning fear made his voice inch higher upward until the word was two syllables.

“In the kitchen, get dressed and come here.”

Looking again at the Stygian darkness, he decided his robe was safer.

Get dressed, he says. It’s the middle of the night! Padding into the kitchen, he was surprised to see Hutch packing their big green cooler, “What’re you doing?”

Hutch turned, then kissed Starsky good morning, “Thought we’d watch the sunrise, and drive out to the Marina. I borrowed Molly’s day sailor, thought we could do a little sailing.”

“Sailing!”

“Yeah, you seemed to enjoy yourself the last time we went. You’re getting pretty good at it, too.”

“I did, but in the middle of the night?”

“It’s not the middle of the night and if we don’t finish packing, we’ll miss the sunrise.”

What a great idea! Just the two of us in the middle of nowhere. “Sunrises… sailing… morning swims…” Starsky grumbled as he walked back into the bedroom to get dressed. He knew Hutch expected him to grouse about the early hour, but that was half the fun. He pulled on swim trunks, jeans and shirt, then, grabbing his shoes and socks, joined Hutch. Catching the windbreaker his partner threw at him, he helped carry the bulky cooler outside and loaded it into the car.

He followed Hutch around the house and down to the beach. They found a place on the deserted sand knowing that by mid-morning it would be filled to capacity. Donning the windbreakers against the early morning chill, they walked in companionable silence, until they found a relatively sheltered area in the lee of one of the embankments that led down to the beach itself. Starsky spread a blanket, plopped down, hugged his knees, and waited. It wasn’t long before he felt the warmth of Hutch’s arms encircle him from behind. Leaning into the embrace, he settled comfortably to watch the sun come up. The sky was already several shades lighter and he knew sunrise was Hutch’s favorite time of day. Starsky didn’t mind getting up as long as they were together. Love welled inside him, bringing with it an inordinate sense of foreboding. “I love you so much, it scares me.”

“Scares you?” Hutch chuckled, then hugged him tighter.

“Yeah, I don’t know why, but it does.”

“I love you, too. Did I thank you for the little Hershey kiss?”

“What Hershey kiss?” The hair on his nape prickled.

“The one you left by the coffeepot.” One finger stroked Starsky’s earlobe.

“Oh, that one, you’re welcome.” He tried to keep his tone casual, but a nameless fear rose inside, almost strangling him; he hadn’t left that piece of candy. He felt like he was on a runaway train without an engineer. He’d loved Bobby and Bobby had died. Hutch was the first person Starsky had allowed himself to really love, since then, and now he was in danger from the same forces that had killed Bobby. He closed his eyes and remembered.

He stood in the compound outside their hooch, watching the green-eyed blond approach from headquarters.

“Hey. Dave, I’m goin’ to the OP tonight, see you in the morning.”

“I thought it was Keely’s turn?”

“It was, but Captain Jimerson said if I took it tonight, I could go into town with you tomorrow. We’ll have a seventy-two together.”

Starsky grinned and pulled his lover close for a passionate kiss, “That’s to remind you to be careful because I’ll be waiting for you.”

“As if I could forget that. See you in the morning.”

But Bobby didn’t return in the morning and they didn’t find his tortured body until four days later.

A picture of Jimerson standing over Bobby’s body wavered in front of Starsky even after the flashback faded. He had to warn Hutch. Oh, sure, warn him about what? The Hershey kiss? He’d have you in the hospital as fast as you got done talking. Still, he had to try.

He took a deep breath and looked around, there, just in sight, down the beach, stood a man in summer greens. Starsky could barely make out the uniform even with the pre-dawn light glinting off the insignia on each shoulder. The stranger raised a hand, and saluted in their direction.

Jimerson! Starsky had seen that mocking smile often and it was clearly visible in the pink light of dawn. He shivered involuntarily and Hutch’s arms tightened.

“Starsk. You falling asleep on me?”

Mentally shaking himself, he looked down the beach; Jimerson had disappeared but his intention was now clear and it terrified Starsky.

“You’re shaking, babe, are you all right?”

“Just a chill from the breeze. The damn sand’s wet, ya know.”

Hutch said nothing, only pulled his arms closer around Starsky, and rested his chin on Starsky’s shoulder. The sunrise was well worth the effort it took to get out of bed to watch it, but Starsky saw little. His mind focused on the fear. The fear that made him desperate to get closer to his partner. The only thing he was aware of were Hutch’s arms around him and the warmth of his friend’s breath on his neck.

As soon as the sun was fully up, Hutch stood, pulling Starsky into a quick hug. “C’mon, Molly said she’d meet us at the Marina at seven. She has a flight out at nine, so we’d better be on time.”

“Let’s go, then. This place’ll be crowded soon.” They folded up the blanket and climbed the sand to the Torino.

They arrived at the Marina just as Molly was getting out of her car. The copper-haired imp eyed Starsky suspiciously as she handed the keys to Hutch, “Does he know how to sail?”

“He’s coming right along, Molly. Nothing’ll happen, I promise.”

“I hope not; I’m holding you responsible. It’s not paid for, yet.”

“We’ll be careful.” Hutch flashed her his most sincere smile and she relaxed. “Have fun,” she said, then, hopping into the MG, she sped off in a good imitation of Starsky.

“And she worries about me hurting her sailboat!” he growled sarcastically.

“She’d lend you her car in a minute,” retorted his lover.

After the usual first few minutes of nervousness, Starsky settled down and followed Hutch’s direction. He enjoyed sailing now that he had some idea of what he was doing, but mostly, he enjoyed the chance for them to be alone. They were running with the wind, open sea the only sight in any direction; Starsky manned the tiller, while Hutch went below for beers.

When Hutch returned, he surprised Starsky by threading his way through the accumulated gear on deck to one of the chairs. Well aware, from painful experience, what would happen if he suddenly released the tiller, Starsky waited more or less patiently for Hutch to bring him his beer. “Hey, I thought you were getting beer for both of us?”

“I did, come here and get yours.”

“I can’t. You know what’ll happen if I let go of this thing.”

“Tie it down like I showed you and come here.”

Starsky did as instructed, then moved to join Hutch. His partner was lying on a towel spread on the deck. The beer cans stood beside him in the open ice chest. Starsky hooked one, popped the top, and swallowed thirstily.

“Put some suntan oil on my back, Starsk.”

Starsky took another swallow, then knelt beside Hutch and poured oil into his hands, warming it before applying it. He couldn’t help admire the beauty of Hutch’s skin; smooth, bronze, only slightly lighter than his own, minus the dark hair. And Hutch never seemed to lose the tan. Sunlight danced on his muscles as he moved beneath Starsky’s hands, the warm oil making the skin glisten. ,

So beautiful.

One more caress down the long back and he stopped at the top of Hutch’s trunks. He worked his hand under the waistband to cup the firm buttocks. Moving his hand up and down the soft flesh, he trailed a finger along the crack, stopping when he found the secret place. The secret place that opened for him and him alone. He put pressure on the opening and heard Hutch gasp. Using both hands now, he slid the trunks over the twin mounds and, with Hutch’s help, down the long legs and off. Starting with the toes, he nibbled and kissed upwards, stopping to thoroughly explore the backs of the knees, then moved up the thighs to the cleft in the buttocks. After teasing the puckered opening with his tongue, he gently turned Hutch over.

Hutch’s erection stood tall, pointed upward from its blond nest. Starsky’s own groin ached from the stricture of his trunks and his rapid breathing matched his lover’s. Hutch reached and gripped Starsky’s shoulders, pulling him down into a hungry kiss. Not a word was said, but the empathy was so complete that none were necessary. Crossing his legs around Starsky, Hutch rolled, ending up on top without difficulty. He nibbled at Starsky’s ear, then moved down to taste the collar bone. Starsky was sweating, unable to lay still. The mixed sensations of warm wood, cool breeze and hot, moving armful of lover was almost too much. Now the tongue was at his belly button and Hutch’s hands gripped the top of Starsky’s trunks.

“You forgot something, babe.” Hutch pulled the tiny briefs off and placed a kiss on the tip of the straining cock.

“No! Wait!”

“Thought you wanted this?” Hutch’s eyes were bright with need.

“I do, it’s… I’m too close… want to come… come with you… with you in me.” And the need to have Hutch inside him was suddenly overwhelming. He watched, barely coherent, as Hutch smoothed suntan oil onto the golden shaft, then slipped a coated finger into Starsky. “Now, Hutch… now… I’m so close… so close…”

Legs lifted onto tanned shoulders and Hutch was there, iron hard and hot… so hot. One… two… three quick strokes and he was lost… exploding… shattering into a thousand tiny pieces. At the same time, he registered the searing warmth as Hutch came inside him. Wrapping his legs around the precious body, he held Hutch close, trying to keep them together… a part of each other.

Maybe this is what we should do, sail away to Never, Never Land.

“Shh, Starsk, you don’t have to cry. Everything’s all right.”

Am I crying? And he knew he was. Crying in the relief of illusive safety. Crying in the encompassing love. He relaxed and dozed.

When he awoke, it was late, the breeze was cool, and he was covered with a light blanket. Groggily he shrugged the blanket aside and found his jeans where Hutch had put them. Once dressed, he joined his partner at the tiller, claimed a kiss, and settled down for the silent ride home. The sunset was spectacular and it was dark when they pulled into the dock where Molly berthed the sailboat.

After tying up at the dock, they secured the sails and gathered their gear. Walking toward the car, Starsky couldn’t help but look back at the spunky little craft that had been a haven for them during the day. Unlocking the door, he slid behind the wheel before leaning over to unlock the passenger door. The sun and fresh air made him tired in spite of his nap. But he was content at the moment, and couldn’t think of another place he’d rather be.

“I had a great time, today, Hutch. We’ll have to do this again sometime.”

“I wish we had more days to spend like this. Did you really have fun?”

“Yeah, but all that fresh air sure makes ya’ tired.” He punctuated his remark with a jaw-cracking yawn.

Hutch’s only comment was a chuckle as Starsky pulled the car into the street and headed for home. Once there, the two exhausted men fell into bed, asleep before they were prone.

Waking early, Starsky realized that it was Monday morning, the last day of their respite. Too soon, there would be no buffer between him and the past, no way to protect Hutch. But, right now, his lover was safe and the thought comforted him enough that he was quickly asleep.

“Starsky! Wake up! C’mon… wake up, it’s okay… Wake up!”

Forcing his eyes open, Starsky saw only a blurred jumble of colors. After several agonizing moments of trying to see through the mist, he recognized that his eyes were filled with tears. He furiously blinked them away and Hutch’s face slid into focus. Swallowing a sob, he sank gratefully into the damp, soap smell of his partner, letting the peace and comfort fill him.

“It’s all right, babe, I’m here. You’re okay, now, tell me about it.”

“About what?”

“The dream… nightmare. Must’ve been a bad one. I was shaving when I heard you scream, then begin to cry hysterically. Tell me about it so it stops haunting you.”

What do I tell you? If I tell you the dream, you’ll think I’m crazy. If I don’t tell you, you’ll think I’m holding something back. Here goes, love. “I was walking through the jungle. The rain was dripping down, making steam rise from the hot ground. I was alone. I couldn’t find the rest of the team. I knew they had to be there, but I couldn’t see or hear any of them. My feet were wet and when I looked down, I saw I was walking in a river of red… mud, I thought,” He stopped and burrowed closer to the safety that was Hutch. Shivering violently, he felt Hutch’s arms tense.

