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This is a four story arc:  Part I: Bad Penny – Someone from Hutch’s past shows up unexpectedly. A series of events is set in motion.

Part II: Loose Ends – Starsky and Hutch try to protect a witness and are caught up in a whirlwind.

Part III:  Research – As Starsky struggles through recovery, the partners learn that their nightmare is worse than they thought.

Part IV: Denouement – The verdict is revealed. Can Starsky and Hutch relax?

 

Created for the Internet audience. First place winner of the 2002 Torino Awards for both a Series and Canon Bad Guy Portrayal.

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Part I: Bad Penny

“I’ll just be a few minutes,” Hutch said, gathering up his savings account passbook and various papers scattered around the front seat of the Torino.

“Take your time,” Starsky said, deadpan. “I’ll wait for you here, Mr. Hutchinson.”

“Aw, stuff it,” Hutch said with a grin, getting out and heading for the bank’s front door. Starsky slid down in the seat and closed his eyes.

It was busy inside the bank, with several people in each line. Hutch sighed, looked at his watch and eyed the lines, trying to choose the one that seemed to be moving the fastest. None of them were, if the truth was told, so he simply joined the closest one. Starsky had tried to talk him out of what he was there to do — withdraw a substantial amount from his savings in order to upgrade his greenhouse — but Hutch was determined. His greenhouse was part of what kept him sane in this crazy job, and he’d never been one to worry much about stockpiling money. The greenhouse was more important to him than having lots of money in the bank.

Sooner than he’d have thought possible, it was his turn. He pushed his passbook and a withdrawal slip, along with his driver’s license, across the counter to the teller. After a wooden smile and a stiff “How are you today, sir?” she didn’t speak again, simply completed the transaction and pushed everything back across to Hutch. “Thank you, Mr. Hutchinson,” she said, not even managing a smile this time. He smiled at her, however, realizing she was having a long, hard day, and turned to go, only to be confronted with a familiar face.

“Ken?”

Hutch froze mid-step. He hadn’t seen Cassandra Davenport since before his divorce from Vanessa. Hadn’t wanted to, either. They’d never gotten along, and her husband — Hutch didn’t even remember his name now — had been even more of a snob than she was.

Cassandra smiled. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember me, brother-in-law. Ex brother-in-law, perhaps I should say.”

“I remember you,” he managed to say, stepping out of the line he was in to allow the next person access to the bored teller. He moved over to stand next to Cassandra in her line. “What are you doing here?”

“I moved out to Bay City a few months ago,” she said, lifting one hand to smooth back the side of her perfectly coiffed auburn hair. That was new — it used to be brunette, like Vanessa’s. Her eyes were the same startling aqua shade as her sister’s, and it disturbed Hutch a little to realize how much the sisters looked alike — had looked alike. “After I divorced Allen, I put out some feelers and got a marvelous job offer from a firm here. So, I took it.”

“What do you do?” Hutch asked.

She gave a tinkling laugh. “You don’t remember, do you? Well, I don’t blame you. It was never as important as Allen’s work, was it? I’m a fashion buyer for Bainbridge’s.”

He remembered now. She’d studied fashion design in college, and at the time, he assumed it was just an excuse to be at college to snag a rich husband. That’s why Vanessa went to college, a nasty voice whispered inside his head. Well, Vanessa had failed, hadn’t she? She’d hitched her horse to the wrong wagon, assuming Ken Hutchinson would follow his father into law. He had, but not in the way she’d envisioned.

“That’s terrific,” he said. “So, you’re divorced now? I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be,” she said with a laugh. “It was doomed from the start, I think. Allen was just so — well, he couldn’t play with his own toys, let’s put it like that.”

Hutch felt his face grow hot.

“I’m sorry, I’ve embarrassed you,” she said, reaching out a cool hand to place it on his. “Listen, are you busy tonight? I’d love to have dinner with you and catch up.”

“Well, I, uh — ” God, he hated it when he stammered. “That is, my partner and I were going to — ”

“Your partner?” Her lovely brow creased, then cleared. “Oh, yes, David, isn’t it? You’re still a cop, then?”

He nodded.

“I’d love to have him, too,” she said, then laughed. “I mean, he’s welcome, too. Do you know Chez Helene’s?”

This time, Hutch laughed. “I live in the apartment above it.”

Something passed over her face and was gone too quickly for him to identify it. “That’s lovely,” she said. “I’ll meet you both there at seven, shall I? Marie is a friend of mine and will save us a table, I’m sure. Do say yes. I hate to eat alone, and I’ll have to tonight if you don’t accept.”

“I’m sure that’s a rare occurrence,” Hutch said, summoning up the gallant good manners his mother had tried so hard to teach him.

“Silly,” she said, giggling. “So, seven?”

“Sure,” he said, hoping Starsky wouldn’t kill him. His partner’s opinion of Vanessa had been lower than low and he wouldn’t be likely to feel much friendlier toward her sister, especially since they’d planned to have a steak at Huggy’s and take it easy tonight.

“That’s wonderful.” Cassandra was next to be waited on, so she patted his hand again in farewell. “I’ll look forward to it.”

Starsky was half asleep when Hutch got back in the car, but he pried one blue eye open and slid upright to start the car. A glance at Hutch’s face halted him. “What happened?”

“What are you talking about?” Hutch attempted an innocent expression.

Starsky wasn’t buying it. “I know that look, buddy. What happened in there? You look like you saw a ghost.”

That bad? Hutch gave a rueful grin. “Ran into an old…friend. Cass. Van’s sister.”

Starsky stared. “What the hell is she doing here?”

“Moved here. Got a job here. Got divorced and started over, I guess.” He gave a shrug. “Wants to take us to dinner.”

“Us? Both of us?”

Hutch nodded. “Tonight. Chez Helene’s. I said we’d go.”

The blank astonishment on Starsky’s face would have been funny if Hutch hadn’t felt so strange about the whole encounter.

“I hope that’s okay,” Hutch added. “I know we had plans, but — ”

“That’s okay,” Starsky said, seeing more in Hutch’s face than Hutch wanted him to. “You sure I won’t be a third wheel?”

“Fifth wheel,” Hutch corrected automatically. “She told me to bring you, too.”

Starsky studied him for another moment or two. “Hey, I like the food there,” he said with forced casualness. “Guess we better get to work then, so we’ll be on time, right?”

“Right.”

~*~*~*~*

Starsky even consented to put on a tie and sport coat for Chez Helene’s. Hutch, on the other hand, felt a contrary compulsion to wear jeans and a t-shirt, but he also put on a tie. The restaurant wasn’t all that elite, but it wasn’t Huggy’s, either.

“Honestly, Ken, what’s come over you?” Vanessa stood in the doorway between bathroom and bedroom, her makeup half done, her hair still in rollers. “You’re not wearing THAT, are you?”

“What’s wrong with this?” he asked, turning away from the mirror where he’d been tying his tie. He was wearing tan brushed-denim pants, a light cotton shirt in a tan plaid and a plain tan tie. The shirt had been a gift from Vanessa and he’d thought it would please her for him to wear it. Not much pleased her these days, however.

“You can’t go to the country club in that,” she said.

“I’m wearing a tie,” he said, pointing to it.

“Ken,” she said, her voice rising a little in that impatient tone she used when she thought he was being deliberately dense, “this is the country club. A suit would be appropriate. That looks like something you’d wear to the policemen’s summer barbecue.”

That was a dig — the latest in a long line of digs — at his job. He felt his adrenalin start to pump but forced it down. Tonight was important to her. He didn’t want to ruin it with another argument. “Okay, honey,” he said, trying to keep his tone level. “Which one do you think I should wear?”

“You’re a big boy. Pick out your own clothes.” She turned and went back into the bathroom and he had to clench his fists so hard it hurt to keep from shouting an angry retort back at her. He started to undress so he could change and had made it down to his briefs when he heard her being ill in the bathroom. He ran across the room to the door and saw her on her knees.

“Van? What’s wrong?” He knew better than to approach her. There was nothing Vanessa hated more than for someone — even her husband — to see her looking less than her best.

She couldn’t speak, but she waved her hand in a “go away” gesture and he retreated obediently. He finished dressing, and sooner than he’d thought possible, Van appeared, looking as beautiful and perfect as always.

“Feeling better?” It was all he dared say in reference to her being sick.

She nodded. “Fine. Must’ve been something I ate at lunch. Let’s go.”

Cassandra and Allen were waiting for them. It was rare that Vanessa’s family — any of them — bothered to come to Bay City for a visit. In fact, they disapproved of his and Vanessa’s move out there and constantly worked on Vanessa to come home. But when they did come, they always took them out to dinner somewhere expensive and posh, places where he and Vanessa couldn’t afford to eat even on their combined salaries. And Vanessa’s family knew it. If they’d done it out of kindness or affection, it would have been different. But Hutch knew they did it to show him how inadequate he was as a provider for their precious Vanessa. They always asked when he was going to “get tired of being a cop” and finish law school. They liked to tell Vanessa about all her school friends back home and how well they were doing financially. And for weeks after one of these visits, Vanessa was twice as hard to live with.

He heard the sound of the Torino pulling up in the street and a few moments later the sound of Starsky’s sneakered feet pounding up the stairs. The door opened and Starsky called, “You decent, Blintz?”

“More or less,” Hutch called back, finishing with his tie and stepping back to check the effect. He supposed he would do. Starsky appeared behind him. Bless him, he was wearing jeans with his tie and sport coat, and the inevitable Adidas.

“Don’t you look purty,” Starsky said with a grin, turning Hutch around and straightening his tie for him.

“Thanks, darling,” Hutch returned good-naturedly. “Want a beer before we go?”

“Nah. I’ll have one with dinner. I’m starvin’, too.”

Cassandra was waiting in the foyer and Hutch heard Starsky draw a sharp breath behind him.

“She’s a knockout,” he hissed into Hutch’s ear.

“I know,” Hutch said softly, raising his voice to greet Cassandra and introduce her to Starsky.

“I remember hearing about you when Vanessa and Ken were married,” Cassandra said, taking Starsky’s hand as if to shake it, but simply holding it instead. “I’m so glad you came, too.”

“I’m sorry about Vanessa’s death,” Starsky said.

Cassandra nodded. “Thanks, David. It was pretty hard on all of us,” she paused and glanced up at Hutch, “but let’s not let it ruin our evening together. I hope you’re both hungry. I have an expense account, and I love to abuse it.” She laughed.

They were seated almost immediately and all three ordered drinks. Starsky and Hutch both had beer; Cassandra ordered white wine.

She took a delicate sip from her glass before leaning across the table to smile winningly at Hutch. “I know we weren’t the best of friends when you and Van were together,” she said. “Let’s put it behind us and start fresh, okay, Ken?”

“Sure, Cassie,” he said. “No hard feelings.”

She giggled. “Nobody ever called me ‘Cassie’ except Ken,” she told Starsky. “Not even my parents. I’ve missed that, and you,” she added to Hutch. “Tell me all about what you do. You’re a detective now, aren’t you?”

Hutch couldn’t help feeling suspicious — she was being far too friendly compared to the way she’d always treated him — but lately Starsky had been telling him he was getting bitter and cynical and he was determined to prove him wrong. He told her about some of their cases, leaving out the worst details. She talked about her job. Starsky was unnaturally silent, answering when spoken to but otherwise just listening to them.

When their food came, conversation died for a while as they ate, but Cassandra started it up again by asking him to tell her about Vanessa’s death.

“Oh, Cassie, you don’t want to hear — ”

“But I do,” she said soberly. “I hadn’t seen Van for three or four months before she died. She was always traveling and hadn’t been home for a visit. We kind of grew apart, Ken. And that bothers me. You were here. I need to know. Please?”

Hutch glanced at Starsky. How much should I tell her?

No more than you have to. No sense upsetting her.

“That’s amazing,” Cassandra said, her eyes twinkling.

“What is?” Hutch asked.

“That silent conversation you two just had. I don’t know what you said, but it was plain you were making a joint decision and you never opened your mouths.”

Hutch reddened. “Well, partners, you know. We spend a lot of time together — ” he trailed off uncertainly.

“I’m not offended,” she said. “I think it’s nice. Now, about Vanessa?”

So, Hutch told her about it, leaving out the worst details again, and also leaving out how he and Starsky had bent the rules when Dryden and Starsky had come to arrest him. Starsky contributed more to this conversation, even making Cassandra laugh with the story of Huggy hiding in the casket at the funeral home to tape Wheeler’s confession. When they finished, she shook her head and finished her wine before speaking.

“Van always was a little wild,” she said. “No offense, Ken, but I think that’s part of why she married you. She wanted to do something our parents wouldn’t necessarily approve of.”

“She wound up regretting that,” Hutch said, not even realizing he sounded bitter until Starsky gave him a little nudge.

“It could have worked, though,” Cassandra said. “If she’d only given it a chance. If she’d accepted you for who you are. But she was Daddy’s girl, deep down, even though she fought it all her life.”

“I guess,” Hutch said. Vanessa had been a lot like her father.

“I wish she’d have had the baby,” Cassandra said. “It might have saved the marriage.”

Hutch felt as though he’d just climbed off a carnival ride. He was dizzy and lightheaded, and his stomach was queasy. “What did you say?”

“The baby,” Cassandra said. “If she’d had the baby, maybe you and she would have stayed together. A baby might have drawn you together. Instead, you — ”

“What baby?”

Both of them were more than a little drunk. It was their anniversary and they’d celebrated with dinner and champagne. A lot of champagne. Now, lying in bed, Hutch turned on his side and propped his head on his hand to gaze at his beautiful wife. She giggled and reached up to stroke his hair.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

“Because you are the loveliest thing on the planet,” he answered, leaning over to kiss her.

“That’s sweet.”

He kissed her again, more urgently, and let his hand drift down to caress her bare skin. “You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think it’s time we thought about starting a family.”

She pulled away and sat up, clutching the sheet to her protectively. “A family? Now?”

He was puzzled. “Well, not tonight,” he said with a grin. “Kids might interrupt our celebration. But — “

“You think it’d be nice for me to be barefoot and pregnant?”

“You don’t have to go barefoot,” he said, the wine making him a little slow on the uptake and his need for her crowding most other thoughts from his mind, anyway.

“That isn’t funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny, babe,” he said, reaching for her again. “We can talk about it later. I just thought maybe we could start thinking about it. I don’t want to rush you. We’ve got plenty of time — “

“Your life wouldn’t change a bit,” she said angrily. “You wouldn’t have to get fat or go through labor or change diapers or — “

“Whoa, honey,” he said, sitting up, too. “Later, okay? We’ll talk about it later. I’m sorry I said anything.”

But there had been no placating her and they hadn’t talked about it later. They hadn’t talked about it at all.

Starsky put a hand on his arm and gave it a little squeeze. He was alarmed by the way the color had drained from Hutch’s face.

Cassandra covered her mouth with her hand. “You mean you didn’t know about the baby?”

“What baby?” Hutch repeated, and Starsky could feel the tension in the muscles of Hutch’s arm.

“Oh, God. Oh, Ken, I’m sorry. I thought you knew. Van was pregnant — ” She stopped, and her eyes grew moist. “You really didn’t know?”

“When was she pregnant? And what happened to the baby?” Hutch’s voice shook, try as he might to steady it.

Cassandra reached for her wine glass, but it was empty. She signaled the waiter, who brought another one, and she didn’t speak until it arrived. Hutch waited, but his face was still too pale, and it was taking every ounce of self-control he had not to shake her and force her to give him the information. Finally, she took a big gulp of her wine and reached across the table to take his hand. “She had just found out a few weeks before she left you,” she said gently. “She — she had an abortion.”

“When did she have this abortion?” Hutch felt his eyes beginning to burn and he had to work hard not to let Cassandra see it. Starsky unobtrusively slid his arm around the back of Hutch’s chair. He was close enough that Hutch could smell his aftershave, and though he didn’t say a word, he didn’t have to. Just having him there helped.

“In July of ‘73,” Cassandra said. “She was about three months along, maybe a little less. I can’t believe she didn’t tell you — ”

“I can,” Hutch said bitterly, and didn’t care if he sounded bitter. “She knew I’d try to talk her out of it. She also knew it would affect the divorce. All she wanted was to be rid of me and anything to do with me, including my child!”

“Hutch,” Starsky said quietly, and that one word brought Hutch’s emotions back under control.

He glanced at Starsky. Thanks. I’m okay now.

No, you’re not, but I ain’t goin’ anywhere.

There were tears in Cassandra’s eyes and one slid down her cheek. “Oh, Ken, I am so sorry. I thought you knew. I thought it was a mutual decision — ”

“I would never have agreed to that,” he said shortly.

“She didn’t even tell me until it was all over and she’d moved back to Duluth,” Cassandra said. “She never told our parents at all. They’d have been horrified, not just about the abortion, but that she got it at one of those — ” She stopped. “It wasn’t a regular clinic,” she finished lamely.

“A back-alley butcher, in other words?”

She nodded. “I think so. She didn’t really go into details. And I’m not sure, but I think something went wrong and she probably wouldn’t have been able to have children afterwards. I remember when she told me about it she said, ‘I’ll never have to go through that again.'”

“Wasn’t that the same year it was legalized?” Starsky asked.

Hutch answered, still sounding bitter, “I’m not sure, but what difference does it make? She wouldn’t have wanted there to be a record anywhere.”

How could Vanessa have done that and he’d never known? Hutch searched his memory but knowing how Vanessa could manage to present a perfect appearance to the world even when she was deathly ill, he wasn’t really surprised. And right after she’d left him, there had been weeks they hadn’t seen each other. They’d communicated only through their lawyers….

“Cassandra,” Starsky said, “no offense, but I think we oughta call it a night. Hutch has had a bad shock and — ”

“Of course.” She signaled the waiter again and asked for the check, removing a Diner’s Club card from her wallet. While they waited for the waiter to come back, she slid a business card out of a gold case and wrote on the back of it. She held it out to Hutch. “Call me at home or at work if you need me,” she said. “Anytime at all. I can’t tell you how sorry I am — ”

Hutch made no move to take the card, so Starsky did and slid it into his shirt pocket. The waiter came back and handed the slip and the card to Cassandra. She signed it quickly, returned the card to her wallet, and stood.

“I am sorry,” she said again, looking down at Hutch. He didn’t raise his eyes.

“Thanks for dinner, Cassandra,” Starsky said for both of them. He stood, too, and prodded his partner to his feet. “We’ll see ya later, huh? Come on, partner.”

They climbed the stairs to Hutch’s apartment in silence, with Starsky keeping in physical contact with Hutch all the way. He was the one who opened the door and prodded Hutch through it, steered him to the couch and sat him down. He went to the refrigerator and brought back a beer. Hutch took it without a word and drained half of it in one swallow. Starsky sat down next to him and put his arm around his back, rubbing in soft, soothing circles as he felt the tension. Hutch’s muscles were stiff and his face was white, with dark circles forming under his eyes. Long minutes passed before Hutch, staring down at his beer bottle, said in a soft, hoarse whisper, “She killed my baby, Starsk. Vanessa killed my baby.”

Starsky’s throat closed at the raw pain in those quiet words, and he pulled Hutch a little closer. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t help thinking terrible thoughts about Vanessa. Thoughts he was trying to keep from showing on his face. Of all the ways that woman could have chosen to hurt his partner, this one had to be one of the worst. This was worse than cheating on him, but Starsky thought Vanessa was above that. When she bored of her time with Hutch, she simply dumped him.

Sitting next to his partner, his arm around his shoulders in supportive silence, Starsky let his mind wander to Hutch and Vanessa’s breakup. The two men had known each other a long time when it happened, and they had been plainclothes partners for a year.

Starsky would never forget how upset Hutch was that night. Van had decided if he wasn’t going back to law school, she was finished with him. She needed to set her gold-digging sights on someone who hadn’t pissed off his wealthy parents with his career choice. The phone call he’d made to tell Starsky she was gone was burned into Starsky’s memory.

“St-Starsk?” Hutch’s voice sounded weak and as if he were in pain.

“Hutch? What’s wrong, buddy?”

“I… Oh, God,” Hutch replied without answering.

“Are you hurt? What’s going on?”

“I’m… she’s… aw, shit.”

“Where are you?” Starsky had begun to feel panicked. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but whatever it was, couldn’t be good.

“Wh…Why?”

“Why, what, Hutch? Tell me what happened, dammit!”

The long pause on the other end of the line caused Starsky’s heart to feel tight in his chest. He called Hutch’s name a few times and didn’t get an answer. He was already putting on his shoes to rush to wherever Hutch was, but he hadn’t gotten any answers from his obviously despondent partner. His mind was racing with the possibilities. Had Hutch hurt Vanessa? Had she hurt him? Somehow, he knew it had to be about Vanessa. She had been on a roll hurting his partner lately.

“HUTCH! Listen to me! Are you at home?”

He heard a muffled sniffling sound and a quiet reply. “Yeah.”

“I’m on my way.”

Starsky had raced to Hutch’s apartment, unsure of what he might find. What he found nearly broke his heart. Hutch was sitting in the middle of his bare living room. The only things the Wicked Witch of Duluth had left him were his guitar, his clothing, his plants, a lava lamp, and the telephone. He found out later, she’d even taken the coffee pot. Not to mention having cleared out his bank accounts. The ones she could get to, anyway. Hutch had a sizeable trust fund that she was legally barred from touching. Mr. Hutchinson had seen to that. Even Starsky hadn’t known about it for years.

The only other thing Vanessa left in her vapor trail was a cruel note that drove Hutch to thoughts of suicide. Starsky worried about him constantly for a couple of months, rarely leaving him alone. Taking the Magnum away from him wasn’t an option as long as Hutch was on active duty, but his having it scared Starsky to death. Hutch was so depressed; Starsky thought he was taking chances on the street. Not with Starsky’s life, never that. He was always there to back up his partner, but Hutch was taking chances with his own life. One night, they’d been separated and Hutch had gotten himself cornered in an alley. He’d been severely beaten before Starsky came along to rescue him.

Picking up the pieces of his friend’s broken heart had been a difficult task. Starsky never wanted to see Hutch in such pain again. He thought that Vanessa’s death had at least assured that she could never hurt Hutch again. Now, Starsky got a chill from the realization that the woman had reached out from beyond the grave and grabbed his partner with her icy hand — wrapped around Hutch’s heart.

Hutch felt Starsky shiver and said, “What?”

“Sorry, Blintz. I was just thinking.”

“About Van?”

“What else? Aw, Hutch, I don’t know what to say. I know this hurts you. I can feel how much it hurts you.”

Hutch was crying now. Silent tears that made Starsky’s heart ache for him. “How could she, Starsk?” He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and dropped his face into his hands.

Starsky rubbed Hutch’s back and said, “I don’t know, buddy. It’s a terrible thing to do. To not even ask you….” He stopped speaking because Hutch was shaking his head.

“No, no, you don’t understand. I want to know how she could hate me so much.”

That simple statement marked the end of Starsky’s composure. The tears he’d been trying to hold back so he could be strong for Hutch started to slide down his face. Hutch was starting to lean toward him, and he slowly collapsed into Starsky’s lap.

“I would have kept the baby, Starsky. She had to know I’d want it.”

Starsky didn’t have it in him to speak platitudes about Vanessa’s possible motivation. He didn’t believe that she had anything other than selfishness in mind when she had the abortion. No doubt she hated Hutch then, but the fact that she kept it a secret was telling. Short of killing Hutch or, worse yet, killing Starsky, Vanessa couldn’t have done anything more hurtful to his friend, but she’d have had to tell him about it for it to be effective.

Starsky was angry. Angrier than he’d been in a long time. “It wasn’t that she hated you, Hutch. That’s not it at all. What good did it do if she never told you? She didn’t want any ‘complications’ in her life, buddy. Her motivation was simple. She was a spoiled, selfish bitch who wanted her own life, without hindrances. A baby would have tied her to you in some way forever and she couldn’t have that.”

Hutch wrapped an arm around Starsky’s leg and held on tightly while he cried. Starsky knew this was going to be a long haul. They had to work in the morning, and he was worried that Hutch wasn’t going to be in any shape.

“Buddy, I’m gonna call Dobey in the morning and tell him we’re not comin’ in.”

“No. We’re going in.”

“Hutch….”

“I can’t just lay around here all day tomorrow and wallow in the pain. I can’t. Work’s what I need.”

“Buddy, you need to give yourself some space to grieve. This is a big deal.”

“I mean it, Starsk. I need to work.”

Starsky considered it. Maybe he could arrange for them to work in the precinct for their whole shift the next day. The mounds of paperwork they always seemed to be behind on could probably be counted on to see to that.

“All right,” he said while gently patting Hutch on the back. “We’ll play this your way. If you can’t handle it, though, you tell me.”

Hutch nodded on Starsky’s lap.

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

They sat that way for a long while. Both of them cried and Hutch poured his heart out to Starsky about all of the feelings he was being flooded with since Cassandra had dropped the bomb on him.

“What if she’d kept the baby, Starsky? He’d be about five and a half now.”

“Hutch, don’t do this, buddy.”

“He’d be in kindergarten. Old enough for T-ball.”

“Stop it, now. The only thing this is going to do for you is make you more upset.”

“I know. I just can’t help wondering. I might never have a child. What would it have been like? Would he have looked like me, or would she? Would I be a good dad?”

“You’d have been the best dad ever, Hutch. Don’t think like that. You might still get that chance, buddy. You’re still young. Besides, I thought the ‘What If game was my department. You tryin’ to horn in on my act?”

At least that got an abbreviated laugh out of the troubled man. Starsky spent the best part of the next two hours getting his partner calmed down enough to go to sleep. He wished that Hutch would get angry, vent, throw things. That would be better than the state he was in at the moment. When Hutch crumbled this way, quietly sobbing his pain out, Starsky knew how deeply hurt he was. This was not Hutch’s, “I’m angry but I’ll let off some steam and feel better” pain. This was deep, in his soul, shattered heart pain. Starsky knew he’d have to work hard to help his best friend find his equilibrium again.

When Hutch was cried out, and his breathing was becoming slower and more even, Starsky knew he needed to get him to go to sleep. Hutch was as limp as a noodle, but somehow Starsky managed to get him on his feet and help him to bed. He pulled off Hutch’s shoes. He’d already divested him of his jacket and tie hours ago. He sat on the side of Hutch’s bed and rubbed his back, soothing him to sleep.

Starsky stood to go out and crash on the couch when he heard Hutch quietly ask, “You’re not leaving, are you?”

“Of course not, pal. I’m gonna stay here tonight.”

“Thanks, Starsk.”

“Good night, Hutch.”

“‘Night, Starsk.”

Starsky made a bed on the couch and proceeded to actively not sleep for hours. He was so angry HE wanted to throw things. How dare Vanessa do such a thing? He mentally smacked himself when he had the thought that it was a good thing she was already dead. He had definite homicidal thoughts toward her on this night. One thing was bothering him and he was going to check on it the next morning. Whatever his thoughts, he knew he’d better get them all out of his system so he could be there for Hutch.

~*~*~*~

The next day, Hutch wasn’t up at the annoying hour he usually arose. Starsky woke up early for a change and realized his partner hadn’t budged all night. He was glad in a way — that probably meant Hutch’s dreams were not too distressing. He often had nightmares, but not last night. He must have been too wrung out to have nightmares.

In the year since Vanessa’s murder, Hutch had become more cynical. He’d given up a lot of his healthy habits, he’d let his hair get a lot longer, grown a moustache, and lost his every morning jogging habit. Lately, he’d only gone a few times a week. Starsky went to the kitchen to make them something for breakfast, a little sad that he didn’t need to worry about how to make the blender produce one of Hutch’s morning shakes. He’d given them up, also.

After breakfast, showers, and getting dressed for work, they went out of the apartment to the Torino. Hutch had barely touched his food and he looked rough around the edges.

“You sure you’re up to this?”

“I’m sure. Let’s just go.”

As they pulled away from the curb, Hutch stared at Chez Helene’s like it was new to him. He would always remember that it was where he’d heard about what Vanessa did.

The morning was going better than Starsky had hoped. Focusing on their paperwork monster was giving Hutch something to do that was keeping his mind off of things. Starsky had found the time to slip in to see Dobey and explain things, and then he went out and told Hutch he had to run down to records for something.

Starsky was on a mission. He wanted to see Vanessa’s autopsy record. He’d read enough autopsy reports to know that the ME often mentioned whether a woman had ever given birth. Maybe they could tell if she’d ever been pregnant and had recorded it.

He took the file into a small conference room and reviewed it — paging past the reports, the records of Hutch being accused of her murder, the pictures of the crime scene, and the notes naming the real killer. Hutch had been exonerated. He finally came to the autopsy report and he read it with an odd sense of detached fascination. Hutch had never read the report. He couldn’t. A lot of people saw Hutch as cool and collected to the point of being icy. His Nordic stoicism was well known. Starsky, and Hutch’s other friends, knew the truth. Hutch was like an onion — a man of many layers. That calm demeanor was his exterior facade. Starsky sometimes wondered if the deadly accurate, dangerous man he partnered with on the street was a mask for the musical, sensitive, gentle soul that was his best friend. His recent bout of cynicism had Starsky worried, but he couldn’t think about that now. He needed to focus on the autopsy transcript.

The victim, Vanessa Davenport Hutchinson, was a Caucasian female, age 34. Victim was 67 inches tall, weight 120 pounds. Blood type A+. Cause of death was from a single, large caliber gunshot to the chest. The murder weapon was a Colt .357 Magnum. The bullet….

Starsky skipped through the more graphic parts of the autopsy. He didn’t care how much Vanessa’s liver weighed, or really need to read about the skin and blood found under her fingernails. Skin she’d scraped off of Hutch’s hand after he blocked her from slapping his face at The Pits. He finally came to the part he wanted to read.

Extensive uterine scarring indicates that the victim had an abortion, probably done in a non-sterile environment. The condition of the uterus is such that the victim was rendered incapable of carrying a child to term. This abortion was possibly midterm, and probably done four or five years ago, based on the appearance of the scars and the level of healing.

The victim’s general health….

That was what Starsky wanted to know — if it was true that Vanessa had ever had an abortion. He was feeling a bit guilty about his attraction to Cassandra. She was a beautiful woman, but she was Hutch’s ex-sister-in-law. He almost felt disloyal. That’s why he had decided to try and check out her story. He didn’t want to take it on face value because she was a beautiful, sophisticated woman to whom he was tremendously attracted. This was Hutch’s heart she was playing with and Starsky wanted to be certain. His secondary reason was a natural caution brought on by the fact that Cassandra was Vanessa’s sister. She looked a lot like her sister. Maybe she WAS like her in more ways than one. Starsky knew he’d better tread lightly.

He returned the file to the records room and went back upstairs. Hutch was just finishing up another report when he walked into the squad room. Starsky was getting pretty hungry and he was hoping he could coax Hutch into eating.

“What’d’ya say we knock off for a while and grab some lunch?” he asked as he pulled out his chair and sat on the back of it, resting his feet on the seat.

Hutch looked up from signing the report and said, “You go ahead. I’m not hungry.”

Starsky leaned closer to him and said, “Come on, go with me. Maybe you’ll find out you are hungry. Besides, the fresh air will do you good. Come on, we’ll grab some sandwiches and run down to the park to eat ‘em. Okay?”

Hutch could rarely resist Starsky when he was like this — concerned only for Hutch. He decided to give in with little argument. Maybe his partner was right.

Just as they were exiting the squad room, Simmons and Babcock were walking toward them. They were laughing about something. Starsky stopped them to say a quick hello and Simmons explained. “Man, they’ve got about eight brand new bikes downstairs for that new group of motorcycle jockeys.”

Starsky’s eyes lit up at the news. “They’re here?”

“Yeah,” Babcock said. “They let us take one around the block. You should go down there and ask ‘em.”

“Come on, Hutch, let’s go,” Starsky said, grabbing his partner’s arm excitedly.

“Starsk, I don’t — ”

“Sure you do. It’ll be fun. Come on, please?”

Hutch shook his head, resigned, and followed Starsky down to the garage, where a row of shiny new Harley-Davidson Super Glides was the center of an admiring throng of officers. Benny Barton, the officer in charge of the motor pool, was beaming as proudly as if he’d just given birth to the bikes.

“Starsky! Hutch! I wondered how long it’d take you two to show,” Benny said with a big grin. “Whattya think of ‘em? Ready to turn in the Tomato for a real set of wheels, Starsk?”

Starsky laughed. “Naw, Benny, not permanently. Too hard to make out on a bike, y’know? But I’d sure love to take one of these babies for a spin. Can I, huh? Can I, please?” He folded his hands and pretended to plead.

Benny’s grin got even wider and he tossed a set of keys toward Starsky. “Be my guest, Sarge. Don’t wreck it.”

Starsky caught the keys and strode toward the bike Benny indicated. “She’s a beauty,” he said, walking around it and gently stroking the shiny fender. “Who’s gonna ride ‘em?”

“The traffic guys,” Benny said. “Department thought it’d be easier for ‘em to hide and spring speed traps with bikes than it is in squads.”

Starsky mounted the bike and experimentally stood it up off the kickstand to get the feel of it. Benny held out a helmet, which Starsky accepted and put on before he started the bike. “Hey, Hutch, come on. I’ll give ya a ride.”

“No,” Hutch said, making no move to climb on. “You go ahead.”

“Aw, come on, buddy,” Starsky begged. “I won’t do nothin’ crazy.”

“You can ride one yourself if you want,” Benny offered.

Hutch shook his head. “No, my concentration’s kind of off today. I wouldn’t feel safe.”

“Then get on with me,” Starsky said. “Just around the block, then we’ll go get some lunch.”

Hutch rolled his eyes, but gave in and climbed on behind Starsky, pulling his sunglasses out of his pocket and putting them on. “Once around the block,” he said. “And only once.”

“I promise,” Starsky said, revving the motor and giving a mock salute to Benny. “Be right back.” Traffic was light this time of day, for a change, and Starsky, waiting for a break so he could pull out of the lot into the street, grinned over his shoulder at Hutch. “Almost makes a man want to go back to uniform, don’t it?”

“Nope,” Hutch said. “Traffic duty sucks almost as much as writing reports.”

Starsky chuckled, found his break, and pulled out into the street. The big bike responded almost like a living thing and even Hutch had to admit it was fun. Starsky stopped at the light and, just for fun, hit the siren.

“Cut that out,” Hutch said, laughing in spite of himself. He was holding onto the chrome luggage rack behind the seat, and he let go with one hand to poke his partner in the ribs. “Juvenile delinquent.”

Starsky snickered and turned right. What happened next happened so fast that neither of them could ever get the story the same. An alley cut the next street in half, a street lined with small businesses — a pawnshop, a couple of clothing stores and a mom-and-pop grocery. Starsky was going about thirty miles an hour when a car careened out of that alley and broadsided the motorcycle. Hutch saw it coming out of the corner of his eye and only had time to shout his partner’s name in warning before the impact, which threw him through the air to land with a sickening thud in the street about 10 feet away. Starsky desperately hung onto the bike as it skidded sideways and fell over, sliding into the curb and pinning his right knee to the sidewalk. The car kept going, and Starsky just caught a glimpse of white as it sped away. His ears were ringing, and his knee was on fire, but he disentangled himself from the motorcycle and his helmet with the help of a pedestrian who had run over to help, and staggered over to Hutch. Another motorist had stopped her car just in time to keep from running over Hutch, and she was already out of her car and kneeling next to him.

“H-Hutch?” Starsky’s heart was in his throat and he threw himself down next to the woman. She had produced a scarf from her jacket pocket and was using it to wipe blood from Hutch’s face. So much blood…it soaked into his hair and ran over his forehead and dripped onto the ground. “Oh, my God, Hutch!”

Hutch’s face was white and he was out cold, but he was breathing. Starsky was afraid to move him or touch him.

The man who had helped Starsky get off the bike said, “I sent my son to call an ambulance. Is he hurt bad?”

Starsky couldn’t speak. He shook his head helplessly and gently touched Hutch’s cheek.

“Looks like he took a nasty knock to the head,” the woman said. “It probably looks worse than it is. Head wounds always bleed a lot.”