“But the water got darker and I knew it was blood. I didn’t… didn’t know where it was coming from, but it got worse. Bodies started floating down around my feet. Some were skeletons, sometimes only skulls and some still had rags of skin attached. I put my hands up to cover my eyes and saw that the river of blood came from my palms. My arms and legs shriveled as the blood ran faster from my hands, until I fell down and joined the others.”

Starsky was pulled closer into the embrace and he lay there, soaking up the love and security. A tremor ran through him when Hutch started combing fingers through his hair.

“No wonder you yelled, that’s a helluva dream,” his lover murmured.

“I’ve had worse, right after I came home from ‘Nam.” Scenes from ‘Night of the living Dead’ and other similar themes.

“A few not so bad, lately,” The words were punctuated with a kiss.

“You knew?”

“Of course, you’re not a quiet sleeper at the best of times, let alone when you’re having bad dreams.”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I figured you’d wake me if you wanted to talk.” Hutch paused, “Have you ever talked about the war to anyone?”

“Only the doctors, when I got back, but that’s not the same. You know what it was like, nobody wanted to listen to a G.I., then.” Baby killers… war mongers… Starsky remembered the names he’d been called at the airport.

“I’ll listen.”

“Not sure I can talk, now. I’ve hadda lotta years of keepin’ quiet. Give me time, I’ll try,” changing the subject, “Why’re you up so early?”

“I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I decided to take a swim. I knew you’d had a restless night, so I wasn’t going to wake you. Now that you’re awake, want to come?”

“Yeah, but you’re goin’ swimmin’.” He leered and waggled an eyebrow.

“Starsky! I meant…”

“I know what you meant. No, I’ll stay here and rest up for when you return.”

“When I return, we’re tackling that closet of yours.”

“My closet’s about as open as you can get; it’s your’s I’m not so sure about.”

“David Starsky! I meant your clothes closet. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

“You’re beginning to sound like my mother and you don’t have the legs for it. Do we have to?” he wheedled in his best little-boy whine.

“It’s a mess.” But the mouth curved and there was a glint in the blue eyes that promised a lot.

Starsky watched Hutch pull on his trunks, then leave. He sat there trying to decide how much he could safely tell his lover, but his stomach curdled at the thought of telling him anything. I’ll talk to Travis tomorrow, when he brings the documents, see what he says. Maybe he’ll pull me off this detail since Jimerson’s nosing around.

That thought eased the worry and he drifted back to sleep.

In his dream, Hutch was kissing him, tongue scouring his teeth and dueling with his own tongue, sending fire to his toes and fingertips. He felt a cold, wet something land on his shoulder and realized that the lips warming his were ice cold, and knew this was no dream. He opened his eyes and pulled back. Hutch hovered over him, hair dripping all over everywhere. “You’re wet! And cold!”

The blue eyes looking down at him twinkled when Hutch smiled. “So warm me.”

Starsky thought he would die right there. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around his lover and pulled him into a tight embrace. Rolling them so Hutch was underneath, Starsky tried to cover every square inch. To warm and excite, send him climbing, higher and higher. “Gonna warm you up, love. Gonna get you so hot…”

“Love me, David… make love to me… fuck me…”

Starsky almost came right then when he heard those too infrequently said words. He liked making love to Hutch as much as he liked having Hutch make love to him, but, always conscious of the abuse Hutch had received from his stepfather, he waited until asked. Now, as usual, he looked closely at his partner, watching for signs that he didn’t really want this, but was offering because he knew how much it meant to Starsky.

“Go on, lover, fuck me. I want to feel you come inside me… hurry, I’m too close to wait long… want to come with you…”

Doubts fled and Starsky eagerly covered the beloved body with kisses. Moving down to the already hard nipples, he laved one then the other, the hardness sending prickles of sensation to his center. His hand found Hutch’s soft silky balls and carefully kneaded them between his fingers, feeling Hutch twist and squirm in his arms.

“Starsky, please….”

He looked up and saw Hutch’s face bathed in sweat, writhing in desperate need. Head flung back, neck arched, trying to merge the two into one. Starsky continued to watch as he moved his hand behind his lover’s balls to slide a finger into the waiting opening. It seemed to suck his digit inside and Hutch’s body arched higher, pulling at him. Now, barely able to control his own storming desires, he pulled the finger loose, replacing it with his burning shaft. Deep… deep, into that dark wet tunnel. He was sucked in, held securely even as he pulled free only to enter faster and deeper until he was lost in the spiraling sensations.

Hutch’s cry matched his own as twin volcanoes erupted spewing molten lava to fill, bind, cement their love.

Minutes, hours, years later, he woke to the feel of hands soothing his sweat-moistened back, heard the harsh rasp of his lover’s breathing as it mixed with his. Willing heavy limbs to move, he crawled up to lie beside Hutch, twining his arms around his sated lover, “Are you warm, now?”

“Wise ass,” Hutch chuckled affectionately. “We’d better get up. I meant what I said about your closet.”

Starsky looked over at the monster. It did look rather disrespectful. He couldn’t even get the doors shut anymore and he was the one who liked the house tidy. On the other hand, Hutch had dripped cold water on him, waking him from a delightful dream, “That why you dripped cold water all over me? Because my closet’s a mess?”

“I didn’t mean to, Starsk. You looked so tempting that I couldn’t help but kiss you. I’m sorry I got you wet.”

“You interrupted a perfectly good dream… Hey, want me to show you what I was doing to you…”

“I think you already did. C’mon, get up. Breakfast, then that closet. One of these days something in there’s going to attack you.”

Starsky looked at the jumbled mess of worn-out shoes, tennis rackets, unfinished projects, and numerous bits-and-pieces of paraphernalia accumulated over the years, all jammed unceremoniously into the closet when they’d moved in six months ago. “Okay, okay, but let me pull things out. I don’t want you jerkin’ out the wrong thing and have everything fall down on top of you.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

Two hours later, after showers and breakfast, with much grumbling from Starsky and a considerable amount of anti-pack-ratting from Hutch, the lower part of the closet was clean and neat. Only the shelf above the clothes rack remained cluttered. Starsky pulled the first offending piece of junk down and was promptly hit on the head by a shoebox that spilled its contents everywhere. Photographs fluttered to the floor; all of men of varying races in military uniform. Hutch picked up several of them, and Starsky’s heart started pounding, but he kept silent.

“Are these from ‘Nam? Your unit?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you take these?”

“Some…some were taken for me with my camera.” He watched Hutch scrutinize the pictures, one by one, stop to look closely at one for several seconds before holding it out.

“Is this you?”

Starsky glanced at the black-and-white photo. It had been taken after body count on a day when the team had six confirmed kills. Three had been Starsky’s and he was standing over the bodies in a big-game-hunter’s pose, “Yeah, that’s me.”

“You look so… so proud.” The furrow between Hutch’s eyes deepened.

“That’s how I felt. Confirmed kills were a good psychological tool to use against the enemy, and we were experts at psychological warfare. The team with the highest body count in a week was given a three-day pass.”

“You were a Green Beret?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Cream of the crop,” Starsky stated matter-of-factly.

“Bunch of gung-ho fools from what I’ve heard. What were you thinking of? You had to volunteer for Special Forces, you weren’t just assigned. I know that much.”

“Soldiers who met certain qualifications were recruited. Besides, it was the only group I felt safe with.” He felt the corners of his mouth twitch. When you thought about it, you didn’t feel safe anywhere in ‘Nam, but somehow you never thought about it. “When I was in basic, the other trainees found out that a guy in our company was gay… they beat the crap outta him and he spent the two weeks before his discharge came through in the hospital. I didn’t want that happenin’ to me. No one messed with anyone wearin’ a green beanie.”

“It’s hard to think of anyone messing with you. Your tough guy act can be pretty intimidating.” Hutch said with grim conviction.

“Not on the other side of the world. The berets were my back-up. A lot of G.I.’s deep in the bush turned to each other instead of the local girls, if there were local girls. The officers tried to stop it, but usually weren’t successful. In the boonies, you didn’t know who was friend and who was enemy.”

Starsky left the room, going to the kitchen for beer, leaving Hutch to sort through the memories in the shoebox. Before opening the can, he replaced it and pulled a half-full bottle of whiskey out of the cupboard. After pouring himself a generous portion, he returned to the bedroom.

Hutch looked up as he entered, “Are these the men you worked with?”

Starsky swallowed whiskey, then looked at the picture. It showed six men three Americans and three Orientals. “That was the team I was with my first tour. All bought it from ‘friendly fire’. A real fugazi. Fuckin’ gun ship pilot thought he knew more about where we were than we did. He reversed the co-ordinates and fired on us instead of the N.V.A.” He emptied the glass.

“You don’t think it was done intentionally, do you?”

Starsky leaned back against the headboard and wiped his hands across his face. Hugging his knees, head thrown back, he closed his eyes, “Hell, I don’t know. Damn chopper jockeys were always braggin’ ’bout how good they were.”

He was quiet for several minutes, then whispered, “I downed that chopper, Hutch. Took me three days to walk outta the jungle, alone, but I brought all of my team’s dogtags back.”

 

“You’re telling me that you deliberately shot down an American helicopter?”

“You do what ya’ hafta do.”

“You had to kill those G.I.’s?”

Starsky shrugged his shoulders.

“You liked it over there.” Simple statement of fact, no surprise, no condemnation.

“I hated it over there.”

“You went back a second time.”

“Being home was worse.” Starsky padded back to the kitchen, refilled his glass, drank half, and refilled it again before rejoining Hutch. As he neared the bedroom, he heard the sound of cloth-covered metal against metal. Oh, no, babe, not the medals.

“It says here that your quick action in spotting and springing an ambush saved a whole squad of soldiers. I think that’s something to be proud of and you hide these away.”

“Dumb bastards would’ve seen it themselves if they’d kept their mouths shut and eyes open. There were signs all over, nothin’ special.”

“What’s it called? The medal, I mean.”

“Silver Star.”

“I recognize this one, Purple Heart. It looks just like its name. I didn’t know you were wounded.”

“Stepped on a pungi stake first tour. Six weeks in Japan took care of it and I was back in the jungle.”

“What ‘s this one?”

Instead of answering, Starsky grabbed the medal and packed the mementos back into the box, “I don’t want to talk about the war no more.”

“You’ve got to talk this out, get it out of your system. You want your dreams to stop, don’t you?”

“My dreams have nothing to do with those medals. They have to do with what I saw, what I did. But, mostly, they have ta do with what I didn’t.”

“What do you mean, ‘What I didn’t?'”

“My unit was part of several experimental long range roving patrols. We operated miles behind enemy lines. We interrupted their radio communications, called in air strikes, assassinated their leaders, whatever it took to demoralize them.”

Starsky sipped whiskey; Hutch watched and waited.

“But we also, had a secondary mission. If captured, we were not supposed to try to escape. We were supposed to send coded letters to our families telling of conditions and locations of the camps, set-up escape routes for other prisoners, whatever we could do. All of us were code experts with top clearances. If Charlie had found out who we were, we would’ve died very, very slowly. I got caught, but the conditions were worse than anything I’ve ever encountered. I couldn’t hack it, I had to escape, run, even if it meant dying. I was a coward. I don’t deserve those medals.”

“Did they know what the conditions were in the P.O.W camps, when they made this great plan?” Hutch asked very deliberately.

“No.”

“Then, I don’t see where you have anything to be ashamed of. You should be proud of those medals.”

“I should be proud of the men and women I killed?”

“So, your dreams are about the people you killed in ‘Nam? Starsky, I don’t think you could kill without a good reason, I know you too well.”

“My dreams aren’t about anyone or anything, they’re just distorted scenes and sensations. And yes, I could and did kill for what you wouldn’t consider a very good reason. Special Forces personnel are cross-trained and each have at least two M.O.S’s… sometimes more. I was a cryptographer and…” he paused, trying to gauge Hutch’s reaction, wishing the discussion hadn’t gone this far, yet knowing he had to finish, “…a trained assassin. I killed when they told me to and who they told me to. War is… you do things in war that you wouldn’t think of doing anywhere else. Whoever said, ‘War is hell,’ knew what he was talkin’ about.”

“Aw, Starsk, you were in a situation that you had no control over.”

“I had some control, at first. Like you said, I didn’t have to sign up for Special Forces. I didn’t have to go to sniper school. I wanted to.”

Starsky finished the whiskey in his glass, not quite daring to meet Hutch’s eyes. He didn’t consider his past pretty or even commendable and he didn’t expect Hutch to either.

“You said, ‘You do things in war that you wouldn’t think of doing anywhere else.’ If that’s true, and I believe it is, you should try not to be ashamed of what you did. From what I understand, some nasty things were done in World War II and Korea, but the people here accepted the outcome better, that’s all. Let it go, babe, and it’ll be all right.”

“Let it go?” Starsky quoted wearily, feeling very much older than his partner. “That’s easy for you to say. Don’t think I haven’t tried; it just doesn’t work. Vietnam was like going under cover. You weren’t the same person there you were in The World, but when you came home, you weren’t the same person you were when you left. I was alive and others were dead. It was a long time before I found out who was the real me and I never have figured out why I survived and others didn’t. I spent a year trying to get my head together, trying to forget.” Restless, he got up and shoved the shoebox into place at the back of the closet, paced the room, picked up the whiskey glass, found it empty and hurled it against the wall.

Hutch’s arms closed around him, held him tight. “I didn’t say forget it, I said let it go. There is a difference. Remember the Haymes kidnaping? Remember when the kidnappers had me running all over town with ransom?” He pulled back and forced Starsky to face him. “Do you have nightmares because you blew those men away?”

“I thought they’d killed you,” he said in a small voice.

“I know. I also know that hitting the gas tank wasn’t a freak accident, a bullet gone astray. I know that you’re a good enough marksman to put that bullet exactly where you wanted. Vietnam was…”

“Hutch, I…”

“Vietnam was a war. What you did there makes more sense than what you did to those kidnappers. Let it go, love, and get on with your life.”

A weight lifted off his shoulders. What Hutch said made sense. “Maybe you are the brains of this partnership.”

“Of course I am. I’m hungry; let’s eat.”

Working together, they made a quick lunch of thick chicken sandwiches, left over potato salad, and beer. Starsky stayed with root beer, considering what he had consumed earlier. After washing dishes, they left for the planetarium. Starsky had never been there just to look at the stars, but went because it pleased Hutch. He found it fascinating.

As they left, mingling in with the crowd, he turned to his partner. “That was beautiful. I never thought something so dull to read about could be so interesting.”

“You mean to tell me that you never came here as a kid?” Hutch looked startled.

Starsky looked at the ground, watching the toe of his sneaker push dirt around, “Of course I did. It was one of the best places around to neck in.”

Hutch’s laugh sounded like it started at his feet and bubbled up until it flowed from his mouth, “It figures. I’m glad you liked it this time; we’ll go again if you want.”

“Could you find the constellations without the help of the guide?” Now, he was all bright-eyed enthusiasm.

“Sure, I took several astronomy courses in college. Someday, maybe we’ll go to the mountains or the desert for vacation, and we can lie on a blanket at night and I’ll show you.”

Starsky shuddered. He could remember times in ‘Nam on deep patrols when they were waiting in ambush, he’d had to let all sorts of creatures crawl over him. One time a snake had actually crawled across his face, “There’ll be snakes and spiders and…”

Hutch, climbing into the car, laughed again, “All right, city boy, I’ll settle for an observatory or a cabin with a skylight.”

“Yeah, in the bedroom, so we don’t hafta get outta bed.” He grinned.

Hutch playfully rumpled the dark curls before pulling into traffic and heading home. He hummed a little tune that Starsky didn’t recognize.

The next morning was bright, with the smog down to a thin haze on the horizon. The day was so beautiful that Starsky was able to push all thoughts of top secret codes and unpopular wars to the back of his mind, until he looked over at the sleeping Hutch and saw a Hershey kiss laying on the pillow next to the blond head. Cold fury mixed with terror hit and he almost doubled over with the pain. Instinct told him take Hutch and run, but reason, close on panic’s heels, won out.

Jimerson, damn you, leave him alone. Afraid to tell Hutch anything and, at the same time, afraid not to, he decided to wait until he talked to Travis. Unable to go back to sleep and still too agitated to be successful at fooling Hutch, he set the coffee to brew, dressed, then returned to wake his lover. Leaning down, he put a hand on either side of Hutch’s head, simultaneously cupping the piece of candy in his right hand and kissing Hutch awake. He placed small greedy kisses all over the beloved face until there was an answering response.

“Morning, lover.” The candy was slipped into his jeans pocket.

“Mmmmm, morning, Starsk. How come you’re up first?” Sitting up, Hutch stretched and yawned, then reached out to touch Starsky’s chest.

“I’m all rested up from the weekend. Gotta get in and see what my new office looks like.” Starsky laughed as he pushed the roaming fingers away. “Are you listening?”

“Yeah. I still think you should take some down time. What if that letter bomb was meant for you?”

“It wasn’t. We’ve all been getting our share of anonymous threats.” I hope. “Coffee’s ready. If you hurry, we’ll have time to share a cup before we leave.”

“Just a cup of coffee?” Once again, Hutch was reaching for him. How he longed to give in and cling a little while longer to the loving.

“Sorry, it’s already six-thirty; you forgot to set the alarm.” He smiled. “But I forgive you.”

“I was pre-occupied.” The look on Hutch’s face was blissful.

Starsky rolled his eyes meaningfully, “Oh, yeah, you might say we both were. Do stars always turn you on like that?”

“Only with the right people.” This time Hutch was not about to be turned away. He took Starsky into his arms. “Don’t really need stars.”

The distress that had been building since waking erupted and Starsky physically pushed Hutch back. “Stop! Stop it; I can’t go on like this any longer, I can’t!”

Hutch flinched, his hurt palpable, “I thought this was what you wanted? If it’s not…”

Hutch had misunderstood, but then, how else was he supposed to take it when he knew almost nothing of what was simmering inside of Starsky.

“Hutch, I didn’t mean… I’m sorry… shit! Hell, here…” He dug the now-mushy piece of candy out of his pocket and held it out. “…look at this. I found it sitting next to your head this morning.”

“Another candy kiss? What’s with the candy anyway? What’s going on, Starsky?” His expression was bewildered, skittish, like he wasn’t quite sure where to duck.

Starsky waited, knowing his words would soon sink in, too emotionally drained not to need help.

“Wait a minute. You said, you found this candy on my pillow?”

“Yeah. And I didn’t leave the other one, either.” He was beginning to relax now that Hutch was with him, even if only for this much.

“Who did, then?” Hutch’s look darted around the room. Starsky knew he felt the same sense of invasion that he had felt when he saw the candy.

“Jimerson…or one of his flunkies.”

“Are you sure?”

“If you mean, do I have any proof, no. But remember, I told you he walked in on me and my lover in ‘Nam?” Hutch nodded thoughtfully, gathering clothes and dressing as Starsky talked. “What I didn’t tell you was that his name was Bobby…” It still hurt to say the name. “…Bobby Hershey.”

Hutch dropped the comb he’d been using and turned to face Starsky. “Oh, shit. Where is he now?”

“Bobby? He’s dead. Jimerson pulled the same stunt with Bobby that he did with me, only Bobby didn’t come back. We found his body hanging in a tree four days later.”

Hutch’s expression was grim, bordering on anger. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Starsky wanted to put his arms around Hutch, but sensed the timing was wrong. “Jimerson’s good at his job… too good, and so are his people. I’m not sure I can prevent whatever he’s got planned. I…I thought, maybe, if you didn’t know what was going down, he’d leave you alone. We’re…”

“You were going to leave me deaf, dumb, and blind? Thanks a lot, partner!” Hutch was livid and Starsky understood why.

“That’s the trouble, we’re not partners anymore, not on the streets, and I couldn’t figure out how to protect you. I wanted…”

Again Hutch interrupted, “It’s been a long time since you had to protect me on the streets.”

Now Starsky felt foolish. He’d been wrong and he knew it. Jimerson scared him and he’d let that fear displace the trust he’d always shared with Hutch. “I was gonna talk ta’ Travis today. I was hoping he’d pull me off, with Jimerson nosing around.

“Will he?” The icy tone told Starsky he wasn’t forgiven, yet.

“Probably not. Got any ideas?”

“Anything else you haven’t told me?”

“Hutch, m’sorry, I wasn’t thinkin’.”

“Damn right you weren’t thinking. You know this guy better than I do, hell, I don’t know him. What can we do?”

“Nothing.” At Hutch’s skeptical look, Starsky stated miserably, “There isn’t anything I can think of to do that he wouldn’t know how to counter.”

Hutch looked at him hard, eyes boring right through like lasers, Starsky thought. But he waited, knowing Hutch would come up with something. It wouldn’t work, but it would be something. “If I understand this right, the threats are sent to you, but I’m the one he’ll try to take out.”

“Yeah.” For the life of him, Starsky couldn’t utter another word.

“All right. I’ll call you, once in the morning and once in the afternoon and before I start home, instead of only one time a day. If I can’t call, I’ll let Dobey know where I am so you can get me if you have to.”

It wouldn’t work, but at least they’d go down fighting. “Okay, I’ll be at my desk.” They stood there looking at each other, Starsky not wanting to take his eyes off his lover. “Hold me, please,” he whispered.

Hutch did, pulling him into a fierce embrace and toe-tingling kiss. “Get the bastard, Starsk, so I don’t have to watch you be afraid anymore.”

Starsky felt fear, but he wasn’t sure whose. Hutch would be on guard. If Jimerson got one of them, they’d both go out together, because they were a team again. A team and, for the first time, Starsky believed they would be partners on the job as well as at home. He hugged Hutch quickly and kissed him on the nose. “Better leave before we don’t make it at all.”

“Yeah,” Hutch agreed, pulling back, “But, today is going to be a real bitch to get through.”

They left the apartment side by side, separating only to go to their own cars. The Torino followed the tan Ford through the maze of early morning traffic. Starsky sighed, he still didn’t approve of his partner’s taste in cars. This one was tan, but it wasn’t an LTD, it was an Escort. It was bigger than Belle, true, but still small. Almost too small for Hutch to get his long legs into. Starsky’s mind wandered for a moment considering those long legs. Bare, tan legs that led up to… and that thought left him in a state unsuitable for work. He concentrated on the car in front of him with difficulty. He had to admit the car was economical and newer than the old LTD, but it just wasn’t Hutch.

Suppressing the desire to blow Hutch a kiss, he waved as his partner pulled into the parking garage at Metro, then continued up the street to the Federal Building. At least if Hutch needed him, he wasn’t too far away, providing the traffic was reasonable. There were days when running down the sidewalk took less time than driving.