Starsky was shaking like a leaf, with tears standing in his eyes.

The woman laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s going to be all right,” she said, very gently. “Are you hurt?”

“I-I don’t know. I don’t think so,” he said blankly, his whole attention focused on his partner, who still had not stirred.

A squad car roared up and a traffic cop Starsky didn’t know got out. Simmons and Babcock were right behind him in their car. They had gone back downstairs to wait and see what their friends thought of the new bike, and they heard the dispatch to roll to a motorcycle accident right around the corner. Without a word, they’d run for their car to make sure it wasn’t Starsky and Hutch. Simmons got to Starsky first and knelt, putting his arm around him. “You okay, Starsky?”

Babcock very carefully parted Hutch’s hair to see if he could tell how badly he was hurt.

“Be careful!” Starsky barked at him. “Don’t move him!”

“Easy, pal,” Simmons said soothingly. “He’s not going to make it worse.”

The traffic cop was taking statements from the witnesses first and had just got to Starsky when the ambulance arrived. “All right, sir, I need you to tell me what happened.”

“Go to hell!” Starsky said, rising long enough to get out of the way for the paramedics, but not so far out of the way that he couldn’t watch what was happening.

The traffic cop frowned fiercely. “Look here, sir, you can’t talk to an officer of the law that way, even if you are upset — ”

“You look,” Simmons said angrily. “This is Detective Sergeant David Starsky and he outranks you! That’s his partner on the ground bleeding. Back the fuck off!”

The cop obeyed, but he wasn’t happy.

The paramedics fitted a cervical collar onto Hutch and one of them brought a backboard. They carefully turned him onto his back and put him on the board and it wasn’t until then that he finally opened his eyes.

“Hutch? Hutch, are you all right?” Starsky broke away from Simmons and knelt at Hutch’s side.

“Starsk?” Hutch blinked blearily and reached up a hand to touch his head. “God, my head hurts. What happened?”

“We wrecked, buddy, but you’re gonna be okay. Just let these folks do their job, all right? Can ya do that for me?”

Hutch couldn’t turn his head because of the collar, and the paramedics were busy strapping him onto the board. “Hey, wait a minute,” he said.

“Hutch, please,” Starsky pleaded. “Let ‘em take care of ya. I’ll be right behind ya, I swear. Please, Hutch, you’re gonna be fine. I promise.”

“Can you tell me your name?” one paramedic asked conversationally as he finished strapping Hutch down.

“Ken Hutchinson,” Hutch answered automatically.

“And what day is it, Ken?”

“Uh…Thursday. I think.”

“What’s the president’s name?”

Hutch blinked for a moment. “Um….”

The paramedic waited a beat or two, then said cheerfully, “Never mind. I don’t even like the guy, myself. What’d you have for lunch, Ken?”

The other paramedic had returned with the stretcher by now and the two of them, with Babcock’s help, lifted Hutch onto it and secured him to it.

“Um…I don’t think I had any lunch,” Hutch said, slowly and with a puzzled expression on his face.

“And when’s your birthday, Ken?”

“My birthday?”

“Why’s he askin’ him all those questions?” Starsky hissed at Simmons.

“To see if he’s alert,” Simmons whispered back. “Hush.”

The two paramedics rolled the stretcher toward the ambulance. “That’s what I said,” the first one said to Hutch, still cheerfully. “When’s your birthday?”

“Ummm…” Hutch blinked a few more times, beginning to look upset. “Starsk?”

“I want to know if you know, not if he does,” the paramedic said, adding to Starsky and Simmons, “We’re going to Memorial.”

Simmons nodded, holding onto Starsky to help him stand, because he was pretty shaky and his knee was refusing to bear any weight.

The paramedics finished loading Hutch into the back of the ambulance, and the one who’d been asking all the questions clambered in with him. The other hurried around to the driver’s door. In another moment, they were gone.

“Sir, I’m afraid I have to insist you answer my questions,” the traffic cop said doggedly.

“What questions?” Starsky turned to him, frowning.

“What happened?”

“Some scum pulled out of the alley and tagged us!” Starsky said angrily. “And then the son of a bitch kept going! That’s what happened.”

“Did you get a look at the car, sir?”

“I did,” the woman said. “It was a — ”

“I asked him,” the cop said sternly.

“No,” Starsky answered. “Just that it was white. I can’t even tell ya if it was a two door or a four door.”

The cop wrote that down and then looked at Starsky again. “Have you been drinking, sir? You seem to be having a little trouble keeping your balance.”

“Oh, for chrissake,” Simmons said. “Who’s your commanding officer? Do you treat all accident victims like this? He’s hurt, you moron, that’s why he can’t stand up.”

“My commanding officer is Lieutenant Danson and yes, sir, I do have to ask accident victims the prescribed questions.”

“Holy shit, he’s a robot,” Babcock remarked. “Can I prick you and see if you bleed, youngster?”

“That was uncalled for, sir.”

“I gotta get to the hospital!” Starsky interrupted. “Hurry up, will ya, so I can go?”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you go,” the officer said. “You have to take a BAC test and I have to get a tow truck, and — ” he broke off as he approached the motorcycle. “Sir, this is a police vehicle.”

“And he’s a police officer!” Simmons shouted, losing all patience.

“Would you guys please take me to the hospital!” Starsky snapped. To the traffic cop, he said, “Get your damned tow truck and write me all the tickets you want for us getting hit by a damned car. But I am leaving now and I’m going to my partner and you ain’t gonna stop me. You got a problem, you tell it to my captain. Dobey. Harold Dobey. Homicide.” He turned toward the car, and Simmons, with an ugly look at the traffic cop, helped him get there and got him into the passenger seat.

“I’ll take care of things here,” Babcock called to his partner. “You stick with him.”

Simmons nodded and raised a hand in acknowledgement.

~*~*~*~

Hutch had been hurt many times in many different ways, but he couldn’t remember ever having a headache like this one. It felt as if his head would simply explode any minute or as though someone had driven a spike through his head from front to back.

The paramedic had given up on when Hutch’s birthday was — good thing, too, Hutch thought, because he couldn’t remember no matter how hard he tried and trying made his head hurt more — and had switched to “What do you do for a living, Ken?”

“I’m a cop.”

“Which precinct?”

Which precinct? Hutch had to think about that and was starting to get upset again when he finally remembered. “Ninth.”

All the time he was asking questions, the paramedic was making notations, taking Hutch’s blood pressure, sopping blood off his face and calling information to the driver. And his cheery demeanor never flagged once.

“What’s your buddy’s name? The curly-haired guy with the limp?”

“Limp? Was he limping?” Now Hutch really was upset.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” the paramedic said. “Hey, I’m Jim. What’s your friend’s name?”

“Starsky,” Hutch answered. “David Starsky. How bad was he limping?”

“Just a little,” Jim said. “Probably bumped his knee or twisted his ankle in the wreck. He was okay, honest, wasn’t he, Carl?” he called to the driver.

“Oh, yeah, he was okay,” Carl called back. “Don’t worry.”

“See there? So, when is your birthday, Ken?”

“I don’t know,” Hutch said impatiently. “I mean, I know, but I just can’t — ” He stopped.

“Okay, okay. No problem. It’ll come to you.” Jim peered at his face. “Head hurt much?”

“Yes,” Hutch said.

They pulled up at the emergency room door and the two paramedics hustled him out of the ambulance and into a treatment room. Hutch wished they hadn’t moved quite so quickly, because watching the ceiling flash by and turn as they pushed the stretcher was making him very sick at his stomach. Closing his eyes made it worse, because then he could feel the room spinning even if he couldn’t see it.

A doctor was waiting and started examining him and asking all the same questions Jim had asked him. A nurse and Jim worked on getting enough blood mopped up so the doctor could see the actual wound.

“It’s not very deep,” the doctor said, probing it and making Hutch cringe away from his touch. “Sorry. But it’s going to need stitches. Mop him up and we’ll shave a spot — ”

“You’re going to shave my head?”

“Just a little spot about that big,” the doctor said, holding up his fingers about two inches apart. “Can’t be helped. It’s gotta be stitched. It’ll grow back.”

Hutch shut his eyes.

“Are you sick at your stomach?”

“Yes.”

“Does your head hurt?”

“Yes.”

“How bad? On a scale from one to ten, where ten is you want to die.” The doctor smiled down at him.

“Eight and three quarters,” Hutch said with a grimace.

“Ouch. I wish we could give you something for that, but with a head injury, we don’t dare. Not until we’re sure it’s not serious. Can you move your legs?”

“Yeah.” Hutch demonstrated.

“Your arms?”

“Yeah.”

“Anything hurt besides your head?”

“I don’t think I’d notice if it did,” Hutch said. “Head hurts pretty bad.”

The doctor told the paramedics to get him out of the collar and backboard, then told Hutch to try turning his head. He watched closely as Hutch obeyed.

“I think you’re okay,” he said, bending over and peering at his face again. “We’ll get you stitched up and send you home, but somebody has to stay with you and wake you up every couple of hours in case you have a concussion. I don’t think you do, but we’re not taking any chances. I’m sending you upstairs for a CT scan just to be safe.”

Hutch would have nodded, but it hurt too much. The next 15 minutes were very, very unpleasant. The doctor said he didn’t dare give him an anesthetic, so he had to stitch him up without it and Hutch, seasoned police officer or not, had tears in his eyes before it was all over. His knuckles were white as he clutched the edges of the treatment bed and tried not to cry out. But it was finally over.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said, and he did sound genuinely sorry. “Don’t take anything today, but you can have some Tylenol tomorrow if the headache is still bothering you. Stay at home and rest for a couple of days. Don’t move around any more than you have to tomorrow. The day after, if you feel up to it, you can be a little more active. But don’t go back to work until Monday, okay?”

“Okay.”

~*~*~*~

Starsky, in spite of his aching knee and limp, beat Simmons into the emergency room entrance and went straight to the information desk to ask about Hutch.

The nurse sorted through her files. “I don’t find him, sir, but if he arrived by ambulance, they might not have the paperwork up here yet. Have a seat and I’ll see what I can find out.”

Starsky opened his mouth to protest, but Simmons had caught up and grabbed his arm. “You two are worse than a couple of old women,” he said, but kindly. “Come on, pal, let’s sit down and let the lady do her job, okay?”

He didn’t like it, but he let Simmons lead him to the waiting area a few feet away and perched on the edge of an uncomfortable orange vinyl couch, keeping his eyes trained on the desk. The nurse he’d spoken to hadn’t reappeared. Another nurse was manning the desk, busily writing something on a chart. Long minutes passed and still the nurse hadn’t come back.

“Something’s wrong,” Starsky said, starting to rise.

But Simmons reached up and snagged his arm and hauled him back down. “Starsky, for Pete’s sake. Sit down, wouldja?”

Starsky sat back down, but he fidgeted and never looked away from the desk. After a while, he couldn’t take it anymore and shot out of his seat, dodging Simmons’ grab and making it to the desk.

The second nurse looked up at his approach.

“I don’t mean to be a pest,” Starsky said, ignoring the snort from Simmons, behind him. “But I asked the other lady about my partner and she said she’d go check but she never came back.”

“Your partner?”

“Hutchinson. Ken Hutchinson. He came in an ambulance a little while ago. Motorcycle wreck.”

She looked through the charts and shook her head. “Not here. Hang on. Maybe Mattie couldn’t find him, though we’re not very busy this afternoon. I’ll be right back. I promise,” she added with a smile and a pat on his hand. She disappeared through the double doors and Starsky kept fidgeting.

“Either one of you guys ever been in the hospital when the other one didn’t drive the staff bats?” Simmons inquired, leaning against the desk.

“When I was born,” Starsky retorted, “and when Hutch had his tonsils out in 1955.”

“You know when he had his tonsils out? Or did you just make that up?”

Starsky opened his mouth to reply, but the nurse came back through the doors at that moment and her face was so grave that Starsky’s heart almost stopped. Simmons, too, went still at his side.

“Sir, did your partner have blond hair?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level.

Did? “Yeah,” Starsky said. “Hutchinson. His police ID’s in his left hip pocket.”

She wet her lips and came around the desk to take his hands in hers. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know anything about a police ID, but the ambulance that arrived a few minutes ago — ” she paused and squeezed his hands gently. “The victim of the motorcycle accident passed away en route to the hospital.”

Starsky’s face drained of color and he swayed. Simmons leaped forward and caught him before he fell; steering him back to the couch and helping him sit down. The nurse followed. “I’m so sorry….”

The first nurse came back and saw them sitting there, took one look at Starsky’s face and gently pushed the other nurse aside. “Put your head between your knees,” she ordered, and he did, acting without thinking. His head slowly began to clear.

“I found your friend,” she said, her hand on the back of his head to keep it down. “He’s being treated, and Dr. Luka said he thought he’d be able to go home with you. It’ll be about an hour, though. Do you need a doctor?”

In spite of her restraining hand, Starsky raised his head. “He’s not dead?” His voice shook so badly he didn’t even recognize it.

“No,” she said. “Where on Earth….” She stopped and looked up at the other nurse. “Oh. The DOA. No, no, that’s not your friend. That was a teenager. Awfully sad, but not your friend.” She glared at the other nurse and jerked her head toward the desk, her meaning crystal clear. The other nurse crept away. “Your friend, in fact, is arguing with the doctor. He’s fine. Really. Now, do you want some juice or something?”

“No,” Starsky said, managing a weak smile. “Thanks. We’ll just wait here. You’ll tell me when I can go see him?”

“Yes. I promise. You’d better sit quiet now, though, until your color comes back.” She patted his hand and went back to her station.

~*~*~*~

“How much longer before you’re gonna let me back there?” Starsky’s voice came from somewhere outside the room. “Dammit, he’s my best friend and this is all my fault! Don’t you understand? I gotta see him!”

“Can he come in now?” Hutch asked the doctor.

“Oh, is he with you?” The doctor grinned. “He’s been giving them hell outside for twenty minutes or better. They finally told him he could come back here but they wouldn’t let him come in here until I was done sewing you back together. I’ll go tell him he can come in and wait with you while they get your paperwork together.”

“Thanks.”

Starsky ducked under the curtain separating Hutch from the next treatment room and stood there, pale and haggard, with the evidence of recent tears still on his cheeks, for several seconds before hurrying across the floor to Hutch and very tenderly touching his cheek. “You okay, buddy? How bad does it hurt? What’d they do to ya?”

“I’m okay, Starsk.” Hutch sat up and forced himself to act normal, though the room spun and his head hurt and his stomach threatened to erupt. “Really, it’s not that bad. Bump on the head, a few stitches. I’ll survive.”

“Stitches?” Starsky walked around behind him and looked at the back of his head. “Oh, babe,” he said, low and trembling. “That musta hurt.”

“Still does,” Hutch said, forcing a laugh.

Starsky came back around in front of him and Hutch noticed the telltale pinching around his eyes that meant he was in pain.

“How are you hurt, Starsk? They told me you hurt your knee.”

Starsky shrugged. “Nothin’. Bike fell on it. It’ll be okay. It’s you I’m worried about. You left a puddle of blood on the street back there, and I thought you were dead when you went flyin’ through the air and landed in the street and didn’t move.”

“Really? I flew through the air?” Hutch didn’t remember that.

Starsky hitched himself up onto the table with his partner and put his arm around him. “Yeah. You don’t remember? You couldn’t have been knocked out then. Not till you hit the street.”

“I don’t remember that. Last thing I remember is yelling at you when I saw the car coming.”

Starsky, though it hadn’t seemed possible, went a shade paler. “Damn, buddy, that’s scary. Did you tell the doc that?”

“No,” Hutch said. “Look, Starsk, it’s not unusual to lose a couple of minutes when you take a knock on the head. It’s not a big deal, okay? I’m fine. Did you let somebody look at that knee?”

Starsky shook his head. “Nah, I don’t need a sawbones. God, Hutch — ” He gently pushed the blood-stiffened hair away from Hutch’s face. “You oughta see yourself.”

“I don’t want to have nightmares,” Hutch said with a grin. “I’m sure it ain’t pretty.”

“I’m so sorry,” Starsky said, his voice shaking. “It’s all my fault, I never dreamed something like this would happen and — ”

“Stop that right now,” Hutch commanded. “It was an accident. You couldn’t have prevented it.”

“You weren’t wearin’ a helmet,” Starsky said. “Why didn’t we wait for Benny to get you one? Why’d I have to insist you climb on that goddamn bike with me? Why — ”

“I said, stop,” Hutch said, putting his hand over Starsky’s mouth. “Nobody forced me to go. And it wasn’t your fault I wasn’t wearing a helmet. We were only going around the block. How could we know this would happen? Don’t do this to yourself, buddy, I won’t allow it.”

The nurse appeared then with a clipboard and some papers for Hutch to sign, and a handful of directions for him to take home. “You can go,” she said to him. “Need a wheelchair?”

Hutch glanced at Starsky. “No. I can make it.” He slid off the table and the room immediately started spinning. For a moment, he was afraid he would fall flat on his face if he took a single step. But Starsky wrapped his arm around him and got a good firm grip.

“I got ya, Blintz. Let’s go. Simmons’ll give us a ride to your place and then take me back to the station to get the car.”

“You can’t help, you’ll hurt your knee even more.”

“My knee’s fine, buddy,” Starsky said, lying through his teeth and determined to hide how much his knee actually hurt. “Come on, let’s go.”

Starsky managed to walk without limping long enough to get Hutch to Simmons, who smoothly took over on Hutch’s other side and actually took most of the weight in order to spare Starsky. At Venice Place, the narrow stairs gave Simmons an excellent excuse for insisting that he, and not Starsky, help Hutch while Starsky hung back and followed them up the stairs. Simmons was the one who got Hutch safely settled in bed and provided with a glass of orange juice and an ice bag for his aching head, then he and Starsky headed back to the station for the Torino and to report in to Dobey.

“You aren’t going to be able to hide that bum knee forever, Starsky,” Simmons said when they were on their way.

“I can sure as hell try,” Starsky said. “Hutch’s the one who’s important. I ain’t gonna have him worrying about me. He needs to concentrate on HIM.”

Simmons parked the car at the precinct, got out, and started toward the side entrance. By the time he got ten feet from the car, he realized he was alone. Turning back to look, he saw that Starsky was sitting in the passenger seat, with his legs out of the car and his head down between his knees. Simmons rushed back to the car and knelt on the ground in front of his friend.

“You all right, Starsky?” he asked, trying to get a good look at the other man’s face.

Starsky had a white-knuckle grip on the doorframe and he was breathing hard. Simmons could see that his knee was swollen and he was clearly not feeling well.

“Oh, I feel sick,” he answered.

“Just breathe easy. I’m going in and see if the doc is in today.” Simmons stood to go, but Starsky released his death grip on the doorframe and grabbed his friend by the wrist.

“No. ‘M okay. Just gimme a minute. Must be the adrenaline.”

“That knee needs looking after, Starsky.”

“I don’t have time. Gotta get back to Hutch.”

Simmons couldn’t help thinking that Starsky must be one of the most stubborn men he’d ever met. Even more stubborn than his own partner, and that was really saying something.

Starsky got his breathing back under control and his color was better. He put a hand up for Simmons to help him and he allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Taking one tentative step, he knew he’d never make it inside without help, so he agreed to lean on his friend as they slowly made their way to the building. They were stopped by Benny, who’d seen them walking across the lot.

“Starsky! You okay?” he asked as he jogged toward them.

“I’m fine, Benny.”

“What about Hutch? They said he got a knock on the head.”

“He did, but he’s okay. Sorry about your new toy.”

Benny shook his head. “That wasn’t your fault, Starsky. All the witnesses said it was a hit and run. Said the guy was weaving as he pulled away, too. Probably drunk — and it was barely noon. Lucky thing he just clipped the back of the bike.” He looked at Starsky’s obvious distress and asked, “Did you get looked at, too?”

“NO!” Starsky shouted, tired of being reminded of what he didn’t need to be told. He was hurt. He was also feeling terrible about what happened, guilty as sin, and scared for his partner. The surprised look on Benny’s face caused Starsky to explain. “Sorry, Benny. I just want to get in there, see Dobey, and get back to Hutch.”

“Don’t worry about it, Starsky. Hope Hutch feels better.” Benny smiled and patted Starsky on the shoulder, and then he turned and left the two men to their task of getting into the building, which looked about ten miles away to Starsky at that moment.

Simmons got the ailing detective back up to the squad room. He knocked on Dobey’s door and took Starsky inside, settling him into one of the chairs.

“How’s Hutch?” he asked right away.

“Hurt, but home. I need to get back there.”

Dobey ran a critical eye over Starsky and said, “You don’t look too good yourself. Did the….”

“I’m fine, Cap. I just wanted to check in and let you know I’ll be staying with Hutch for a few days until he’s better.”

While he was saying he was just fine, Simmons was behind him shaking his head in disagreement. Dobey spotted the gesture and kept a disciplined face. “All right, but I want you to go see the doc on the way out of here.”

“Why does everyone keep insisting that I see a doctor? Look, I’m sore and I want to go back to make sure my partner wakes up and doesn’t have a concussion. If the knee doesn’t get better after I’ve rested it, you know Hutch’ll make me go to the doc. I just want to concentrate on him, okay? Is that too much to ask?” His frustration was mounting. Starsky didn’t want any attention.

Dobey sighed and said, “Go ahead. Call me later and let me know how you’re both doing. Oh, and, Starsky, this was NOT your fault. Did you hear me?”

Starsky glared at him, but he said, “Yeah, Cap. I heard. Can I go?”

“Get outta here.”

Simmons helped him back up and out the door. Starsky did his best to flex out his knee while they went back down to the garage. He’d have to be able to bend it enough to drive. By the time they got there, he was loose enough to make it.

“Sure you’re okay by yourself?”

“Yeah. Thanks for everything. Thank Babcock for me, will ya?”

“I will. Finding out where he got to is next on my list. Call if you need any help, okay?”

Starsky smiled at him and nodded. His knee was so stiff he could barely clear the brake pedal, but he was able to do it. As he drove away, he wished he had time to go get a change of clothes at his house, but two things stopped him. He didn’t want to leave his partner alone that long and he couldn’t face the thought of going up and down his stairs, then up the ones at Venice Place. He’d borrow something from Hutch instead.

~*~*~*~

Cassandra had just left a meeting with an important designer. Having secured a commitment for a large number of high-priced handbags for the store, she felt satisfied by the win. Her boss had been trying to get that designer for several years without success. Cassandra knew she’d just earned some points.

The business of her legitimate job being resolved for the day, Cassandra turned her attention to her more lucrative side business — the one that couldn’t be considered legitimate by anyone’s standards.

Getting a job on the west coast had become an imperative when her sister died. Vanessa came through Bay City on her way to her death and she’d spent time with her ex-husband. In Cassandra’s mind, that couldn’t have been good.

Vanessa was trying to double cross a stolen diamond merchant named Wheeler when his men killed her. Unfortunately, Vanessa also had certain important information in her head. Information she may have wanted to give to Hutch to warn him away from the ultimate crime boss, the man over the men over Wheeler. He was involved in everything from drug trafficking to the rackets to stolen gems — all successfully hidden beneath a veil of legitimate businesses. Vanessa had gotten wind that a lowly runner was thinking of turning snitch and she’d told Cassandra she planned to warn off her ex. Cassandra was angry, but Vanessa had put her in her place. Cassandra remembered the phone conversation they’d had the afternoon Vanessa boarded a plane for Bay City.

“No, I don’t still love Ken, but I do have feelings for the man. My God, Cass, I was married to him. Just because I don’t love him anymore, that doesn’t mean I want him to get caught in this nightmare when it all comes down. You bet I’m going to warn him. Let some other cop get killed chasing the old man. It’s the least I can do for him. I’m going to look him up when I get there and tell him. One last thing to do before I head out of the country for good.”

Cassandra knew her sister had gotten in over her head, and that knowledge was proven when she turned up dead by Hutch’s gun. That Van was dead because of the big blond man was indisputable in her eyes. She blamed Hutch as much as if he’d pulled the trigger. If Van hadn’t been intent on warning him, she would have flown straight on to Europe and she might still be alive. Cassandra would hate Ken Hutchinson for the rest of her life.

Telling Hutch about the abortion had been a pure pleasure. Her promise to never tell ended with Van’s death as far as she was concerned. The pathetic, painful look on Hutch’s face had made enduring his presence — and the company of his bouncy partner — bearable. No matter how handsome he was, she thought Starsky was completely unsophisticated. He’d even had the nerve to flirt with her, as if a streetwise cop had a chance in hell of ever getting a date with Cassandra Davenport.

Making her ex brother-in-law vulnerable to her was an important part of the plan. She was determined to find out what Van had told him. Most importantly, even Cassandra didn’t know the identity of the person who was threatening to turn snitch. Vanessa never told her. Cassandra’s boss was hoping maybe she had told her ex-husband. Whoever it was still hadn’t surfaced in the year since Vanessa’s death. She pulled out her address book and dialed the number for Hutch’s precinct. Running into him at the bank had been an unbelievably fortuitous coincidence. She’d have to be more overt this time. Finding out what Vanessa told him that last night was her number one mission.

The phone call revealed that Detective Hutchinson was not in and that had her curious. He and Starsky had said they had the day shift that day. Although the woman she spoke with didn’t give her any details, Cassandra thought she detected an odd note in her tone.

~*~*~*~

Starsky had returned to Venice Place to find his partner sleeping. As much as he hated to wake him, he had to do it. Getting from the kitchen to Hutch’s bed carrying a glass of water and pain relievers in one hand while using the other to lean on every horizontal surface along the way was a challenge. Somehow, he managed to do it with a minimum of spillage. He sat down on Hutch’s bed and gently shook his shoulder.

“Hey. Wake up, buddy,” he said.

At first, Hutch didn’t even flutter an eyelash, so Starsky tried again. Still nothing.

“Come on, Hutch,” he said a bit more forcefully. “Wake up for me.”

Hutch stirred a little that time, and after a few tense moments for Starsky, he cracked open one eye.

Starsky released a pent-up breath in a long sigh. “Hey. You okay? I was getting a little scared there.”

“Huh?” Hutch muttered.

Still unable to completely release his worry, Starsky said, “Come on, Hutch, all the way awake. I need to check you to make sure you’re not addled.”

Hutch opened his eyes more and blinked hard a few times. Looking up at his partner’s worried face, Hutch was coherent enough now to realize he needed to break the tension.

“You a good judge of that, mushbrain?” he asked. Starsky’s smile told him it was a good call. “Hey.”

Starsky helped him to sit up so he could give him his water and offer the pills he was sure Hutch needed by then. As soon as he was sitting up, the color drained out of Hutch’s face and he shut his eyes with a groan. “Ohhhhh, spinning.”

He took a few deeper breaths and reached out a hand to grab onto Starsky’s arm for support. He hung on as Starsky put a hand against Hutch’s shoulder to steady him.

“Take it easy. It’s okay. I’m sure it’ll pass in a minute.”

Hutch didn’t say anything else for a little bit, but he finally risked opening his eyes again, one at a time. He relaxed the iron grip he had on Starsky’s arm and said, “Thanks. Better.”

When Hutch let go, Starsky offered him the pain pills.

“Can’t, Starsk. Doc said I can’t take anything till tomorrow.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was. I’ll take ‘em in the morning.”

“Hurt bad?” Starsky asked, distressed that Hutch couldn’t take anything to help.

“Remember that show you used to like about the spooky family?”

“The Munsters?”

“No, the other one.”

“The Addams Family?”

“That’s it. I think if I put my head in a wine press and squeezed like that bald guy used to do on the show, it’d be an improvement.”

Starsky laughed. “Uncle Fester. Didn’t know you watched it, Blondie.”

“Sometimes.” Hutch tucked his chin and blushed a little. He was embarrassed to admit he watched the show he’d teased Starsky about so much.

“Looks like you’re coherent.” Starsky patted Hutch on the hand.

“How’s the knee, Starsk?” Hutch was with it enough to know he hadn’t seen his friend walk into the room and he was curious.

“It’ll do. Don’t worry about that. You just worry about getting better and let me take care of you for once.” Starsky knew how much Hutch hated to be fussed over or to be the center of attention. He was not about to tell Hutch his knee was now both burning and throbbing. He had been careful to sit on the side of the bed with his right knee farthest from his best friend. Starsky didn’t hold much hope that it would fool Hutch for long, but he thought it was worth a try.

“Let me see?”

“NO! Relax. I’m fine. Why don’t you go back to sleep?”

Hutch was about to protest when the phone rang. Saved by the bell. Starsky took advantage of the reprieve and answered it. “Hello?”

A female voice said, “Ken?”

“No, he’s not available. This is Starsky. Can I help you?” Hutch was giving him a “who is it” look.

“This is Cassandra, Dave. I tried to call him at work, but they said he was off. I know you two were working today. Is everything all right?”

“Oh, hi, Cassandra.” Starsky looked at Hutch and both of their eyebrows went up, curious as to the purpose of her call. “Actually, we had a little accident today and Hutch is kind of laid up.”

“Is he all right?” she asked with just the right note of concern. Starsky thought she sounded sincere, yet the hair on the back of his neck was standing up and he wasn’t sure why.

“He will be.”

Cassandra thought fast. She had to get back together with Hutch, as many times as it took to get the answers she needed. “I’d like to see him.”

Starsky said, “No, he’s not really up to visitors. I’m sure you understand.” Hutch was shaking his head and wincing at the movement. He didn’t want to see her.

“Nonsense. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.” She hung up without allowing Starsky to finish his protest.

“Sorry, Hutch. I couldn’t stop her. How you feeling? Want something to eat?”

Hutch made a face and said, “Only if you WANT me to puke on you.”

That got a small laugh out of Starsky. His face sobered immediately as his thoughts went back to the something about Cassandra that was still bothering him. He silently chastised himself for thinking with his hormones the previous evening. She was definitely a blip on his hazard radar after that phone call. Thinking about it was starting to make him angry. Cassandra had done enough emotional damage the previous evening. He’d have to warn her when she arrived not to do or say anything to upset his partner.

“I can’t put my finger on it, but something about Cassandra is bugging me,” Starsky said.

“I know what you mean. What do you suppose she wants?”

“I don’t know, but it might not be good. Not that she’s given me any reason to think this way. Just a hunch.”

Hutch winced again as he tried to adjust his position. Starsky responded subconsciously with a guilty look on his face that did not escape his partner. Hutch frowned at him and said, “What are you thinking?”

“Huh? Oh, nothin’. Just wondering about Cassandra.”

“Liar. You’re feeling guilty still.”

“No, I just….” Starsky stopped in the middle of trying to gloss over his feelings. “Okay, maybe I am. I just can’t stand seeing you hurt, ‘specially when it’s my fault.”

“Starsk, I’m going to keep telling you as many times as it takes. This was not your fault. I told you to stop it at the hospital and I meant it.”

Starsky smiled at him. “Okay. I’ll try harder.” The one good thing that had come out of this accident was that it seemed to have taken Hutch’s mind off of the bomb Cassandra had dropped on him at Chez Helene’s. Starsky was sure that wouldn’t last longer than it took for Hutch’s head to stop hurting, but it was something.

Hutch still wondered how bad Starsky’s knee was. He drained the glass of water Starsky had given him, handed it back and said, “Could you get me a glass of juice, please?”

“Sure thing,” Starsky said without a second thought as he stood up and stiffly started to move out to the kitchen. He knew he’d been had before he got a few steps away. The knee hurt too much to completely hide it.

“You’re limping,” Hutch said, a slight teasing tone in his voice.

“No, I’m not. Must be the head injury,” Starsky replied without stopping. Then, he added, “That was a dirty trick.”

“Thank you,” came the self-satisfied reply. “Get some frozen peas out of the freezer, some aspirin for you, and elevate that.”

“Peas? You hungry for peas?”

“Not for me to eat, dummy, for your knee. I’ve got the ice bag on my head. ‘S melted, too. Mind refilling it?”

“I don’t suppose you could have told me that before I walked the mile and a half to the kitchen,” Starsky said.

“Sorry, buddy.”

Starsky refilled the ice bag for Hutch and got the peas for himself, then settled down on the bed to rest his knee. No point in pretending he wasn’t injured now, though he was still determined to hide from Hutch how badly it hurt. As if he could.

“Why wouldn’t you let somebody look at that?” Hutch asked when Starsky unconsciously let out a sigh of relief as he got his leg propped up.

“I didn’t have time to waste lettin’ a sawbones do a lot of unnecessary clucking while you were laying around bleeding.”

“You’d have probably been done by the time I was,” Hutch pointed out.

“Maybe. And maybe not. Damn doctors always want to admit you and keep you prisoner. Nope. I’ll be okay. How’s your head?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Who’s changing the subject?” Starsky gave Hutch his best innocent look.

“You are. Are you punishing yourself by refusing to have that seen to?”

“Oh, for chrissake, Hutch.” Starsky rolled his eyes and adjusted the peas, which were trying to slide off. “Wouldja quit analyzing everything in sight? I swear, you missed your callin’. You shoulda become a shrink.”

It was over. Vanessa had packed up and moved out, temporarily living with a work friend while she made arrangements to go home to Duluth. Hutch wanted to be left alone in the apartment they had shared. He wanted to be alone so that he could think. Starsky kept him from thinking. Starsky wanted to go bowling or play miniature golf or board games or watch monster movies or hang out at Huggy’s and play pool. Hutch knew why. Starsky wanted to keep him busy until enough time had passed to dim the pain. But Hutch wanted to feel the pain. He wanted to understand what had happened. He also knew Starsky was worried about him eating his gun — a concern not totally without justification. Especially those first two weeks. Starsky was so worried, he’d spent every night with Hutch since Van left. Only after two months had passed was Hutch able to get his concerned friend to go home and let him have his solitude.

One of those nights, his phone had rung. He almost didn’t answer, assuming it was Starsky checking up on him. Starsky had already called once, though, so it wasn’t likely to be him again, but it might.

And it might be Vanessa. He hadn’t spoken to her in two weeks. When he called, she was always “out.” Finally, she’d sent him a message through her lawyer: “Stop calling me. It’s over and nothing’s going to change that. Let it go.” And her lawyer had added a message of his own. “Keep calling her, try to contact her again, and we’ll take out a restraining order. She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

He answered the phone. And it was his father.

“Ken? Are you all right?”

“Sure, Dad, fine.”

“I ran into Tom Davenport today.”

Vanessa’s father. Oh, shit. Hutch didn’t know what to say.

“I know, son. I know Vanessa left you. Why didn’t you call us?”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Hutch said, too dispirited for anything but the truth.

There was a silence that went on so long Hutch wondered if his father had hung up. Finally, a soft, pain-filled sigh. “Ken, you’re my son. I want to know how you are, I want to help you if I can. It’s no bother.”

Hutch didn’t know what to say to that. He’d never felt comfortable opening up to his dad. His mom was easier, but even she seemed to recoil a little from conversations that were too personal, too emotional. Gradually, over the years, Hutch had learned to keep it light. Discuss how the Vikings were doing or his dad’s golf game. Let his mom talk about her volunteer work and nod in the appropriate places. But don’t tell them how scared he was during his first shootout or how much he worried about the deterioration of his marriage. Everything’s fine. And if it’s not, pretend it is.

“Ken?”

“I’m here, Dad.”

“How are you? Really?” It was his dad’s no-nonsense tone. The one he used when a teen-age Ken Hutchinson was cut from the football team but kept staying after school for practice because he didn’t want to admit his failure. The one he used when he was going to have the truth from his son or know the reason why.

Hutch wet his lips. He was a grown man. It was ridiculous to let himself be intimidated by his father. “I’m okay.”

“Ken…” The tone softened. “I’m your dad.”

“It hurts, okay? It hurts like hell!” Hutch burst out. “I’ve been sitting here alone at night wondering to myself what I did that was so goddamned wrong!” He heard himself and abruptly stopped. Grown man or not, he could imagine what his father would say next. Beginning with a lecture for his use of profanity.

“Oh, Kenny,” and his father’s voice was gentle and sad. “I’m so sorry.” Another brief silence. “What can I do for you, son? Do you want us to come out? Or would you rather come here?”