Davis met him at the door of the common room that had been assigned to the Gunther Task Force. Partitions had been erected to section off small work areas. Desks and filing cabinets made up the operative’s “offices;” it was one of these that had blown up around Starsky the previous Friday. Most of the debris from the explosion had been cleared, but there remained the charred remnants of the plastic and metal walls that had once belonged to Starsky.

“Since people don’t leave you alone, even when you’re not aggravating them, I’ve decided to put you out of sight, and hopefully, out of mind. Follow me.”

Starsky followed Davis to the far rear of the larger room, to what had been used as the storeroom and catch-all. It was one of the two “real” rooms, with four walls, a ceiling, and a door that could be locked. All the extra supplies and homeless litter had been replaced by a desk, filing cabinets, and a phone. Thank God, they hadn’t decided he needed his own computer, too. He still needed help with the one he shared with Neal. A small nameplate, unreadable from further than three feet, pasted to the door, identified this closet as belonging to Sgt. Starsky.

“We salvaged what we could from the mess, it wasn’t much. Luckily, Neal had logged every query you ran Friday and we pulled up the sheets, again.” Davis sounded like he did this often. “They’re on your desk. The only thing really lost was the mail. Happy hunting.” He chuckled and moved off, leaving Starsky nothing to do but enter his cell and get down to work.

He picked up one pile, scanned it quickly, realizing that all his neatly referenced lists were now a hodge-podge of computer print-outs stacked willy-nilly on his desk. Swearing in every language he knew, Starsky started reorganizing and rearranging the massive amounts of paperwork in front of him. He was deeply engrossed in the project when a knock on the door interrupted him. “Who is it?” he growled, not bothering to stop.

“Mail-boy.”

The voice was familiar and, resignedly, Starsky stacked his papers and opened the door. Sure enough, Travis stood there, brown pants, white shirt with sleeves rolled up, and brown tie. He looked like any other non-descript mail-boy they’d ever had. “Get in here.”

“I have your mail,” Travis held up a bulky envelope.

Starsky glanced around outside his door; nobody was in the aisles, so he grabbed the front of Travis’s shirt, pulling him inside. “Get your ass in here. I gotta talk to you.” And you’d better listen real good, because I ain’t gonna play games with ya’.

Travis stepped in, shutting the door behind him, “I see your new office has everything we could ask for, even a locked file cabinet. The combination’s inside the envelope.”

“How come I can’t get any answer at the number you gave me?”

“I got called back to Washington to pick these up,” Travis raised the envelope. “You weren’t supposed to make contact except in emergencies.”

“Yeah, well, we got one. Ralph Jimerson, know him? He’s called me a coupla times wantin’ ta’ know what I’m workin’ on for you. He’s made threats against me and my partner, unless I tell him everything I’m doing.”

“Shit. Yeah, I know him.” Travis paced the small room for several minutes, hand held to furrowed brow, head bent in deep thought. Starsky perched on his desk, feet on the chair to give the man more room. “Special Forces Colonel. He’s been working in the San Francisco office, so he’s suspect.” The pacing resumed for several more minutes, then Travis, hand on doorknob, faced Starsky, handed him the packet, “We’ll have someone at that number around the clock. Me or my partner, Perkins. We didn’t expect trouble at all, and definitely not before you had the letters. I’ll put someone on Jimerson’s tail.”

Travis left and Starsky, laying the envelope on the desk, went to the coffee pot, poured a cup, doctored it with sugar and cream, then returned to his office. He opened the package slowly, peering inside before withdrawing its contents. Inside was a book on breaking codes that Starsky remembered from school, plus the letters and a slip of paper with the combination to the lock on the filing cabinet. He leaned back and started reading the book, refreshing his memory. Midway through, he was interrupted by a phone call from Hutch.

Art by Maureen

 

“Hiya, partner, just checking in. Want to join me for lunch?”

“Can’t, I just got started on this assignment. How about dinner at the Pits?”

“Sounds good. I’ll meet you there.”

Hutch hung up and Starsky returned to his book. The phone rang. Damn, how the hell am I supposed to concentrate? “Starsky…”

“Travis here. Listen, we want you to stay away from your usual haunts until we get a line on Jimerson. He seems to have slipped the traces.”

“Terrific, some back-up you guys are. Hutch and I are meeting for dinner at the Pits.”

“Try Number One, a Vietnamese place on Pico.”

Travis hung up and Starsky returned to the code book. An hour later, he’d refreshed his memory on the most common codes used during Vietnam. Curiosity aroused, he moved everything off his desk except one letter and the phone, then read it through once, before settling down to find the hidden message. This was something he was good at–or had been in the past. He reread the letter, more carefully, this time.

1/8/80

Dear Steve,

I received your letter last week but had to put off answering. Have you been acting on any plans based on information received from me? Excerpts from the Golden Goose Collection are here until you hear from Susan, Ted, or me.

There has been a slowing of service and an increase in postal rates. A series of security investigations into the Postal Service are uncovering irregularities in hiring. Many people that have been employed for years have been retired early. Backgrounds buried for years were uncovered. If the press hears, the news won’t wait. Nothing important will be released until the situation is controlled. All possibilities have been examined and plans explored. My personal feeling and position is not to trust the mail, and definitely not anyone until it is entirely resolved, clear and safe. I’ll not write to anyone, including you, again, until they have the culprits and are done hunting.

The spider story you sent me was wonderful. I’d like more if

 

The Letter

The letter didn’t make much sense and the second page was missing, so Starsky figured the coded message must be somewhere in the section of the letter he had. Pulling a piece of paper out of a drawer, he started copying the words, leaving space beside each letter and under each line. Finishing, he put the corresponding number under each letter and tried to make new sentences with various combinations of letters and numbers, much like a cryptogram. He was still at it when the phone rang.

“Starsky…”

He was shocked to see how late it was. He’d lost all sense of time. That was the way it always was.

“Hiya, babe, ready for dinner?” Hutch sounded relaxed, happy, with none of the tension from this morning.

“Am I! It’s been suggested that we eat at a Vietnamese place called Number One, on Pico. I’ll pick you up.” Starsky thought of saying something about Jimerson but didn’t. Hutch had sounded too happy. He didn’t want to bring back the stress.

“I’m not in the squad room, but I’ll hurry. I’ve missed you.” Hutch lowered his voice and Starsky heard the velvet promise behind the words.

“Me too.” Hanging up the phone, he put the envelope, its contents, and his notes into the locked file cabinet, locked it, and left.

It didn’t take him long to reach Pico; he had no trouble finding the restaurant or a parking space. Despite the garish exterior, the inside was neat and tastefully decorated. A young girl led him to the table where Hutch waited. He felt right at home. The waitress was even wearing an ao dai and he was willing to bet a week’s pay she was Vietnamese. Chac vay,” he said softly.

“Chac vay.” The girl smiled as she placed a menu in front of each place.

“Hidden talents, Starsk?” Hutch grinned, his glance drifting slowly over Starsky.

Starsky could feel his body respond to that look, and covered it by sitting down and picking up the menu. He couldn’t help grinning back at Hutch even as he took refuge in indignation. “Hey, I worked very hard to learn that. Vietnamese is one of the hardest…”

“Sergeant Starsky!”

Surprised, Starsky stood, turning toward the speaker, a small, wrinkled Asian man who hurried their way. He was impeccably groomed from the top of his gleaming bald head to the glossy black low quarters. His starched white uniform looked like it was just put on and the creases were knife sharp.

“Tho! You made it to America!” They shook hands. “I wondered if you ever got outta there.”

“Yes, but not for some time. Always, I think, Sergeant Starsky say, ‘Tho, if Americans leave Vietnam, you go to America.’ So I go.”

“Your family?” He studied the other man.

“Daughter here; she give to you menu.” Tho grinned from ear-to-ear, crinkle lines around his eyes deepened as he all but laughed at Starsky.

“That was Ly!” Starsky turned to Hutch. “Last time I saw her, she was this big.” He indicated a spot just above the table top. Shock registered as did the years, evident in the growth of the young woman he’d known as a child. He turned back to Tho. “Your wife?”

“Wife died in boat before we come. America number one. I think to never see you. Many times want to say thank you.” The change in the man was startling. Starsky wondered what hell he’d been through to humble him so.

“I’m just glad that you made it, Anh Hai. This is my friend, Hutch. We’ll take whatever’s on special. I know that if you’re cookin’, whatever it is will be great.”

“I cook your favorite. It not take long. Cha gia first, then thit kho nouc dua. You no pay. Too many times you help Tho.” The little man whisked away the menus.

“Tho, do you have any ba muoi ba?” Starsky called after him.

Tho laughed. “No, only have G.I. beer.”

“Bomb-be-bah?” Hutch looked at him, eyebrows raised, and Starsky realized he’d been neglecting his lover.

“Yeah, Vietnamese beer. The first time I tried it, the team sergeant warned me, but I didn’t believe him and got so drunk I missed patrol the next day. The Vietnamese in our unit never let me forget it.” He looked at Hutch and smiled, happy to be sitting across from him. “How was your day?”

“Quiet morning, busy afternoon. Two gangs butted heads and a body was found when the smoke cleared. The Youth Diversion people called for detectives and Dobey sent Ray and me.”

“Homicide?” Starsky wanted to hold his partner, make the creases in his forehead fade, bring a smile to his lips.

“Nah, junkie O.D’d. But I’ve gotta finish the preliminaries and get them on the captain’s desk tonight, so I’ll be late.” He smiled weakly, making it clear that he’d rather be home. A fact Starsky already knew.

“Sergeant…” Ly was back. Hair hung straight to her waist, reminding Starsky of her mother.

He smiled. “Just Dave. I’m not a soldier anymore. Ly, you’re a young lady, now. Your mother would be very proud.”

“Dave ta, so sorry not to know you.” Her eyes were wide with apology.

He tried to make her feel better, “You were very little the last time I saw you, how could you know me?” She had been so frightened of the Americans back then. Starsky wondered about all the other little kids caught up in that particular nightmare.

“You and my father, good friends. Ly should know you,” she persisted. She sat a bowl of peanuts and a plate piled high with finger-length fried objects in front of them, then laid out two plates and two pair of chopsticks and left.

“Go on, Hutch, try the peanuts, they’re roasted in sugar.” He reached for one of the fried objects that looked like egg rolls. “These are cha gio. The crust is made with rice flour and it’s filled with mushrooms, onion, egg, bran threads and chicken or pork.” Starsky dipped one in the clear sauce that sat in its compartment at the side of the plate. “They’re real spicy. I remember the first time Tho’s wife served them. I was afraid to eat them because Tho told me they were made with dog meat. Boy did mama-san chew him out for that one.”

Hutch tried one, swallowing quickly and reaching for a glass of water, “It’s great, Starsk, but I think I’ll try it without the sauce next time. Boy, that makes your tacos seem tame.”

Starsky laughed and Hutch smiled, the brow wrinkles leaving. They munched on the appetizers and sipped tea that Ly brought until she returned with soup.

Starsky pounced on it eagerly. “Pho, it’s beef broth, sort of. It’s good.”

“You and Tho were good friends.” Hutch looked at him over the rim of his cup.

Starsky thought back to the days when he and Bobby had been almost family. An Hai… brother two. “Yeah, we were. He and his wife used to let us stay with them, away from the rest of the guys in our unit. Mama-san treated us like her sons. They were much older than Ly. The V.C. killed them before I met Tho.”

Silence followed his statement and they ate quietly, each absorbed in his own thoughts. When the thit kho nuoc dua arrived, Starsky tackled it, chopsticks moving deftly. “Be sure to leave a little on your plate when you’re finished. Tho will lose face if he thinks he didn’t give you enough.”