“No, I can’t get the time off work to come home,” Hutch said. “And you don’t need to –“

“If you need us, we’re only half a day from being there,” Richard Hutchinson said. “I don’t want you to be alone –“

Suddenly, Hutch realized what he was hearing. His father’s voice held the same note Starsky’s had that morning, when he’d tried, again, to get Hutch to let him come over or to go out for supper or do anything except sit home by himself. His dad had even used the same words: “I don’t want you to be alone.”

It was a few moments before Hutch dared speak. His eyes overflowed and for the first time in days, he let himself break down. Richard waited patiently, and finally, Hutch said, “Thanks, Dad. That means a lot to me. But I’ll be okay. Really, I will.”

“If you need us, or if you just want to talk, call. I mean it. Kenny,” his father paused, for several seconds, and Hutch wiped his eyes on his shirtsleeve. “We love you.”

Hutch smiled through fresh tears. “I love you, too. Tell Mom, huh?”

“I will. ‘Night, son.”

“Good night, Dad.”

~*~*~*~

Cassandra knocked on the door right on cue, just two hours after her phone call. Starsky heaved a huge sigh. “Wanna pretend we’re not here?”

Hutch grinned. “Yeah. But we’d better not. I’d like to know what’s going on, wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose,” Starsky said, rolling his eyes and struggling to his feet. The frozen peas had helped, but now his knee was stiff from his sitting so long. It took several steps to loosen it up enough so he could put any weight on it without extreme pain.

“Starsky — ”

“Don’t start, Blintz,” Starsky said over his shoulder, continuing toward the door.

This time, Hutch rolled his eyes. Then he shut up. He could hear Starsky open the door and greet Cassandra with a singular lack of enthusiasm. Then she appeared in the opening between living room and sleeping alcove. “Ken? What happened?”

“We were test driving a new police motorcycle and some bozo pulled out of an alley and pasted us,” Starsky said behind her.

She gasped and covered her mouth with one hand, hurrying over to the bed to touch Hutch as if to assure herself he was really there. “My God, Kenny! Are you okay? How badly are you hurt?”

Hutch glanced at Starsky, who was rolling his eyes again. Gonna give yourself a headache, Gordo, if you keep doing that, he thought with an inward grin, but to Cassandra, he said, “Bumped head. A few stitches. That’s it. I’m really okay. It’s Starsk I’m worried about. He wrenched his knee and won’t let anybody look at it.”

She turned to look at Starsky. “Dave, you really ought to — ”

Starsky turned away and limped to the kitchen.

Cassandra sat down on the bed. “Sensitive topic?”

“Yeah. I’ll look after him. I’m pretty good at first aid.”

“I remember,” she said with a smile. “Are you sure you’re okay? Shouldn’t you be in the hospital?”

“No, I’m fine, really. I appreciate your concern.” That remark almost gagged him, but he wanted to keep on her good side long enough to find out what she was really up to.

She patted his hand.

“Hey, Blintz!” Starsky’s voice called from the kitchen. “Want something to drink in there?”

“Orange juice,” Hutch called back. “Cassie?”

“Juice is fine,” she said.

“Make it two!”

“Gotcha,” Starsky answered. He returned in a few moments with a glass of juice in each hand and a bottle of Dr. Pepper, unopened, under his arm. He settled down next to Hutch, making it plain he wasn’t going anywhere.

Cassandra glanced at him with a slightly annoyed look in her eyes, but turned back to Hutch. “Are you up to a few questions, Ken?”

“About what?”

“Vanessa.”

Hutch opened his mouth, but Cassandra forestalled him.

“Please, Ken. I know you didn’t tell me everything the other night, and I have to know. I know you’re trying to spare me, but — ” she paused and her eyes misted over, ” — it would help me more to know than to keep wondering.”

In the span of the next few moments, both men wondered what she could want to know that would ease her mind. Vanessa was murdered. Shot point blank in the chest by Hutch’s Magnum. That was the painful fact. Cassandra, and the rest of Vanessa’s family, knew that. Starsky seethed a little at the memory of how Simonetti from Internal Affairs had called Vanessa’s parents to tell them that the department was getting ready to arrest its prime suspect in the crime — their former son-in-law, Ken Hutchinson. Simonetti had taken obvious pleasure at having done so. Later, when Hutch was exonerated, Captain Dobey had demanded that Simonetti call and recant his version of events.

Hutch knew Tom and Leah Davenport still blamed him and he couldn’t help wondering why Cassandra didn’t seem to feel the same way. When Cassandra asked him if he was “up to answering a few questions,” the query had an eerie similarity to the things he said to traumatized witnesses. That was it, she was planning to interrogate him.

Starsky said something first. “Cassandra, Hutch is really not feeling too good. He’s putting on his best stoic Nordic face for your sake, but he needs to rest. I think he had enough talk about Vanessa last night.” Back off lady, you’re pushing it.

Cassandra bristled at that remark. David Starsky was going to be a problem in getting the information she wanted. Hutch sat, silently allowing his partner to take control of the situation. She could see the pain in his eyes, and the long blinks told her how tired he was. Obviously, when he was hurt, Starsky was the gatekeeper. Perhaps she’d better play him a bit to get what she wanted.

“Dave, I don’t want to upset anyone. I just believe I have a right to know exactly what happened to my sister.” She turned on her best, “I’m not up to anything” charm, and smiled at the gatekeeper. “Please, I won’t tax him.”

Hutch looked over at him with a silent, “Just let her ask or she’ll never drop it.” A slight nod from Starsky signaled his willingness to allow the interview to continue.

The look on Starsky’s face would convey to any but the most dimwitted observer that he was not going to let her go too far. Even without the benefit of Hutch’s ability to read Starsky’s mind, Cassandra knew exactly what the ground rules were.

“All right,” Starsky said, “but let’s keep it short. I’m supposed to wake him up every couple of hours to check him. That implies he should be sleeping.” All Starsky wanted was for her to go away. Even though it was only seven o’clock in the evening, he thought Hutch should be out for the night.

Cassandra tried lamely to joke with Hutch. “Is he always such a Rottweiler?” She knew immediately that remark was a mistake. Neither man was laughing.

Hutch replied, “No, but he is when I’m hurt. More like a Doberman.”

Starsky added, “That’s right. I’m too sleek to be a Rottweiler.”

“Sleek, huh?” Hutch asked. “You’re looking mighty sleek with your knee twice its normal size and wearing a bag of frozen vegetables.”

“Boys,” Cassandra butted in — wondering if she’d ever have control of the conversation. “The sooner you let me get my questions out, the sooner Ken gets that nap.”

“Starsky’s right, Cassie, but you go ahead. I can stay awake a little longer.” Hutch didn’t have to try to look pathetic, he already did.

“It’s kind of dark in here. Do you mind if I turn on some lights?”

“Yes, actually,” Starsky replied. “When you’ve got the French Foreign Legion on maneuvers inside your head, the last thing you need is a bunch of lights on.”

That wouldn’t do at all. Cassandra needed to watch Hutch’s face as if it were a lie detector. That face was somewhat concealed in the dimness of the room, lit only from the lamp Starsky had turned on in the living room and the filtered light from the kitchen.

“Oh, right,” she said meekly. She’d just have to watch closely. She decided to proceed. “Well, Ken, Mom and Dad said you weren’t here when it happened.”

Hutch found her sudden shift jarring. He wondered where this would lead. “That’s right.”

“Where were you?”

“Jogging.”

Starsky was already proud of him. If she wanted to know something, she was going to have to pick it out of him.

“Were you gone a long time?”

“Not really. I think about ten minutes.”

Starsky butted in, “Sometimes a few minutes is all it takes, Cassandra.”

The woman nodded, staring at Hutch. He tried to shift position a little and winced. Not only did his head hurt, he knew his body wasn’t going to feel good in the morning. Hutch closed his eyes for a second and tried to chase the ache away. Then, he silently handed the ice bag to Starsky as he opened his eyes and begged with them for the only thing he could do to ease his pain.

Starsky nodded and said, “I’ll be right back, buddy.”

Cassandra took advantage of Starsky’s absence. As soon as the limping man was out of earshot, she lowered her voice and said, “Did Van tell you anything before she died?”

“Tell me anything? We spent the evening together. Yeah, I guess, we did talk. Why?”

From the kitchen, he could hear the sound of the ice cubes being popped out of their tray. He was already wishing Starsky were back in the room with him, as a sudden, inexplicable uneasiness crept around him.

“I was just wondering, how much she told you about what she…how she…where….” she answered, not faking the nervousness she felt at trying to figure out the best way to get the information she wanted.

Hutch said, “If you’re asking if I know how she was earning a living — where she was going and what she planned to do there, yes, I know. Did you know?” Now the sound of water running drifted in from the kitchen as Starsky refilled the ice cube tray.

“She told you about it?” Now she was getting somewhere. If only Starsky would stay away for just a few minutes. She quickly downed the rest of her juice and called out, “Dave? Could you please be a dear and make me some tea?”

“Sure,” came the reply. Cassandra smiled a tiny smile, masked by the dim lighting. That should keep him out of her hair a little longer. Hutch knew she was stalling.

“He really shouldn’t be up on that knee,” Hutch said.

“Oh, it’ll only take him a few minutes. I didn’t know what she was doing, Ken. I found out later. Did she tell you before she…was murdered?”

Murdered. What an ugly way to say it. Why not say she died? “No. We found out later.”

“Oh.” This was disappointing. Hutch was too skilled at undercover for her to tell if he was being truthful.

They sat and discussed the events of that morning while Starsky made the tea. Getting back to Hutch with the ice and carrying a cup of hot tea in his other hand was a challenge for a man who only had one functional knee.

Cassandra shifted gears again. She began to tear up and added a little quiver to her voice. She stopped asking about Vanessa’s conversation with Hutch and switched to making Starsky show her where the body was found. She drank her tea and asked questions about the gunshot. She wanted to know why no one heard it and Starsky had to explain that the killers had used a pillow as a makeshift silencer. When she asked Hutch how he could bear to live in the place where her sister was killed, he shut his eyes tight. Starsky decided the interview was at an end.

“I think that’s enough for now, Cassandra. Hutch is hurting.”

Knowing that was the best she could do that night, Cassandra nodded her agreement. She finished the tea and handed the empty cup to Starsky.

“Thanks, Ken. I’m sure there are a few other things I would like to ask, but I’ll get back to you on that.”

Starsky thought she sounded like she was trying to broker a deal. Maybe Hutch should write her a memo. In triplicate.

“Feel better, Ken. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Cassie,” Hutch replied wearily. Great.

Starsky followed her back toward the front door. She paused when she passed Hutch’s gun, hanging in its holster on the edge of a folding screen in his sleeping alcove. She reached a tentative hand up toward the Python and said as she brushed the holster with her fingertips, “Is this the gun that killed my sister?”

“Yes,” came the quiet reply from the bed behind her.

Cassandra didn’t turn around, but she said, “It’s big.”

Starsky moved her along, not wanting the woman to dwell on such a morbid thing, especially in front of the gun’s owner. He escorted her out and shut the door quietly behind her. When he returned to his partner, he caught him staring at his hands. Hutch’s hands were large and powerful, with the long, graceful fingers of an accomplished musician. Starsky knew what his friend was thinking.

“Don’t, buddy. ‘S not your fault.”

Hutch didn’t lift his gaze from his hands, fingers flexing as Starsky watched. “I’ve killed people with these hands, Starsk. She thinks I killed Van. My God, Starsk. She still believes I killed her sister. I could never….”

Starsky sat facing Hutch, taking both of the other man’s hands in his own. He gave the hands a gentle squeeze, breaking Hutch’s concentration. Even in the semi-darkness, when Hutch lifted his eyes to meet Starsky’s, the hurt in them was plain.

“I know you didn’t. We know who killed her.”

“But I never hurt Van. I, I…How could she think that?”

“Hutch, you have to let this go. Lie down and go to sleep for a while.”

All he got in answer was a nod. Starsky helped him lie down again and sat with him for a while. His injuries and the extended time he’d been awake quickly overcame him. When Hutch was asleep, Starsky moved out to the living room and turned on the television with the volume barely audible. He found something acceptable to watch and then set the alarm clock he’d brought from Hutch’s bedroom. Although Hutch seemed fine, Starsky wasn’t comfortable letting him sleep through the night without waking him to make sure he was still okay. He settled down with his knee elevated and fell asleep within thirty minutes.

The first time Starsky woke Hutch, he still seemed fine. Hutch reassured him he didn’t need to worry, but when Starsky helped him up to go to the bathroom, Hutch was still complaining that the room was spinning. Starsky set the alarm again when he returned to the living room.

This waking/checking/sleeping cycle happened twice more before Hutch decided that Mr. Worrywart was not looking good himself. He watched Starsky limp back into the living room and stayed awake until he heard the sound of light snoring coming from the couch. Then, Hutch crept into the living room and confiscated the alarm clock. That should ensure his partner would get some much-needed sleep.

When sunrise began to lighten the apartment, Hutch awoke. He checked on Starsky, finding him still sleeping. That gave him a chance to peek at his friend’s injured knee without being detected. Starsky had kicked off his blanket and his knee was in plain view.

Hutch had been correct in his off handed assessment the previous evening. Starsky’s knee was swollen to twice its normal size. The color was somewhere between plum and grape in places. Not a good sign. He sighed, knowing what a fight he was going to have on his hands when he brought up the idea of getting it examined. He’d just have to be persuasive. Hutch thought it was doubtful Starsky would be able to bear weight on it at all. He picked the blanket up off the floor, instantly regretting bending his head down that far. After standing still with his eyes closed for a few moments, Hutch got his nausea under control. He covered Starsky and moved out to the greenhouse. That’s where Starsky found him when he woke up an hour later.

“Hey, you swiped the alarm clock.”

Hutch looked up as his partner opened the squeaky screen door to the greenhouse. He said, “You needed the sleep and your knee did, too.”

“You okay?” Starsky asked, ignoring the remark.

Hutch shrugged. He watched Starsky move carefully toward him, unsuccessfully trying to make it look like everything was normal. “We’re taking you to the doctor today, Gordo.”

Starsky started to protest, but he closed his mouth without uttering a sound. Somehow, each of them knew when the other was resolute — when arguing or pleading would change nothing. Starsky accepted his fate but made himself a promise that he would not let Hutch slide into a mode where he was taking care of Starsky. Not this time.

“I’ll make you some coffee if you’ll tell me what you’re thinking about that has you looking like someone walked on my grave.” Starsky smiled but could see that Hutch wasn’t appreciating the humor in that remark. “Sorry, buddy. I’ll just slink out of here and make your coffee.” Starsky limped to the kitchen, feeling terrible that his attempt at lightening the mood had failed so miserably.

When he returned with the coffee, he was startled to find that Hutch had taken the cushions off of the chairs and was lying on the floor.

Unable to disguise his alarm, Starsky said, “Hey! What’re you doing down there, buddy?”

“Felt kinda woozy. I don’t want to go back to bed. I want to be out here with the plants.”

Starsky set down the coffee cups and joined Hutch on the floor. Hutch handed him one of the cushions and they both lay there, staring out through the skylights at the blue sky of what was sure to be a beautiful day.

Although he knew Hutch had things on his mind, Starsky waited for him to start talking. Sometimes, silence was the best tool to get Hutch to let him in on what was going on inside his head. Starsky smiled to himself, knowing he’d learned that trick from his best friend through years of interviewing witnesses and suspects together.

“Do you ever think about what your life would be like if you’d done something differently?”

Oh, boy. This is bad. Starsky was worried about his friend. The melancholy tone of voice told him that Hutch had slid into a dark place in his heart. That wouldn’t help his natural tendency toward brooding and introspection.

Starsky reached out and touched his best friend’s hand. “You know I do. What’s going on, Blintz?”

“I was just thinking. What if I hadn’t gone running that morning? You think they would have killed me, too? Maybe…but maybe I could have saved her.”

“Vanessa was on that road, Hutch. You didn’t put her there.”

“I know. But what if I hadn’t gone? What if I’d walked in on them?”

“What if you’d never met Vanessa?” Starsky was trying to change the subject away from the guilt minefield of how Hutch’s ex-wife had died.

Hutch sighed. Starsky looked over at him and notice a tear that was just starting to slide down Hutch’s temple and his heart ached for his friend. Hutch quietly said, “A man should be able to protect his wife, Starsky. I was never any good for Vanessa.”

Starsky hated it when Hutch kicked himself like this. What he said came out a bit forcefully, but he wasn’t sorry he’d said it. “A wife shouldn’t abort a child without talking to her husband about it. Without even TELLING him about it.”

“I’m sorry, Starsk. I just can’t seem to get it out of my head. It just hurts so much.”

“I know. Come on, Blondie. This is enough soul-searching for one morning. You go take a shower and I’ll make you some breakfast.” Starsky stood, painfully. He helped Hutch to his feet and then turned toward the kitchen. The next step he took on his right foot landed him on his rear.

“Starsk!”

Starsky was breathing hard and sweat had beaded up on his upper lip. His sudden silence and white face told Hutch all he needed to know about the amount of pain that knee was causing. So much pain it had buckled right out from under him.

When Starsky had the pain under control again, Hutch took his turn at helping Starsky to his feet. He led him into the living room and planted him on the couch. After bringing him some ice, his address book, and the phone, he said, “Call the doc, and make an appointment. We’re going in as soon as they can see you. I’m going to grab a quick shower. Stay put!”

Hutch disappeared into the bathroom. Starsky did as he was told, looking up their doctor’s number in Hutch’s book. By the time Hutch was showered and dressed, Starsky had secured an appointment. He’d clean up and they’d have to go.

~*~*~*~

The doctor looked at Starsky’s knee films again. The procedure had been unpleasant, but since the doctor drained some of the fluid off of Starsky’s knee, the pressure was reduced and he was feeling less pain. The doctor shook his head and turned back toward the detective.

“Looks like you’re getting a cane to take with you today, David. I’m hoping you haven’t completely torn your Anterior Cruciate Ligament, but you may have. We’ll have to keep an eye on it and if it doesn’t improve, you get to have a nice surgery.”

“WHAT? Surgery?”

“I said, IF. I’m writing you a prescription for a painkiller and something to help reduce that swelling. NO extra exertion and use the cane everywhere you go. If it gets worse, you’ll have to switch to crutches. If you’re a good boy, this might heal and you won’t need the surgery. If the ligament is completely torn, though, you’ll have no choice.”

His instructions included lots of rest, elevation, and alternating ice and heat applications. Hutch walked into the exam room just as they were finishing, with Starsky’s cane in his hand and a sheepish look on his face. He knew how much Starsky would hate this.

“I sent Ken downstairs to the sick room supply store to get you that cane. I’m not kidding, don’t overdo it.”

“He won’t, Doc,” Hutch said. He’d already had his lecture from the doctor about riding a motorcycle without a helmet. That two-inch bald spot on his head with the bandage on top of it was a little hard to hide.

“Both of you go home and rest. Dave, I want to see you in a week. If it isn’t any better by then, I’ll give you the name of a good orthopedic surgeon. Ken, come back in eight or nine days so I can take out those stitches. Oh, and, see if you can’t keep each other out of trouble for a while.”

Both men laughed and thanked the doctor as he breezed out of the room.

“Give me those prescriptions, buddy. We’ll go downstairs and get them filled before we go to your house.”

“Nuh-uh, Blondie. We’re going back to your place. You need rest and you’ll get that better in your own place.”

“What about you?”

“Hutch, I told you, I can handle it. For once, just let me take care of you! The only reason I’m here is because my knee got, well, stuck.”

Starsky didn’t like the look of disappointment on Hutch’s face when he said, “Okay, Starsk. You can handle it,” as he handed back the prescription blanks.

Suddenly, Starsky realized that maybe he was going about this all wrong. Hutch had seemed a little perkier when he thought Starsky needed his help. Maybe he should relent and allow a little care-taking from his partner. He thought he could do that, as long as something was clear.

“I’m sorry, Hutch. You’re right. You take the prescriptions and get them filled. I appreciate it and I’m willing to let you take care of things a little. I mean a little, though, buddy. I already told you, I’m taking care of you this time. Is that understood?”

Hutch smiled as he took back the prescriptions. “Yeah, I get it. You’re in charge. Just make sure you use that cane while you’re in charge. Okay?”

“That’s a deal.”

~*~*~*~

Cassandra paced through her well-appointed apartment without seeing any of the expensive decorator’s touches her side business helped her pay for. She was too angry to take any pleasure in the things she usually loved to gloat over. Somehow, she had to find a way to be alone with Ken without Starsky being around. As long as Starsky was anywhere nearby, he was going to thwart her ability to find out if Vanessa had had time to give Ken her message.

But getting rid of Starsky seemed to be an insurmountable challenge. He stuck to Ken like a burr and hovered to the point it disgusted Cassandra. Did he think Ken was a helpless baby who needed an adult around? Van had always said they were unnaturally close, and Cassandra had thought her sister was just jealous. But now she knew Van had been right. There was something there that shut others out.

Her telephone rang. Impatiently, she snatched it up. “Hello.”

“Cassandra,” said an oily voice she knew too well.

“Anthony,” she said, her heart speeding up. “How — how are you?”

“I called to ask you that question,” he said. “What have you found out?”

“Not much,” she said reluctantly. “I need a little more time. He doesn’t quite trust me.”

“Now, that’s too bad,” Anthony said. “We don’t have much more time. Which means you don’t have much more time. I expect a better report next time I call.” He hung up without giving her a chance to answer.

She set the receiver down, trembling. It was now or never.

Cassandra had a few street connections of her own, thanks to her side business and the people she dealt with in it. She located one of them, a high-priced call girl, and told her what she needed.

“Won’t be easy,” Jolie said thoughtfully. “Everybody on the streets knows those two.”

“It’s imperative,” Cassandra said sharply. “I don’t care what it costs or how ugly it is, as long as it doesn’t come back to haunt me. I have to talk to Ken alone.”

Jolie shook her head. “Okay, okay. Give me a couple of hours to set it up, all right? I’ll call you. Give me a number.”

Cassandra scribbled her number on a scrap of paper and went home to wait.

~*~*~*~*

Starsky had just triumphantly checkmated his partner when Hutch’s phone rang. Nearer to it than Hutch, Starsky answered.

“Starsky? It’s Mickey.”

“Haven’t heard from you in a while,” Starsky said, mouthing the snitch’s name to Hutch. “What’s up?”

“I can’t tell you on the phone,” Mickey said, his voice shaking. “You gotta come see me.”

“Mickey, I –”

“Starsky, it’s important. I wouldn’t call you if it wasn’t important. But don’t bring Hutch.”

“Why not?” Starsky demanded, immediately suspicious.

“For his own safety,” Mickey said in a desperate whisper. “I can’t say anymore.”

Starsky frowned, and finally said, “Okay, Mickey. Where?”

“The usual place. And hurry.” He hung up.

Starsky replaced the receiver, still frowning. He repeated to Hutch what Mickey had said, adding, “I don’t think I like this.”

“I don’t, either. Don’t go.”

Starsky shook his head. “I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you.” He lifted the phone again and called the precinct to request a car to come and keep an eye on Hutch’s place for a while. Hutch, as soon as he realized what Starsky was doing, protested and tried to stop him, but it didn’t do any good. When Starsky finished the call, he said, “Look, Blintz. You ain’t really in a condition to defend yourself and I’m not leaving you here alone while I go see what Mickey wants. His information’s usually reliable. Okay?”

Hutch gave a long, theatrical sigh. “Okay.”

Ten minutes later, a prowl car pulled up in the street below, and Starsky picked up his jacket. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said.

He stopped to talk to the officers in the car, giving them a quick explanation of what was going on, then got into the Torino and headed for Mickey’s favorite bar a few blocks from Huggy’s. It was difficult to find a place to park but he finally left the Torino on the street a block away and started walking toward the bar. He had almost reached it when he sensed danger behind him. Before he could turn, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, and everything went black.

~*~*~*~*

When Starsky came to, it was almost dark. For a few moments, he didn’t remember what had happened. He heard crickets, which confused him, and when he sat up, he realized he was outside the city somewhere, lying in a damp, grassy ditch.

He looked around. Nothing looked familiar. The road beside the ditch was paved, but barely. He could see no houses or lights nearby. He struggled to his feet — difficult enough normally, but with his injured knee, almost impossible — and looked around. The best he could guess, he was up in the hills somewhere. Far away, he could see the lights of the city, so he knew which direction to go. But he still didn’t know how he’d gotten here.

His head hurt. He automatically reached back to touch the aching spot and discovered a large lump, sticky with dried blood. He also realized he was a little sick at his stomach and woozy. Drugged? A knock on the head wasn’t enough to keep him out this long…the last thing he remembered was going to meet Mickey —

“Hutch!” he whispered, suddenly terrified. Mickey had lured him away from Hutch. But Hutch was being guarded by two other cops. Or was he?

Starsky scrambled up to the road, cursing under his breath at the pain in his knee that slowed him down, and started limping back to the city. His cane was gone. It was going to be a long journey.

~*~*~*~*

Starsky had only been gone about half an hour when there was a knock on Hutch’s door. He went to it and called, “Who is it?”

“Thompson,” said the voice on the other side. One of the two officers parked in the street to “watch” him. “There’s a lady here to see you, Sarge. Says her name’s Cassandra?”

Hutch sighed. He did not want to see Cassandra. But he couldn’t think of a good reason to refuse, so he said, “Let her come up, Thompson. It’s okay.”

Cassandra appeared a few moments later, looking troubled. “What’s with the cops downstairs, Ken?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

“Starsk’s overprotective instincts,” Hutch answered, trying to play it light. “He had to leave for a while, and he doesn’t think I should be left alone yet.”

She smiled. “How are you doing? You look better.”

“I’ll be fine in a day or two,” he said. “Want something to drink?”

She shook her head. “No, thanks. I just want to talk.”

Hutch sat down at one end of the couch and she sat down on the other, turning and tucking one leg up underneath her. She smiled sweetly at him. Cassandra had decided that the first thing she needed to do was to establish her surprise at not finding Hutch’s bodyguard in the apartment. Looking like she was expecting that just wouldn’t do.

“So, where is your partner? I expected he’d be here,” she said with as much sincerity as she could put into her voice.

“He had an errand. I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” Hutch replied, wary of why she asked that almost immediately after she arrived, and after he’d just told her Starsky had to leave for a while. Why should she care where he is?

Cassandra knew there was no way Starsky would be back anytime soon. Jolie had called to let her know Starsky was out cold and even when he came to it would take him hours to get back to town. Safe in that knowledge, she continued, “Oh, too bad. How are you feeling?”

Something in Hutch’s gut was telling him not to trust his former sister-in-law, but he didn’t know what. “Cass, you didn’t come all the way over here to ask me how I’m feeling. What’s going on?” he asked. Her sudden reappearance in his life and her solicitous attitude about his welfare seemed neither coincidental, nor innocent. He was sure she had an ulterior motive.

“Always the detective,” Cassandra said. She laughed softly and tilted her head to one side. That gesture usually warmed the hearts of men and disarmed any uneasiness they had. She could see from the look on Hutch’s face that it wasn’t working on him.

“All right, Ken. I was just wondering some things about your last conversation with Vanessa….”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve brought up that night,” Hutch interrupted, “why are you so curious about it?”

“Ken, I told you I had some other questions for you the last time we spoke. Vanessa was my sister, I have a right to know what her last night was like, don’t I?”

Hutch didn’t understand it, but he also couldn’t deny her logic. “I suppose. All right, what do you want to know?”

“Vanessa was involved in the precious gem trade, you know that,” she started.

“Yes, what about it?”

Cassandra had thought about what type of lie to tell to get Hutch to reveal what he knew. She hoped it would work. “Well, she had some things of mine with her when she left for here. She was going to take them with her and sell them in Europe. I was wondering if anything was found.”

Hutch frowned at her, unsure she was telling the truth. “You mean gems? No, we only found the big diamond that was part of a previous case. Were you involved in all of this, somehow? I thought you hadn’t seen her for a few months.”

“I hadn’t really, but we had started talking on the phone again. I sent her the pieces in New York. I wasn’t involved, but I have to admit I knew who she was working for then. These pieces of mine…she was going to use them to get me an in with some important people. In fact, she told me she was hoping to convince you to join her as her partner.” Cassandra made that up, and she didn’t know how lucky she had gotten until she saw the color drain from Hutch’s face.

“Ken, are you okay?”

Hutch sat breathing heavily, stunned that Vanessa had planned that. He thought it was a spontaneous reaction to spending time with him. “Yeah, fine. It’s just, well…she did make me an offer to join her. I thought that was sort of spontaneous, guess not.”

Cassandra was elated. She decided to press her good fortune. “Did she mention those contacts? She said she knew about something big that was going down and that she might talk to you about it. Van even mentioned a local source and I was just wondering….”

“Cass! Do I have to remind you that I’m a cop?” Hutch’s momentary shock was soon replaced with anger. As if it weren’t bad enough that Vanessa had dangled her illegal activity in front of him, she had told Cassandra she was going to do it.

The woman blushed and glanced down at the floor. “I’m sorry, Ken. I didn’t mean to compromise your integrity or anything, but I was hoping to get my gems back and maybe to know if she told you anything useful.”

Hutch stood up and paced away from the couch. The room spun a little and he wound up stopping in the middle with his eyes closed and his jaw clenched. Hearing Cassandra rise from the couch, he put up a hand in her direction to stop her from coming closer. The last thing he wanted was support from this woman who seemed intent on turning his life upside down again over events he had hoped were buried with his ex-wife.

“Cass. I can assure you she didn’t tell me a thing that would be of any use to you. Wheeler’s people turned my place inside out and if there was anything here, they’d have found it. As for any important information, I reminded her I was a cop, too. Whatever she had locked in her head, she sure as hell didn’t tell me about it.”

Cassandra was relieved. The one thing she knew she could count on Hutch for was honesty. He was too much of a choirboy to lie to her.

“Okay, Ken. Thanks for telling me. I know this has been hard for you.”

Hutch wheeled on her with fire in his eyes. “You don’t give a damn about this being hard on me. I don’t know what you want for sure, lady, but just go and don’t come over here again.”

“Ken….”

“I said go,” Hutch said with his best icy glare.

Cassandra swallowed hard and retrieved her purse from his coffee table. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Ken. I never would have tried to involve you in anything. I just…well, I’m sorry you feel that way. I’ll see you around, Ken,” she said as she left the apartment, shutting the door quietly behind her. As soon as she was on the other side, she broke out into a huge grin, satisfied that she had gotten what she wanted. Cassandra carefully schooled her features before she went down the stairs and walked past the uniformed officers guarding Hutch.

Inside the apartment, Hutch was fuming. He couldn’t believe the nerve that woman had, not only dredging up some of his most painful memories but inserting new pain with her reminiscences. Hutch decided to rest his throbbing head and he went back to bed to sleep while he waited for Starsky to return from his meeting with Mickey.

~*~*~*~*

While Hutch slept, Starsky limped painfully along, first, that barely paved county road, and then, a better-paved road leading down from the hills. His efforts to hitchhike proved fruitless. He couldn’t blame anyone for not wanting to pick up a roughed up looking stranger on a road at night. Resting frequently, he knew it would take him many hours to get to where someone could help him get home. Starsky thought about what had happened, unsure as to what Mickey had to do with his situation, if anything. He was worried about Hutch and wishing he could at least come upon a gas station or a diner where he could place a phone call.

~*~*~*~*

When Hutch woke up from his restless nap, more than three hours had passed. He was surprised Starsky hadn’t come in to talk to him about Mickey. “Starsk?” he called.

The apartment was dark and quiet. Hutch sat up slowly, gratified that the room wasn’t spinning. “Starsky, where are you?” A quick check of the apartment revealed that Starsky was not there. He hadn’t left a note, and Hutch was sure he’d have done that if he came in and left again. Remembering the time he’d been lured away from home by a snitch only to be run off the road into a canyon, Hutch’s chest tightened with worry. A quick patch through to the black-and-white in the street below revealed that Starsky hadn’t returned to the apartment and left again. He decided he’d better call Captain Dobey at home.

“Cap? It’s Hutch,” he said, the tension obvious in his voice.

“Is something wrong?” Dobey asked, knowing the answer would be affirmative.

“I hope not, but I’m afraid so. Starsky left here hours ago to meet with that snitch, Mickey. He hasn’t come back and he hasn’t called.”

“What do you suppose happened?”

“I don’t know, but I’m too dizzy to drive right now, or I’d get out there and start looking myself. Would you send some uniforms around to that skeezy bar Mickey hangs out at? Starsky usually looks him up at The Mouse Trap. That’s over on….”

“I know where it is, Hutch. I’ll send a car and call you back.” Dobey hung up the phone and Hutch resumed his pacing.

Within a few minutes, a black-and-white had cruised over to the area near The Pits and spotted the Torino. No Starsky anywhere in sight. The uniforms checked inside The Mouse Trap and also went over to talk to Huggy. No one had seen Starsky.

“I’m putting a missing officer out on him, Hutch. I’ll call you if I hear anything.”

“Yeah, okay, Cap.”

Nothing remained for Hutch to do but wait and worry. Meanwhile, Starsky had made it onto a more populated county road. His knee was so swollen again he was beginning to worry his jeans were going to split. His head was pounding, and he still felt sick to his stomach. Over the long hike, he figured out he’d been chloroformed, in addition to being hit on the head. Whoever got to him had wanted him out of the picture, but not dead. Starsky was thirsty and in pain, so he sat down on a guardrail for a few minutes. He was sitting there with his head resting on his hand, doing his best to control the pain and nausea, when he heard the distinctive whoop of a cruiser’s siren. Starsky lifted his head, shielding his eyes from the bright headlights and squinting to try and make out the officer who was now walking toward him.

“Evening, sir. Are you all right?” a steady voice called to him. He could see in the officer’s silhouette that he had one hand resting on his service revolver.

“Oh, God, am I glad to see you,” he answered. “I’m a cop, and I’m armed. I’m just gonna reach for my badge.”

The officer stopped fifteen feet from Starsky, shining a flashlight in his face. “Slowly. What’s your name?”

First, Starsky opened his lightweight jacket a little so the officer could see his weapon, then he slowly reached into his back pocket for his identification. He was grateful whoever had dumped him out in the boondocks had left those items in his possession.

“Detective Sergeant David Starsky, Metro Division, Bay City Police,” he said as he held out his ID. The officer walked toward him and cautiously reached for it.

“What are you doing way out here and on foot?” he asked as he verified the identity and dropped his flashlight beam out of Starsky’s eyes.

“I’d like to know that myself. Where the hell is way out here?”

He and the officer talked for a few minutes while Starsky described his predicament and the deputy helped him to the cruiser. Starsky refused a visit to the local emergency room, but he did ask for a ride back to town. The deputy got on the radio.

“This is Deputy Bennett, Dispatch, I’ve got a little situation out here.”

“Go ahead, Joe,” the friendly sounding dispatch operator replied.

“I’ve got a Bay City cop with me who got rolled and dumped out here in our turf. Please call the Metro Division and ask them to have one of their units meet me at the county line. I’m going to give him a ride in that far.”

“10-4, Joe.”

“Sorry I can’t take you all the way home. We’re already down one man tonight, and it’s just me prowling around out here.”

“No sweat, I’m just glad you came along. I was starting to worry I’d have to sleep out here!”

The deputy pulled over at a gas station so Starsky could call his partner, but the phone was not working. A few tense minutes later, they were back on the road. The dispatcher’s voice broke their silence.

“Joe, I’ve arranged for a pickup at County Road 10 and Highway 101. Your passenger has a missing officer out on him from Metro. They were glad to hear he was all right.”

Starsky was immediately relieved. If there was a missing officer out on him, Hutch probably had missed him when he didn’t come back from meeting Mickey. If Hutch had put the gears in motion for an APB, he was all right. He was so relieved he laughed about it.

“Something funny, Detective?”

“Yeah, my partner. I’ve been worried that someone lured me out to get to him. He’s probably the one who sent up the flares on me, so he’s probably okay.”

“Lured you away, huh?” Bennett said with a chuckle. “Sounds like one of those potboiler detective novel plots.”

“You just have no idea, man. Sometimes, I think me and my partner live in a potboiler detective novel.”

At Starsky’s request, Bennett had his dispatcher call Metro back to ask them to let Hutch know he was okay. Within an hour, Benett had passed off his weary, swollen, and somewhat dizzy charge to a couple of uniformed officers from his own precinct. They drove him the rest of the way to Hutch’s place. As they pulled up to the curb, Starsky saw Hutch looking out the window. He did his best not to look too bad as he climbed out of the prowler and started to limp toward the building, but he wasn’t fooling his partner.

Hutch was standing in the open doorway, watching Starsky as he made his miserable way up from the street. Starsky paused to rest and looked up with a sigh. “Why’ve you gotta have so many steps, Blintz?” he asked.

“The better to torture you with,” came the sarcastic reply.

Hutch disappeared from the doorway and by the time Starsky reached the landing, he was back with an ice pack and a strong arm to help Starsky the rest of the way inside. He eased Starsky down onto the couch, put the ice bag on his knee and sat on the coffee table facing him.

“You want to tell me what happened?” he asked as he looked his best friend over for visible signs of injury.

“I have no idea, buddy. I went to meet Mickey, and the next thing I knew I woke up way out in East Egypt, lying in a ditch.”

Hutch immediately searched Starsky’s head for injury and found a goose egg underneath the matted curls he’d missed on his initial inspection. “Damn, Starsk. Guess I should have started with your cranium. You need to have this looked at.”

“No. I’m fine. I’ve been awake and moving for hours. I haven’t thrown up, though it was tempting, and I’m about as coherent as I ever get. Let it lie.”

Hutch got up and went to the bathroom for a damp cloth and some supplies to clean up Starsky’s injury. He’d reserve judgment on the hospital until he had a better look at the laceration attached to that goose egg. “How far did you walk?” he asked.

“Damned if I know. Miles. I really sort of limped more than I walked, so who knows? You okay? I was scared they’d ditched me to get to you.”

“Don’t fight me, I’m gonna clean that up some,” Hutch said as he came up behind Starsky and started to tend to the head wound.

“Yeah, yeah, just don’t be getting any big ideas. I just want to crash and burn. No hospital.”

Hutch decided the cut wasn’t too bad and Starsky did seem to be all right. They called and spoke with Dobey, assuring him that things turned out okay. The knee wasn’t doing well, but Hutch hoped some ice, followed by a nice long soak, would help that.

“Nothing happened here?” Starsky asked as Hutch retreated to the bathtub to draw a hot bath for his aching friend.

“Nope. Oh, guess who showed up again.”

“Cassandra?” Starsky asked. While Hutch was occupied, he removed the ice pack from his knee and felt the swelling underneath. “Terrific,” he muttered softly.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. What did she want?” Starsky stood and slowly started toward the bathtub. At the speed he was making, he guessed he might just get there by the time the tub was full.

“You won’t believe it,” Hutch replied. Then, he noticed Starsky limping toward him and said, “Hey, take it easy! Let me help you.” Hutch went out and helped Starsky the rest of the way into the bathroom. He and Starsky had some giggles as soon as it became obvious that Starsky’s jeans were stretched so tightly over the swollen knee, they might have to resort to scissors to extricate him from them.

“No way, buddy. These are practically new. I’ll get ‘em off, even if I have to wear ‘em into the bathtub to loosen them up some.”

A bit of patient maneuvering eventually resulted in success. Hutch left Starsky to his bath and went to find him some sweats to put on when he was finished. He knew they were going to have to return to the doctor to have the knee drained again, but he kept that to himself for a while.

Well?” Starsky persisted, when Hutch returned with the sweats.

“Well, what?”

“What did Cassandra want?”

Hutch sat down on the closed toilet, absently rolling and unrolling the sweatpants. “She asked some more questions about Van’s last night,” he said, tension evident in his crinkled forehead and the restless movements of his hands. He looked over at his partner. “She said she knew Van was going to ask me to be part of her…business.”

Starsky was silent for a moment. He knew how much it had offended and upset Hutch that Van had even dared ask him to be part of something illegal. It had shown him how little regard she had for his honor, and honor was important to Hutch. Finally, Starsky said, “So, what’d you tell her?”

Hutch shrugged one shoulder. “The truth. That I’d turned Van down and that I didn’t know anything about her ‘business.’ That I didn’t want to know.”

Starsky nodded thoughtfully.

“Turns out Cass is involved in it, too, somehow.”

That made Starsky come to attention. “How?”

“I don’t know how!” Hutch snapped, then looked ashamed of himself. “I’m sorry, buddy. This has just dredged up a lot of memories I’d rather forget, y’know?”

“I know,” Starsky said. “It sounds like she’s pumping you for information. Ya think maybe her boss sent her?”

“Wheeler’s in prison.”

“Maybe her boss ain’t Wheeler,” Starsky said. “There was somebody higher than him. Had to be.”

It was Hutch’s turn to look thoughtful. “Yeah, that’s right. Somebody paid for that fancy lawyer. Wheeler sure couldn’t, not after the state seized his assets.”

“So maybe that’s the guy who sent Cass, if somebody did,” Starsky said.

“Wonder if we ought to worry about that?”

Starsky considered. “Maybe we ought to. But if you didn’t know anything, and you convinced her you didn’t, maybe there ain’t nothin’ to worry about.”

“I’ll feel better if I worry anyway,” Hutch said.

Starsky grinned. “Yeah, guess I would, too. We’ll do some diggin’ tomorrow, see if any bones turn up.”

~*~*~*~*

After Cassandra left Hutch’s, she went straight home to her apartment with a much lighter heart and called Anthony. “He doesn’t know a thing,” she told him. “He was too damned straight and narrow to take the bait, from my sister or from me. He just doesn’t want to know, because if he knew, he’d have to do something about it.”

“Are you certain she didn’t have time to warn him?”

“Yes,” Cassandra said. “He was so offended that I even asked that he got angry and spluttered. When my brother-in-law splutters, he says things he doesn’t mean to say. If he knew anything, he’d have said so.”

Anthony chuckled. “Good. The boss will be glad to hear that.” Though it was a relief that the cop was in the dark, Anthony also thought it was unfortunate they wouldn’t get any hints as to which of their runners was planning to turn snitch. In the year since Vanessa had died, no one had turned yet, and they did want to know whom it would be. The rumor that someone was getting antsy was still flying through their west coast operation.

“And he’ll know who obtained the information, right?”

“Yes,” Anthony said. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell him it came from you. There might be a nice bonus in it for you.”

“And perhaps a promotion?”

“Maybe,” Anthony said. “I’m not sure you really want that promotion, Cassandra.”

“How do you know what I want?” Cassandra demanded.

“Think it through,” he said. “With more responsibility comes more risk.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“It’s your ass,” Anthony said. “I’ll be in touch.” He hung up, and Cassandra sat back on her couch, well satisfied with her day.

~*~*~*~

The next morning, Starsky’s knee was so swollen and painful that he could hardly bear to put any weight on it.

“We’re going back to the doctor,” Hutch said in that tone that meant he would brook no argument.

Starsky was in so much discomfort that he didn’t even want to argue. He merely nodded.

The doctor was clearly unhappy with the condition of the knee. “We’ll drain it again,” he said, making Starsky give a wince of anticipated pain. He smiled and patted Starsky’s shoulder. “I know it’s unpleasant while it’s going on, but it will make it feel better. How the hell did it get in this condition? It looks like you took a long hike.”

“I did,” Starsky said, “but not of my own choice.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a long story,” Starsky said. “I got snatched and dumped out in the middle of po-dunk Egypt and had to walk a long way before somebody picked me up.”

“I see,” the doctor said, still puzzled. He drained the knee, gave Starsky strict orders to stay off it for at least the rest of the day and the next, too, if he could, and replaced the lost cane with crutches. “If you must get up and move around,” he said sternly, “use the crutches. Put no weight on that leg under any circumstances for at least three days. Now go home, prop up your leg, and behave yourself.”

“He will,” Hutch promised for him, getting a long-suffering look from Starsky in return.

As they were leaving the doctor’s office, Starsky said, “We were gonna do some digging today. I can’t do that piled up on your couch. Or mine.”

“No, but I can,” Hutch said. “I’m not made of glass, no matter what you think, and my head’s a lot better today. I’m going to take you home and then I’m going in to do the digging. And I’ll call Huggy to babysit you and keep your ass on that couch.”

“You’re not supposed to — ” Starsky began, but Hutch shook his finger at him and he pretended to recoil. “Don’t point that thing at me, it might be loaded,” he said, grinning.

“Asshole,” Hutch said, laughing. “Let’s get you home. Your place or mine?”

“Sounds like a proposition,” Starsky kidded.

“It’s not,” Hutch said, holding the car door open for him. “I like blondes. Now sit down and shut up.”

Hutch took Starsky to his own apartment and fussed over him until he had him settled with the TV on and a full root beer to keep him occupied until Huggy could get there. Then he called Huggy to ask him to come take care of Starsky for a couple of hours.

“Hutch, I was just gonna call you,” Huggy said when Hutch had him on the phone.

“Yeah? What’s up?” Hutch sat next to Starsky and tilted the receiver so they could both listen.

“I got a friend,” Huggy said cautiously. “He’s in a jam and he wants to talk to you two. I said you could be trusted. But he’s in some deep weeds, my friend. It’s going to be mighty tricky.”

“How deep and how tricky?” Hutch asked.

“Don’t know as I oughta say over the phone,” Huggy said.

“C’mon, Hug, it’s us,” Hutch objected. “You told him we could be trusted.”

“So can he,” Huggy said. “But it ain’t you I’m worried about, y’dig? It’s the cats he’s tangled up with. This is big, Hutch.”

Hutch looked at Starsky. “You trying to say he’s got dirt on somebody important?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, Hug. You set up a meet. But make it a couple of days, huh? Starsky’s not supposed to be walking on that knee.”

“Will do. And I’ll be over in about half an hour, soon’s Diane gets here to cover.”

“Great. Hey, if I drop his keys off, will you drive the Torino over to Starsky’s when you come? I’ll give you a ride back later.”

“You got it, bro’. In a few,” Huggy said as he hung up the receiver.

After Hutch hung up, he said to Starsky, “Huggy said he’d bring the car when he comes. I’m going to drop off the keys and then go ahead and get Collins started pulling some files. Can I trust you to be good until Huggy gets here?”

“Yeah,” Starsky said with a grin. “And when he gets here, I’ll try to pry something out of him about his ‘friend.'”

Hutch nodded and stood to leave, but he turned back to his partner when Starsky said, “Hutch, I was thinking…you know how irritated Cassandra always seems every time she comes to talk to you and I’m here?”

“Yeah, like whatever she has to say is too important to be said around you.”

“Exactly. You don’t suppose….” Starsky trailed off and Hutch finished his thought.

“That she somehow has some connection to Mickey?”

“Yep. Maybe they had me taken on a long ride so she could get over here and talk to you alone. Makes sense in a whacko chick kind of way,” Starsky said. “Nobody even tried anything with you, and they could just as easily have killed me and dumped me in the desert.”

That thought didn’t make Hutch feel any better. His blood was already boiling about the idea that Mickey had set up his partner. Hutch had always suspected Mickey had tried to set them up for a hit during his nightmare with Monk and Ben Forest. He said, “Somehow I think this whole thing is a bigger mess than we know. You just relax, I’m going to go have a little chat with your snitch.”

Knowing Hutch was angry and that he never liked Mickey, Starsky was worried. “We don’t know that’s what happened, don’t forget. Just talk to him, okay?”

Hutch smiled as he walked to the front door where he stopped with his hand on the doorknob. He looked back over his shoulder and said with a Minnesota-edged southern drawl, “Why whatever do you mean, Detective Starsky? I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout roustin’ no snitches.”

Starsky laughed. Then he cautioned, “You just see to it stays that way. Promise me you’ll just talk.” He didn’t like the idea of Hutch out there without backup and neither of them knowing exactly what had happened when Starsky was grabbed on the way to see Mickey the last time.

“I promise. I might scare him a little, but I won’t do anything…Starsky-like,” he said as he closed the door just in time to avoid being hit by the couch pillow Starsky threw at him.

~*~*~*~

Hutch parked his car near the Torino. He dropped the keys off with Huggy and then walked down the street to The Mouse Trap. Stepping inside the bar from the bright sunlight, he waited a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dark interior. He heard a few people talking when he opened the door, then silence. As his eyes adjusted, and the conversation in the bar resumed, Hutch looked around the room for the weaselly snitch. Mickey was nowhere in sight, so the detective proceeded to the bar.

“You seen Mickey?” he asked.

“Not since yesterday,” the barkeep replied, never stopping his activity of filling small bowls with stale peanuts.

Hutch felt eyes on him and turned to his right, seeing a lady of the evening he’d never seen on their beat checking him over from head to toe. He blushed a little but smiled at her. “How ‘bout you, miss? You know Mickey?”

The woman in question extended her hand to Hutch and said, “Serendipity.”

“Excuse me?” Hutch asked.

“My name. It’s Serendipity.” She was an attractive young woman with blonde hair and green eyes. She didn’t look like a typical hooker and she reminded Hutch a little of Sweet Alice, without the accent.

Oh, boy. Educated hookers. “All right, miss…Serendipity, do you know Mickey?”

“I do,” she said as she traced a finger up Hutch’s arm.

Hutch put his hand on hers and moved them both to the bar. Patting her on the hand, he asked, “Do you know where I can find him?”

Seeing her best efforts were not going to be successful with the handsome blond, she replied, “He’s gone. Said he had to find a new town to drink in, or something like that.”

“Thanks,” Hutch said with a smile. He froze as he turned to walk away from her and she pinched him on the rear. “That’s accosting a police officer, Serendipity,” he said as he turned back toward her.

“That was just a preview, Blondie. Come back later and I’ll see if I can make it good enough to get arrested.”

Hutch laughed and made a hasty retreat.

~*~*~*~

When Hutch arrived at the precinct, he stopped in to see Collins before he went to the squad room. As he was walking in, the captain was just leaving his office. “Hutchinson, what are you doing here?”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine, Cap. Starsky and I have some connections we need to check on and I don’t want it to wait any longer.”

“You stop in at R&I?” Dobey asked

“Yeah, Charlie’s thrilled, as always. Says he’s going to have a special section set aside just for us so he doesn’t have to spend so much time chasing our files every time someone comes after one of us.”

“Might not be a bad idea. Come on in, I need to talk to you,” Dobey said as he turned and walked into his office.

Hutch followed, stopping briefly to snag a cup of coffee.

“What’s up, Cap?” he said as he sat in one of the leather chairs in front of Dobey’s desk.

“I’ve got a stakeout assignment for you. How long before Starsky’s knee is okay for him to be back on duty?”

“A few days. As long as he rests it, the doc thought it would be okay. What do you have for us?”

Dobey picked up a file folder and handed it across the desk to Hutch. “Looks like there’s a big, new west coast drug running operation. Take a look at that file for a description. The runners aren’t on a definite schedule, so I want you two out on the old county road on a stakeout. Looks like approximately a week between each run. Set something up for a week from today with Narco.”

“You got it, Cap.”

The two men sat and discussed what had happened with Starsky. Hutch explained about his former sister-in-law and how he was beginning to wonder if there might be some connection between Wheeler, Cassandra, Mickey, and a bigger fish somewhere. They agreed that Hutch would work up his leads and angles on that theory while he and Narco got ready for their joint project the following week.

~*~*~*~

When Huggy popped into the apartment, Starsky was glad to see him. He gratefully accepted both his car keys and the carne asada burrito his friend brought with him. Starsky caught Huggy up on what had happened with him while he ate, and the two men had a couple of beers.

Huggy went to the kitchen to change the ice pack. Starsky wiped the last of the hot sauce off of his chin and asked, “So what’s up with this informant, Hug?”

“He’s a friend, man. I don’t want to say too much,” Huggy replied. He handed the fresh ice pack to Starsky and took a seat in the chair.

“He in trouble?”

“Yeah. I told your better half, he’s messed up with some heavy hitters,” Huggy replied with a serious face.

“Big?” Starsky’s curiosity already had him interested.

Huggy took another swig of his beer. “Yeah, maybe the biggest, you dig? I’d better let him explain it. He’s willing to talk, but he needs your help.”

Starsky could tell that this friend was important to Huggy. “This is a good friend, right?”

“As close as you and Blondie. He’s a right on dude. Got a nice wife and a cute kid. I want to help him.”

Before Starsky could ask his next question, the phone rang. Huggy grabbed the receiver and handed it to Starsky. Hutch was calling from the station. “Hey, it’s me.”

“What’s up?”

“Huggy there yet?”

“Sittin’ right here.”

“Good. Tell him to put off that meet for a while. Dobey just assigned us to a Narco stakeout on the old county road a week from today. You’re gonna need to rest that knee and we’ve got a lot of prep work to do with Narco to get ready.”

Starsky looked up at Huggy and said, “Can your friend wait at least a week? We’ve got a case and we won’t be able to get to him till then.”

“Yeah, he’ll be cool.”

“Huggy says it’s cool.”

“Tell him we’ll call him when we get back.”

After they hung up, Starsky turned back to Huggy. “Hutch says we’ll call you about your friend when we get back from the case.

“Right on,” Huggy replied with a nod. His friend needed help and Huggy knew he would be willing to wait to get it. If the information went anywhere, this was going to be a big case — one of the biggest tips Huggy had ever passed to his friends. The informant’s life would be in danger and Huggy trusted Starsky and Hutch to take the right precautions. He wasn’t interested in rushing in and putting his friend in more jeopardy.

Starsky could tell that Huggy had something on his mind. “Look, we’ll do whatever we can. Give us a call if anything comes up before next week.”

“Thanks, man.”

“You gonna give me this mystery friend’s name?”

“Sure. His name’s Rigger. Lionel Rigger.”

 

Part II — Loose Ends

Lionel Rigger was bored. He refused to watch the Western Starsky had tuned in on the television set, despite Starsky’s endorsement that in this one, the Indians won. Being cooped up for the past week in a small, run down hotel had been difficult. Starsky and Hutch had the man under their constant protection after they were forced to reveal his name in open court as the informant who had tipped them to Judge McClellan’s illegal activities. Starsky had just admonished Rigger to stay away from the window…again. Hutch was off to the grocery store to pick up something for them to eat.

When he heard Hutch’s car in the street below, Starsky looked out the window and told Rigger the food was there. He wasn’t expecting what happened next. Hutch had just rolled up the driver side window and shut the door. As he crossed to the middle of the street, the nondescript Ford exploded into a ball of flame, throwing the detective into the air and tumbling him to the asphalt.

Starsky felt a rush of adrenaline as he watched in horror as Hutch was flung to the ground. He spun around, striding quickly toward Lionel. He guided Lionel to sit on the bed and said, “Stay put, right where you are!” Starsky dashed out of the room, down the stairs, and into the street. Lionel rose and crept toward the window to watch the action.

Hutch lay face down on the street, eyes open, but vacant. Starsky knelt in front of him, never noticing Soldier, a hit man, who had just blown up Hutch’s car and was now watching from the sidelines. As soon as he was certain Starsky was occupied, Soldier headed up the hotel stairs.

Starsky called to his partner. “Hey! Hey!” he said as he slapped the ground in front of the unresponsive man. “Hey!”

Unable to bring Hutch around this way, Starsky scooted behind him and gently turned him onto his lap, saying, “Come on, Hutch, come on.” He rubbed Hutch’s hair, and cupped his face, terrified at the open eyes coupled with a lack of responsiveness. “You okay? Hey, come on, now, it’s me, huh? Huh?”

Hutch’s eyes blinked and took on some recognition. “Yeah,” he answered weakly.

“Yeah? You sure?” Starsky asked, still frantically assessing his partner’s condition.

“Yeah, I guess so, I guess so….” Hutch said.

Starsky tried to slow his breathing, embracing his friend to assure himself everything would be all right. He and Hutch both looked over at the burning wreck that was once Hutch’s vehicle.

“‘S My car,” Hutch said as he tried to rise.

Starsky pulled at him and replied, “Come here, forget your car.”

“My car!” Full realization had just hit Hutch. His car was a total loss.

An exasperated Starsky pulled him down into his lap again and replied, “Your car’s all right for crying out loud, you’re lucky you’re here!”

While he helped Hutch continue to recover his senses and got the man to his feet, Soldier made his way into Lionel’s room. When Soldier opened the door, Lionel turned and looked at the hit man, fear displayed on his face as he registered Soldier’s intent.

Soldier smiled malevolently and said, “Hello, pigeon, let’s see if you can fly.”

A single gunshot wound to the chest, fired from a gun with a silencer, sent Lionel crashing through the window to the street below, dead before he hit the ground. Soldier quietly slipped down the stairs and out the back door to the alley behind the hotel. He escaped undetected.

When they heard the crash, Starsky and Hutch looked up to see the answer to Soldier’s question. Lionel Rigger couldn’t fly. The two detectives rushed over to the fallen man. Starsky slipped in the broken glass on the street, letting go of his hold on his shaky partner. Hutch sank to the ground and landed hard on his hip. The two men looked at what had happened to the man they’d sworn to keep safe. They knew he was dead before they turned him onto his back, but the bloody evidence was now seared into both of their minds. After they looked at each other in stricken silence for a few moments, Hutch put a hand up over his eyes. His heart sank, his head throbbed, and his body felt like it had been dragged under a truck. He fought waves of dizziness, unwilling to tell Starsky that his vision was cloudy. They had enough to worry about with their witness lying dead next to them. The sound of sirens in the distance snapped Hutch out of it.

“I’ll call Dobey,” Hutch said as he tried to rise. The street was spinning in his vision and he sank back to the ground, shaking his head to clear it.

“You stay with Lionel,” Starsky ordered. “I’ll call. Do you need an ambulance?”

“No, just get someone here for Lionel.”

Starsky got up and headed into the hotel to call the captain. At least he had some privacy — everyone inside the hotel had streamed out onto the street, including the desk clerk. He heard the squad cars and a fire engine as they screamed onto the small street, their sirens winding down to silence. The sound of their activity played in the background of Starsky’s hearing until Captain Dobey picked up on the other end of the line.

“Cap, Starsky,” he said, the tension clear in his voice.

“Starsky, what’s going on?” Dobey knew something was wrong.

“They got to him, Cap. Lionel’s dead,” Starsky said flatly.

“WHAT? What happened? Where are you?” Dobey asked in a rush.

“I made a mistake, Cap. Oh, God. I….” Starsky stopped, unsure of how to explain what was rushing through his head.

“Starsky?” Dobey inquired.

“Cap, they got to Hutch, first, and….”

“Is he dead?” the captain interrupted.

The thought chilled Starsky. “No, he’s okay. They blew up his car in the middle of the street. I…Dammit!” he exclaimed as he slammed his fist onto the desk next to the phone. “It was a rookie mistake, Cap! Dammit!”

“Starsky, calm down. You’re not making much sense. Take a breath and tell me what happened.” Dobey’s voice was firm, bringing Starsky back to some sense of equilibrium.

“Sorry, Cap. I’m guessing the guy who got Lionel rigged Hutch’s car. We’re gonna need a crime lab team to investigate it. When Hutch stepped away from the car, the thing blew sky high. He went flying, Cap. I…he was lying in the street, and defenseless. I told Lionel to stay put and ran down to check on Hutch. While I was bringing him around, someone got up into the hotel and shot Rigger. I’m sorry, Cap. Dear God, what have I done?”

“Stop that, Dave. You go out there and take care of the scene. I’m headed down there now.” Dobey was worried about the guilt trip he could see his detective starting.

“All right, Cap.” He tried to hang up, but heard the captain bellow his name.

“Starsky!”

“Yeah, Cap?” he said as he put the phone back to his ear.

“Don’t talk to anyone outside of the department. The media may show up there. You got that?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Starsky hung up the phone and looked out the door. His partner had removed his jacket and covered Rigger’s face with it. He was doing his best, along with some uniforms, to get the people back away from the area. As Starsky stepped out, Hutch looked up at him, then up at the broken window, conveying the message that he wanted Starsky to go up and have a look at the room. Starsky nodded and went back inside the hotel and up the stairs.

The room looked just like he’d left it. The only difference was the broken-out window. He stepped over to it and looked down at the street. He could hear more squad cars coming. Starsky closed his eyes and tucked his chin, slumping his shoulders dejectedly.

“I’m sorry, Lionel. I let you down, buddy,” he whispered to the empty room. He turned around to return to help his partner with the scene.

~*~*~*~

Later that day, Starsky and Hutch were both interviewed by Internal Affairs. An investigation would be conducted into both their actions. Hutch was quickly excused. He was not the one who had abandoned their charge. Refusing to allow the blond detective to remain with his partner, the investigating officers forced Starsky to stay in the room with them alone. Hutch went out and paced the hall while they spoke with Starsky. He was relieved when Captain Dobey started walking down the hall toward him fifteen minutes later.

“Cap, can you get in there with him? Simonetti refused to let me stay,” Hutch said angrily as he punched his left palm with his right fist. Somehow, Hutch always managed to say the Internal Affairs officer’s name like it was a dirty word.

“Settle down, Hutch. They just called me. Why don’t you go downstairs and get some coffee?” Dobey suggested.

Hutch gave him his best “you’re kidding” look and resumed his pacing. Captain Dobey sighed and asked, “How’s your head?”

“I’m fine, Cap. Get in there, huh? Don’t let them railroad Starsky for looking after his partner.” Hutch looked as miserable as Dobey could remember him ever looking. The captain nodded and took a few steps toward the door, but it opened before he reached it.

A subdued looking Starsky stepped through it, barely meeting Dobey’s eyes before he stepped aside for the older man to enter.

After the door shut behind Dobey, Starsky sighed and dropped his shoulders. “How you feeling, Hutch?” he asked, trying to deflect the attention from himself.

Hutch’s answering laugh had no humor in it. “Me? I’m fine, but you look like I should be hustling you out the door on the way to Bolivia, or maybe I should offer you a cigarette and a blindfold.” He patted Starsky’s shoulder.

“I can’t tell what they’re going to decide. They said they had to talk to Dobey first.”

One of the uniforms was walking toward them when he said, “Sorry to hear about your snitch, guys.”

Hutch whirled around on the man, his eyes displaying his anger. “Lionel Rigger wasn’t just a ‘snitch,’ Dodson. He was a friend. He had a wife and a little girl and we promised them….” Starsky stopped his tirade by putting a hand on Hutch’s arm.

Dodson looked contrite when he said, “Sorry, Hutchinson. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Starsky answered for his seething partner. “We know, it’s just a little raw.”

The other officer shook his head and walked away from them. Starsky and Hutch held each other’s gaze for a few moments before Starsky said, “You don’t have anything to feel bad about, Hutch. I’m the one that let Lionel down. You’re in the clear.”

“I don’t feel that way about it, Starsk. I’d have done the same thing you did.”

The door opened again and Dobey came into the hall alone. He told them both he wanted to see them in his office. The lump in Starsky’s throat became a rock that fell straight to his gut. He nodded, tight lipped, and turned away from the other two men. Hutch sighed and fell in behind his partner. Hutch had already made up his mind that if Starsky took the fall, he would go down with him. His despair over what had happened was eating away at him. Ken Hutchinson knew in his heart that he’d had enough.

The two men sat in the chairs in Dobey’s office. Their boss closed the door and sat behind his desk. “The investigation will take a few days to officially close, but unofficially, they will not be bringing any disciplinary actions against either of you.”

Starsky said, “That’s just dandy for Hutch, Cap, but I left that man to die.”

“Now, wait a minute, Starsky. The system is the problem here, not you,” Hutch said in Starsky’s defense.

“Both of you can it and listen for a minute!” When Dobey could see that he had their attention, he continued, “Starsky, Simonetti says you should have stayed in the room with Lionel, but that under the circumstances, your actions were understandable…if not completely justified.”

Starsky said, “But, Cap….”

“Look, Hutch was lying in the middle of the street. He could have been killed by a car coming around that corner too fast, if not by the person who obviously set off the explosives. What about that? Do you have any idea who could have done it?”

“None,” Hutch said. Then he snapped his fingers and said, “Wait a minute! A guy was under his car parked next to mine at the grocery store. Could have been him.”

Dobey nodded. “You see his face?”

“Course not. Look, Cap, I’m glad we’re okay with I.A. on this, but this whole situation stinks. We should never have had to put Lionel out there.”

Starsky shook his head. “That’s just not the way it works, Hutch. We knew it could happen. We had it all planned and it fell apart. I don’t care what I.A. says, I feel responsible.”

Hutch heard his partner and took what he said to heart. In his mind, they were responsible. The bitter feeling that police work had turned him into something he no longer wanted to be was chipping away at his sense of who he was. Hutch thought, if this is why I became a cop, what the hell am I doing? He looked over at Starsky, seeing the same pain on his face. In that moment, all he wanted was for that pain to stop being a part of their daily existence. If this was all there was, he didn’t want any part of it anymore. Over the past year, he had become increasingly cynical and jaded about his job. He was tired of that spilling over into his soul. The only problem he had even thinking about walking away from it was what to tell Starsky — who was the only reason he was still on the job.

“I know, Starsky, but sometimes your best just isn’t enough,” Dobey said. “I know you feel terrible…hell, I do, too. What went down, did. I’ve already talked to Mardean. Why don’t you go on home. Start on the investigation in the morning.”

Both detectives stood up and Hutch said, “We gotta go see Huggy, Cap. Tell him how sorry we are.”

Dobey nodded as they left his office. He was worried about the defeated stance he saw in both of his officers. The circumstances of this case were bad. His instincts were telling him that they might be too much for Starsky and Hutch to take and he said a silent prayer that he wasn’t about to lose his best detective team.

~*~*~*~

Huggy refused to listen to their lame attempts at apology for what had happened to Lionel, and Hutch couldn’t say he blamed him. But the hardest thing to take was the little girl.

“You’re the policemen, aren’t you?” she said, clinging to “Uncle” Huggy. “The ones who made my daddy go away. I thought you were his friends.”

The pain that crossed Starsky’s face echoed the one in Hutch’s heart. Starsky’s eyes misted over, and as Huggy walked away, carrying the child, Hutch forced out the words, “So did we, sweetheart…” but they sounded stupid, even to his own ears, and neither Huggy nor Jamie acknowledged that he’d spoken. Starsky blinked rapidly, staring down at the sand, and didn’t look up until after Huggy was out of sight.

“My God,” was all he said, but his voice shook.

Hutch swallowed the lump in his own throat. He reached out to touch Starsky’s arm, but Starsky stepped away, shaking his head miserably. “Come on,” Hutch said. “We might as well go home.”

They made the drive in complete silence, the traffic on the police radio the only sound until Starsky reached over and savagely snapped it off. That was against regs, but Hutch didn’t comment. He couldn’t stand to listen to it, either.

“You comin’ up?” Hutch asked when Starsky stopped in front of Venice Place and didn’t shut the car off.

Starsky shook his head without speaking.

“Might help to talk it out,” Hutch offered softly.

Starsky drew a long breath and looked over at him, finally. “Ya think?” he said bitterly. “I don’t. A man’s dead. Ain’t nothin’ we can say, either of us, to change that. Just like Huggy said.”

“Huggy’s angry and in pain,” Hutch said, again feeling the words were stupid.

“He’s got a right,” Starsky said, turning his head away again. “Go on. I need to think. Maybe I’ll go to a movie or somethin’.”

Hutch sighed and opened the car door. “Give me a call later?”

“Sure.” Starsky pulled away the moment Hutch was out and had shut the door, and Hutch climbed the stairs to his apartment, feeling worse than he ever had.

A lot of people had died because of them in the years they’d been cops, Hutch thought, sinking onto his couch and throwing his head back. Too many. The bad guys, he didn’t worry too much about. Part of the deal, couldn’t be helped, and largely due to their own choices. But what about the good guys? What about Terry and Gillian? Janice Drew? Or people like Roxy, who might be alive if he and Starsky hadn’t screwed up?

And now Jamie Rigger would grow up without her daddy because this time he and Starsky had royally fucked up. There was no other way to look at it. Lionel had tried to do the right thing. Sure, he’d made bad choices of his own, but he’d tried to make up for them. And they’d promised to protect him, to get him out.

He’d become a cop to help people, not to ruin their lives. So, what was he doing here?

Feeling too restless to sit still, in spite of bone-deep weariness, Hutch rose and slammed out of his apartment, heading for the beach. Maybe a walk would clear his head.

The beach was deserted; it was early in the season and too cool yet, for any but the most dedicated surfers to be out, and even they only came out in the early morning. With the rays of the afternoon sun making his eyes sting — at least, that’s what he blamed the stinging on — Hutch walked along, hands in pockets, eyes down. He accidentally kicked a pinwheel lying on the sand and squatted to pick it up. He remembered the pinwheel Lionel had with him the day they met. Idly watching it spin in the breeze, he thought about the look in Jamie’s eyes as Huggy had carried her away. He could still hear the accusation in Huggy’s voice when he called them “users.” Is that what they’d become? Or had they been users all along? Was the bust more important than the human lives they touched — and sometimes destroyed — every day?

He closed his eyes and could still see Lionel falling out of that window, see the blood on his t-shirt after he and Starsky had turned him over. Lionel had trusted them with his life and they’d let him down. They’d let Mardean and Jamie down. They’d let everybody down.

Hutch stuck the pinwheel into the sand and rose, pulling his badge out of his pocket. He looked down at it, reflecting the rays of the sun off its shining surface. The sight of it sickened him. No, what it stood for sickened him. He raised his head and looked out over the water, the waves crashing into the beach, inexorably eating away at the shoreline. That’s what this badge was doing to him. Eating away at his humanity. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He walked toward the water and drew back to throw.

And then he heard Starsky’s voice. He stopped and turned and Starsky was walking toward him, his face grave, his hands in his pockets.

“Hey. Pollutin’ the ocean?” Starsky asked, not looking at him. “Against the law.”

“Thought you were going to the movies.”

“Changed my mind.” Starsky gazed out at the water, squinting against the glare.

“What was that you were sayin’?”

“About what?”

“Somethin’ about…something being against the law?”

“Ah, pollution,” Starsky said. “Definite violation.”

“Well, partner,” Hutch said, turning his badge over in his hands, “the way I see it, this old badge has polluted me just about enough.”

“Really,” Starsky answered, pulling his own ID from his pocket and taking the badge out of the leather case.

Hutch watched him, dumbfounded, knowing what was in his mind. It was one thing for him to feel bitter and angry and ready to quit. But for Starsky — why, that badge, being a cop, was his whole life….

Starsky met his eyes for the first time and his were dark with sorrow. “Mind if I join you?”

Without another word exchanged, and in perfect sync, as always, the two men took a couple of running steps and pitched their badges into the crashing waves.

~*~*~*~

Her father had left for work half an hour earlier, hardly speaking, the worry lines in his forehead more pronounced than ever. Sighing, Allison May stirred her coffee and sipped it without really tasting it as she looked through the newspaper. She knew her father’s past had come back to haunt them, she knew he was in terrible danger, but he wouldn’t tell her anything. She’d had to guess what little she did know. What she didn’t know was how she could help him.

And then her eyes fell on a photo on page four. Two policemen, coming out of the courthouse. And one of them was achingly familiar. She turned the newspaper toward the window to get a better look at the photo and read the caption beneath: “Detectives David Starsky and Kenneth Hutchinson leave court after the McClellan hearing.”

Davy, after all these years! And he was a police detective. Maybe Davy could help them, but Allison hadn’t seen David Starsky in twenty-one years. The slim possibility existed that this man wasn’t even the same Starsky she knew all those years ago. Even if it was the same person, she had no way of knowing if she could trust him. She’d have to find a way to arrange a meeting without her old friend knowing what was happening.