“What is this?” Hutch asked, plainly interested.

Starsky looked around the room, not yet filled to capacity, but the dinner crowd was slowly gathering. Mostly other Vietnamese, but there were a few occidentals as well. He made a show of letting Hutch in on a big secret, leaned forward and whispered, “Monkey. Tho raises them.”

Hutch stared dubiously at his plate. Grey-tan lumps with herbs and a white sauce sat on top of a mound of rice. The faintly sweet scent was familiar, but eluded identification. “That’s a different attitude from my usual, make sure it’s dead, partner.”

“We lived with the people, pal. Either we ate what they did or we ate c-rations. Believe me, this is a lot better than c-rations.” He lifted a savory bite to his lips and began chewing, “C’mon, live a little.”

“I’d like to live a lot, but here goes.” Hutch took a bite, chewed and his face cleared and he grinned at Starsky, “It’s pork and it tastes like it has coconut in it.”

“Coconut milk, actually. It was always one of my favorites.”

When they finished, Starsky looked around for Tho, but he was nowhere in sight.

“I’ve got to call in, Starsk.”

“Go on, I’ll meet you at your car. I want to talk to Tho.”

“Sure, I’ll wait for you.” Hutch left and Starsky looked around the increasingly crowded dining room, but it was several minutes before he spotted Tho at a far table. He motioned for Starsky to wait where he was.

Moments later, Tho approached and escorted him to the door, “So sorry to make you wait. There was a dispute over a bill.”

Starsky pulled out his wallet, but Tho pushed it away. “C’mon, Tho, I just wanta…”

“Pay. But family not pay. Go now, but remember, Tho here. You and Hutch, you come back.”

“We will, count on it.”

Starsky turned to leave, but Tho stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Sergeant, if you need help, come to Tho.”

Starsky looked over his shoulder at Hutch who leaned against the Escort.

“Thanks. I might need your help at that. Jimerson’s on my case again. I can’t explain any more than that, but he’s made some threats.” Again he sent a worried look in Hutch’s direction.

Tho nodded knowingly. “Dai Uy Jimerson was here just before you. He go out back door when you come in front.”

The ice was back in his stomach. Was Travis working for Jimerson? Is that why he suggested they eat here? “If anything happens to me, go to Hutch. No one else, only Hutch.” Starsky watched the old man and remembered the look he wore when digesting something no one else understood.

“Tho never like Dai Uy. I have friends watch out for your Hutch. Remember, the burden is always heaviest before it is lifted.” Tho looked very wise and sympathetic.

“Thanks.” Starsky hurried to the car, strangely calm. “Tho asked us back again,” he said when he reached his partner.

The blond head nodded. “Sure, seems like a nice friendly place, friendly people.” He pulled Starsky’s wrist up and looked at the watch. “I gogtta meet Ray at the station. See you later.”

“Not too late, I hope.” Starsky felt a surge of disappointment that he had to go home alone.

“Shouldn’t take very long. Are you off duty?”

“Yeah.” He paused, then smiled. “Maybe we’ll have a little time to ourselves?”

The taller man touched his arm. “I always have time for you. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Starsky stood looking at his lover and Hutch looked back, seconds ticking by before he punched Starsky lightly, got into the Escort, and pulled away from the curb. Starsky, feeling an undefined sense of loss, turned slowly and trudged on leaden feet to the Torino. He got into the driver’s seat and just sat there, head resting on arms folded across the steering wheel. Finally, sighing deeply, he switched on the ignition, and headed home. He was beginning to get the idea that someone out there didn’t want him to be happy. Acknowledging that happiness was a state that came from within, he still argued that life was even better when you could share it with someone who added to that happiness. Hutch added to his happiness in spades.

He pulled into traffic. Halfway home, he stopped at the all night market near their apartment and bought the latest edition of each of the biggest daily papers. Loading his purchases in the car, he continued home. Once at home and inside their apartment, Starsky dropped his armful of newspapers on the couch and, futile though he thought it might be, took the time to check all the windows and doors for signs of visitors. There were none; there weren’t any after each of the candy episodes either. Next, he checked all the lamps and telephones for bugs or other electronic snoops. Again he found none. Finally convinced that his home was secure, he pulled the code textbook from the inside pocket of his jacket and a copy of the letter from his hip pocket. Laying them on the dining table, he walked over to the big aquarium they’d installed to separate the living room and dining room.

Various species of fish played tag with each other among the fake seaweed and a sunken ship. A treasure chest in the middle opened and closed releasing bubbles at intervals. Starsky picked up a container of food and watched as two of the angel fish darted to the top.

“Travis would have a fit if he knew I brought my work home, wouldn’t he, Gladys?” He talked to the yellow and black striped fish closest to the top. Another tap on the food box brought the second fish closer, “But we won’t tell him, will we, Alice?”

He watched the fish for several minutes, absorbing the peace and comfort he always found there, then returned to the table. Smoothing the wrinkles from the paper, he tried another combination of letters and numbers, to no avail. His frustration mounted as the minutes crawled along. Unable to make sense of the message, yet knowing there had to be one because the letter itself barely made sense, he stopped long enough to rewarm left over coffee. Nine o’clock came and went and still no Hutch. All he got from a phone call to Metro was, “He’s out on a call.” Starsky cleared away the coffee clutter and filled the pot, setting the timer for morning.

He couldn’t stall any longer, so he went back to work. This time, though, he started on the papers. Let’s see if I can find out why I’m on this assignment, instead of the experts. Uncounted time later, he put his head down on his arms. Just need to rest my eyes for a coupla minutes.

“Starsky, wake up, it’s late. C’mon, babe, let’s go to bed. Sorry I took so long. What’s with all the newspapers?”

“Huh? Oh, one of the best ways to gather information. See why I’m on this detail.” He stopped, staring. “When did you get home?”

Hutch rubbed Starsky’s arm, soothingly, trying to give his startled lover more time to wake up. “Just walked in. Those papers will tell you what’s going down in this country that the Eastern Bloc might want to know about?” Hutch was skeptical.

“If you know what to look for, but I haven’t come across anything that makes sense. Why’re you so late?”

“A floater, John Doe. It was ugly. The guy’s neck was broken.”

Alarms went off, but Starsky suppressed them. A floater could be anyone, even if his neck was broken. “Do you wanna snack?”

“No, too tired. All I need are a couple of aspirin and you.”

Starsky smiled, “Ya got me. How much do ya want, right now?”

“Your arms? Just hold me. I’m too tired for much more activity.”

“Me, too.” He stretched his head up and kissed the blond. “Hit the shower, I’ll lock up.”

Quickly stacking the newspapers and locking the code materials in their desk, Starsky turned out the lights and joined Hutch. With his lover’s arms securely around him and the illusion of peace offered by the night, he was able to sleep… a quiet dreamless sleep for a change. His sleep was disturbed by someone shaking him. When he rolled over and opened one eye, he saw Hutch standing there, dressed, coffee cup in hand.

“Wake up, Starsk. I’m leaving for work.”

“So soon? Don’t even have time to talk, huh?”

Hutch bent down and kissed him, “Sorry, but I’ve got reports to finish from last night, and I’m due in court at eight.”

“Lunch?”

“Not unless you meet me at the courthouse.”

Starsky considered that for a minute, “Huh-unh, can’t spare the time. The sooner I get this done, the sooner life gets back to normal.”

“Life is never normal with you babe.” Hutch stuck his thumb in his ear and wiggled his fingers.

Starsky heard Hutch’s laugh even as the pillow thudded against the door.

Fully awake, he got out of bed, showered, and dressed. Getting up early had advantages; he arrived at the office before anyone else. He puttered around the deserted room, making coffee, straightening his desk, leafing through yesterday’s mail, anything to delay starting on the elusive code. Starsky hadn’t lied when he told Hutch that he wanted to finish the assignment, but he wasn’t eager to start the tedious task of breaking the code, either. Finally running out of excuses to keep him occupied elsewhere, he unlocked the file cabinet and pulled out the packet, adding it to the papers on his desk that he’d taken home the night before. Rereading the letter and his notes, he couldn’t find where he’d missed any steps but to be thorough, he recopied the letter and repeated the steps several more times, still without any breakthrough.

Either they’re using some code I’ve never heard of, or a book code and I don’t have the book. Maybe? Hmmm? Picking up the phone book, he quickly found the number he was looking for.

“Hello, is this the county library? Could I speak with someone in the children’s section? Thank you.” At least it sounds like a kid’s book. “Do you have a book or series of books called the Golden Goose Collection?” Silence while he waited. “No? You’re sure? Is there another library that might? It’s not listed in the Title Index, oh. Thanks for your help.” Shit, there goes that idea.

Pulling the letter closer, he stared at it in disgust. Maybe he was trying too hard, rushing in his fear and urgency to protect Hutch. “Aw, fuck it!” He shoved his papers, the book, and notes into a drawer, grabbed his cup, and headed out the door.

Halfway back to his office, he met Neal, one of the Federal men assigned to the task force.

“Hey, Starsky, I was going to your office. You’re handling the local end of Gunther’s import/export trade, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, why?” Starsky followed the reed-thin suit down the aisle way, past his own office into the man’s cubicle.

Neal was older and looked like he’d seen just about everything and bits-and-pieces had etched themselves onto his face. Hair, once a mousy brown, now a flat grey without the natural thinning age seemed to bring to most people. He walked like his feet hurt, but was a good man, one of the more friendly Feds who didn’t think Starsky’s part in the investigation unnecessary. Or if he did, he hadn’t voiced it in Starsky’s hearing.

Neal held up a chart showing dates, names, and destinations. “I kept running into the same name over and over, so I charted his activities. Captain Percy Williams. He gets the captain from the U.S. Army. But that’s all the information I have on the man. Intelligence, ours and theirs, clams up tight when I ask questions.” He pointed to the chart, again. “See, here he goes to Germany and returns the next day, here… here and, uh… here. Then he doesn’t return for a week, but I can’t find him anywhere. All I have is the departure and return dates to tell me he was outside the country for that week. No hotel reservations, no plane or train reservations to any place and no evidence he rented a car. Then the cycle repeats itself every two weeks. The Presidio won’t tell me where he’s assigned. What do you make of it?”

The name didn’t ring any bells, but San Francisco did and Army intelligence was refusing to talk. Starsky was full of questions. “I haven’t run across that name, but give me a copy of that chart and I’ll see what I can flush.”

Returning to his office, Starsky closed and locked the door. He was reaching for the phone when it rang. “Starsky.”

“Hi, lover. Just checking in. How’re things going?” Hutch’s voice sounded good.

“Slowly. Haven’t gotten anywhere with anything. How’s your day?”

“Boring. Court broke for lunch, gotta be back at two. Maybe they’ll call me then, and I can testify and leave. Get home early for a change.”

“Let me know if you do. I’ll meet you at home. I love ya, Hutch. Remember what I was doing to you in my dream?” Starsky lowered his voice and breathed the words into the phone. Hutch’s voice was a lifeline and he didn’t want to let go.

“Starsky! I’m at a public phone and there’s no booth!”

Starsky laughed, delighted as usual with his partner’s response, “Sorry, babe, didn’t mean to turn you on.”

“Like hell, you didn’t. You’ll pay for this when I get you home.”

“Looking forward to it.” Reluctantly he hung up the phone.

Punching out Travis’ number, he waited, listening to it ring. Not really expecting an answer, he jumped when a man answered, “Perkins.”