~*~*~*~

After finishing breakfast, Starsky tried to convince Hutch it would be a good idea to go to the movies in the afternoon. He saw it as free and easy, while Hutch saw it as the sign of two men about to be broke from unemployment. After agreeing to answer an ad Hutch discovered that sounded a little too good to be true, they’d left the small diner…and immediately stepped into a chase between armed, fleeing suspects on a motorcycle and a black-and-white unit. The uniforms had to deal with the smashed car they’d left behind them when the former detectives “helped” apprehend the suspects. Returning to the Torino, they discovered a dirty yellow convertible double-parked behind Starsky’s car.

An attractive brunette approached them after they started trying to push the little sports car out of the way. A brief discussion with her, reassuring her they didn’t plan to steal her car, led to Allison’s arranged meeting. She had seen Starsky and he had seen her. Hutch didn’t know what to make of it when Starsky told him he was thinking about ghosts. Something about the young woman they’d just met was bothering Starsky and he couldn’t quite decide what it was.

Allison followed the two men throughout the day. She was surprised that they didn’t notice her following them, but they didn’t. When they settled down for a while in a bar called The Pits, she thought that was a stroke of good fortune. Allison slipped inside after they had enough time to get a table. Her plan came together beautifully when Hutch approached her, and she wound up spending the afternoon with him and Starsky. The most challenging part of the day had been dodging the affections of the two men who were falling all over themselves trying to get to know her. None of them noticed the two men tailing Starsky and Hutch, which both amazed and amused the two thugs.

Over the next couple of days, the three of them spent more time together, including an evening listening to the Boston Symphony play a Brahms concert. Looking through a photo album in Allison’s home after the concert, Starsky realized why Allison looked so familiar to him. He figured out that she was really Laura Anderson, a girl he grew up with — who supposedly died in a car accident twenty-one years in the past.

By the time Starsky guessed her true identity, Allison knew the two men were no longer cops. She tried to explain what had happened and that she didn’t care that they weren’t on the force anymore. She told them she knew she had no right to ask for their help.

“My father is in terrible trouble, David, he’s in terrible trouble…and…I can’t help him. Maybe you and Hutch can,” she said, her eyes pleading with them for help. Naturally, the former cops were unable to resist. The next day, they started following her father, having no idea where their actions would lead.

~*~*~*~

“I’m tellin’ you they don’t have a clue we’re tailing them,” Alex said to a disbelieving Soldier. “They quit bein’ cops and suddenly they have shit for brains.”

His cohort confirmed it. “We’ve been on their tails all over Bay City and they ain’t seen us once. Why don’t we just pop ‘em?”

Soldier said, “In time. For now, we do what we’re told. Keep on them and report what they’re doing.”

“You’re the boss.” The two men left to pick up the trail on their charges. They found it hard to believe. Maybe when Starsky and Hutch turned in their guns and badges they had also turned in their edge and their caution.

~*~*~*~

The burnout and frustration they had felt before they quit the force had robbed Starsky and Hutch of their ability to see any good in police work. When they resigned, they both slid into a psychological state of limbo — unable to work as cops anymore but floating without purpose while they looked for something else. Where once they had been cautious and aware of their surroundings, now they failed to notice that they were being tailed.

The two former detectives wanted to help Allison’s father. To that end, they began a quiet investigation of the records he seemed to be selling. Following Thomas May and looking at those records revealed that the object of the information he was illegally passing off was the names of financially troubled FHA loan holders. Despite a warning from two FBI agents to stay away from Thomas May, they continued. Getting caught in a roar of gunfire in a parking garage with Allison was their first inkling that anyone other than the FBI was interested in their activities.

They convinced Huggy Bear to go undercover for them and approach some of the people whose names appeared on one of the lists they had obtained. His operation gleaned the name of a mortgage company that had representatives canvassing the troubled homeowners for new loans. Right after that, things began to unravel.

First, Thomas May set Starsky and Hutch up for a fall at a local steam room. He told them he had information and wanted to meet them there, but the two thugs who were following Starsky and Hutch showed up instead. When they tried to go back to Allison’s house to speak with her father, the FBI agents picked them up again. Just as they returned, true to their current string of luck, the borrowed truck they were driving was towed away before they could stop it. The events of the early morning distracted them from their quest to find out why May had sent them into the lion’s den. By the time they were ready to get back on track, they received a chilling phone call to go see Mr. May.

May’s death hit both men hard. While they did their best to help Allison pull it together, both of them were sickened by the nightmarish twists their lives were taking, and by the thought that ineptitude or refusal to heed warnings on their part had resulted in Thomas May’s murder. Hutch said they had gone about working on the case “…with all the finesse of a wrecking ball.”

Both men knew they’d stirred up the hornet’s nest Lionel Rigger’s widow had mentioned, but they still didn’t know how serious it was going to become. A rich, powerful man — overlord of crime overlords — had fingered them for death. He was the man responsible for Soldier and for the other men who had tried to kill Starsky and Hutch more than once since they became involved with Lionel. When the overlord’s assistant asked him if he should give Soldier the order to “strike” in the matter of the two former police officers, the old man’s chilling reply was “To kill. Tell him to kill.”

~*~*~*~

Marty bummed a cigarette from Alex. The two men sat smoking and drinking coffee at Soldier’s kitchen table. They were discussing what to do about two pesky former cops.

“I got the order to waste ‘em,” Soldier said.

Alex bristled. “We can handle that, Soldier.”

“Not so far. You morons missed them with the car, you missed them in the parking garage, and you let them get the drop on you in the steam room. This time, no screw-ups. The old man wants them gone and I’m here to make sure it happens.”

The phone rang, interrupting Marty’s pending protest. “Yeah?” Soldier answered. He paused and listened for a few moments. “Is he in the courthouse today? On my way.” He hung up and said, “I’m going down to take care of McClellan. When that’s done, we’ll finish the rest of our business.”

“What do we do?” Marty asked.

Soldier issued instructions while he took off his red t-shirt, stuffing it into a duffle bag, and replacing it with a button up shirt, tie, and blazer. “While I’m down at the courthouse, you get over to Hutchinson’s place and grab Allison May. She’s staying there. Take her to the old amusement park, you know where. Some of the guys will meet you and I’ll be along after the judge is toast. You take her there, then split.”

“Why can’t we stay and finish it?” Alex hissed.

“Because the old man said he wants you on another assignment. Those two troublemakers will be dead, and I’m gonna handle it. You just do like you’re told.”

The two men nodded in agreement. That should be an easy task. Alex had been frustrated by this entire assignment. First, they were told to run Starsky and Hutch down with their car, then they were told to back off again. Next, they were given the order to shoot them, but they missed, and they were given a red light again. He and his partner were both glad the old man had decided to finish matters.

Alex said, “So, we use the girl for bait. You gonna finish her, too?”

“No witnesses. After Starsky and Hutchinson are dead, we kill the girl. Killing Hutchinson is going to be a pleasure. I wanted to pop him when I blasted his tacky car and got to Rigger, but the old man said not to yet. The other men can take Starsky, but the blond is mine. Leave them a note at Hutchinson’s. ‘If you want to see the girl alive again…’ and the address. You got all of that?”

“Yeah, we got it. We ain’t really morons, you know,” Marty replied in anger.

“I suggest you zip it and prove you’re not by doin’ your job. The old man don’t take kindly to mistakes. You could ask Judge McClellan about that, but then again, he’ll be dead within half an hour.”

Alex and Marty gulped, looking at each other for reassurance that they could do the job. They watched Soldier load his gun and secure the silencer to the end of it. He slipped it into his jacket pocket. The two men followed him out and they separated to complete their missions.

~*~*~*~

Incredibly, the pieces of what happened to Lionel and to Allison’s father were beginning to fit together in a way that made it appear that the two deaths were linked. The common denominator was federal judge Ray McClellan. Just when the ex-cops thought they had enough to nail the judge, the man was shot to death in the men’s washroom at the courthouse.

As if the judge’s assassination hadn’t been a big enough blow, Soldier and his cohorts had kidnapped Allison. Starsky and Hutch went to the amusement park to rescue her, knowing the object of the game was probably to kill all three of them.

The entire ordeal was over in minutes. Starsky’s quick thinking gave Hutch a chance to dive for their guns. Hutch had no time to think about what had happened until the echoes of their gunfire died. Seeing Starsky and Allison crash through a plate glass window did nothing for his heart rate. In truth, despite the danger, he was glad he’d had something to concentrate on right after the sound of breaking glass, keeping him from dwelling on the possibility that his partner and their friend may have been sliced to ribbons.

When it was all over, Hutch walked back toward his partner, lightly touching him in relief and gratitude that he was unharmed. He looked Allison over and saw that she was terrified, but also unhurt. Then he quietly said, “We kept our promise, Mardean. Least your husband can rest a little easier.”

Hutch had gotten Soldier. He and Starsky were both glad they were able to keep their promise to Mardean, but sorry they had to kill to defend themselves. Bringing Soldier and his goons to justice would have given them the opportunity to get the answers to a lot of questions. Two private citizens had just thwarted a kidnapping and escaped certain death — but at the cost of four lives. They had some explaining to do. The paperwork involved in any shooting when they were cops was bad enough. Now that they were off the force, things were more complicated.

A hearing was held on the matter and the shooting was ruled justified. After the hearing, Starsky, Hutch, and Deputy District Attorney Clayburn were stopped on the courthouse steps by a crowd of reporters. They had no idea who would see the coverage or that it would run outside of Bay City. The old man was watching, and he was not amused. The two men were thinking of rejoining the police force, and Clayburn was standing there glowing about it — knowing he was shining on the reporters, his life of crime still carefully concealed.

The results of their actions pleased Captain Dobey. They had shaken up a lot of people. He wanted them to rejoin the force right away, but they thought it might be easier to do their remaining “nosing around” without a badge. Starsky said that they wanted to figure out who was “powerful enough to corrupt a federal judge.”

The pieces were beginning to come together. Starsky and Hutch believed that the people responsible for Judge McClellan’s murder had to have a connection in the DA’s office. Their hunch was that it might be Clayburn. He was the one who knew all of the details about the McClellan case and it was right after they went to him with more evidence that the judge was killed. Two days of research had revealed some interesting things. The two men had attended the same university and had been close friends for at least the past ten years. Not only did they belong to the same exclusive gentlemen’s club, Clayburn was the head of the committee to elect Ray McClellan as a judge. That they were closely tied was indisputable. After getting this valuable information from Huggy at a movie theater, Starsky’s offhand remark about the time as the movie started gave Hutch a brilliant idea. They confirmed his theory with Deputy Sheriff Fred Oates and took the information to Captain Dobey.

“Clayburn?” Captain Dobey exclaimed.

“Your friend and ours,” Starsky replied.

“Whoever it was he talked to at 1:45, Captain, it was not Deputy Sheriff Fred Oates,” Hutch continued.

Starsky added, “I’ll tell you who it was, it was the man in charge, it was Mr. Big. All he had to hear from the DA was that we had enough information to bury McClellan. Once he heard that, it only took him twenty-five minutes to shut McClellan’s mouth, and….”

Hutch interjected, “Twenty-five minutes…report, decision, action, touchdown. That’s a hell of a team, Captain.”

“And Clayburn called the plays,” Dobey said.

Starsky and Hutch headed for the DA’s office to see if they could head Clayburn off before he could blow town. They were worried that he’d heard through the grapevine that they were onto him, and they were right. He was on his way to the airport for a flight to Brazil. He was unaware as he rushed to the airport that the old man had already arranged for him to be killed. Although Soldier had been eliminated, another operative, Karen, was sent to make sure that the loose end named Clayburn never made it out of California alive. The old man didn’t like loose ends.

Karen killed Deputy DA Clayburn in the airport terminal and Starsky and Hutch arrested her. She wasn’t in custody long. She was bailed out and found dead in her apartment two days later, from a single gunshot wound to the head. Execution style.

The mayor’s office was pleased with the way Starsky and Hutch had handled the McClellan case. Despite their status as private citizens, they had cracked a powerful organization. The corruption they uncovered all the way from a federal judge through the FBI and the District Attorney’s office made it a high-profile case. Starsky and Hutch were invited back on the force and publicly presented with their shields by the mayor.

Later that evening, sitting with Allison at The Pits over a celebratory dinner, they discussed everything that had happened to them. “What are you going to do now, Allison?” Hutch asked.

“I think I’m going to Florida for a while. I want to visit my aunt and the FBI told me that’s where she lives. Now that my dad is gone and I don’t need to hide anymore, I want her to know I’m alive.”

“We’ll be sorry to see you go,” Starsky said.

Allison smiled and put a hand on each of their arms. “I know. I’ll miss you guys, too. I might come back someday.”

Huggy sat down at the table with them and said, “So how does it feel to emerge victorious or whatever the mayor said?”

“Yeah,” Allison said. “What did you mean back outside the mayor’s office, David? You acted like you weren’t sure you’d won.”

The two newly reinstated detectives looked at each other. They held a brief, non-verbal conversation and Starsky tipped his head at Hutch, cueing him to explain.

“We’re kind of glad you’re going to get away from here for a while, Allison. Don’t get me wrong, but maybe it’s for the best. We managed to topple some heavyweights this time and Starsk and I think it may not really be over. Some dangerous people may still be out there and if they are, we may be in their crosshairs.”

Huggy looked at them incredulously. “You’re joking.”

“I wish we were, Hug,” Starsky replied. “We’re going to be working on other cases, but we’re not really done with this one. I have a feeling there’s still some loose ends here and we don’t want Allison to be one of them.”

Allison didn’t like the sound of that. “Are you two really in any danger?”

“Always,” Hutch replied. “But we’re careful. We’ll keep an eye on the storm clouds.”

~*~*~*~

James Marshall Gunther sat alone at the desk, going through the files and making notations as he did so. He was not a happy man. In just a few months, the work of years had been undone, and all of it had been undone by the same two police officers.

A couple of years previously, his jewel smuggling organization had been brought down thanks to Vanessa Hutchinson’s unspeakable idiocy in going to her ex-husband to hide a gem she wanted, foolishly, to keep for herself. That had annoyed him, but if that had been the end of the detectives’ interference in his activities, he might have been willing to overlook it.

But now his federal judge and the assistant D.A. had both fallen due to these detectives. True, he had given the orders to eliminate them both. But the reason for the judge’s elimination had been that the two officers were too close to proving that the judge was, well, less than ethical. And that might eventually have led to their finding a connection with Gunther Industries. Clayburn was killed for similar reasons, along with being cocky and careless. James Marshall Gunther liked cocky and careless as much as he liked loose ends.

Those same officers had done irreparable damage to his scheme to mine the rich fields of FHA homeowners who were behind on payments. The operation couldn’t be salvaged, though so far their investigation had not reached him personally. He’d seen to that, anyway. There was no way it could be connected to him. But just to be safe…. He lifted his telephone receiver.

“Bates, I need you.”

Bates bustled in a few minutes later, wearing his inevitable pin-striped, three-piece suit and carrying his briefcase. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“Some of our operatives must be eliminated,” Gunther said without explaining his reasoning. Bates did not need to know his reasons. Gunther pushed a list of names across the desk to Bates. “See to it.”

Bates, who would never learn when to keep his mouth shut, looked down at the list. “All of these?” he said, making no effort to hide his dismay. “But these are some of our key men.”

Gunther simply stared at him and Bates reddened slightly.

“Yes, sir. I’ll see to it.”

“So that none of them are warned by the deaths of the others,” Gunther said, “see to it that they’re all eliminated on the same day. The same time, if possible.”

Bates, in the act of turning away to begin arranging the operatives’ deaths, stopped and turned back. “Sir, that will require — ” He looked at the list again. “- six separate soldiers.”

“I’m perfectly aware of that, Mr. Bates,” Gunther said. “Are you trying to tell me we don’t possess six assassins among our far-flung network?” He raised his eyebrows. Sometimes Bates’ slow mental processes irritated him enough to find an assassin to take care of HIM.

“Of course we do, sir,” Bates said. “Actually, last time I counted, we had ten.”

Gunther suppressed a sigh. “Keep Alex and Marty available. I have other work for them to do.”

Bates scribbled something on his slip of paper and left the room. Gunther looked back down at the files in front of him. Those two police officers weren’t going to bother him much longer. He picked up his pen and underlined their names in the file. David Starsky and Kenneth Hutchinson. It was long past time for them to put their affairs in order. He smiled a little. Too bad someone couldn’t warn them about that….

~*~*~*~

After Allison left, Starsky and Hutch returned to police work and they tried to put the circumstances that led to Lionel’s death behind them. Knowing that they brought down the people responsible helped, but something about the case and all of its intricacies wore on them both. Though they worked their cases as hard as they did before they quit and rejoined the force, something wasn’t clicking. About two months after their return, the two detectives worked a case involving serial murders of women working at a local dance hall. They were assigned to work with Kira, a fellow undercover officer.

Both Starsky and Hutch were attracted to Kira and they both became involved with her. The case was stressful enough, without the added strain of competition and betrayal brought into play with the female officer. Going into what would turn out to be their last night on the case, the two men were so angry at each other, they barely spoke unless the communication involved the case. That early May night, when the killer pulled the pin out of a hand grenade in the middle of the dance hall, Starsky and Hutch went into motion as a team — without the necessity of giving their movements any thought. Fortunately, the resulting explosion only caused property damage and some minor injuries. As they worked to wrap up the scene, the two men kept stealing glances at each other, trying to make sure that the other one was really uninjured.

Hauling their suspect in and filing the paperwork took time. The detectives hadn’t driven together that day and when Hutch disappeared for a while to another part of the station, he returned to find that Starsky had finished typing their report and left it in the middle of Hutch’s desk. Hutch knew he was gone for the night and he hung his head a little and sighed. They needed to talk.

The next day, they had the chance. Hutch had risen early and wandered aimlessly around his apartment for half an hour. He was furious with himself for his part in the partnership’s problems. Hutch knew his actions with Kira were a mistake and he hoped he could make it up to Starsky. He decided that he’d had enough of the blue funk he’d wandered around in for the past couple of weeks. That funk was almost an extension of his black mood before the days of Lionel, Soldier, and Allison, and he kicked himself for being sullen and hard to please. If he was going to apologize to Starsky, he was going to mean that things would change. Nothing was more important to him than his best friend. Deciding that he’d start fresh that day, he changed into sweats and went for a run for the first time in months. His time was terrible, but it felt fantastic. He shook off the cloud around him and was lighter in his heart when he turned the corner to his street and saw the Torino parked there.

Starsky had also risen early. He was worried about what Hutch was thinking. Leaving the station the previous evening without saying goodnight to his partner after everything that had happened was weighing heavily on him. He drove to Hutch’s and let himself in when there was no answer. Hutch had been a little closer to the blast, and even though he seemed fine, anything could happen. Finding the apartment empty with Hutch’s car on the street was unusual. Starsky knew his partner had all but given up running and his regular morning activities.

Starsky looked around the apartment and decided that maybe Hutch had just gone down to the corner market. He went in and made a pot of coffee, intending to have a long talk with his friend before they went to the station. Hearing Hutch’s footsteps coming up the stairs a few minutes later made his heart beat a little faster. Starsky wanted to work out their differences and he was nervous about how the discussion would go.

Hutch stopped just inside the door and stared at Starsky. “You speaking to me, partner?” he asked.

Starsky answered, “Yeah. Grab a shower. I put up some coffee. It’ll be done by the time you get out. Then we’ll talk.”

Hutch nodded his agreement and headed for the bathroom. He was glad Starsky was there and he didn’t seem as angry as he had been. Hutch’s heart was also beating a little faster, wondering what his friend would have to say.

After he showered and got ready for work, Hutch joined Starsky at the kitchen table. His partner had made some toast and poured the coffee. Hutch sat down and took a deep breath. “Starsk,” he said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say to you. I don’t know how to explain myself.”

“I just have one question, Hutch,” Starsky said softly. “Why?”

They sat together and hashed out what had happened between them and Kira. She was suddenly of little importance. Both of them wanted to mend fences and they both had things they wanted to say to explain their behavior. As they worked through their thoughts and feelings, they warmed up to each other again. Forgiveness was the first thing on both of their minds, both of them asking for it, both of them offering it. When they had to leave or be late for duty, they decided to continue their talk after work. In addition to that plan, the thing they most agreed on was that they needed to get back at Kira and put her behind them. They both wanted her to know they were wise to her game. The opportunity to do that presented itself sooner than they thought it would.

That day, they both received word that they were supposed to meet Kira at Huggy’s bar. They decided to play a trick on her. They would show up dressed alike and pretend not to know why they were each there. To add to the effect, they agreed they wouldn’t let Huggy in on their secret. That night, after Kira refused them both and they walked away from her together, they went to Starsky’s place to unwind and finish their morning conversation.

They had the next day off, so they decided it would be best if Hutch crashed at Starsky’s and they got a little trashed. They sat on the living room floor deep in conversation as they put away their second pitcher of margaritas.

“I’ve decided to get back to my old routine, Starsk,” Hutch said as he held out his glass for more of the frozen concoction. “Too bad that means you have to give me back my blender.” He chuckled at that last bit, pulling his glass back and licking off the little bit of margarita Starsky had sloshed over onto his hand.

“I’m sure you don’t mean the blender that provided this delicious pitcher of adult slushies. No way, Blondie. You gave me this thing when you kicked your black strap roof tar and butterfly knees morning drinks. Get a new one.”

He lifted his own glass in a toasting gesture, squelching Hutch’s protest. “To us, partner. Together again and ridin’ herd on our beat. Let the criminals beware.”

“Here, here,” Hutch agreed, clinking his glass against Starsky’s.

Starsky started to giggle and said, “Keep movin’, movin’, movin’…though they’re disapprovin’, keep those doggies movin’, Rawhide!”

Hutch surprised Starsky by interrupting with, “Don’t try to understand ‘em, just rope, throw, and brand ‘em…soon we’ll be livin’ high and wide….”

“Hey! You watched Rawhide?”

“Yup,” Hutch said in his best cowboy drawl. That resulted in another fit of giggles on both their parts.

When they started singing and talking in cowboy speak, they both knew they’d reached their alcohol limit for the evening. Starsky drained his glass, set it on the coffee table and collapsed onto his back on the floor, between the couch and the table. He put his feet on the floor and his knees in the air. “Hutch,” he said, the giggles completely gone from his voice.

Even in a semi-plastered haze, Hutch knew when his partner turned serious.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. Hutch finished his drink, and then climbed over Starsky to stretch out on the couch. He positioned himself opposite from Starsky so he could lean against the sofa arm and keep an eye on his partner’s face.

Starsky continued, “I’m glad we worked it out, buddy.”

“I am, too,” Hutch replied.

Starsky sat and thought about how he should say what he had on his mind. “No, I’m really, really glad, Hutch.”

Hutch looked over at his friend. Starsky had a strange look on his face and it sent a shiver through Hutch. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what all of this was about, but he needed to hear it. “Starsk, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just…I really don’t know how to say this, buddy. I guess everything that’s happened over the past few months just sorta spooked me. You know, with Lionel dying and that whole case…I got to thinking about a lot of things. Then, when we were fighting over Kira, I — ”

Hutch interrupted him, “That’s over, buddy. Never gonna happen again. You believe me, don’t you?”

“‘Course I believe you, dummy. That ain’t what this is about.”

Hutch smiled. He knew Starsky was over being angry with him if he was teasing him and calling him names. He reached a hand out and rested it on Starsky’s knee. “Then, what, Gordo?” he asked.

“I just hope nothin’ ever happens to me when we’re mad.”

“What are you talking about?” Hutch asked.

“Well, either one of us, man. I just would hate for us to be havin’ a fight or all mad at each other and something happens. That’s all.”

Hutch didn’t like how this topic was making him feel. He patted Starsky’s knee and said, “Hey, you mean like…one of us getting killed?”

“Could happen anytime, partner. Almost did last night.”

Hutch thought about that for a moment. When he saw Starsky smoothly catch the live grenade and toss it away from him, Hutch was terrified that he was going to lose his best friend. If Starsky’s reflexes had been just a little slower, they might both be dead.

“I know that, Starsk, but it’s best not to dwell on it. Come on…we’re supposed to be havin’ a good time. Don’t worry about stuff like that right now.”

Starsky sat up a little and leaned on his elbows. He fixed Hutch with a purposeful look. “I want you to make me a promise, then, and I’ll stop worrying about it.”

“What promise?”

“If anything ever happens like that, promise me you wouldn’t blame yourself. No matter what.”

“Starsk….”

“No, I’m serious, Hutch. Promise me you wouldn’t, even if it happened so fast I couldn’t say goodbye. Promise me you’d remember how I…how I felt about you.”

Hutch took a deep breath. “You’re scaring me a little here, Gordo. You taking up reading fortunes or something? Is there something you’re not telling me? Something you know that I don’t?” Although it wasn’t unheard of for Starsky to get pensive and turn a conversation down a deeply philosophical path, this time he sounded like he’d had a premonition. Starsky could tell he’d made Hutch nervous by his string of rapid-fire questions. He answered each question just as rapidly.

“Slow down, Blintz. No, I haven’t. No, there isn’t. No, I don’t. I just, well, I just had a feeling I needed to tell you that. Nothin’ deeper.”

Hutch could accept that. “I’ll promise if you promise the same thing. AND if you promise to tell me if you know something’s going to happen. Deal?”

“Yeah, that’s a deal. Thanks, Hutch.” Starsky smiled and reclined on the floor again. He was content, but Hutch was more than a little worried. Starsky was often intuitive and now Hutch was concerned that his need to tell Hutch such a troublesome thing might be based on some precognitive notion. He decided he’d be keeping an extra wary eye on his partner.

~*~*~*~

Three days later, Starsky swung the car into a taco stand without signaling or warning Hutch what he was about to do. Hutch grabbed the door handle to steady himself.

“What the hell was that?” Hutch demanded.

“I’m starvin’,” Starsky said plaintively. “I didn’t get any supper last night because of that crummy stakeout and I didn’t get any breakfast this morning because you wouldn’t wait — ”

“We were already a half hour late when you finally bothered to show up at my place,” Hutch said. “We didn’t have time for breakfast.”

“We coulda gotten a bagel or something once we went out on patrol,” Starsky said. “But then there was that 2-11 at the gas station and the pickpocket on Marshall and the domestic at Safeway, and — ”

Hutch sighed. “Fine. Okay. Get some greasy, artery-clogging food and ruin your appetite for decent food later.”

“It won’t ruin my appetite,” Starsky promised. “I could eat a stalled ox.”

Hutch closed his eyes. “Please don’t.”

Starsky got out of the car and had made it almost halfway to the window to order when the radio called for all units to answer a call for an armed robbery a couple blocks away.

“Code One,” the dispatcher warned. “All units, approach Code One.”

“Come on, Starsk,” Hutch called out the window. “Don’t pretend you didn’t hear that.”

Starsky stopped walking, said something rude, and came back. “I’m gonna waste away and die,” he grumbled, getting back in the car and spinning the tires unnecessarily as he sped toward the call, no lights, no siren, as ordered.

Hutch smothered a smile. “I’ll make a deal with you,” he said.

“What’s that?” Starsky asked, never taking his eyes from the road as he swore under his breath and swiveled the wheel to avoid a slow-moving VW Bug in front of him. Without lights or siren, the other cars weren’t making a path for them.

“They’re going to start painting the office next week,” Hutch said. “Let’s dig out the old Ping Pong stuff and play a tournament. If I win, you take me out to a three-course meal, my choice of restaurant. If you do, I’ll take you out. Anywhere you want.”

Starsky grinned as he skidded to a stop around the corner from the address and reached for his gun. “Deal.”

The call had been to a freestanding office building housing an insurance office and a savings and loan. From the outside, all looked peaceful and quiet. There were only a few cars in the shared parking lot, and no sign of any trouble. A glassed entryway led into the building’s lobby, from which the doors leading to the two separate offices opened. There was no way to see in to spot where the crime might be taking place or how many perpetrators there were — one of the most dangerous situations for police officers.

Hutch slithered around the perimeter of the building to check out the back. Starsky took the front. Both of them tried to peer inside to see what was going on before entering and to kill a little time to give their backup time to arrive.

Hutch could hear voices arguing. He couldn’t understand more than a few words here and there, but he got the idea someone was demanding payment for something. That didn’t sound like an armed robbery to him. Extortion? Protection racket? He moved in a little further and clearly heard the words, “Mr. Gunther is going to be very unhappy about this.”

A second voice answered, trembling, “Look, Jeff, I can’t help what happened. I’ve been trying to rebuild, like he wanted, but all the publicity — ”

“I don’t give a goddamn about publicity!” the first voice hissed. That voice went on, but Hutch, strain as he might, couldn’t make out the words. Either the man had lowered his voice, or perhaps they’d shut a door or moved away from the area. Hutch ducked to avoid being seen through the windows and scurried back to the front.

“There’s at least two,” he whispered to Starsky. “I don’t think it’s an armed robbery. They know each other. Sounds like one of them screwed up something and the other one was sent to straighten him out.”

“Terrific,” Starsky said. “What do you wanna do?”

A car pulled up in the parking lot and two men got out. Neither one glanced at the Torino, parked around the corner, or toward Starsky and Hutch, who were clearly visible to them.

“What do we do?” Hutch’s heart was beating hard in his chest and he could tell by the pinched look of Starsky’s eyes that he was just as scared. No backup had arrived yet and now there were two more to deal with.

“Where the hell is the backup?” Starsky said angrily. “We can’t go in there like this — ” He broke off at the sound of automatic gunfire and both men hit the dirt. A moment later, the two men ran out toward the car in the lot. With barely a glance at each other, Starsky and Hutch ran out, shouting “Freeze” and aiming their guns at the men. One of the men squeezed off a shot, which went wide, barely missing Hutch, and the other brought his gun up to fire, only to be hit in the shoulder by a shot from Starsky. The man fell, losing his grip on his gun, and Starsky swung his gun to aim at the second man, but Hutch had already returned fire and dropped the man dead on the ground.

The backup chose that moment to arrive, sirens and lights going in total disregard of the orders given earlier.

“Where the FUCK have you guys BEEN?” Starsky bellowed at them as he was cuffing the surviving gunman. “Get your asses inside. There’re two more.”

Hutch went with them and Starsky was just calling for a paddy wagon and an ambulance when two more units arrived. He handed his prisoner over to the first unit so they could ride with him to the hospital when the ambulance arrived and then he beckoned the second pair of officers to follow him inside.

But Hutch and the two uniformed officers had already dealt with the men inside. Both were cuffed, though the office itself was a wreck.

“You okay, partner?” Starsky asked Hutch.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.” Starsky put his gun away and wiped the sweat from his forehead. It didn’t matter how hot or cold the weather was, shootouts always made him break out in a clammy sweat.

Hutch came closer and lowered his voice. “This was no armed robbery, buddy.”

“Nope,” Starsky agreed. “A hit?”

“I’d say so. Botched.” Hutch watched as the uniformed officers ushered the prisoners out and he turned to look around the room. It was filled with filing cabinets and several had been overturned, their contents scattered. He picked up a few of the files and started looking through them. Starsky followed suit. It wasn’t long before both men raised their eyes to look at each other, stunned.

~*~*~*~

Gunther was going over his notes again, preparing for the monthly board meeting, when there was a tap at his office door. “Come in,” he said without looking up.

“Sir,” Thomas said, his voice tight.

Then Gunther did look up, and Thomas was holding a silver tray with a single sheet of paper, folded, on it. By the expression in Thomas’ eyes — he was too well trained for anything to show on his face — it wasn’t good news. Gunther accepted the piece of paper. “Thank you, Thomas,” he said, and Thomas gave a nod and left the room. Gunther unfolded the paper and read the message on it. Though inside he was in a rage, on the outside the only sign was a slight tightening of the muscles of his jaw.

Again. Those two officers had struck again. And this time, they had been the cause of the downfall of his entire West Coast operation. The time had come.

At his board meeting the next day, Gunther had everyone’s undivided attention as he walked toward the front of the room and spoke. “The only report that I am at all concerned with is that we have eliminated now and forever the two individuals who are almost single handedly responsible for the massive damage inflicted on this organization.” His malevolent stare chilled his audience as he made the unmistakable proclamation. “Now and forever, gentlemen,” Gunther said, standing in front of a photograph of Starsky and Hutchinson that had been taken at the time they were in the midst of destroying his FHA scam. “Now and forever, gone.” He gazed down the table and in every pair of eyes he saw fear. Whether that fear was of him or of the decision he had just announced to pay for a hit on two well-known police officers didn’t matter.

Starsky and Hutchinson must die.

~*~*~*~

“I don’t know how you two do it,” Dobey said a few days later, trying to sound grouchy and failing. “You answer a simple armed robbery call and break a case wide open that the Organized Crimes Unit has been trying to crack for over a year.”

Starsky grinned, but Hutch forced himself to remain cool and aloof. “All in a day’s work, Captain,” Hutch said.

The files — and the bogus savings and loan — had turned out to be a cover for an organized crime syndicate that was responsible for bringing enormous quantities of drugs into the Bay City ports by ship, with the drugs concealed among the legitimate cargo. The Savings and Loan was owned and operated by the shipping firm, which dealt in a legitimate import/export business, and the shipping firm was owned, in turn, by a holding company that oversaw a variety of concerns — some legitimate, most illegal. With the files from the savings and loan office, the Organized Crimes Unit had the last link in a chain they’d been forging for months and it looked like they’d be able to take the whole organization down. So many indictments had been issued since the day of the “armed robbery” that the front page of the Bay City Chronicle had been devoted to stories on the indictments three days in a row.

“Get out of here,” Dobey said in response to Hutch’s remark. “I have a meeting with the commissioner.”

The detectives rose and went out into the squad room, or what had been their squad room until the painting crew had arrived that morning. The desks had been pushed into the middle of the room and covered with tarps. The filing cabinets were buried under more tarps. One painter was hard at work while another had set up shop against the wall and was unpacking his lunch.

“How’re we supposed to work when we can’t get to our desks or the phones or the files?” Starsky inquired of his partner.

“Guess we can’t,” Hutch said with a grin. “Now might be a good time for that Ping Pong tournament.”

Starsky returned the grin and peered under tarps until he found his desk. He pawed in the bottom drawer until he found the net and the paddles. Hutch helped him push a couple of desks together to make a makeshift table and set up the net.

“Choose your weapon,” Starsky said, offering the two paddles. Hutch picked one and the battle was on. “Just to make this a real contest,” Starsky suggested, “let’s play Country Music Title Trivia at the same time.”

Both of them lost track of the time as the battle raged.

“If I Had to Do it All Over Again, I’d Do it All Over You,” Starsky said, hitting the ball.

“Oh, yeah? Don’t Cry Down My Back, Baby, You’ll Rust My Spurs,” Hutch said, whacking the ball back toward Starsky.

They’d play in silence for a few minutes and then one of them would think of — or make up — another title to call out, forcing the other one to come up with one, too. They went on this way for so long that Dobey finally emerged from his office and stood there, trying to talk to them, but losing his train of thought in the hypnotic sight of the ball bouncing back and forth.

Finally, Hutch lost the last point.

“Game, set and match, sucker!” Starsky crowed. He dumped his paddle onto their captain and bounded out the door. Hutch did the same. They argued companionably all the way down to the police garage about who had cheated and who had actually won and what they were going to have for the three-course dinner that had been riding on the game.

As they approached the car, Starsky reached in his pocket for his keys. Hutch waited impatiently on the passenger side.

“Come on, hurry up,” Hutch said.

Starsky usually didn’t lock the car, especially in the police garage, but he had a new stereo amp in the backseat he’d just picked up earlier in the day and he didn’t want anyone to steal it. The driver’s side door lock had been sticking for over a week and Starsky made a mental note to take care of it. He was concentrating on getting the key in the lock when he heard a scraping sound from down the row of parked squad cars.

“Starsky! Get down!” Hutch cried out, and there was more fear in his voice than Starsky had ever heard there before.

Starsky let go of the keys, leaving them in the lock, and reached for his gun, turning just in time to see a squad car coming toward them and the man in the passenger seat aiming a semi-automatic weapon at him. There was no time to run for cover. He heard the sounds of the gun firing and of breaking glass and felt the burning, twisting pain as the bullets entered him, throwing him against the car.

“Hu…tch,” he tried to call out as his legs gave way and he slid to the ground. Somewhere far away he heard his partner call his name. As he went down, he wondered if this was what it felt like to die.

Then everything went black.

 

Part III: Research

September 15, 1979

Matt Dixon was a graduate student at California State’s Bay City campus in the anthropology department. He was working on his master’s thesis and had decided to study the subject of police culture and psychology. Over the past two years, he had done most of his library research, and had participated in a few field tests with various Southern California police departments.

He was delighted to find out that his wife’s uncle was a close friend of a captain of detectives in the Metro division of the Bay City police department. Captain Harold Dobey and Debbie Dixon’s Uncle Frank were uniformed officers at the same time. Frank was forced out of the department on a medical retirement just before Dobey made captain, but they had maintained their friendship. When Frank asked if the captain would help Matt with his work, Dobey was happy to agree.

Frank had also told Matt that if he wanted to study a fascinating case of police behavior, he should be sure to interview a pair of detectives named Starsky and Hutchinson. Frank wouldn’t go into any details — he said it was because he didn’t want Matt to have any preconceptions before he met the two men — but he did tell him Dobey was their immediate superior and arranging an interview with them should be easy.

The annual all Bay City precinct summer picnic seemed like the perfect place for Matt to wander around and interview cops in a relaxed setting. Dobey had informed the other captains, but he didn’t tell the Metro staff. Matt wanted him to be sure not to, so he had his best shot at candid answers from the detectives. Naturally, word had gotten around quickly anyway. His men were detectives.

Edith Dobey passed a picnic basket to her daughter, Rosie, and an armload of lawn chairs to her son, Cal. The captain already had his assignment. While Edith and the children carried the Dobey family’s picnic items to a table, Harold Dobey was busy helping Dave Starsky get out of the car. Despite the fact that it was a Saturday and he was not on duty, Ken Hutchinson had to go down to the District Attorney’s office for another brief deposition in the Gunther case. Just four months earlier, James Marshall Gunther had hired hit men to kill both Starsky and Hutch in the Metro police garage. Although Hutch wasn’t physically injured, his partner was still on the long road to recovery from his near fatal shooting. Struck three times by bullets from an automatic weapon, Starsky had narrowly cheated death. Hutch didn’t like it that he would be going ahead to the picnic without him, but he couldn’t refuse to trust his partner’s safety and wellbeing to their captain and his family. Hutch had left for the D.A.’s office at ten. He would give his deposition and be at the ball field by noon.

The Gunther trial was scheduled to begin in just a few weeks. In addition to the fact that Starsky had been too ill to spend much time out of the house, Hutch was nervous about Gunther still having a long enough reach to harm his partner. He wouldn’t rest easy until the old man was tried, convicted, and delivered to a penitentiary. Although Starsky’s memory of the shooting was blessedly sketchy, he was expected to testify in court. That had Hutch’s hackles up, but there was nothing he could do.

Captain Dobey had one strong arm around Starsky’s waist and the other supporting his elbow. Today wasn’t one of the injured officer’s better days, but he’d done his best to hide that from his partner.

“You doing okay, Dave?” Dobey asked when they were half way to the picnic table. Some of the homicide detectives had staked out the table for them earlier in the day. They thought its proximity to the parking lot, the baseball field, and the restrooms made it the best place to install Detective Starsky for the duration. The less he had to walk, the better.

“Yeah, but…do you mind stopping for just a sec? I’m…a little…out of breath,” Starsky replied in a quiet voice.

Dobey stopped instantly. He felt a swell of anger at the condition Gunther’s goons had left Starsky in as he looked across the grass twenty feet to the picnic table. Twenty feet that looked like two thousand feet to the younger man.

“Uh, maybe I should just take you home….” Dobey started.

Starsky shook his head and waited for his breathing to improve. One of the bullets had damaged a lung and he still was having trouble with it on some days. “No way. Hutch hasn’t had a minute of fun since this happened, dammit.”

“I know, but….”

“No. I’m okay. Let’s just get over there so I can sit down.”

Starsky started moving forward again and in a few minutes, Dobey helped him to sit at the table. He didn’t like the thin sheen of perspiration on Starsky’s face, but his worried glance to Edith was met with her shaking head. She wanted him not to say anything.

Edith reached into the cooler chest for a Dr. Pepper, opened it, and handed it to Starsky. She produced a couple of pills Hutch had instructed her to dispense and dropped them onto Starsky’s palm. He smiled at her and said, “If I take both of these, I might just sleep through the festivities.” He tried to hand one back to her, but she shook her head at him.

“Dave, are you going to explain to Ken why you didn’t take all of your pills?”

“He’s not gonna know if we don’t tell him.”

“You think? I think he counts them,” Harold Dobey chimed into the conversation.

Starsky said, “Look over there,” as he pointed toward the baseball field. When Edith and the captain did as he said, he quietly dropped one of the pills into his shirt pocket. The Dobey’s knew they’d been had.

Edith looked at her watch and said, “Okay, it’s only 11:30. If you decide maybe you should have taken them both, just don’t forget to notice what time it is, okay?”

Some of the other detectives had seen Starsky’s arrival. They waited until it looked like he was settled and then jogged over to speak with him.

Jack Hill had a baseball cap and a jersey in his hands. He handed them to Starsky and said, “Here’s your stuff for this year’s team.”

“But I’m not playin’, Jack.”

“Aw, we ordered this stuff months ago. The guys want you to have them, okay?”

Starsky put the cap on and smiled. “Yeah, thanks.”

Hill’s partner, Sean Cavanaugh, pushed the baseball cap down farther onto Starsky’s head. “There, that’ll keep the sun out of your face.”

Starsky spread the team jersey out to look at it. Every year the plain-clothes detectives played a team of uniformed officers. This year the detectives had chosen the name “Bod Squad” for their team. Starsky chuckled at the choice and thanked his friends.

“Where’s your partner, Starsky?” Sean asked. “The game starts in an hour.”

“D.A.’s office. He’ll be along by then.”

“Hey, Cap,” Jack said, “Some grad student is here. He already talked to Sean and me. You sure that’s on the up and up?”

“Yeah, the kid’s related to an old friend of mine. He really is doing his thesis on police culture and psychology.”

Starsky snorted with laughter at that. “Whoa…what’s this about?”

Sean and the captain explained the process to Starsky. He was intrigued at what the student planned to gain from the experience, but he told Dobey he’d go along with it.

~*~*~*~

Matt sat with Simmons underneath one of the park’s many pine trees. The blanket of needles on the ground was soft and sticky. He’d been in the park since the first baseball teams had started to play at eight. His many interviews had piqued his curiosity about a special facet of police culture — how partners interacted with and depended upon each other. By the time he got to Simmons, his thinking had changed course. Matt had decided to focus on partner psychology and culture instead.

“How long have you and your partner been a team?” he asked as he scribbled notes in his steno pad.

“Oh, about three years,” Simmons answered.

“What do you think your best assets are working with,” he paused as he looked up through his notes, and then he said, “Babcock.”

Simmons was busy tying his baseball cleats while they chatted. He was getting ready to meet his partner out on the baseball field for a little pre-game warm-up. “Oh, I guess it’s that I trust him. We trust each other, you know?”

“Did that take a long time to develop?”

“Kind of. At first, we didn’t like each other too much,” he said with a smile. “He can be a little arrogant and I’m not the easiest guy to like. I’m a little bit of a know it all.”

“What helped you to get over this dislike?” Matt asked with interest.

“About a month after we were put together, we got in a jam. He saved my butt in a firefight. The rest is history, man.”

“Firefight? You mean a gun battle?”

“That’s right. We responded to a liquor store holdup and it went bad. He got me out of the line of fire after I took a minor wound in my arm,” he said as he rubbed his hand over his upper arm without thinking. “We hunkered down and waited for backup. Starsky and Hutch showed up a little while later and helped take down the perps.”

Matt looked back through his notes and used his pen to count off the number of times he’d heard those names in previous interviews. He was getting the distinct impression that this particular pair was a legend at Metro.

“Are they going to be here today? I’ve been trying to track them down for a week. You see, I’ve decided to focus on partner behavior, communication, and what you guys tell me is called the ‘rules of engagement’ for partners.”

“You’ll definitely want to talk to them, then. They’ve been a team for a long time. Yeah, they’ll be here, but Starsky was hurt real bad a few months ago. They’ve been laying low while he recovers. Hutch ain’t at work much. That’s probably why you’ve been having a hard time.”

“What happened?” Matt asked. He’d heard there was a shooting, but the other detectives were pretty quiet about the incident. Matt was in San Diego finishing some field work when Starsky was shot and he wasn’t following the news, so he didn’t know many details. He was curious about the reasons why the cops he’d spoken with might not want to discuss it.

“Well…” Simmons hedged. “I think maybe you’d better ask Hutch. I, uh….”

Matt said, “I’ve noticed that most of the Metro staff I’ve asked don’t seem to want to talk about it. Why do you suppose that is?”

“I don’t know, man. Maybe cops are a little superstitious. Starsky was shot and it was real close. Too close. I don’t like to talk about it. He’s still recovering, see, and…well, I guess I’d be afraid I could jinx it. You know, tempting fate?”

Matt smiled at him and took some more notes. He wanted to investigate the concept of superstition on the force. “Thanks, that’s okay.”

“I’ve gotta go warm up. Is that enough for now?”

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll catch your partner later. I take it he’s playing, too.”

“Sure is. Look, Hutch will be playing in the game. You can catch him after. Tall guy, blond. He’s pitching.”

“Thanks. I’ll look for him.”

Hutch was just pulling up to the park as Matt was finishing with Simmons. His trip to the D.A.’s office had left him in a bad mood. Answering Gunther’s attorney’s questions drained him. That the man would try to get Gunther acquitted was obvious, but Hutch wasn’t expecting it to make him as angry as it was.

As soon as he got out of the car, he scanned the park for where the Dobey’s had set up for the day. When he spotted the table, he could see his partner was looking like he wasn’t feeling well. Starsky was talking to Cal when he felt Hutch’s gaze hit him.

“He’s here, isn’t he?” he asked Cal.

Cal was facing the parking lot and he looked up to see the tall man striding toward them. “You know, that’s kind of creepy how you do that. Yeah, he’s here.”

“How does he look?” Starsky didn’t want to turn around. He was busy trying to look less uncomfortable.

Before Cal could answer, Hutch walked up and around to where he could see Starsky’s face. “Hi, buddy, you all right? Hi, Cal.”

Starsky smiled. “Battin’ a thousand, buddy. How’d it go?”

“Don’t ask.” Hutch shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand as he reached over and patted Starsky’s hand with the other.

“Tell me later?”

“Yeah, okay. Did you eat?”

Cal said, “Hi, Hutch. We just got here a little while ago. You want something?”

“No, I have to play. You sure you’re okay, Starsk? You look a little tired today.”

“Worrywart. Go play, I’m fine. Cal’s keeping me company and Rosie is going to fix me a hot dog. Go on.”

Hutch knew his friend wasn’t being completely honest, but he also knew it was important to Starsky that he play in this game. Starsky had made it clear that he wanted him to, and he was going to do it.

“Can you see from here?” Hutch looked toward the field and realized that Starsky would be able to watch the game from there. Starsky just smiled and shooed him toward the field.

When Hutch was out of earshot, he said to Cal, “You think I fooled him?”

“Nope. He’s ignoring it, though.”

An hour later, the game was going well for the plain-clothes team. Hutch had only given up a few hits and one run. Starsky sat watching for a long time, until the unrelenting sunlight started to make him feel overheated and uncomfortable. Cal, Rosie, and the captain had all gone to sit at the field where they could cheer on their team. Edith stayed with Starsky and she noticed that he was not doing well. She touched him on one clammy hand to get his attention.

“Dave, you look uncomfortable. Are you okay?”

He looked toward her and said, “Guess it’s kind of hot and sitting on this hard bench isn’t doing much for me, but I’m okay.”

Starsky had been paying attention to the game, but Hutch had also been paying attention to him. Between pitches, and when he was on base, he glanced back toward the picnic table to check on his partner. He was getting up to warm up on deck when he saw Edith helping Starsky over to a lawn chair in the shade under a nearby tree.

Hutch took a few steps toward the gate in the low fence when he heard the crack of the bat and Babcock saying, “Hey, Hutch! You’re up.”

Hutch hesitated a moment. Edith saw him looking at them, so she waved and smiled — doing her best to send him the message that she had everything under control.

“Hutch!” Babcock said. “Hey, you gonna play?”

The umpire was calling, “Batter up!”

Hutch looked both ways, first toward home plate, then back toward his partner. He decided to go ahead with his turn at bat. Fighting the urge to rush over and make sure everything was all right took nearly all of his resolve.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” Hutch strode toward home plate; sure he could feel Starsky’s pleasure that he’d resisted the urge to hover.

“He’s doin’ great today, Edith,” Starsky said with a grin.

“You know how hard this is for him. He won’t like it if I let you get heat stroke over here. I’m going to get you another cold drink. Dr. Pepper, root beer, lemonade, or water, Dave?”

“How about a beer?” Starsky asked, knowing what the answer would be.

“On pain pills? Are you trying to get your partner mad at me? I don’t think so. Be right back and I’ll surprise you.” She took one more look at him, making sure he was settled comfortably. The chair was the type that sits only a few inches off the ground. He wasn’t going to be able to get out of it without assistance.

Throughout the game, Matt Dixon had been wandering among the crowd, talking to the officers and making notes. When Hutch had taken the field, he’d begun watching him. Following Hutch’s frequent glances back toward the parking lot, Matt saw a dark-haired man who was obviously not completely well. Even from a distance, he could tell the man was sitting in a guarded position, possibly in pain, or feeling ill. That must be Detective Starsky. He watched Hutch’s turn at bat. Despite his obvious distraction, Hutch hit a double, sending Simmons home and making it to second base. He stood on base, keeping one eye on the game and another on his friend.

The sound of screeching tires in the parking lot caused Hutch to snap his attention around to find its source. He did not like it that Starsky was so close to the parking lot and he was so far away. The car speeding through the parking lot was just a bunch of teenagers, not a threat to his partner’s safety. Hutch sighed wearily, longing for the day when he would be able to relax again, secure that Starsky was safe from Gunther.

After giving him a root beer, Edith excused herself to go speak with her husband next to the ball field. Starsky hoped it wasn’t a report on his condition. The last thing he wanted was for Hutch to get wind of how much pain he was in and insist on taking Starsky home. He checked the time and reached into his pocket for the second pain pill, knowing he’d have to take it if he stood a chance of hiding his discomfort from Hutch.

Matt decided he’d go and talk to Starsky since the game had only run through three innings and Hutch would be busy for a while. Looking toward where Starsky sat, he noticed the man was alone. Now would be a good time.

Starsky’s eyes were drifting shut when he heard a quiet voice next to him. He opened his eyes and looked up at a young man he didn’t recognize. A flash of worry sliced through him, but he immediately dismissed it. The young man was carrying a notepad and he looked more like a college student than a hit man. Starsky guessed this must be the student Sean and Dobey had mentioned. Hutch wasn’t the only one who worried about Gunther trying something before the trial. That was something Starsky was keeping to himself, although he was sure Hutch was worried about it, too.

“Sorry, were you talking to me?” he asked.

“Yes. Sorry to disturb you. Are you Detective Starsky?”

“Who wants to know?”

Matt introduced himself and explained what he wanted. Starsky listened patiently and agreed to speak with him.

“Thanks, Detective….”

“Just Starsky, or Dave will do.”

“Okay. Thanks. I’ve been talking to some of the other partners and your name has come up a lot. Yours and Detective Hutchinson’s. I was hoping I could talk to him, but so far I just haven’t been in the right place at the right time, I guess.”

Starsky looked past Matt to see that the inning had ended with Hutch stranded on second. The plain-clothes team was taking the field again, and Hutch was slowly moving toward the dugout to ditch his batting helmet. Starsky smiled.

“You want to meet my partner? Okay, I’ll bet you I can arrange that in the next thirty seconds.”

“Really, how?” Matt asked, smiling back at him.

“I’ve gotta go to the can and I can’t get out of this torture trap chair by myself. Give me a hand up and over there. You’ll get to meet him, I guarantee it.” He put a hand up for Matt to help him.

Taking the injured man’s hand, Matt said, “I don’t want to hurt you.” When he saw that Starsky wasn’t going to be able to pull himself up, he put another hand under Starsky’s elbow and hoisted him to his feet.

Starsky winced, but said, “No sweat. Just let me lean on you a little while we move that way, okay? You won’t have to go far.”

Hutch saw the stranger talking to Starsky. He hadn’t been introduced to Matt yet, and he had no idea that the graduate student would be there. When he saw the other man pull Starsky up from his chair and start to walk away from the picnic area with him, he forgot the game and headed straight for his partner, vaulting the fence rather than taking the time to go through the gate. He heard some of the guys calling after him, but Hutch ignored them. His teammates could either put in another pitcher or call a time out, that didn’t concern him. Dobey noticed what was going on and he started to move in that direction.

True to Starsky’s prediction, Hutch came up behind the two men in less than a minute. They weren’t even half way to the restrooms when Hutch put a hand on Matt’s shoulder and said, “Hey, what’s going on?”

Matt and Starsky stopped in their tracks, Starsky with a quiet chuckle and Matt with a gulp of nervousness. Matt was only five feet seven inches tall and the blond detective towered over him. The determined look on Hutch’s face was intense. He looked at Starsky and relaxed a little when he saw his friend’s smile.

Starsky said, “Matt Dixon, daredevil graduate student, meet Ken Hutchinson, partner, best friend, and bodyguard.”

“Ha, ha, wise ass. Graduate student?” Hutch said as he put a hand out to shake Matt’s.

Starsky asked, “Was it thirty seconds?”

Matt shook Hutch’s hand and replied in a slightly shaky voice, “Certainly less than a minute.”

Hutch started to say something, but he laughed instead, the tension draining from him just as Sean Cavanaugh skidded to a stop next to them. Both Starsky and Hutch were laughing at Matt’s expense by then.

“You guys are just too much,” Sean said disgustedly, but his eyes were twinkling. “Blondie, get your ass back to the pitcher’s mound. You want Jack to pitch this inning? We’d get creamed.”

Hutch shifted his weight and glanced at Starsky.

“Go on,” Starsky said. “We can’t let the other guys cream us.”

“Guess not,” Hutch said, turning to go. He’d only taken a couple of steps when he turned back. “You sure –”

“I’m sure. Scram.”

“Okay.” Hutch loped back toward the field and Sean gave Starsky a grin before he turned to follow him.

“So that’s your partner.”

“Yeah,” Starsky said. “Can we go on, please?”

“Huh?” Matt was clearly puzzled.

“The can,” Starsky reminded him.

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.” Matt took his arm again and Starsky did his best to look as if he were walking unassisted, knowing that Hutch was still watching him. After Starsky was finished, Matt helped him back to the chair under the tree. Edith was there waiting, with a tall glass of ice-cold lemonade in her hand.

Starsky accepted it gratefully. “This is gonna hit the spot,” he said, and took a long swallow. He introduced Matt, and Edith asked if he wanted some lemonade, too.

“I’ve got gallons of it,” she said encouragingly, and he accepted. She headed back to the picnic table.

“Okay, kid,” Starsky said, settling back in the chair and vainly trying to get comfortable. “What do you want to know?”

“I’m writing my master’s thesis on the relationship between partners on the police force,” Matt said. “I’m focusing on communication between partners and that,” he waved his hand toward Hutch vaguely, “just now, with your partner. That was amazing. Will you tell me about it?”

Starsky frowned thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t know if I can explain it, exactly. It’s, uh…. ” He laughed. “You know what? I don’t know what it is.”

“When did it start?”

Starsky’s frown deepened. “Seems like it’s always been this way, but I guess it hasn’t. We met in the police Academy and got to be good friends, and by the time we were out, we knew we wanted to be partners someday.”

Matt scribbled some notes as Starsky talked and when he stopped talking, Matt looked up. Starsky was looking toward the ball field, where Hutch had just apparently pitched a home run to the other team.

“Wish he’d pay attention to the game, ‘stead o’ worryin’ about me,” Starsky said.

“Can you tell me about the shooting?”

“Which one?” Starsky asked, a quirk in his lips that wasn’t quite a smile.

“There’s been more than one?”

Starsky nodded. “But I guess you wanna hear about the latest one. That was a close call.”

Matt waited, pen poised.

“I can’t tell ya too much, actually,” Starsky said after a few moments. “I remember me and Hutch playin’ ping pong in the office — they were painting and there wasn’t much else we could do. Then we went down to the garage. We were gonna go out to dinner and we were planning when and joking about where. And I was unlockin’ the car, and Hutch yelled for me to get down and… ” He stopped again and gave a shrug. “I don’t know much after that. I don’t remember much else until I woke up in the hospital. Hutch told me that was four days later.”

Matt whistled.

Starsky glanced toward the field again. Hutch was just wiping his hands on his pants, preparing to pitch to a new batter. “It was pretty tough on him.”

“On him?” Matt said, astonished. “I’d say it was tough on you. Didn’t you almost die?”

Starsky nodded. “It’s a lot harder to watch your partner almost die than it is to almost die yourself,” he said, and something in his voice told Matt he’d been on that side of the hospital wall, too. “You feel like you shoulda done something, even if there hadn’t been anything you could do. It’s your job to keep him safe, and you failed.” His eyes were on Hutch again, and when Matt followed the direction of his gaze, he could see that Hutch was watching Starsky, too. Starsky smiled and lifted one hand, and Hutch turned back to the game.

“He felt guilty,” Matt said.

“He felt helpless,” Starsky said, not exactly correcting Matt. More as if he were finishing a thought of his own. His eyes went a little out of focus and Matt recalled that the man was recovering from that shooting.

“Listen, do you need a break?” Matt asked. “I can come back to you later.”

“Wouldja mind?” Starsky asked. “I’m sorry, it’s the medication. It’s pretty strong.”

“I appreciate you taking the time at all,” Matt said, rising. “Can I get you anything?”

Starsky shook his head. “Nope. I’m fine. Edith’s nearby if I need anything.”

Matt shook Starsky’s hand and wandered over to the ball field to watch the rest of the game. The two teams held the score at a tie until the final inning. As they headed into the bottom of the inning, the uniforms were ahead. The game was nearing its end, and Hutch was sweaty and looked worn out as he left the mound to go into the dugout for the detectives’ last turn at bat. He nodded at Matt as he passed him.

Hutch was a good player, Matt thought, but he’d be even better if he’d keep his mind on the game. He almost missed a good pitch because he was looking at Starsky, and it would’ve been a strike. But at the last possible moment, he swung and struck the ball solidly, sending it far over the head of the left fielder, far enough that he was able to make it to second base. The detectives’ team went wild, screaming and yelling Hutch’s name. They were two runs behind and he’d been the first batter.

The second batter walked and the third hit a pop-up fly to center field. Hutch hadn’t moved. There hadn’t been any opportunity, yet, to try to steal home. The dugout had fallen silent as the next batter came up. Sean.

He was almost as tall and lean as Hutch, and held the bat in an easy grip, his eyes narrowed as he looked at the pitcher. He let the first two pitches go by; one strike and one ball. His easy stance never changed. And when the third pitch came, he stepped forward into it and hit the ball cleanly in a long, smooth arc that gave Hutch the opening he needed.

Hutch ran as hard as he could and managed to slide into home a split second before the ball thudded into the catcher’s mitt.

“Safe!” the umpire yelled. Sean was on second and the man who had walked to first was on third base. Matt found himself cheering with the detectives’ team, but then he realized Hutch hadn’t gotten up. Starsky, under the tree, had obviously noticed, too, and was struggling to get out of the low chair.

Matt rose, but others were quicker.

“Hutch, hey, what’s up, man?” A dark-haired detective from his own team had scrambled out of the dugout and made it to his side, followed by two or three others.

“Nothing,” Hutch answered, coughing a little. “Twisted my knee, that’s all.”

The other cop helped him up and led him back toward the dugout to the cheers of the other cops. Hutch lifted a hand with an embarrassed grin.

Two batters later, the game was over and the detectives had won. After the back-thumping and the good-natured insults and threats of “wait until next year!” were over, Hutch came over to Matt.

“Sean said he’d hang out with my partner while I talk to you,” Hutch said. He didn’t sound enthusiastic.

“I really do appreciate it,” Matt said. “I know it’s a pain in the ass.”

Hutch laughed and sat down. “No, it’s okay. Fire when ready.”

Matt explained his thesis while Hutch listened.

“Good topic,” he said.

Matt was surprised. None of the other cops had made any comment at all about his topic. But he hid his surprise and asked Hutch about his partnership with Starsky.

Hutch glanced toward his partner, who was drinking another glass of lemonade. “I suppose a lot of people have mentioned it to you,” he said instead of answering directly.

“Yeah. I get the impression you guys are sort of…legendary.”

Instead of laughing or looking embarrassed, Hutch nodded. “I suppose that’s the impression they gave you. We’ve been involved with a lot of high-profile cases. We’ve sailed pretty near the wind a few times. And unlike a lot of partners, it hasn’t made us hate each other. We’ve stuck it out. That’s kind of unusual, I guess.”

“Why?”

Hutch frowned and looked into the distance. “I guess, when you work with a guy and spend that much time with him and he sees all your bad sides and sees you hurt and angry and disillusioned, you start to feel uncomfortable with him. But Starsky and I…well, it just seems to make us closer, I guess.”

“Why?”

Hutch grinned a little. “You studying to be a reporter? That’s their favorite question.”

Matt returned the grin. “No. I’m just writing a thesis.”

“Fair enough. Why? We fit. We complement each other. He’s more optimistic than I am. He enjoys life and he can let the kid inside of him out. He loves Christmas and Halloween and playing games and carnival rides. I’m more…” He shrugged. “Cynical, maybe. I don’t know. But I think I steady him, and he steadies me and somehow it all works.”

“I hear that you two have some sort of psychic connection, almost,” Matt ventured.

Hutch, instead of laughing or rolling his eyes, nodded. “I suppose we do. At times, we can almost read each other’s minds. The way we work, we just seem to know what the other one’s doing. We don’t need words as much as other people do.”

“Will you tell me about the shooting?”

Hutch’s eyes grew serious and he shut them briefly, as if to avoid looking at something painful. “I don’t honestly know how I knew those guys were after us. They pulled out of a parking slot and hit another squad but didn’t pause. Maybe that was it. I don’t know, but suddenly I got very, very scared and I yelled at Starsky to get down and — ” He stopped for a moment and swallowed. “He didn’t. They shot him and he fell and I shot back, but my hands were shaking so badly I didn’t come anywhere near hitting them. And I called his name, and he didn’t answer.” He stopped again; obviously this was a difficult story for him to tell. Matt waited patiently. Finally, Hutch said, “I ran around the car and he was down. There was blood all over the front of his shirt. He was soaked in blood….” He wet his lips. “I couldn’t move for what felt like hours. I just stood there and stared at him and…finally, I went to him and I knelt by him and I was afraid to touch him. I don’t know why. And he was out cold. His lips were white. He was hardly breathing, and when he did breathe, it was harsh. Rattling. Like people breathe when they’re dyin’.”

Matt forgot to take notes, he was so caught up in the naked emotion on Hutch’s face. But he knew he wouldn’t forget this.

Hutch drew a deep breath as if to steady himself. “There was a lot of commotion, but it seemed far away. Other cops, somebody yelling for help, our captain. But all I could see was Starsky, and all I could hear was that rattle in his chest. One of the bullets pierced a lung,” he added, looking at Matt for the first time in several minutes. “I reached out and put my hand on his cheek,” unconsciously, Hutch’s hand lifted and touched his own cheek to demonstrate, “and he opened his eyes. He couldn’t talk. He wanted to. He was trying to. But all he could do was form the word — ” Hutch blinked rapidly for a moment and finally finished, “goodbye.”

“He thought he was dying,” Matt said.

“He was dying,” Hutch answered. “He knew it. I knew it. How he survived, I don’t know. It’s a miracle. Nothing less.” He looked at Matt again, but his eyes went past him to the tree where Starsky was sitting, and without another word, he was on his feet and running.

Matt turned to look, and he could see, even from this distance, that something was wrong with Starsky.

While Matt and Hutch were talking, Sean kept Starsky company. They talked about the game the detectives’ team had just won and the cases Sean and his partner were working. Sean assured Starsky that Hutch was fine. He’d just twisted his knee, nothing serious. Starsky, on the other hand, had pulled a muscle trying to rise from the lawn chair and he was doing his best to hide his additional discomfort from Sean. He didn’t want to give his nervous friend any reason to holler for Hutch. Being treated like he was fragile, despite the accuracy of that assumption, depressed the healing detective. He wanted things to go back to normal. His friends were attentive and concerned, but at times, he couldn’t help wishing they’d treat him like they did before he was shot.

Rosie Dobey ran up to Sean and pulled on one of his big hands. “Come on, play Frisbee with me.”

Sean looked back at Starsky and said, “No, I’m sorry, Rosie. I promised to keep Starsky company.”

“Come on,” she wheedled. “Uncle Dave usually plays with me, but he can’t right now. Uncle Hutch would get mad.”

Starsky laughed. “Yes, he would, Rosie. He’d probably put me on restriction.” Sean noticed the slight wince on Starsky’s face as he laughed.

“No….”

“Pleeeeeeeeeeasssssse? Everybody else is busy.”

“She’s awfully good at that, Sean. Go ahead. You’ll be right over there, for God’s sake. I’m fine.”

Sean thought it would be fun to play with Rosie. She was a sweet girl and the detectives all liked her. He chewed his bottom lip a little as he decided, taking longer than either the little girl with big, brown, pleading eyes, or the grown detective could bear.

“Look,” Starsky said, “Edith brought the morning paper with her so I’d have something to read. It’s up there on the table in the box with the paper plates. Bring it over here and I’ll just read while you guys do your thing. Okay?”

“If you’re sure, Starsky. Okay. I’m sorry for being so uptight. I just…worry,” Sean said with a sheepish smile.

Rosie ran over to the table and fetched the paper. “Thanks, Uncle Dave,” she said and she gave him a kiss on his cheek. She and Sean moved off away from the trees to toss the Frisbee while Starsky started on the paper.

He wasn’t feeling well, and he was wishing it was already time for his next dose of pain medication. Hoping reading would take his mind off of his discomfort, he started on page one.

“Vegas Bound Tour Bus Crashes — 3 Dead, 10 Injured” was the headline. A local tour bus company was under investigation for safety violations. Now that there had been a fatality accident, the investigation would likely involve police work. He read through that story and then turned to finish his article on page two. When he turned the page, his eyes were immediately drawn to the story at the top of page three — “Gunther Trial Jury Selection Starts Monday.” He hadn’t read many of the articles about the shooting, the investigation, or the upcoming trial. At first, he wasn’t able to read them. Later, as his recovery progressed, Hutch had shielded him from them. Starsky knew and appreciated that, even though he and Hutch never discussed it.

Starsky’s eyes were glued to the pictures accompanying the article. His hands started to shake, his face had gone pale, and he was breathing hard. The pictures showed the Torino with its shot-out windows. Even in black and white, the large pool of blood on the ground looked grisly. The second picture was of James Marshall Gunther walking into court for one of the pretrial hearings. The third picture was worse.

Sometime after the media got wind of the story, a reporter had taken pictures of Hutch at the hospital. What was happening in that picture was clear to Starsky. One of his doctors was in the frame with Hutch and Captain Dobey. Hutch was leaning up against the wall and bending forward a little, with the captain holding his arm to steady him. Although it was a side shot, the stricken look on Hutch’s face seared into Starsky’s heart. Hutch’s hands looked like they were coming up toward his face…and they were covered in blood. Starsky’s blood. That sight brought a terrifying flashback to Starsky’s mind. He was lying on the ground and Hutch was there. He felt something touch his cheek and he opened his eyes. As hard as he tried to talk, he couldn’t. His vision was dimming, and he knew he was dying so he’d tried to say goodbye. All of this came back to him and he remembered the look in Hutch’s eyes as everything went dark and he believed his last sight in life would be his frightened partner’s face and the last thing he heard would be Hutch’s voice saying, “No, don’t go! Please, God, hang on.”

Seeing the graphic evidence of what Hutch endured that day was too much for Starsky. He put a hand up to his chest as if it might help get his racing heartbeat under control, and his limp fingers dropped the paper onto the ground as the park started to spin.

Sean looked over at Starsky as he started to slump forward and to the side. Hutch had spotted that he was in trouble a few seconds after Sean. Seeing him falling with his hand up to his chest was terrifying. Fearing it might be Starsky’s heart, Hutch made his best speed, but his twisted knee slowed him and by the time he reached Starsky, Sean was easing him down to the ground.

“Starsky!” Hutch called as he came to a stop and knelt next to his friend, quickly feeling for a pulse. Starsky was pale, but his color didn’t look like he was having a heart attack and his pulse was strong and fast. Hutch looked over at Sean and said, “What the hell happened?”

Starsky was unconscious; his face was covered with perspiration. Hutch patted him on the hand and the cheek, trying to revive him.

“I don’t know, Hutch,” Sean replied with a shaky voice. “He was just reading the paper, and next thing I knew he was going down. I guess he fainted. I’m pretty sure he didn’t feel too good earlier.”

Starsky was starting to moan and turn his head from side to side. Sean was kneeling on the discarded newspaper. As Hutch talked softly to Starsky and tried to bring him around, Sean got the paper out from under him and looked at the first couple of pages, quickly finding what had set off the other man.

“Shit, Hutch, this must be it,” he said as he held up page three for Hutch to see the pictures.

“Dammit! It’s been four months, when will they stop running that picture?” The local paper had run those shots over and over during the first two months. Almost every time something new broke on the case.

Starsky’s eyes fluttered open and he said, “Hutch?”

Hutch turned his attention to the man on the ground. “Hey, buddy, you okay?”

Starsky looked confused and he was still breathing rapidly. Hutch wasn’t happy with his racing heartbeat, either, but it seemed to be slowing. “Hutch? Oh, God….”

“Shh, it’s okay, Starsk. Just relax. Slow it down.”

Starsky nodded and put one hand up to cover his eyes, knowing he’d never get it together if he kept trying to watch Hutch and Sean spinning around him.

Matt had come up behind them by this time and he was asking if he should run and call for an ambulance.

“No!” Starsky said. “I’m all right.”

Sean and Matt both looked at Hutch for his call. “You sure you’re all right, Gordo?”

“Yeah, yeah, just gimme a minute,” Starsky replied. “Just a little dizzy. The pictures….”

Hutch took his pulse again and said, “No ambulance. I think Sean’s right, he just fainted.”

“Hey,” Starsky said. “He’s right here in front of you.”

Hutch laughed at the weak joke. “Sorry, buddy. Come on, uncover your eyes so I can see how you’re doing.”

Starsky obediently dropped his hand and opened his eyes, relieved that there was only one of everything he could see, and the world had stopped spinning. Hutch looked in his eyes, satisfied that the crisis was passing.

“You ready to sit up?”

“Yeah, gimme a hand, huh?”

Hutch took one hand and Sean took the other. They gently sat Starsky up and Hutch got behind him so that Starsky could lean back against his chest. Matt watched in fascination as the men interacted. Hutch’s arm wrapped around Starsky to steady him. None of them had noticed poor Rosie Dobey, standing on the periphery, scared to death that something terrible had happened to Starsky. Matt just stood back and watched.

“Uncle Dave?” she said in a tiny, frightened voice.

“I’m okay, sweetheart.”

“Rosie, honey, would you please run over to one of the ice chests and get us something cold for him to drink?” Hutch asked.

“Sure,” she said, happy to have something to do.

“Wait,” Hutch said as she turned to run the errand. He pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to the child. “Get this wet with the cold water from inside the ice chest, okay?”

She took it and dashed off to where her folks had left the ice chests.

Hutch glanced at the paper still in Sean’s hands and quietly said, “Get rid of that.”

“Don’t,” Starsky said. “I want to read it.”

“Starsk….” Hutch started.