Perkins? Who the hell is Perkins? Oh, that’s right, Travis’ partner. “Who’s Percy Williams?” Tired of the bullshit and run-around, Starsky cut straight to his objective.

“Where did you get that name?” The surprise in Perkins’ voice was evident, even through the tinny inflection caused by the scrambler.

“His name comes up repeatedly in our investigation of Gunther Industries.”

Silence from the other end. “He’s Jimerson’s aide.” The harsh voice softened slightly. “Better crack that code soon.”

“Yeah, I’ll get back to you.” Starsky slowly replaced the receiver. Jimerson, again, and this time connected with Gunther. Somehow he was directly connected with Gunther, he wasn’t after Starsky because of the codes.

Knowing the only way to stop the craziness that had become his life, Starsky returned to the letters. Deciding that he’d covered the Vietnam era codes and all the newer ones as thoroughly as possible, he went back to the code book to search through the less familiar ones, those not often in use. The nagging fear that he was trying to break a book code ate at him.

Three hours later, out of desperation, he tried a code used as far back as the Revolutionary War… and broke it! A message within a message, clear once he put a cover sheet over it.

“All right! I gotcha now, Jimerson!” It figures that he’d use the same code Benedict Arnold used. Starsky moved to the phone and tried Travis’ number. No answer. Not from Travis. Not from Perkins. Not from anybody.

Suddenly hot then cold, Starsky felt the walls closing in on him. He was alone and he knew it. He had to get to Hutch. Between them, they could bring this nightmare to an end, he hoped. He gathered all the papers and jammed them into the file cabinet, then spun the lock. Grabbing his jacket, he was out the door and, running into Jim, the kid that had taken Jason’s place.

“Lay it on the desk, I’ll get it later. I don’t have time for the mail, right now.” But the boy resolutely stood in his way.

“It’s a Special Delivery letter. The boss said to give it to you and no one else. We ran it under the x-ray, no bomb.”

Sensing that Jim thought he was on a mission and wouldn’t quit until Starsky actually took the letter, he did just that, then made the mistake of opening it. He immediately wished he hadn’t. A snapshot of Hutch, just like the one he carried in his wallet, was in the envelope. But, unlike the one he carried, this, one had an ink sketch of a crocodile across it. Crocodile! The American pronunciation of a Vietnamese word meaning kill or dead or something close to that. In Vietnam, soldiers used to look at an enemy and while sliding a finger across their finger across their own throat from side to side, say crocodile. The implied threat was never mistaken and neither was this one. “Oh, my God!”

Crocodile by Katherine Robertson

Shaking, he dialed Metro. “Captain Dobey… Starsky. Where’s Hutch?”

Please, please let him be there, he begged the fates, but the sinking feeling in his stomach told him it wasn’t to be, as he listened to Dobey in open-mouthed astonishment. What the hell’s happen’ over there?

“Whatta ya’ mean, he never went back to court after lunch? He called me about one, told me they’d just broke for lunch and that he had to be back at two. It’s after three, now. Why wasn’t I called sooner? I’m coming over there.”

Desperate, he dialed the secure number, hoping Travis or Perkins was back. Instead, he stood listening to the phone ring and ring. Just as he started to hang up the receiver lifted and a man’s voice said, “Hello…”

Jimerson! He slammed the phone back in its cradle and bolted out the door.

Starsky barely noticed the traffic on the way to Metro. His mind was full of pictures of Hutch dead a hundred different ways. Why hadn’t he taken Hutch on a vacation somewhere safe, somewhere secret? Why hadn’t he insisted Travis use his influence to get him transferred back to Robbery/Homicide where he could keep an eye on Hutch? Shoulda called Tho, maybe he knows where Hutch is. I’ll call him from Metro, he thought, absently wondering where the hell his partner was.

So immersed in his own fears and worries, he was entering Dobey’s office before he was more than marginally aware that he’d arrived at Metro.

Dobey hung up the phone when Starsky burst through the door. “Starsky,” he growled, “I’ve been trying to reach you. Hutch’s car is still at the courthouse. Nobody’s seen him since lunch. No one realized he hadn’t returned until they called him to testify and he didn’t answer.”

Okay, calm down, you can’t help Hutch if you panic. What do you know so far? Hutch is missing. Jimerson has him. How do you know that? I just do, dammit! “You got a name for that John Doe, yet?”

Dobey looked startled at the question, “No.”

“I wanta see the body.”

“It’s not Hutch.”

“I know that!” He snapped. Did Dobey think he’d be standing there if it was? He’d be out tracking down Jimerson for the rest of his life.

“Okay, come on, I’ll go with you.” The captain heaved himself out of the chair and lumbered around the desk to join Starsky. His face was a drooping mask that matched Starsky’s worry line for worry line.

The drive to the morgue would’ve taken less time if it wasn’t rush hour. Starsky needed to know who the John Doe was. He had his own suspicions, but hesitated to voice them, not wanting to start a manhunt that would prove fatal to Hutch. He hated the morgue. Logically, as Hutch often reminded him, he knew that a dead body was a dead body, whether it was on the street or in the morgue. He still hated the morgue. it was a place he never wanted to be in, even dead.

The body was familiar and blond; it was Travis. Jimerson was dangerous. He was cornered and fighting for his life. Starsky turned to Dobey. He knew the captain would help as much as possible, but he didn’t know how much he should tell him. Dobey wasn’t his boss, but he was a friend. He hated lying to him, but had no choice. “Don’t know him. I thought I might. Thought I might get a line on who snatched Hutch if I recognized him.”

“Keep me posted on what you find. I’ll clear it with Davis.”

“Make sure he knows that, with or without his permission, I’m going to find Hutch.”

Starsky made arrangements to meet Tho that night at nine. Five hours to search the streets. It didn’t take long for word to get out that Starsky was on the prowl. He sat on a barstool in the Pits nursing a beer, waiting for Huggy to get off the phone. He hadn’t found any trace of Hutch and that had angered and reassured him at the same time. If Jimerson, no, when Jimerson killed Hutch, they’d find a body, because the bastard would want to be sure Starsky knew his partner was dead. No body meant that Hutch was still alive somewhere. Another beer was set in front of him, and he looked up to see Huggy leaning on the bar. “What’d you find out?”

“Nothing, nada, the streets are dry, man. Nobody has seen or heard nothin’ ’bout Hutch.”

Starsky’s fist came down hard on the bar top, rattling glasses on either side. People at the bar cast glances at him under lowered lids. No one wanted to catch his attention. “Someone’s gotta have seen something! People don’t just drop outta sight.” But he remembered people who seemed to do that very thing, people he’d helped disappear to force the family’s co-operation.

“Easy, amigo, we’ll find him.” Concern was written all over Huggy’s face, but it did nothing to comfort Starsky.

“Will we, Huggy? I’m not so sure about that.” He slid off the stool and headed out. Away from the crowds, into the streets.

Two more hours of looking achieved nothing but alienating half the street people. Starsky’s temper shortened in direct proportion to his frustration level. The longer Hutch was missing without word, the greater his fear and, therefore, the greater the anger he turned loose on the world.

He hadn’t tried to contact Perkins’ since he’d seen Travis’ body, so no one at G3 knew that he had cracked the code or that Hutch was missing. He wasn’t sure who to contact. This was personal, now and he wanted to keep it that way. Me and Thee would’ve worked, but Thee was absent.

He found the unicorn nestled against his chest, and fondled it, but it didn’t talk to him, either. Might as well go home and get ready for tonight. He would hunt for Hutch, using all the skills he’d buried so long ago. He’d never felt the need to use them on the streets until now. Now, he wasn’t sure he was better than his opponent.

At home, he dug out a deeply hid suitcase and lugged it up to their apartment. Once inside, he picked up the phone and, dredging up a number learned after ‘Nam, dialed. That number had been burned into his memory before he’d been allowed to return to civilian life and had lain dormant until need flushed it out.

“Scorpion,” I hate that name. Always have and always will. “This line is not secure. Travis is dead. My partner is missing. If you want a meet, I’ll be at the Pits ’til eight. After that, I’m looking for my partner.” He dropped the receiver onto the cradle and finished dragging the suitcase into the bedroom.

Opening the suitcase, he pulled out a pair of black pants with pockets everywhere, a black sweater and boots. Next came the utility belt, specially made for his left hand. Strapped on, he had a survival knife tied snug against his left thigh. Hutch would call this a Bowie knife. Another knife, this one a thin stiletto, rested, hidden, in its sheath at the back of his neck and, last of all, an almost invisible coil of wire. Black leather gloves tucked in his belt and he was ready. He stood there in the old uniform, eyes closed, and let the training of the past become a part of him. Training that he’d fought hard to suppress, but needed now, if he was to save Hutch.

Arriving at the Pits before seven, he chose a table near the door, ordered a beer, and settled down to wait. Huggy was nowhere to be seen. Luckily, the place was smoky enough and noisy enough to offer him some cover.

He had been there almost an hour, when a big man in a dark suit took the chair opposite him. “Starsky?”

Starsky was sure he recognized the voice as Perkins, but it was difficult be sure since there was no scrambler between them, now. “Travis is dead.” He wondered if this guy was the boss. He had the years behind him, but Travis called him his partner. Cover maybe? He was good, whoever he was. His eyes moved constantly, missing nothing. His face was grim, but not overtly belligerent. If someone were to ask later, who was sitting at the table, chances were very good that only Starsky would be remembered with any accuracy.

“We know. Do you have the papers you were decoding for us?”

“They’re safe.” And you’re not getting them until I’m sure Hutch is safe.

“When do we get them?” The spook looked distinctly irritated.

Starsky hardened his look. The guy might be a pro at cloak and dagger, but, face to face, all the aces were on Starsky’s side. A slight twitch at the corner of the man’s mouth was the only sign that Starsky’s was under his skin. “You’ll get them when I’ve found my partner, and not before.” He echoed his earlier thoughts.

“We’ll find him.” The twitch had moved to become a glitter in his eyes. He had lost control and wasn’t one bit happy about it. Starsky wanted to sing.

“You couldn’t find your way outta wet paper bag with a leak in it. I’ll find him.”

The shoulders sagged just a little, but surrender was complete. “Let us know when you do. Keep in touch; I don’t want the locals to pull you out of the river like they did Travis.”

“They won’t.” Starsky stood, ready to leave. “I’ll call you when Hutch is safe.”

“You need back-up.”

“I’ve got all the back-up I need.”

“Tho.” Perkins spit the word out like it was poison.

Starsky nodded. He didn’t want to waste any more time, here.

“He’s a civilian!”

“So am I. I trust him.”

There was no argument left and Perkins knew it, “Keep it clean.” He lounged back, lit a cigar, and when Starsky walked out the door, he was blowing huge puffs of smoke.

Starsky headed crosstown to meet Tho, who was waiting for him on the street when he got there. He was dressed much like Starsky.

“Did you get a line on… Hutch?” God! It even hurt to say his name.

Starsky felt the first real echoes of pain. Bobby.

“No, but Dai Uy Jimerson spend much time in old building on…” Tho consulted a piece of paper he held. “…Vignes Street. Near Little Tokyo.”

He got in the car.

Starsky didn’t question Tho’s information. He had as many contacts among Asians as Huggy did with the rest of the street people. Tho had always been able to pick up snippets of information. Here was no different. Many people wandered into his restaurant and few hesitated to talk in front of the self-effacing old man. Tho played the part to the hilt. Starsky had seen him do it many times.