“No. I mean it. I heard you talkin’ to Dobey. I have to testify. Might as well read this stuff now. I’m gonna hear it and see it in court.”

Sean looked helpless, but he said, “How ‘bout I just put it back with your stuff. You can decide what to do with it later.”

Before Starsky could protest again, Hutch nodded his thanks. He reached for Starsky’s wrist, but got his hand batted away before he could take Starsky’s pulse again.

“I’m all right, Blintz. Was I out long?” This wasn’t the first time Starsky had fainted or lost consciousness since he left the hospital. The disconcerting feeling was all too familiar; even though it had been almost two weeks since the last time it had happened. That time, he’d tried to stand up too fast and Hutch barely caught him before he hit his head on the coffee table. His healing system was stretched taut and any significant upset or physical problem that interfered with his equilibrium seemed to affect him badly.

“Nope, just a couple of minutes.” Hutch rubbed Starsky’s arm, trying to help him get warm again. His skin still felt cold and he was shivering a little, despite the warmth of the day. Rosie came back with a root beer and the cool cloth. Starsky took the soda gratefully and Hutch used the cloth to wipe Starsky’s face.

“Feels good, Hutch. Thanks.” Starsky put his head back on Hutch’s shoulder and grabbed onto his arm. “Hutch, that picture of you. I….”

“Starsk, I’m sorry. I’ve really tried hard to keep you from seeing that stuff. Maybe I did the wrong thing, but I don’t want you to get too worked up about it. Gunther’s going down in this trial and we can put it behind us.”

“I remembered something. When I saw that picture, with the blood on your hands, I remembered when I looked up at you and tried to say goodbye. I thought you were gonna be the last thing I saw.”

That thought gave Hutch a chill. “I know. I thought I was, too.” The two men hadn’t talked much about the details of that day. Matt was intrigued as he listened to them open up to and comfort each other.

“I need to know something,” Starsky continued. “What was happening in that picture of you?”

“Ah, I don’t want to….”

Starsky interrupted him. “Was that when the doc told you I was gonna die?”

Hutch swallowed a lump in his throat as his eyes suddenly filled. He could only squeak out a single word in response. “Yeah.”

“It’s okay, babe. I made it. You did, too.”

Hutch hugged him closer and rested his head on Starsky’s curls, closing his eyes and offering his millionth silent prayer of thanks. Starsky chuckled in his arms.

“What’s so funny, dirt ball?”

“You. I can feel your heart racing against my back. Are YOU okay?”

Hutch laughed. “You mean other than having you scare another year off of me?”

“Hey, you’re gonna live to be 140, remember? A few more scares and you’ll be back down to a normal life span with me.”

“That’s not even a little funny,” Hutch said, giving Starsky a squeeze to convey that he was half kidding and half serious. “No more scares for you. You’ve met your lifetime, scare the holy bejeezus out of Hutch quota. You got that?”

“Yeah, I hear ya.”

Both had clearly forgotten Matt was there, and as fascinating as it was to watch this display of their partnership in action, he also felt uncomfortable. He cleared his throat.

Starsky turned his head. “Aw, kid, I’m sorry. We ain’t much help with your paper, are we? C’mon, Hutch, we gotta let the kid finish his questions.”

Hutch looked up and smiled at Matt. Giving Starsky’s shoulder a final pat, he moved around and settled himself next to his partner. “Sure, if you’re up to it, Starsk.”

“Hey, never better.” Starsky grinned, including Matt, and added, “Go ahead, kid. Fire away.”

Matt was at a loss. He didn’t know how to ask for an explanation of what he’d just seen without sounding stupid. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Look at that, Hutch,” Starsky teased. “We took the words right out of his mouth.”

Hutch laughed, and finally Matt did, too, releasing the tension he felt. “I’m sorry,” Matt said. “But that –” he gestured vaguely. “That’s unusual behavior for a couple of tough street cops.”

“Actually,” Hutch said, “it’s not. Not the feeling. Maybe we’re more open about showing it. Let me prove it to you.” He waved at Sean, who had resumed the game with Rosie. Sean loped over and knelt.

“Yeah, Hutch?”

“I’m gonna ask you something,” Hutch said. “I want your honest answer. Not the macho cop and not a joke. Okay?”

Sean shrugged. “Sure. I guess.”

“How do you feel about Jack?”

Sean stared at him for a moment, a little pucker between his brows. “Whatdya mean?”

“I mean, what do you think of him? You like him? You trust him? You hate him? What?”

Sean glanced over his shoulder and Matt followed the line of his look to the dark-haired detective who had helped Hutch up when he’d hurt his knee sliding into home. After a moment, Sean turned back. “He’s like a brother to me,” Sean said, and there was no doubting the ring of sincerity in his tone.

“Do you love him?”

Matt watched Sean’s face. It reddened a little; clearly this line of questioning made him somewhat uncomfortable, but he nodded without hesitation. “Yeah. Guess I do.”

“Why?” Hutch grinned a little, glancing at Matt, who remembered Hutch telling him that was a reporter’s favorite question.

“Huh?” Sean stared at Hutch, then glanced at Matt, too. “Well, hell, Hutch. We spend damned near all our time together. I gotta trust that pooka with my life, pal. If he didn’t give a shit about me or I didn’t give a shit about him, that’d be a helluva mess, now, wouldn’t it?”

“Sure would,” Starsky put in with a heartfelt nod.

Hutch patted Sean on the shoulder. “Thanks, man. Go on and play with Rosie and don’t let her get the best of you.”

Sean grinned. “Easier said than done.” He rose and trotted back to the little girl.

Hutch turned to Matt. “See? I’d lay you good odds that almost every pair of partners out on that street — every effective pair — is the same way. Not all of ’em say so. Not all of them even realize it, maybe. But there’s no greater trust than to put your life in the hands of another, Matt, and once you’ve done that, you just about have to love the guy.”

“Isn’t it true that some partnerships don’t work out, and the partners even hate each other?” Matt asked.

Hutch nodded. “Sure. But they don’t last.”

“Then you two aren’t unique?”

“I don’t know if I’d say that,” Starsky said, and though the words were said in a light tone, the look in his eyes was dead serious. “Me and Hutch are different. We’re closer than most. Spend more of our off time together. We’re…. ” He paused and glanced at Hutch as if for assistance.

“The feeling isn’t unique, maybe,” Hutch picked up the ball, “but the expression of it, and the depth of it, are. Other partners are close. Other partners put their lives on the line for each other. But other partners go home at night and can take off the badge and the gun and leave the job behind. Starsky and I are partners, all the time.”

“What I just saw, a minute ago,” Matt said. “Can I use that? Can I describe that in my paper?”

Starsky and Hutch glanced at each other and though not a word passed between them, Matt could see that they were somehow discussing his request. Finally, Starsky turned back to him. “Yeah. Why not? We ain’t ashamed of it or we wouldn’t do it out here in front of God and everybody,” he said, grinning.

Starsky winced a little and shifted his weight more toward Hutch just as Edith Dobey was walking toward them to find out what had happened. She could see that whatever it was, the crisis had passed, but she could also see that Starsky wasn’t entirely comfortable where he was. She shook her head and said, “Ken, what’s the matter with you? David shouldn’t be sitting so long on the hard ground.” Edith extended a hand toward Starsky, looking him over to make sure he was all right.

“Oh, geez, I’m sorry, Starsk, let’s get you up,” Hutch said.

Hutch and Edith helped Starsky to his feet and slowly walked him toward the picnic table. When they reached it, Edith reached into the box under the table and pulled out a beach towel she’d brought with her, folding it into a makeshift cushion. Hutch felt her tugging on his sleeve and took the hint that she wanted a moment alone.

Matt sat down next to Starsky and the two of them watched Edith and Hutch walking toward Dobey and Cal as they were returning from a horseshoe-pitching contest. Starsky chuckled.

“They’re going to have a little confab over there and I’ll just bet it’s about me,” he said.

“Does that bother you?”

“Nah. They’re just trying to take care of me and as much as I hate to admit this, these past few months, that’s been a big job. I wish Hutch would take a break, but you can see how he is. Between looking out for me and working on the Gunther investigation, he hasn’t had much time for himself. That’s why I wanted him to play in the game today. He needs the diversion and my partner isn’t easily diverted.”

“Pretty persistent, huh?” Matt asked.

“Like a heat seeking missile. He made up his mind Gunther was going down for what he did. Not just to me, but to a lot of other people. Hutch hangs onto things. He’d die trying and it’s my job to make sure he doesn’t.”

That was food for thought for the graduate student. His curiosity about the events that had brought these people to the place they were in was almost overwhelming. Since Matt missed much of the local coverage when Starsky was shot, he decided it would be a good idea to go back and read about what had happened. He could get newspapers on microfiche in the main campus library. The little group of people in a huddle about what to do with the man sitting next to him was breaking up and walking back their way.

“Looks like they’ve reached a consensus, Dave,” Matt said with a smile.

One look at Hutch’s face and Starsky knew what the decision had been. “Yeah, this is where I find out it’s time for me to go home and grab a nap. They’re right, too,” he said with a yawn.

When Hutch reached the bench across from him, Starsky said, “I’m not going anywhere until I have a piece of Edith’s peach pie.”

Hutch had started to speak and now he was standing and looking at his partner, mouth open in an uncharacteristic moment where he wasn’t sure how to respond.

“You’re gonna catch a fly in there,” Starsky quipped.

Hutch laughed. “All right, you’ve got my number. Pie first, then a nap.”

Matt stood and said, “Thanks a lot, you guys. I have a lot of research I need to do at the campus library, so I’d better get moving.”

“Did we answer your questions?” Hutch asked.

Matt smiled at him. “You have no idea how helpful you’ve all been. I might have some more things to ask later. Would you mind if I give you a call?”

Starsky fielded that one. “Nope, anytime.” He gave Matt both his and Hutch’s phone numbers and then watched as the younger man walked away. Starsky’s detective instincts were telling him that Matt was about to branch in a new direction and he couldn’t help wondering what ideas their time together had given him. He sat with his partner and the Dobey’s, enjoying the pie until his tenth unstifled yawn brought an end to his reprieve from a nap. After goodbyes all around, Hutch helped him to the car for the drive home.

~*~*~*~

Within the hour, Matt Dixon was sitting at a microfiche station in the Media Room at the university library. He had requested fiche for the May Bay City newspapers, in addition to the papers from several other major United States cities. He wanted to see what the local coverage was like and to compare that with what was printed in other cities.

Starting with the Bay City Times, Matt began searching through the page one headlines until he found the day of the shooting, May 15, 1979. He sat reading the coverage, riveted by what he’d found. The additional pictures added a lot to his understanding of how bad the shooting had been. That first edition running the story didn’t give out the name of the officers involved, but it did speculate that it was unlikely the wounded policeman would survive. Now that he had met both men, Matt felt a lump in his throat thinking about what Hutch must have gone through that day.

After he read the local coverage, he started with the other city papers. Most of them didn’t have anything for the day of the shooting — nothing until the next day. However, as he looked at the last of them, he noticed something interesting. Not quite sure that he had seen what he thought he saw, he reread each of them.

The story was covered in the May 16 morning editions of the other papers, but, naturally, other stories were also being reported. Matt made some notes and printed out the first few pages of each paper from May 15. Then, he returned the material and left to place a call.

Starsky’s phone rang at five in the evening and Hutch grabbed it. “Hello?”

Matt knew from the blond’s voice it wasn’t Starsky. “Detective Hutchinson, this is Matt Dixon.”

“Good guess, Matt, this is Hutch. What’s up?”

“Sorry, right, Hutch. I’m not sure anything is, but maybe.”

He had Hutch’s attention. “Is something wrong?”

“I went to the library today and did some background research on the shooting. I…may have discovered something. You’re the detective, I was wondering if I could bring what I have by and let’s see what you think.”

“Sounds interesting. Sure, I was just cooking. Come for dinner and we’ll look at it.”

“Oh, you don’t have to feed me. You sure I won’t be disturbing Starsky?”

“You kidding? He’s grateful for any chance to see someone else’s mug besides mine. Stay for dinner. He won’t eat much, and you’ll make me feel like I still know how to operate a skillet. I’m making stir-fry.”

Matt laughed. “Okay, you twisted my arm. My wife is out of town visiting her sister. I was just going to drive through someplace. Give me the address and I’ll leave now.”

When he reached Starsky’s apartment twenty minutes later, Matt found the door cracked open a little. He tapped quietly, hoping not to disturb Starsky if he was still asleep. Hutch saw him stick his head into the apartment and motioned for Matt to join him in the kitchen.

“Hi, Matt, glad you could come. I was just getting ready to wake Starsky.”

“Does he sleep a lot?”

“Yeah, he needs a lot of sleep. I don’t have much trouble getting him to sleep. Sometimes, eating is another story. He loves stir-fry, so I’m hoping to tempt him. Boy’s too skinny still.”

Hutch gave Matt a beer and disappeared into the bedroom. Matt sat down at the table set for three. He noted the collection of pills sitting next to what must be Starsky’s plate. Geez, this stinks. Poor guy. I wonder how long it will be before he’s back to normal.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Hutch accompanying his obviously uncomfortable partner to the dinner table.

“Matt,” Starsky said, “thanks for coming. He gets sick of just having me to talk to at dinner.”

Matt smiled at him. “Funny, he said pretty much the same thing about you. How you feeling?”

“To quote my Uncle Al, fair to middlin’,” Starsky replied as he sat stiffly in his seat. Matt noticed the worry lines on Hutch’s face. The incident in the park must have taken a bigger toll on the healing detective than he wanted to acknowledge.

The men agreed to eat first, then look at the papers over coffee. Hutch did manage to coax Starsky into eating half of what was in front of him — an accomplishment that seemed to please him. Matt helped clear the table and clean up while Starsky settled on the couch to wait for the coffee and revelations part of the evening.

Matt pulled the papers out of his briefcase and spread them around the coffee table. “I don’t know if this is anything or not, but I thought it was kind of strange. You take a look and see what you think.” He hadn’t printed any pages with pictures of the shooting, these were all of the previous day’s events. His slight smile relieved Hutch’s momentary worry as Starsky picked up the first of the papers and started to read. Ten minutes later, after both detectives had read them, they went into a huddle. The two men passed the copies back and forth, shaking their heads and muttering to each other.

“Look….” Starsky said as he pointed and handed a page to Hutch.

“You think?” Hutch asked.

“Maybe,” Starsky answered.

Hutch handed a page to Starsky and said, “Detroit.”

“Yup, Atlanta, too,” came the answer. Matt was fascinated again.

Finally, the detectives broke their huddle and looked up at Matt. “What did you make of this?” Hutch asked.

“Like I said, I’m no detective, but…how many gangland or execution style murders do you suppose there are in different cities around the country all on the same day?” Matt replied.

“Really,” Starsky said.

Hutch cleared his throat and rose to pace. He was obviously thinking and neither man interrupted him. Finally, he said, “What happened to Starsky was more than a gangland style hit. What happened to him was an attempted execution.”

“They were trying for you, too, Blondie. Don’t forget that.”

“I haven’t forgotten. I’ll never forget it,” Hutch replied. “Six high-profile deaths on the same day around the country. SIX! I just have to think it’s related. I can’t believe this is the first we’ve heard about this.”

Starsky put a hand up and captured Hutch’s hand as he passed in front of him between the couch and the coffee table. Hutch stopped immediately and looked at his friend. “Hutch, you don’t make a habit of reading the newspapers from other major cities, do you? Not to mention the fact that you’ve been a little preoccupied with me. Huh? Knock it off and sit down. We need to talk about this.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hutch said. He sat, but he kept fidgeting.

“So?” Matt said. “Is it important?”

“Could be,” Starsky said. “It’s just too much of a coincidence for me.”

“Me, too,” Hutch put in. “There’s got to be a connection of some kind. And if there is, I’ll find it.”

“You?” Starsky raised one eyebrow. “We.”

“Starsky, you’re in no shape –”

“Reading files isn’t going to hurt me, and my brain still works, even if the rest of me’s outta commission at the moment,” Starsky retorted, half angrily. “I can also make phone calls.”

Hutch studied him in silence for a moment. “Okay,” he said at last. “It would be nice to have some help. I think this could be a tough one.”

“Anything I can do?” Matt asked hopefully.

Hutch turned in his chair to look at him. “There might be. You already have helped, by bringing this to our attention. Think you could try to find obits on these six guys, see if there seems to be any connection among them? Usually people’s occupations and work history are in their obituaries.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Matt said. “Anything else?”

Hutch glanced at Starsky.

“Start with that,” Starsky said. “We’ll let you know if we think of anything else. We don’t want to put you in any danger.”

“Hey, I’m just a college student researching a thesis,” Matt said. “Nobody’ll be suspicious of me spending time in the library nosing around. I want to help. Don’t hesitate to ask.”

~*~*~*~*

First thing in the morning, Hutch got on the phone to start calling the police departments in the cities where the killings had taken place. The first call he made was to Atlanta. It only took about half an hour to find the first link in the chain. The victim was a known racketeer, murdered in his own driveway as he was leaving for the day. A single gunshot wound to the back of the head. He’d been found in his car. There were no suspects.

“This one’s been driving us crazy,” said the detective in charge of the case. “No fingerprints. No witnesses. No nothing. Not that we’re gonna miss this guy, you understand, Sergeant, but it looks bad that we can’t pin it on somebody.”

“What’ve you got on his connections?” Hutch asked.

“It’s pretty tangled,” the detective said. “I mean, we know he was into organized crime in a big way, but there are so many holding companies and false trails that we haven’t been able to figure out who it all goes back to yet. You got a similar case out there or something?”

“Yeah,” Hutch said grimly. “Gunther Industries.”

The other detective whistled. “Hey, wait a minute. Hutchinson…you’re Dave Starsky’s partner, aren’t ya? The cop Gunther put the hit on.”

“How did you know –”

“Man, every cop here knows about that. It was on the wire services, in the newspapers. You ain’t sayin’ — ” He stopped and whistled again. “Gunther Industries. That’s the connection!”

“Could be,” Hutch said cautiously. “Worth looking into. I don’t have any evidence, just a gut feeling.”

“We’ll look into that angle. Gimme your phone number. I’ll let you know what we find out.”

Starsky had stayed at home and called Detroit and Dallas, getting the exact same sort of reaction from the cops on those cases. The victims were both known organized crime figures. The deaths had been execution style, quick and deadly, and there were no witnesses. One of the victims had been shot coming out of the courthouse after a pretrial hearing, in front of twenty or thirty people, but no one had seen the shooter.

Starsky had just hung up from the Dallas call when he heard a hissing sound coming from the kitchen. The faucet had been dripping lately. He sighed and got up to go try to shut it off.

Nothin’ drives me crazier than dripping water, he was thinking as he moved toward the sink. He saw the smoke a moment too late.

~*~*~*~*

Hutch had spent all morning on the telephone and shuffling through the files on the Gunther case, trying to find a concrete connection among the deaths. He knew it was there; it was only a matter of finding it. Starsky had called after he’d spoken to the Detroit PD and had promised to call back after he spoke to the Dallas PD but he hadn’t yet. Hutch at first assumed Starsky was waiting for a call back from the officers in charge — he knew he and Starsky didn’t always return calls from other departments immediately if they were busy with something — so he didn’t worry until the rumbling of his stomach made him look at the clock. It was after one. Starsky should have called by now.

He picked up the phone and tried Starsky’s. There was no answer. A chill of fear crept up his spine.

You’re being paranoid, he tried to tell himself. He’s taking a nap or so absorbed in his latest model ship that he doesn’t hear the phone. Maybe he took a walk to the bagel shop.

It was no use. He grabbed his jacket and ran. Starsky was going to kill him. He was really tired of being mollycoddled and had insisted on being left alone to do some things for himself…but Hutch’s heart wouldn’t listen to him, and it pounded with fear all the way to Starsky’s place and all the way up the steps to the door. He tried knocking, first.

“Starsk? Starsky!”

No response. Hutch gave in to his fear and opened the door. The living room was deserted. It was only a moment before he noticed the odd smell in the apartment and the dizzy sensation. Instinct kicked in, and he yanked his shirt up over his face, pulled his gun and hurried to the kitchen, where he found Starsky, out cold on the floor.

~*~*~*~*

“It’s some kind of gas,” the doctor told Hutch and Dobey a few hours later in the hospital. “Military issue, we think. We’re running an analysis. David’s going to be all right, but he’s going to be very sick for a couple of days. His lung wasn’t healed enough to handle an assault like this and it’s set him back. But if you hadn’t arrived when you did,” he glanced at Hutch, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Hutch was still light-headed and a little nauseated from the effects of the gas on his own body in the few moments he’d breathed it before he found Starsky. He’d immediately opened the windows and turned on a fan, even before calling an ambulance, and Starsky had regained consciousness and had immediately been violently ill. There was no way to know exactly how long he’d breathed the stuff before Hutch got there.

“Will there be any lasting effects?” Hutch asked. “Are you sure he’s going to be all right?”

“He should be fine,” the doctor said reassuringly. “You need to sit down until you feel better and then you need to go home and rest the remainder of the day. You’ll be good as new tomorrow, and he can go home tomorrow evening.” He patted Hutch’s shoulder and walked away.

“Those bastards!” Hutch spat, sinking down in a chair. He looked up at Dobey. “They tried again!”

“Calm down, Hutch,” Dobey said. “We can’t prove it was Gunther.”

Hutch looked at his captain like he had just sprouted a third eye. “Who the hell else would it be? The old man can’t stand it that Starsky survived. He wants to finish what he started.”

Dobey sighed. “I agree that’s probably the answer and that’s the angle we’ll start looking at. I think we should send him underground.”

“Cap, Starsky is still healing. He doesn’t need to be switched from pillar to post until this trial is finished. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“You can’t be there all the time, Hutch. The investigation, the depositions, be practical.”

“No. Think about it, Cap. That just won’t work. He needs too many people right now. We’d never be able to keep the leaks plugged between doctors, physical therapists, lab personnel, the pharmacy, and God knows who all else.”

“All right, then I’ll assign a black-and-white to him. From now on, he’s never alone.”

“Oh, that’ll go over big,” Hutch said with a snort. “I’ll tell him. Dammit!”

Hutch dropped his head down into his hands and rubbed his temples. The person responsible for this latest attempt on his best friend’s life was out there and Hutch was desperate to be sure nothing else happened. Starsky couldn’t take it. His system had already endured more than he should have been able to survive. Hutch’s thoughts were interrupted when the nurses pushed his partner out into the hall on a gurney, headed for the elevator. Hutch stood and fell into step beside the gurney, maneuvering so the pale man could see him better. Captain Dobey tagged along behind them, intending to go up to find out Starsky’s room number so he could order the guard.

“How you feeling, Gordo?” he asked his decidedly green friend.

“Remember when we went sailing last year?”

Hutch remembered. They had gone out on a sailboat to do some whale watching on a day when the water was choppy. Starsky was horribly seasick. He swore he’d never get on another sailboat. The poor man had spent the first hour of the excursion clutching the railing and vomiting. The rest of the trip he’d been too weak and rubber-kneed to care. He had repeatedly muttered about ships with motors and how it was more fun to build scale models of sailing ships than to ride on one as a passenger.

“Yeah, that bad?” Hutch answered.

“Nope. Worse.” Starsky said.

Hutch winced at the thought. “Could be worse,” he said, attempting to lighten the mood.

Starsky did his best Marty Feldman impersonation, which really wasn’t all that good, and said, “Could be raining.”

~*~*~*~

A dark, smoky bar on Belmont was once again to be the meeting place for a hired gun and the man charged with seeing that Starsky never made it to the Gunther trial. He waited in a back booth, his face all but obscured in the poor lighting, wearing dark glasses and a knit cap that completely hid his short-cropped red hair. His boss would not accept failure. Mr. Bates had learned that lesson the hard way. Dale Hertig was not about to suffer the same fate, no matter how many hit men he had to hire.

After a half-hour wait, a slim man dressed in army fatigues from the local surplus store slipped into the other side of the booth. He did not wear the look of a soldier who had been successful in his mission. They exchanged no greeting.

“He survived it,” the nervous hit man said.

“Dammit!” Hertig growled. “I told you not to fail.”

“I did everything I was supposed to. The blond one was supposed to be at work. I swear to God it’s true what they say about those two having some sort of Twilight Zone connection between them. I stayed behind to make sure no one came in time. Another fifteen minutes or so and he’d have been finished.”

Hertig stuck a hand out of the booth, motioning for the bartender to send over another shot of whiskey for him and one for his companion.

“I don’t have to report to the old man for another couple of days. He doesn’t want too much contact. Let’s just think up something else.”

“Don’t the old man want Hutchinson dead, too?”

“Yeah, but he’s more interested in the partner. I think it galls him that Starsky survived the first hit. Then, his partner kept our other operative from finishing him in the ICU. He wants Starsky dead. Before you point it out, the old man knows it’s Hutchinson who has the most to testify about. He just doesn’t care.”

“Long as Starsky’s watchdog is there, that may be a problem. Besides, now they know we’re still after him, they’re sure to go to ground.”

The two men sat thinking about their dilemma. Neither of them wanted to meet their predecessors’ fates. Everyone who had failed James Marshall Gunther wound up dead. Both the man who tried to finish Starsky that night, and the one sent to kill Hutch in the hospital garage never made it to their arraignments. The man with the knife died at Hutch’s feet, shot by his associate. Jenny Brown died of a drug overdose a week after the shooting. Counting her, Mr. Bates, the two fake cops who riddled Starsky with bullets, the three mechanics from the hospital, and the six others Gunther had killed that same day, the score was Metro Detectives 13, bad guys 0. The only one to survive was Jenny Brown’s attorney. He was too hot to bump off at the time. The men now shakily sharing a shot of whiskey apiece feared they were about to become numbers 14 and 15 on the cops’ side of the scorecard. The small amount of checking the two detectives had done on the string of murders from that day had already been reported to Gunther. Time was not on their side.

Hertig spoke first. “Okay. We’ve got to get rid of Hutchinson, and we’d better think something up fast…before he gets a chance to put his partner under wraps.”

“Car accident?” the hit man asked.

“No. Too unpredictable.”

“Want me to shoot him? He’s probably at the hospital. I’d just have to wait for him near his car.”

“No. He’s onto that. He won’t make the mistake of going down to that garage without his guard up again. You know where he lives?”

“Yeah, but he ain’t stayin’ there. He’s been at Starsky’s place.”

“Even better.”

The two men put their heads together to plan how to finish off both men in Starsky’s apartment. They would have to wait for Starsky to get out of the hospital to put that plan into motion.

~*~*~*~

Just as Hutch thought, Starsky was not happy at the prospect of having to be watched and guarded. His recovery was going well, all things considered, and having this happen felt like a setback to him, in more ways than just physically. Having no choice but to agree, he remained in the hospital under observation and sent Hutch home to rest. Hutch decided to go to Venice Place. If nothing else, he could tend to his greenhouse and clear his mind. The doctor was right, he was starting to feel better, but he needed to lie down for a while.

When his gardening duties were finished, Hutch stretched out on the sofa and called Matt Dixon. He wanted to tell him about what happened to Starsky and make sure he was all right. As far as he knew, no one but he, Matt, and Starsky were aware of the graduate student’s involvement, and Hutch intended to keep it that way.

“Matt, I’m glad I caught you at home. Listen, you know how we told you we didn’t want to put you at risk? Well, they tried to get to Starsky again. I’m worried about your safety.”

“What happened? Is Dave all right?”

“Someone set off a poisonous gas canister in his apartment and it was close. He’ll be okay, but the doc says it wasn’t good for his recovery.”

“Damn. I’m sorry, Hutch. Things have been real quiet around here, but I’ll keep my ears open just the same. I was just going to head down to the main library to do some more research for you. You almost missed me.”

“No, don’t do that.” Hutch’s concern instantly increased. “If you’re going to look up those obits, do it on campus. That’ll be much less likely to draw attention.”

“Okay, if you say so. Sorry I couldn’t get to it earlier today. I had a bunch of papers to grade for the section I teach. Should I call you later? Maybe bring copies to you again?”

“I don’t want you anywhere near us. Just call.” Hutch made sure he had the phone numbers at both his and Starsky’s homes. When he hung up the phone, he had a keen sense of dread. No one should know about Matt, but Gunther had a way of finding out things. Hutch decided that this next bit of research would be the last they dared let Matt conduct…for his own safety.

Hutch called the hospital to check on Starsky. His nurse told him his partner was resting comfortably and that his vital signs were good. He asked her to tell Starsky he’d be back at the hospital in a few hours, just as soon as he’d taken a nap.

“By the way…Detective Starsky wants ice cream,” she said unexpectedly before they ended their conversation. She had helped take care of Starsky when he was in the hospital after the shooting and she felt comfortable joking with him and teasing his ever-vigilant partner.

Hutch laughed. “Oh, really. Did you give him some?”

“He says he doesn’t want our ice cream. He wants spumoni, from La Valencia on Vine.”

“And just what makes you think I might smuggle him some ice cream?”

“Hm,” she replied. “Let me see. Contraband food? You? That must be your friend, Huggy Bear, I was thinking of, I’m sorry.” She knew how much ice cream Hutch had smuggled in the last time — willing to try anything to get his partner to eat.

“Thanks, Patty. I’ll take that under advisement,” Hutch replied. He hung up the phone with a smile. Starsky must be feeling better if he was whining about eating anything.

Knowing the crime lab team should have had enough time to check out Starsky’s apartment, Hutch called the captain.

“Cap, Hutch. Did the crime lab find anything useful at Starsky’s?”

“I was just going to call you,” Dobey replied. “They said the place was clean. No fingerprints. No forced entry. Nothing.”

Hutch swore and slammed his hand against the arm of the couch. “How can there be nothing?”

“I don’t know,” Dobey said. “Best I can figure, they had a key or made one. Which means Starsky’s place isn’t safe. And most likely, neither is yours.”

“How did they get the gas into the place?” Hutch demanded.

“A canister under his sink,” Dobey said. “Timed release. Sophisticated setup. Hard to say when they put it there, but it was set to go off after you left.”

They couldn’t afford to trust anyone.

If neither apartment was safe — and Hutch agreed with his captain that they weren’t — then that meant they needed somewhere else, somewhere secret, to stay while they waited for the trial. But where? He still didn’t know how it would work with all of Starsky’s current medical needs, but they had to do something to keep him safe. If Gunther’s operatives could get into Starsky’s apartment without leaving any signs, they probably knew about Huggy’s. They didn’t dare stay there. He went through their other friends in his mind and couldn’t think of anyone they wouldn’t be able to trace — and he didn’t want to put any of them in danger.

This was a problem he had to share with his partner.

Starsky was glumly pushing an unappetizing meal around on the tray when Hutch came in and he looked up with hope in his eyes.

“Buddy! Tell me you brought me some real food,” Starsky implored.

Hutch grinned in spite of the circumstances and pulled a paper bag out from under his varsity jacket. “Have I ever let you down?”

“Yeah, but I forgive you,” Starsky said, diving into the bag and unloading the cheeseburgers and fries onto the tray, heartlessly shoving the hospital food aside. He dug into the food without another word, and Hutch settled back to wait. Clearly, Starsky’s nausea had passed. That or his stomach really was made of cast iron, as Hutch had long suspected, and for some reason, his stomach had just remembered that. He ate more than Hutch had seen him eat in months.

“Save some room for the spumoni, partner. Patty’s holding onto it for you.”

Starsky smiled at that. When he finished eating and crumpled up the paper — which Hutch disposed of so the nurses wouldn’t immediately find out he’d had a smuggled supper — he leaned back and fixed Hutch with an expectant stare.

“They didn’t leave any clues behind,” Hutch said. “Dobey said there was no sign of forced entry. The canister was under your kitchen sink, with a timer.”

Starsky’s eyes widened, but he didn’t comment. He knew there was more.

Hutch sighed. “Your place isn’t safe. Neither is mine. But we need someplace to go. Any ideas?”

Starsky pursed his lips and closed his eyes. “Huggy’s won’t do this time.”

Hutch nodded, even though Starsky’s eyes were still closed.

After many moments of silence, Starsky pried one eye open. “Turk.”

“Turk?” For a moment, Hutch couldn’t place the name. Then he snapped his fingers. “Turk! Of course. What are the chances they’d connect us with him?”

Starsky shrugged. “Not good, I don’t think. You didn’t even know who I was talkin’ about right away. Huggy’s still in touch with him. Worth askin’, anyway.” He reached for the phone, but Hutch jumped up and put a hand over his to stop him. Starsky looked up, puzzled.

“Not on the phone, partner. Just in case.”

Starsky looked stricken. “Yeah.”

Instead, Hutch drove over to Huggy’s and got the address of Turk’s office from him. Turk, an old friend of Huggy’s, had talked Huggy into going into the private eye business with him a few years earlier, but it hadn’t taken long for Huggy to realize he wasn’t cut out for it, and he’d gone back to the restaurant/bar business. But Turk had stayed with private investigation and had developed a knack for it. He’d moved his offices out of Bay City into the more affluent Santa Monica area. Starsky and Hutch hadn’t seen him more than a couple of times since then, when they’d accidentally run into him at Huggy’s, but he and Huggy had stayed in close touch.

“You think he’ll do it, Hug?” Hutch asked after explaining his errand.

“I’m sure he will,” Huggy said. “He took a shine to you two for some unfathomable reason.” His eyes twinkled. He scribbled the address down and handed it over to Hutch and his expression turned serious. “You’re bein’ careful, right?”

“Right,” Hutch said. “That’s the whole idea.”

Hutch took a circuitous route to Turk’s office to make sure he wasn’t being followed and when he got there, took a careful look around before climbing the stairs to the apartment above the office, where Turk lived. He’d been afraid to call to make sure he was home, and he just now realized he might not be.

But he was. “Hutch!” Turk grinned from ear to ear and pulled the door open wider. “Come on in. Ain’t seen you for a coon’s age. How’s that partner o’ yours? I was real sorry to hear what happened to him.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Hutch said, accepting the invitation to enter and sitting down in the chair Turk waved him to. Hutch explained his errand, including how dangerous it could be. “I will completely understand if you don’t want to get involved,” he finished.

Turk leaned back and studied him. “Poor li’l Davy,” he said, and though the words might’ve made Hutch smile on another occasion, the grave tone in which Turk said the words took any humor from them. “They ain’t gonna give up till they get him or you get them, are they?”

Hutch shook his head, unable to speak as that thought took root in his heart.

“I can’t let that happen, Hutch,” Turk said. “You bring him here. Between the two of us, we’ll keep him safe.”

Hutch blew out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t known how much he wanted Turk to say yes until Turk said it. “Man, we owe you. Big.”

“Nah,” Turk said, waving his hand. “Y’all saved me an’ Huggy’s backsides and we owe you. ‘Sides, what’re friends for? When’s he gettin’ sprung from the hospital?”

“Tomorrow,” Hutch said. “Doc said in the evening, but we’re going to sneak him out of there in the morning with as few people knowing as possible. That way, if anyone has been snooping around without us knowing, they won’t be expecting him to leave until later in the day.”

“I’ll be here,” Turk said.

~*~*~*~

Hutch’s heart was much lighter as he drove back to the hospital to tell Starsky the news. Still, he was extra glad for the guard sitting outside Starsky’s room. Even with that, he was not planning to leave his partner alone again. He’d stay until they could sneak Starsky out of the hospital in the morning. In his head, he knew they were not in any more danger than they had been. He also knew that neither they, nor Captain Dobey were aware of how much danger there really was, or how long it had been brewing.

Starsky was relieved to hear they had a place to go and that Hutch would be staying. “Good. I don’t want you out there cruisin’ around with no backup.”

“I know, buddy. I really think they’re after you, though. I’m all right.”

Hutch called Dobey to ask him to stop by the hospital so he could explain about their plans. Dobey walked into Starsky’s room an hour later, looking decidedly unhappy. After asking Starsky how he was feeling, he got down to business.