Silent on the way, each man was alone with his memories. At Vignes and Banning, Starsky slowed to allow them to check out the area without slowing enough to attract attention. A trash-strewn yard on the corner left a wide open area between the dirty red building they were interested in and the building nearest it.

“Two men on building, hiding, now,” Tho stated, looking up at the roof.

“There’s at least one in that car on the corner. We’ll take out the men on the roof. How many of your friends are here?” Starsky tried to see everything without looking like he was watching.

“Two. They work with me in Vietnam. .A.R.V.N. Rangers.”

A.R.V.N Rangers, South Vietnam’s answer to Special Forces. They were specially trained, often by American Special Forces and were more dedicated than the usual South Vietnamese grunt. If they were Tho’s buddies, they knew their business. For the first time, Starsky believed that they had a chance to rescue Hutch.

Turning into the street behind the building, he pulled over and parked. Two soldiers materialized out of the dark and joined them.

“Tran Van Duc and Vin Lo Diem.” Tho pointed to each man as he said his name. Both Vietnamese, both younger, or at least less wrinkled, than Tho. Both were dressed in basic black and knives.

“Thanks for helping out.” Starsky shook hands with each man.

“Tho said he friend need help, so we help.” Shrugging, the one called Duc said.

Starsky squatted down and the Asians followed suit. He sketched out the area in the dirt. “Two men on the roof and one in the car on the corner…”

“Man in car not bother us. He sleeping very good, for long time, now,” the other ranger said, his grin a white slash in the dark.

“Dead?” Shit, Dobey’ll kill me if we leave too many dead bodies lying around…

“No.”

“What else do you know? Is my partner inside?” Please let him be there. I don’t know where else to look.

“Not know, but Dai Uy Jimerson go inside long time ago, not come out.”

Starsky nodded, a plan quickly forming, “You two…” He motioned to the rangers, “…take care of the creeps on the roof. Try not to kill them. Then act like you belong there. Tho and I will take the front and inside.” As he talked, he spread camouflage paint on his face, Tho and the others did the same.

Keeping to the shadows, Starsky and Tho moved to the front of the building. No alarm was sounded and no one questioned their presence at the door. Aw shit, Starsky thought when he saw the telephone mounted next to the door. It was a buzzer system and could only be opened with a key or from inside. While it was not impossible to force the lock, the chances of alerting someone inside were significantly increased. Just as he was deciding they’d have to try it, the door opened. Both men flattened themselves against the wall on either side of the door. A man, dressed for hustling in the bars, stepped out. Starsky grinned inwardly as he caught the door before it closed all the way. No one would mistake that guy for one of Jimerson’s men.

 

I

Tho leaned over and whispered, “He have picture shop on top floor.”

Starsky nodded his understanding and they entered the stairwell. There was a door to their right and iron stairs leading upward. No name was on the door and all was silent inside when they listened, and it was locked when they tried the knob.

“Which one?” Starsky whispered to Tho, the metallic taste of fear/excitement strong on his tongue as always.

“Not know tha…”

Tho was interrupted by a long, chilling scream that pierced the air, and Starsky froze in terror when he recognized Hutch’s voice. He forced himself to move slowly, quietly, up the stairs to the door on the second floor where the cry had originated. Surprise was their strongest weapon.

Tho worked the lock; it was a talent Starsky didn’t possess and hadn’t been able to learn. After several hour-long minutes, the door moved silently inward and the sight that greeted Starsky started him shaking.

Hutch sat tied in a chair, shirtless and shoeless. Alligator clamps on a finger of each hand were attached to wires that led to a double-E eight, a portable telephone generator that generated electricity when the handle was cranked. Jimerson stood facing Hutch, turning the crank.

Starsky felt the fingers of fire move up his body. They started in his balls where alligator clamps bit into bruised flesh. The man turning the crank was an N.V.A. soldier who obeyed every order to the letter.

“A little faster, so the American sergeant can taste what will happen if he doesn’t talk.”

And the fire laced up his body and down his legs as he arched his back trying to get away from it, tried to lift his feet out of the water.

“Slower, now, so he doesn’t forget how it feels, but doesn’t pass out.”

The torture continued for hours until he sat in urine and spit and it ran down his legs giving the electricity new paths to follow before he slumped unconscious.

Another scream brought him back to the present. Sensation assaulted him. He could smell the fear each electric jolt brought, feel the fire arc across his body, the scream start at the soul of his being, and climb out his raw throat to join Hutch’s. Only Starsky’s scream, now silent, was heard a decade ago and reverberated from wall to wall in his tiny cell and buried itself deep in his subconscious.

Catlike, he stalked his nemesis, one thought consuming him. Kill Jimerson. It was part of him, necessary, as breathing was necessary. Hutch had been saved from the ordeal of Vietnam; he couldn’t have handled it. So many people hurting and everyone a victim American and Vietnamese. Unbidden, the garrote was coiled around his hands. He could smell his prey, smell the scent of evil, of hate and, seconds before the wire sliced into Jimerson’s flesh, the smell of fear. A quick tug and twist, hands and feet spastic, crank turning once then free, as the suddenly limp body hung on the wire. Now, reality cleared away the red haze and Starsky unwound the garrote from his hands, letting the body drop. Without a backward look, he stepped across it and moved to where Hutch sat slumped, supported by the bonds that held him.

Gloves dropped to the floor, unconsciously peeled from shaking hands. Starsky patted the sweat-damp face, gentle, insubstantial touches as if Hutch might break. He pushed blond hair back from the white forehead. All the time, his heart was in his throat.

“Hutch, oh, babe, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Hands busy, loosening ropes that sank into fair skin of ankles and wrists and chest. Now free, he pulled the beloved body close, cradling it in his arms for moments before easing it out of the chair to lay it gently on the floor.

Tho was there with a blanket and he covered the still form.

Art by Ruth Kurz

He didn’t want to leave his lover’s side, but there was work to be done, work that only Starsky could do. Probably should take him to a hospital, get him checked out. But all he wanted to do was take him home and help him forget. Instead, he found the phone and called the number that would link him with Perkins.

When the summons was answered, he was relieved to hear his contact’s voice. Finally, one stable occurrence in this mosaic of chaos that had become his existence.

“Jimerson’s dead; come clean up the garbage. Vigness and Banning, second floor. You can’t miss us. I’ve gotta get my partner outta this. He needs a doctor… All right, I’ll wait for your man.”

“Sergeant, your Hutch wake up, now. You come. I cover Dai Uy’s body so he not see.” Tho’s quiet voice startled Starsky and he moved to Hutch’s side.

He crouched down next to Hutch, again brushing hair back. To Tho, over his shoulder, without turning away from Hutch, “Go tell your friends to bring Jimerson’s flunkies into the building so they won’t attract attention. Keep them in the stairwell so they don’t see Hutch.”

Tho sounded puzzled, “They already see Mr. Hutch when Dai Uy bring him.”

“Just keep ’em outta here, okay? Someone’s on the way to pick ’em up.”

“Okay, Tho do as Sergeant wishes. You need help with Mr. Hutch, you call Tho.”

Starsky turned then, and smiled at his friend. “I’ll do that, thanks.” He went back to Hutch, who was still groggy, but slowly regaining consciousness.

He remembered how he’d felt after his first encounter with a similar generator. He’ll be sore, shit, every muscle in his body’ll hurt, but he’ll be okay.

Hutch groaned as he tried to move his hands, stifling a cry of pain when he saw Starsky. “Starsk?” There was a note of doubt in the hoarse voice.

“Who else?” He looked away, in response to a soft touch on his shoulder. Tho stood there a paper cup of water in one hand.

“Men tied up outside,” he whispered. “For him.” He handed the cup to Starsky and left.

Starsky lifted Hutch’s head with one hand and held the cup to the cracked lips with the other, “Here, drink this. Hey, slow down, you’re spilling it. Now, feel better?” He chuckled at his partner’s expression as the pale blue eyes traveled up and down, taking in the paint and uniform. “Look like a ninja, huh?”

The head shook from side to side. “Not to me. More like an angel of mercy.” The effort to speak was too much and he slipped into sleep. Starsky laid him down gently, cradling his head on a blanket supplied by Tho.

One of the rangers, Duc, Starsky thought, entered. “Tho say come. Big man outside want talk with you.”

What now? “You stay with Hutch. If he wakes up, call me.” Starsky hated leaving him, but knew that if they were ever to get home, he had to talk to Perkins. He hoped it was Perkins.

Walking to the door, he prayed it really was his contact and not some new threat. When he got there, Tho was holding a small hand gun aimed at Perkins’ middle. The spook wasn’t alone. Three other men stood there with him, two in green fatigues with arm bands identifying them as Military Police. The third man carried a black doctor’s bag.

“Well, well. Got you outta your nice quiet office twice in one night, must be some kinda record.”

Perkins didn’t respond to the remark. He pointed to the civilian, “This is Doctor Adams. He’ll check your partner and make sure Jimerson’ s dead.” Perkins ignored Tho and his gun.

“Jimerson’s dead. I don’t make mistakes. Those two…” Starsky nodded to the two guards from the roof, now tied and gagged and propped up against the wall of the stairwell, “…worked for Jimerson. There’s another in the car on the corner.”

“We got him.” Perkins turned to the Military Police. “Get them out of here and let me know as soon as the body wagon arrives.” To Starsky, “Let’s talk inside while Doctor Adams checks your friend. I brought some coffee.”

Starsky relaxed, nearly giving in to his own exhaustion and the man’s kindness. Leading the way inside, he pointed to the blanket-covered mound that was Jimerson’s body, then Hutch. “He’s dead. My partner, Hutch. I don’t know how long, but they had him hooked up to that.” He pointed to the generator. “He was awake once and I gave him coupla sips of water.”

“He’ll probably be okay. Those things don’t put out enough juice to kill a man.” The doctor moved toward Hutch, dismissing the other two.

Starsky stood there, wanting to go to Hutch, but knowing that he couldn’t, unable to move. Perkins touched his shoulder, urged him towards chairs placed around a card table, “He’s right, you know.”

“I know,” Starsky spat out between clenched teeth. “I walked away from a few sessions like that… I…” He couldn’t continue. The memory too strong. Dropping into a chair, he closed his eyes and rested his head on his hands. Thank God Jimerson hooked the connections to his fingers.

“Here,” he looked up to see Perkins pushing a steaming thermos cup toward him. “Drink this, it’ll help.”

Starsky sipped the bitter liquid; it didn’t have cream or sugar but it did have a generous helping of whiskey. “Can you get Jimerson outta here before Hutch wakes up enough to notice?”

“We’ll try. Will you answer my questions, now?”

“Yeah,” Starsky yawned and rubbed his face, his hands coming away greenish-black, he’d forgotten the grease paint.

“Here,” Perkins handed him a huge handkerchief. “Did you decode the letters?”

“Only one, but it was from Jimerson. He used a code Benedict Arnold used in the Revolutionary War. He was warning his network not to contact him.”

“What spooked him? What was he selling and to who?”

“Percy Williams, Jimerson’s aide? Over the last year, he made frequent trips to Germany and other countries, meeting with businessmen. I think he was selling information to Gunther Industries. Secrets dealing with when to buy and when to sell interests overseas. Probably let Gunther know when to ship contraband, too. He wasn’t your mole. Military secrets were safe. He wasn’t a traitor, just a man trying the wrong way to get rich. He never did care who he had to step on to reach his objective.”

Perkins did a double take, “James Gunther?” At Starsky’s nod, “I thought some hotshot detective brought him down?”

Pride bubbled up, momentarily replacing the exhaustion. “Hutch did.”

“Gunther tried to kill you; that’s why you were in the hospital last year?”

Starsky hated the big brother effect, but once privy to your country’s biggest secrets, you learned to live with it. “Yeah, anything else on your mind?” Anything else Perkins wanted to know about Starsky, he could get from the records.

“No, no, you go on, take your partner home and take care of him.” Perkins looked suddenly old. Old and tired. He had been kind, as kind as he was able and for that, Starsky was grateful. I’ll bet he had a partner once.

“Thanks for your help. I… well, thanks.” Standing, Starsky held out his hand. He was totally spent. He stood there looking at Perkins, wanting to say something, but didn’t know what.

Perkins took the offered hand, “I’ll pick up the papers from your office.” And Starsky knew he would.

He walked to the other side of the vast open room, some kind of studio. Starsky looked at it with new sight. Jimerson’s body and the generator had been removed and all that remained was the card table and chairs. Over by the far wall was an old army issue cot and foot locker. Two large beams cut the room into thirds.

Surely, he had seen all this earlier, but, then his mind had only registered the drama acting out in front of him. Now, he searched for one of the participants. And found him, huddled at the base of the far beam, knees drawn up under the brown wool blanket held tightly under his chin. Head down, pale hair awry, he looked lost.

Starsky started toward the shattered man, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. Whirling around, ready to fight, he relaxed when he saw Doctor Adams.

“He’s all right. No permanent physical damage, but he’ll be sore for several days. Only time will tell about lasting emotional and psychological effects. I’ve given him a shot of Valium to help his muscles relax and calm his nerves. Here’s a prescription for more, if he needs it.” Doctor Adams handed Starsky a paper.

Starsky looked from the doctor to Hutch on the floor, shivering, “Why’s he on the cold floor?”

“He wouldn’t stay on the cot any longer than it took for me to examine him. There’s no sign of any other injury or torture, except the electric burns on his fingers.”

Starsky looked at Hutch, not knowing how much he’d been through, only knowing that he had to get him through the aftermath of the ordeal. Unconsciously silent, he approached his lover, squatted down, and reached to gently brush sweat-dried hair from the eyes.

Hutch, startled by the unexpected touch, flinched away, hunching the near shoulder up for protection.

“Easy, babe, we’re going home, now.” Looking down at the bare toes peeking out from under the blanket edge, “Where’d they put your shoes?”

Starsky looked around, finally finding the shoes near a pile of clothes in the corner that he recognized as Hutch’s. Precious moments wasted when all he wanted was to get Hutch home. But necessary because he didn’t want to leave him long enough to bring the car around front. Everyone else had gone. Perkins and his men left to finish their reports and to cover-up. After checking to see if Starsky needed help with Hutch, and getting a negative response, Tho and his friends had also gone home to their families.

Now, as he struggled to get shoes on the zombie, he worried about Hutch coming out of this. His partner was gentle and caring. He’d grown up in a home without much demonstrative love and often was unsure how others perceived him. He wasn’t soft, but came from a comparatively sheltered home and had had to work hard to build the tough facade he wore every day. Seldom did anyone, other than Starsky, see the true depth of his partner’s caring.

But this…this insane torture was something so out of Hutch’s realm of experience that Starsky was frightened for his sanity. He was frightened for himself, too, because he realized that without his own involvement in the past, this wouldn’t have happened. He’d take Hutch home, care for him until he was recovered, and stay, if Hutch would let him. He didn’t want to be a constant reminder of tonight.

Shoes in place, Starsky reached to help lift Hutch to his feet, “C’mon, ya’ big lug, help me. You’re no lightweight, ya’ know.” The blanket fell away and Starsky saw that someone had found him a clean pair of fatigue pants to wear, probably out of the footlocker.

“Starsky?” Voice harsh with hoarseness from screaming, but a beautiful sound.

“Right here, babe. I ain’t gonna leave you.”

“I want to go home.” The words were deliberate and weary.

“That’s where we’re headed, if you’d start putting one foot in front of the other.”

Gradually, with numerous starts and stops and a lot of huffing and puffing on both parts, they made it to ground level. Starsky propped Hutch against a wall and opened the door. Outside, parked at the curb, sat the Torino. He couldn’t think of a more beautiful sight. Starsky didn’t know who was responsible, but since picking pockets was a fine art developed by most good operatives, he never questioned how it got there, only thanked the Gods that it had.

Soon Hutch was bundled into the passenger seat and they were headed home. Home, what a lovely word, one Starsky wasn’t sure would include himself.

Hutch slept all the way and was stronger for the rest. Just inside the apartment door, he stopped, shoulders drooping, head bowed, a picture of infinite exhaustion.

Starsky touched him and he looked up. With a hoarse sob and more speed than Starsky thought him capable of, Hutch pulled him into a fierce embrace. No passion, just a soul hungry for contact. Starsky returned it and they stood there desperately hanging on to each other.

“I’m here, Hutch. Aw, babe, I’m here,” Starsky crooned over and over to the clutching man convulsively.

“Starsk.” Harsh whisper, ragged with relief.

“I’m here.”

“I don’t like the people you play with. Let’s not do this again.”

“Wish I could promise that we won’t.”

“They’d try this again?”

“Actually, it could’ve been worse, I coulda been sent out of country to kill some anti-American political big-wig, and you wouldn’t have been told anything.”

A shudder swept through Hutch, and Starsky tightened his hold. Finally, a quick hug and Hutch straightened up, “I’m…I’m all right, now. I’m going to take a shower.”

Starsky pulled back slightly to take a good look at his partner. Framing Hutch’s face with his hands, he looked critically at the strained countenance. The blue eyes weren’t vacant now, or confused and his heart lightened. “Okay, you go on. I’ve got a few phone calls to make.”

After thoroughly locking all the doors and windows, he dialed Dobey’s home phone number. The captain’s voice was gruff, but awake and alert. “Captain, it’s Starsky. Hutch is home…”

“You found him.” Statement, not a question, as if the captain was affirming a fact he already knew. “How is he?”

“He’ll be sore for a while, but he’ll be okay.”

“I talked to a Mr. Perkins. He claimed the John Doe. Who is he?”

CIA probably. “Just a man with the right connections.” And the wrong ones and some in between.

“You won’t talk, either.”

“Can’t. Look, the doctor said Hutch needed a few days off…”

Dobey interrupted. “Of course he does. You both do. Report back to work on Monday. I’ll clear it with Davis. Now, go take care of your partner.”

Slowly Starsky laid the receiver in its cradle. The captain never stopped surprising him. How he, David Michael Starsky, had ever had the good fortune to be assigned… the captain wasn’t his boss. The thought was sobering, but he squashed it and let the earlier beginnings of a grin take form as he joined his lover in the bedroom.

Hutch was already in the bed sleeping. Valium shot probably still keeping him down. Even the fact that he hadn’t been able to say good night to his lover didn’t disturb the peace that he felt, the almost euphoria that the operation was over and they’d survived, beaten Jimerson at his own game.

The knives, sheaths and utility belt were cleaned and packed away. The sweater, boots and pants would follow after a thorough cleaning. A quick shower and he joined Hutch. Starsky pulled his lover close and held on tight, something he’d been afraid he’d never do again.

The ringing phone roused him and he answered quickly, trying not to wake Hutch, “Yeah?”

“This is Dobey. How’s Hutch?”

“He had a coupla bad dreams during the night, but otherwise he’s getting better fast.” Starsky looked down at his sleeping partner affectionately. Face soft and slack in sleep, expression finally clear of the ravages of the previous night.

“Let me talk to him.”

Starsky turned back to the phone. “He’s still sleeping.”

“No, I’m not. Give me the phone.”

He looked down at Hutch, eyes bright and clear, smiling, reaching to touch Starsky’s leg, to make certain of his presence. Holding the phone away, “Good afternoon.”

“That late, huh?”

“Yeah.” Starsky smiled in return.

“Let me have the phone,” Hutch reminded him.

Reluctantly, he handed over the receiver. Before he could do anything else, his stomach reminded him that he’d missed dinner the night before and Hutch’s chimed in on cue.

“Guess I’d better put together something to eat.”

Hutch waved his understanding, not shifting attention from the phone.

He didn’t feel like anything heavy, so he pulled out the skillet and scrambled some eggs, adding some left over hot dogs and cheese.

Two plates were on the table and the coffee brewed when Hutch entered. He looked only slightly stiff, not nearly as sore as Starsky had expected.

Boy, I could hardly move for days. “How long did they have you rigged up to that generator?”

“Dunno, couple of hours, I guess.” Hutch pulled out a chair and sat. “That was bad, Starsk, real bad. I’m surprised I hung on. How long do you suppose a man could hold out before he broke down and answered any and all questions?”

Three days, six hours, two and one-half minutes. “I don’t know. The Vietnamese used it for interrogation. Most people talked pretty fast.”

“What happened to Jimerson? I don’t remember seeing him when I woke up.”

“Jimerson’s dead.” Starsky kept his voice from shaking, but was unable to face Hutch.

“You kill him?”

“Yeah. When I saw what he was doing to you… well, I lost it.” He peeked at Hutch up through his lashes. There wasn’t any accusation on the beloved face, only open love and concern.

“I’m all right, you know.”

“Uh-huh. I…I don’t want you remembering every time you look at me.”

“I won’t. I love you. I knew you were looking for me and that’s what kept me going. I’m glad you got there when you did.” He took a bite of egg.

Starsky sipped his coffee, fighting for control. He hated emotional scenes but there didn’t seem to be any wisecrack that fit this situation. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

“Shit, Starsk, how can you stop it?”

“I don’t know, but I will somehow.” I’ll have them lock us both in a security cell together.

“Did you ever break the code?”

“Of course.” Glad of a change of subject, he stuffed egg into his mouth, swallowed coffee; Hutch hated him talking with his mouth full of food. “It connected Jimerson with Gunther. The Feds are taking that investigation out of our hands.”

“So he wasn’t a traitor?”

“Nope, but he woulda come after us anyway because I was getting too close.”

Starsky finished his eggs then, noticing that Hutch was finished, picked up both plates and started for the kitchen.

“I understand we have four days off.” The laughter in Hutch’s voice made Starsky turn. The grin was infectious and he matched it.

“You understand right.”

Hutch wiggled his eyebrows in a good Starsky imitation. “Wanna find a cabin with a skylight?”

Warmth and love and hope washed over him. Hutch was going to put this behind him. It was as if they’d traded places: Starsky worrying about the effects of things and Hutch accepting and going on. “Oh, yeah…”

He sat the dishes down on the counter top, moved back to his partner, and pulled him into a deep, soul-satisfying kiss. “Wanta check out the bedroom here first?” His voice was suddenly husky, overwhelming emotion had turned into passion.

“Lead the way, love.”

Starsky held Hutch’s hand and led him slowly to the bedroom. He wanted to run, to crush Hutch to him, and make wild, desperate love, but somehow this slower pace seemed more confirming.

“By the way,” Hutch said conversationally, “I forgot to tell you, Ray’s transferring to Ventura. I get a new partner on Monday.”

Starsky’s heart beat faster and it had nothing to do with sex; it was pure, unadulterated fear/hope. He forced his voice to sound casual. “Yeah? Who?”

Hutch’s eyes were soft, kind of dreamy. “Don’t know. Dobey just said he was transferring from the D.A.’s office and he’d better be on time.”

~~~

commitment – a) pledge or promise