“Callahan is the officer on duty,” he said as he pulled up a chair. “I sent Markowitz home. I think he’s a good officer, but I don’t know him well. He’s only been at Metro for a couple of weeks. From now on, I’m not assigning any officers guard duty that the two of you don’t know well. If you see a new one, you can be sure it means trouble.”

“Thanks, Cap,” Hutch said. “I don’t want Starsky left alone for a minute and I’m going to be out a lot working some leads and giving depositions and such.”

That didn’t work for the captain any more than it did for his quickly objecting partner. Dobey put a hand up to squelch both of them and said, “Hutch, I don’t want you out there by yourself, either. I know you don’t want another partner, but I’m going to ask Sean and Jack to help on this. One of them can ride with you when you have to be on the outside while the other stays with Starsky. If you’re not with the D.A., I want you underground. Someone’s gonna be inside with you all the time, Starsky, in addition to the uniforms when they are necessary.”

Hutch wanted to fight it, but he knew he shouldn’t bother. He explained about their plans to move Starsky to Turk’s. The detectives had spoken with Starsky’s doctor while they were waiting for Dobey. They knew him well and were sure they could trust him. The doctor would call ahead and arrange for a physical therapist from a hospital in Santa Monica to take over Starsky’s care for a while. If they were careful, the necessary new health care personnel from the other city should be able to get to Turk’s without suspicion. The trial was due to start in two weeks and the jury selection process was already underway. They would arrange for both Starsky and Hutch to testify as soon in the trial as possible. They’d be safer once they testified. The only problem Hutch had with that theory was wrapped up in his belief that James Gunther wanted his partner dead because he could not accept failure. He was afraid they’d never rest easy as long as Gunther was alive — no matter how the trial went. Hutch kept these thoughts to himself and he hoped he was wrong.

“Cap, we need to figure out how we’re going to get Starsky out of here without anyone following. We can’t just take him out the front door. Gunther’s people are probably watching for that.”

“Mm. I’ve been thinking about that. I have a couple of ideas, but you’re probably not going to like them,” Dobey answered. “We can take him out of here disguised as a prisoner. They brought a man in from county lockup yesterday for a heart attack. We could rig up a fake transfer back to the infirmary at lockup. We’ll get you over to Turk’s from there.”

Hutch said, “I don’t like it. Gunther may have people in lockup. Too risky. I already discarded the idea of sending him out with one of the service trucks. Starsky’s in no shape to be curled up inside of a shipping crate or a laundry trolley. What’s your Plan B?”

The big man coughed and looked from one man to the other. He knew his suggestion would not set well with either of them — Starsky for superstitious reasons and Hutch because it would be a little too close to home. “There’s no delicate way to put this, gentlemen. I think it might be best if we send him out in a hearse.”

Dobey watched as Hutch’s face turned white. He was right, too close to home. Hutch stood up and started to pace around the room. “No,” was all he said.

“Hutch….” Dobey started.

“I said no, Cap,” Hutch replied, interrupting him.

Before Dobey could bluster out that he was their superior officer and they’d do what he thought was best, Starsky intervened. “Wait,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

Both of the other men stared at Starsky. His face was serious, and his voice was calm as he explained his thinking. “I know you think I’m superstitious, and you’re right. This ain’t about that — it can’t be. It’s not just me that’s gonna be in danger leaving here tomorrow, it’s Hutch, and any other cops assigned to this suicide detail of yours, Cap.”

“Now, wait a minute, Starsky!” Dobey bellowed.

“Let me finish,” Starsky said. “I’m sorry, Hutch, I know it’s creepy, but let’s just look at this logically, huh? There’s no disguise we can put me in that’s gonna hide who I am if I try and walk out of here. I couldn’t move fast before this happened and now, I’m sure I’ll be hacking inside of a minute if I try and make any kind of time walking.” He paused a moment, giving his partner time to mull over what he’d just said. When he saw the resignation pass across Hutch’s face, he continued with a smile, “At least I’ll be lying down, Blintz.”

Hutch had to smile at that. “Idiot.”

“Glad you see it my way. We’ll have to rig you up with a disguise. Maybe you’d better shave off that caterpillar, buddy. Cap, can you get him a dark wig, some glasses, and a dark suit like they wear at funeral homes? If you can get a guy to ride in who sort of resembles Hutch in build, we can substitute him.”

“Good thinking. I’ll handle that part. When we get you to the funeral home, I’ll have a panel van waiting. Hutch, you help him into the van and we’ll have you driven to Turk’s.”

The plan seemed sound. Starsky wasn’t keen on the idea of climbing into a casket, but Hutch was still more disturbed about it than he was. Starsky looked reassuringly at him, planning to have a long talk with Hutch about the irony of the situation after Dobey left. He almost had left the hospital in a hearse four months ago. His superstitious side would probably not think it was such a good idea when they closed the lid on him tomorrow morning. He shivered a little but put it out of his mind.

Hutch asked the captain to telephone Matt and warn him again to stay away from them. While they appreciated his help, neither of the detectives wanted him in harm’s way. The captain said he would do that and he promised them there would be no radio traffic about the transfer, as an added precaution. They all agreed it was best to do nothing from the hospital room phone, or any other phone Gunther’s people could have tapped. He already had a lab team on his office, sweeping it for bugs. When they called with the cryptic message that his special project had been given the green light, Dobey asked the caller to have one of his detectives wait for him in his office, to see that it stayed clear long enough for him to get in and make the arrangements.

After Dobey was gone, Starsky watched his unhappy partner as he paced around the room again. Hutch’s fists were balled up and his jaw was clenched. “You want to talk about it, buddy?” Starsky asked.

“No.”

“Come on, I know how you feel.”

Hutch stopped his pacing and glared at Starsky. “No, you don’t,” he said in a tense, but low voice. “You can’t know what it was like, being told your best friend is gonna die…watching it happening. God, I….” Hutch stopped, realizing his words were probably hurtful. “I’m sorry, Starsk. I know you do understand. Shit, you were the one dying, not me. It’s just…when I got any sleep at all those first couple of days, I kept dreaming about them pushing you out of the ICU with a sheet over your head. Then, I’d see them loading you into a hearse, just like this is gonna go down.”

Starsky motioned for Hutch to come back over and sit next to him. “I know, really, I do. Over the years, I’ve had that kind of dream a few times about you, too. I get it. This is a smart plan, though. I don’t like the idea of having them shut me up in a casket any more than you do. I’m countin’ on you to get me outta there as fast as possible. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“No cake, piece of sweat,” Starsky quipped, trying to get a rise out of Hutch.

Hutch obliged him. “Dirt ball.”

“Hey, you’ve called me both an idiot and a dirt ball in the past half hour. Glad to know this whole mess hasn’t made me lose my touch.”

~*~*~*~*

Dobey worked fast, and by eight o’clock the next morning, it was all set up. Hutch had spent the night in Starsky’s room on a cot an understanding nurse had found for him. He hadn’t slept much. He was too worried about the trip in the morning.

Dobey appeared in the doorway just as Starsky was finishing his breakfast — or pretending to. He looked solemn. “We’re ready to roll,” he said, walking over to Starsky’s plate and peering down at the soggy oatmeal with a grimace. He handed Hutch a bundle of clothing. “Here’s your getup for the limo.”

Hutch took the clothing and turned toward the bathroom.

“Don’t forget to ditch the woolly worm,” Starsky reminded him.

Hutch rolled his eyes. “Do you realize how long it takes me to grow a mustache? I wouldn’t do this for anybody else.”

Starsky grinned wickedly. “I’ve missed your vulnerable upper lip anyway.”

Hutch flipped him off and went into the bathroom. When he emerged, wearing the suit, the wig, and minus the mustache, Starsky shook his head.

“If I didn’t know it was you under there, I’d be a little nervous about this charade,” he said.

“I’m nervous anyway,” Hutch muttered, tugging at the too-tight wig. “And I feel like a fool.”

There was a knock at the door and Cavanaugh came in, pushing a casket on a large, covered rolling stand and dressed identically to Hutch. With a liveried cap on, if you didn’t look too closely, he could have passed for Hutch. Sean would stay behind with Captain Dobey as planned. He grinned jauntily and kicked the door shut behind him. “Your chariot, m’lord.”

Starsky chuckled. “You’re all heart, Sean.”

“Hey, this is a nice one,” Cavanaugh protested, pulling off the cover and opening the lid. “Look, it’s all lined in satin and it even has a pillow. Why ya think a corpse needs a pillow, Cap’n?”

“Want to find out, Cavanaugh?” Hutch growled.

“Aw, Hutch, be nice to him,” Starsky said. He was trying to tie his sneakers, but not having much luck, and Hutch knelt to help him. “You gotta excuse my partner, here,” Starsky said to Cavanaugh. “He’s a little wigged out.”

Hutch whacked him on the leg as Cavanaugh chuckled at the pun.

“Does anyone mind if we get on with this?” Dobey demanded, frowning. To say that the hospital’s administrator was unhappy with this plan was an understatement. Starsky’s doctor had insisted the man could be trusted and that he needed be told. He’d explained to the captain that taking a casket through the hospital’s halls was bad for their image. He had the maintenance staff put something together so they could get the big coffin in without anyone knowing what was under the drapes. Now, Dobey just wanted to get it over with so they were out of the hospital and off to the funeral home. They had to put Starsky in it in his room to be cautious. Dobey wouldn’t feel comfortable until the detectives were safely at Turk’s.

“All ready, Captain,” Hutch said. He rose and helped Starsky stand up. Cavanaugh pushed the casket over to the bed and Starsky, with Hutch’s steadying hand to assist, climbed in. He lay down. Up until he was actually in the casket, he’d been cheerful, but now he was too pale. He looked up at Hutch.

“Don’t leave me in here too long, huh, buddy?”

“Not a chance,” Hutch said grimly.

Cavanaugh had taken his cap off and was holding it over his heart. “Ah, laddie,” he said in a lilting Irish accent, “sure an’ ye look nat’ral lyin’ there.”

“Idiot,” Starsky said, laughing in spite of himself. “Shut the damn top, will ya, and let’s get outta this place.”

Cavanaugh reached for the lid, but Hutch put his hand out to stop him. “I’ll do it.”

Cavanaugh backed off and Hutch looked down. Starsky looked up.

“Don’t know if I can do this, buddy,” Hutch said quietly.

“It ain’t for real,” Starsky reminded him. “Go on. We’ll be there before you know it.”

Hutch nodded, reached in to briefly grasp Starsky’s hand, and shut the lid.

It was pitch dark with the lid closed and Starsky imagined he couldn’t breathe. He knew that was crazy, though. Hutch hadn’t sealed the lid and in fact, Starsky could see a little crack of light where the lid met the casket. He hadn’t noticed that at first. He was glad they were going to drape the casket again in case it showed from the outside. That might make people wonder why the lid wasn’t closed all the way. They couldn’t afford a mistake….

Then the casket began to move and Starsky closed his eyes. The motion, without being able to see where he was going, made him a little queasy. He heard the sound of the intercom outside, muffled by the casket, and there was a little bump. In a moment, he could tell he was in an elevator, going down. He didn’t like elevators much anyway, and the movement was frightening. But it didn’t last long, and there was another bump as the casket was rolled out of the elevator and down another hallway.

He swallowed hard and bit his lower lip as the casket’s stand was folded down, then when the casket was lifted into the hearse. He heard a couple of faraway clicking sounds before the door slammed and all was silent. The silence went on far too long.

Finally, after what seemed like hours but was probably only a couple of minutes, Starsky heard another car door slam and the engine started up. The car moved slowly, turned two or three times, then at last, Hutch said, “You okay, partner?”

“Sure,” Starsky said, lying through his teeth. “Fine.”

“Stay put until we get to the funeral home,” Hutch said. “Then we’ll get you out of there and switch cars.”

Terrific. Starsky hoped it wasn’t far to the funeral home. His heart was pounding in his ears and it was hot and stuffy inside the casket.

The car jolted, stopped and started, turned corners, and try as he might, Starsky’s heart wouldn’t stop thumping wildly. He still couldn’t breathe. It was too stuffy in there. He was dizzy and a little sick to his stomach. He clenched his fists.

Quit being a damn baby, he scolded himself, trying to make the voice inside his head sound like an impatient Hutch. It didn’t work. Come on, David, be a man. Show some spine. It’s just an undercover gig, just like playing Ramon or any other undercover role. Only today you’re playing a corpse. Beats doing it for real….

That was the problem. He wasn’t that far from having almost done it for real. He didn’t remember much about being in the hospital after Gunther. Impressions, sounds, a lot of pain. A lot of pain. The first really clear memory he had was Hutch hollering about a computer printout and the nurse trying to shush him up. Drifting in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of Hutch or Dobey or Huggy speaking to him or to each other.

Take deep breaths. You can breathe. You’re okay….

A trickle of sweat rolled out of his hair and down his temple, giving him a chill.

Why hasn’t Hutch said anything for so long? He must know I’m freakin’ out back here….

Stop. Start. Roll a few feet. Stop again.

Suddenly Starsky realized they were stuck in traffic. Morning rush hour. He felt like he’d been in that damn box for hours. Rush hour had to be long past. He tried to get his watch up to his eyes so he could look at the time, but there wasn’t enough room.

Why doesn’t he say something?

“Hu-Hutch? You still there?”

In the front seat, surrounded by nose to tail traffic, Hutch missed the whispered plea.

Starsky didn’t realize how softly he’d spoken. In the casket, his voice had sounded loud to his own ears. He wet his lips and shut his eyes again. He wouldn’t panic. He wouldn’t panic. He was okay.

The car turned left, went uphill briefly, stopped again, and finally he could hear by the sound of the motor’s echo that they’d pulled into some kind of structure.

“We’re here, buddy,” Hutch called back cheerfully.

The car rocked a bit, a door slammed. Days later — at least it felt that way — the back door opened, and the casket was pulled out and the stand unfolded. Finally, the top opened and Hutch peered down at him.

“Get me outta this thing,” Starsky said, his voice shaking.

“Sure, buddy, sure. Hang on.” Hutch helped him sit up and called to Babcock, who appeared next to Hutch and helped him lift Starsky out and set him on the floor. Starsky’s legs were trembling so he could barely stand, and Hutch hurriedly slid an arm around his waist. “Whoa, there, Starsk. You’re all right. Aren’t you?”

Starsky nodded and tried to force himself to stop shaking. “Yeah, sure, never better.”

Hutch tightened his arm and nudged him gently toward a black panel truck next to the hearse in the garage. “Get in here, partner. There’s a pallet on the floor for you to lay down on. I’ll drive and we’ll get over to Turk’s. You sure you’re okay?”

“He doesn’t look okay,” Babcock observed.

“I’m fine,” Starsky snapped. “Let’s go.”

Babcock raised his hands in a gesture of “don’t shoot” and stepped out of the way. Starsky climbed into the van under his own power and in a few minutes, they were on their way.

“That has to be the longest trip I ever took,” Hutch said from the driver’s seat. “And you look like hell.”

“The longest trip you ever took?” Starsky snorted. “Try doin’ it inside a fuckin’ casket, Hutchinson. Why didn’t you answer me a few minutes ago? I was freakin’ out in there and I called you and you didn’t answer. That didn’t help.”

Hutch swallowed. He heard the note of fear behind the anger in Starsky’s tone. “I didn’t hear you,” he said. “I’m sorry. I know it had to be — ”

“You don’t know,” Starsky interrupted. “Aw, hell, Hutch, never mind. It ain’t your fault. We didn’t have much choice. Let’s just get to Turk’s, huh? Forget I said anything.”

Hutch sighed, wishing he dared to pull over and go back to sit with his partner. He had decided he would be the one to drive, not the man Dobey had sent to do it. Hutch didn’t want to trust another driver for this part of the trip. “I really am sorry, Starsk. I was freaking out, too. I was focused on the road and the mirrors, making sure no one was onto us. I….”

“Hutch, just get us there. We’ll talk about it at Turk’s.”

Effectively shut down, Hutch did as he was asked. Starsky tried to get himself back under control, feeling more than a little embarrassed that he had panicked like that. Being in a small, dark, enclosed space wasn’t something he had a lot of experience with and he had no way of knowing he’d react that way. The fact that it was a coffin and he had just recently nearly wound up in one for his final ride did nothing to help the situation.

Babcock looked at Hutch with compassion in his eyes. He knew how upset both of his friends were. “I’ve got the mirrors, Hutch. You watch the front and sides, I’ll keep an eye on the back.”

Hutch was grateful — knowing that his friend meant he was keeping an eye on the man in the back of the van, not just the road behind them. Jack Hill was waiting for them at Turk’s. He would take over from Babcock, freeing him up to join his partner in the search for more information on the cross-country deaths Matt had researched. Hutch wondered if Matt was all right. The phone at Turk’s should be secure, Captain Dobey was going to see to that. Hutch would call Matt to make sure he was safe, even though he knew the captain had already warned him.

When they pulled up to Turk’s place, Babcock passed Hutch a garage door opener and pointed to the alleyway entrance. Turk’s office had a garage behind it and the apartment was above them. Dobey and Turk had already arranged for the van to be kept safely inside the garage.

Hutch pulled in, shut off the engine and put down the door before any of them moved. He stepped between the front seats to the back as Babcock got out and greeted Jack Hill. They went behind the van and opened the doors for Starsky and Hutch. The opened doors revealed a shaky Starsky being mostly supported by Hutch. As much as he hated to accept the help, Starsky allowed the other men to help him exit the van.

“Thanks, guys,” Starsky said without looking either of them in the eye. Hill had no way of knowing what had happened, but he thought Starsky looked awful and Hutch looked worried. Not an unfamiliar condition for either of them lately.

Babcock said, “I’m going to take off. Simmons and I are going to start looking into some of those other deaths. We can’t call you, so you call us.”

After Babcock changed back into his regular clothes and left, the other men helped Starsky up the stairs to Turk’s apartment. The climb was unpleasant on shaky legs and he was grateful when he was able to sit on the couch. Hill disappeared into the kitchen to get a cold drink for his friends with a quick, “Turk is out, but he’s going to check in later.”

Hutch sat next to Starsky, watching him sit with his eyes closed, rubbing his temple with one hand in a gesture more familiar to Hutch than to Starsky.

“You want to talk about it, Gordo?” he asked, the worry in his voice unmistakable.

Starsky shook his head. “No, it’s okay, Hutch. I just freaked. Guess I’m not big on small, closed-in places,” he said with a chuckle.

“I thought it was high places,” Hutch teased.

“Aw, shut up,” Starsky answered, patting his friend on the knee and smiling to let him know everything was all right.

“Yeah, sure, it is,” Hutch said to the unspoken comment. “Guess maybe we never tested you out in a coffin. Maybe it was the venue, more than the closeness.”

Starsky smiled at him. “Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”

Jack laughed. He’d returned from the kitchen with a glass of iced tea for each of them.

“I don’t suppose you could make this a beer,” Starsky said.

“On your medication? Not a chance. Hutch’d kill me.”

Starsky muttered, “It’s a conspiracy.”

Hutch laughed at him, secure that he seemed to be recovering from the ride. He went to the phone and called Matt’s home. His wife answered.

“Matt?” she said in greeting, her voice anxious.

“No, this is Ken Hutchinson. Is this Mrs. Dixon?”

She took a deep breath. “Yes, I’m sorry. This is Debbie. Can I help you?”

“I’m a detective at Bay City Metro and a friend of Matt’s. Is he home?”

“No,” she sobbed into the phone. “I don’t know where he is!”

“What do you mean you don’t know where he is?”

“He called me late last night from the campus library. I was staying with my sister out of town. He, uh, said he was working late and he’d call me when he got home. He never did.”

Hutch was silent for a moment. “Did he say what he was working on?”

“Not exactly. He said he was helping some friends in the police department. I guess he meant you. When he didn’t call, I drove home and….” she broke off crying again.

“Calm down, it’s going to be okay, but you have to tell me so I can help,” Hutch said, keeping his voice as steady and calm as possible. Starsky had started actively listening to his side of the conversation. He got to his feet and joined Hutch at the bar between the kitchen and the dining room where Hutch stood talking on the phone.

“The place is trashed and there was a note on the phone. It says not to call the cops.”

“Give me your address,” Hutch said, but Starsky put a hand on his arm to stop him.

“No. This could be a setup. Ask her to meet you.”

Hutch nodded. “Scratch that. Meet me at the Coffee Hut on Alice and Washington. Can you be there in an hour?”

“Yes, I’ll be there.” She hung up the phone.

Starsky said, “I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not. You’re staying right here. ”

“Hutch….”

“What’s the point of smuggling you underground if you go out and get popped first thing? No way,” Hutch said.

“Fair enough. What about you? You think you’re not a target, too?”

They discussed the situation and Hutch agreed that Sean would go with him to meet Debbie. He had already promised Captain Dobey that he wouldn’t go out alone, but Starsky knew that promise had better be given to him or it might not hold. Hutch was second only to Starsky in his ability to rationalize when his actions went contrary to orders.

~*~*~*~

Dale Hertig answered his ringing phone at ten in the morning. “Hello.”

“Son of a bitch, they’re gone! Both of them,” came the voice on the other end of the line.

“What the hell do you mean they’re gone? Aren’t you watching?”

“Yes, but I’m telling you they’re gone.”

The hit man explained to Hertig that his informant said Starsky had just disappeared from his room sometime after his last vitals check at six in the morning. Starsky wasn’t due to be discharged until the evening. The hit man had checked that through his informant the previous day. He hadn’t been able to position himself on the floor without being spotted, so he waited outside. Hutch was in the hospital all night. When he didn’t come downstairs in the morning, the hit man had snuck up to see what was happening, disguised as an orderly. He immediately noticed that the guard was gone and Starsky’s room was empty. A phone call to the hospital gleaned him the information that they had no patient named Starsky in the house. They had no record of his being discharged — he just wasn’t a patient.

“Dammit!” Hertig yelled as he slammed his fist on the desk in front of him. Then, he laughed a mirthless laugh.

“What the hell’s so funny?”

“Oh, let’s just say I have a little insurance policy. I know how to flush at least Hutchinson out. Once we do that, getting to Starsky will be easy.”

“How do you figure?”

“You just leave that to me. Meet me at the old Staley Tuna plant two blocks up from Pier Nine. I’ll explain it all there.”

~*~*~*~

Matt Dixon woke up in the semidarkness of what looked like an abandoned factory. He could see the remains of heavy assembly line equipment through the glass in the wall in front of him. The smell of fish was strong in the air and he could hear the sounds of boat horns and seagulls from outside, telling him he was near the water. His head was pounding, and he found that his hands were tied behind him, and his feet were strapped together with duct tape. He struggled to sit up, fighting the dizziness he felt. Looking around a bit, he saw that the room he was in was probably an old office and the outside windows had been blacked out, making it impossible to tell what time it was by the dim, filtered light from another area of the building.

The previous evening, he had called his wife to say hello and let her know he was working on something. She never liked it when he was out late at night; he promised her he’d call when he got home. He never had the chance. Before he had his coat off, someone hit him on the back of the head and the next thing he knew he woke up in his current condition.

He heard the sound of footsteps growing nearer, and a few minutes later, two men with dark ski masks on their faces stepped into the room with him. The larger man crushed a cigarette out and started talking.

“Good day, Mr. Dixon. How’s the head?”

Matt was nervous, and his voice betrayed him. “It hurts. What’s going on here?”

The shorter man stood to the side and leaned against the doorframe while his companion sat in a chair across from Matt. Neither of them looked like they planned to hurt him and Matt tried to relax.

“Oh, I think you know what this is about. Want to tell us what you’re doing for the police detectives?”

Matt’s mind spun with the thought that Hutch and Captain Dobey were right. He really should have dropped it. Why hadn’t he listened? How had they known? He had limited his research to the campus library, but he had also called for some information on the obituaries. He’d even contacted some of the victims’ places of employment.

“I’m not working on anything for any detectives,” he said, attempting to deny it. “I’m just a graduate student. You’ve got the wrong guy.”

Dale Hertig laughed at him. “Come, now, Mr. Dixon. We’ve had the detectives under surveillance for a long time. You’ve been seen with them. We also have other reasons to believe you are involved. Now, what are you working on?”

Matt laughed nervously. “Oh, that! Well, that’s nothing. I’m an anthropology student. I’m writing my graduate thesis on police culture and I’m focusing on the behavior of partners. I have been talking to many of the officers at Metro. That’s all I know.”

“Uh-huh,” Hertig said, nodding. The man behind him laughed softly, thinking that this young man really was an amateur. “No matter. You don’t really need to tell us right now. You’ll do nicely as bait to bring them out of hiding, though. Just sit tight and you won’t be hurt. My associate behind me will be watching you and I’ll see that you get something to eat soon. Relax.” He stood to leave and turned around just before he and the other man shut the door behind them. “Of course, you know you’ll never leave here alive unless you tell me all you know. I may not be a graduate student, Mr. Dixon, but that doesn’t make me stupid. Think about that.”

The sound of the door locking behind his kidnappers made Matt’s heart sink. He’d never been in any trouble. He’d never even cut school when he was a teenager. Desperately figuring out how to get out of there without any harm coming to Starsky or Hutch would occupy his time until they returned. At the moment he had no idea what to do next.

~*~*~*~*

It was easy for Hutch to spot Debbie in the restaurant. She was sitting alone at a table, clutching a Kleenex, her eyes still red from crying. He slipped his badge out of his pocket and showed it to her as he sat down. “I’m Hutch,” he said softly, putting it away before anyone else had time to notice it. Sean had taken a seat at the counter, coming in a few paces behind Hutch and pretending he didn’t know him, in order to provide protection and allow Hutch to concentrate on Debbie.

She nodded and reached out with shaking hands to lift her coffee cup to her lips. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. “They said not to call the cops –”

“I’m Matt’s friend,” Hutch said. “No one but you and me needs to know I’m a cop right now. Do you have any idea where he could be?”

She shook her head, dabbing at her eyes as another tear escaped. “Not a clue. I’m so scared. What if –” She stopped herself.

Hutch covered her hand with his. “Try not to worry,” he said, forcing away the image in his mind of Lionel dead on the sidewalk outside the hotel. He’d called himself Lionel’s “friend,” too. That wasn’t going to happen again if he could help it. “We’ll find him. I have a hunch they only snatched him to draw me and Starsky out of hiding.”

“Why are you hiding?” she demanded, a little louder than Hutch expected.

“Shh,” he cautioned, leaning close. “Keep your voice down. Did Matt tell you anything about us?”

“Just that he was interviewing officers for his paper and that he’d met a couple who would be the featured partners,” she said. “That’s about it. Between his work and school, we don’t get a lot of time to talk. He keeps saying when he finishes school, we’ll be able to catch up, but –” Her eyes filled again. “What if I never see him again?”

Sean was looking their way with concern, and Hutch glanced at him. Sean looked away before someone noticed. “It’ll be okay,” Hutch said. “We’ll find him. Here’s a number where you can reach me,” he scribbled Turk’s number on a page of his notebook, tore it out and handed it to her, “if you hear anything at all. If you call, use a pay phone, in case they try to trace the call. We already took a big chance with this meeting. You should go home. I’ll take it from here.”

“I can’t just sit around doing nothing,” she said, her voice almost a wail.

“I know how you feel,” Hutch said. “I really do. But this is our job, not yours. We’ll be in touch.”

She finally nodded and rose to go. Hutch gave Sean the high sign and as she walked out, Sean followed her. He’d see to it she got home safely. Babcock was waiting outside to make sure Hutch made it back to Turk’s safely, too.

“Anything?” Starsky asked immediately when Hutch came back.

“No.” Hutch sank into a chair and wearily rubbed his eyes. “He’s just gone.”

Starsky closed his eyes. “Dammit. We should’ve left him out of this fuckin’ mess.”

“Starsk, we can’t blame ourselves every time somebody we know gets in trouble –”

“Really?” Starsky opened his eyes and fixed Hutch with a glare. “If it wasn’t for us, they wouldn’t BE in trouble. You know that was true for Lionel and it’s true for Matt.”

Hutch sighed. In a very real way, Starsky was right.

~*~*~*~

Matt was left alone for a long time before anyone came back. Finally, the man who had promised to provide him with food returned, carrying a paper sack. He set it in front of Matt with a paper cup full of soda. “I’m going to untie you,” the man said. “But be aware that I have a gun and if you try anything, I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

Matt swallowed and nodded. The man untied his hands and Matt ate the food, though he was so frightened he found it difficult to swallow. But it had been hours since he’d had anything to eat or drink.

The man sat back, the gun dangling carelessly from one hand, and watched without speaking until Matt was finished. “Better?” he said in an almost friendly tone.

“Yes,” Matt said.

The man tied Matt’s hands again. “Now, do you feel more like talking?”

Matt’s heart sank. He had hoped he had convinced this man that he didn’t know anything.

“Come, come, Mr. Dixon,” Hertig said with a smile. “I know better. You know I know better. Why should you risk your safety for a couple of cops? To say nothing of your wife’s.”

Matt’s blood ran cold. His wife? How did they know about Debbie? “W-what have you done to her?”

“Nothing, yet,” Hertig said. “But we’re keeping an eye on her, too. Would a lock of her hair, perhaps, convince you that we’re serious? Starsky and Hutchinson can’t possibly mean as much to you as she does. All we want to know is what you found out for them. That’s all. Tell me, and you’ll be home by breakfast.”

Matt was in an agony of indecision. He didn’t really believe this man would let him leave even if he told him everything he ever knew. He’d seen the man’s face. But what if they did do something to Debbie? What if they hurt her, or even killed her?

Hertig watched with amusement as Matt struggled.

Finally, Matt gave in. He told Hertig about the obituaries. He told him that Starsky and Hutch had connected the deaths with the day Starsky was shot.

“And where are they now?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t,” Matt said desperately. “The last time I talked to them, Hutch was at home. I haven’t talked to either of them since then.”

Hertig knew that quite well, but he kept his face impassive in the hopes that Matt would tell him something else. When Matt only sat there, pale and plainly terrified, Hertig gave a shrug. “Well, I had hoped you would be more helpful,” he said, rising and leaving the room, ignoring Matt’s panicked call after him. When the door was closed behind him, he nodded to his lackey. “Send the message.”

~*~*~*~

Starsky had dozed off in front of a ball game, worn out with all that had happened, and Hutch, trying not to disturb him, had found a book among Turk’s seemingly endless collection that he thought might take his mind off their situation for a while. He hadn’t been reading long when the phone rang, and he pounced on it, hoping it wouldn’t wake Starsky.

“Hello?” he said softly, glancing at his partner. Starsky muttered in his sleep and shifted restlessly but didn’t awaken.

“It’s Dobey,” the captain said. “We just got a call for you.”

“And?”

“Somebody who said he’s got your friend, Matt,” Dobey said. “He won’t talk to anybody but you.”

“Shit.”

“Hutch,” Dobey said warningly, “whatever the hell he wants, you are NOT going this alone, do you understand?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hutch said. “How do I find him?”

“Hutchinson –”

“I’ll take backup, Captain,” Hutch said impatiently. “Now, how do I reach this guy?”

“He said he’d call back in an hour and that we should give him a number where he could call you,” Dobey said reluctantly. “He didn’t stay on long enough for a trace.”

“Get somebody over here to put tracing equipment on this phone,” Hutch said. “Now.”

There was a short silence, and finally Dobey said, “Cain’s already on his way.”

Hutch gave an unwilling grin. He knew his previous tone of voice had sounded like an order to a rookie. Trust Dobey to be one step ahead of him. “Guess that’s why you’re the captain and I’m the detective, huh? Thanks.”

“You’re taking backup,” Dobey said gruffly. “Promise me, Hutch.”

“I promise.”

Cain, the department’s wiretap expert, arrived a few minutes later and went to work. The commotion woke Starsky, who immediately demanded to know what was going on. Hutch had no choice but to tell him.

“Where’s Cavanaugh and Hill? Or Simmons and Babcock?” Starsky asked.

“Sean’s keeping an eye on Debbie,” Hutch said. “Babcock went back to the station to get Simmons. Jack ought to be here in a minute. He went to get some Chinese.”

“Then where’s Turk?”

“He’s following a cheating husband,” Hutch said with a grin. “He said he might not get back tonight.”

“You ain’t going anywhere alone,” Starsky began, but Hutch waved his hand to stop him.

“Dobey and I already had this conversation,” Hutch said. He opened his mouth to say something else, but just then Hill came thundering up the stairs. He’d recognized Cain’s van in the street.

“What the hell’s going on?” he called before he’d even made it through the door. He handed the sacks to Starsky and stopped in front of Hutch, hands on hips, his face set.

Hutch told him.

“Fine. I’ll call Sean and get his ass back here.” Hill ran back down the stairs to use the radio in his car.

“Ain’t none of us gonna let you leave here alone,” Starsky observed.

Hutch didn’t answer.

Cain worked fast and had the tracer in place in plenty of time. Hill came back from calling his partner and told Hutch Sean would be there as soon as another officer could relieve him at the Dixons’.

“Eat,” Hill insisted, pushing Hutch’s chicken lo mein toward him. “You’re gonna need your strength and you haven’t eaten anything today.”

When Hutch started to argue, Starsky reached over and gently whacked him on the knee. “Shut up, Blintz,” he advised. “Eat or we’ll sit on your chest and force feed ya.”

Hutch had just finished eating when the phone rang. He reached for it, but Cain shook his head, fiddled with his equipment for a moment, and finally pointed at Hutch. Hutch lifted the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hutchinson?”

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

“Doesn’t matter. I got Matt. Staley Tuna Plant. Come alone.” The phone went dead.

Hutch let go a string of curses that made Cain look at him with something akin to awe. “Not long enough, was it?”

Cain shook his head. “Sorry, Hutch.”

With luck, the kidnapper was calling from the location where they were holding Matt and it really was the old tuna plant. Hutch knew it was probably an ambush, but he believed he had no choice but to go there. After what happened to Lionel, he wasn’t taking any chances with Matt’s life. He spared half a moment to think about how he was going to get out of Turk’s with a head start, so he could show up alone as the kidnapper ordered. Starsky interrupted his thoughts.

“What’d he say?” Starsky asked.

“He said he’s got Matt.”

“And?” Starsky prompted, knowing there was more. “Where’s he want you to come?”

“He didn’t say.”

“You’re lying. Where?” Starsky glared at him until Hutch sighed.

“Staley Tuna Plant.”

“Let’s go,” Starsky said, getting to his feet.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Hutch ordered angrily. “I’ll go on and Jack, you two follow me as soon as Sean gets here.”

“No!” Jack rose, too. “You’re waiting until Sean gets here and we’ll all go together.”

“Be reasonable,” Hutch pleaded. “We don’t know what he might do to Matt or how long he’ll wait for me to get there. We don’t know how long it’ll be before Sean gets here. I have to.”

“Then I’m coming with you,” Starsky said.

“No, you are NOT,” Hutch said. “Sit your ass down.” He grabbed his jacket. Starsky reached out to try to grab his arm, but Hutch dodged. “Follow me as soon as Sean gets here,” he said to Jack. “Do not, under any circumstances, bring HIM,” he jerked his head at Starsky, “with you.” He left.

This time it was Jack who spat a string of curses.

~*~*~*~*

Hutch drove like a madman across town to the waterfront district where the Staley Tuna Plant had been. The plant had closed a couple of years previously and had stood empty since then. Hutch passed the “for sale” sign at the entrance and wasn’t surprised to find the gates, normally padlocked, wide open. There were no other vehicles in sight, and Hutch parked so that he could make a fast getaway if necessary. He checked his gun to make sure it was fully loaded and stuffed extra ammo into his pocket. Then he eased out of the car cautiously and stared at the plant, trying to decide the best way to go in.

~*~*~*~*

“What the fuck is taking him so long?” Starsky fumed, pacing back and forth across Turk’s small living room. It was at least the fourth time he’d asked the question.

“I’ll try raising him on the radio,” Hill said, but just then they both heard a siren and, in a moment,, the squealing of tires on the street below.

“Come ON,” Sean’s voice bellowed from the bottom of the stairs. “I know that blond son-of-a-bitch has already taken off.”

Both Starsky and Hill grinned and Hill called back, “I’m coming.”

“We’re coming,” Starsky corrected, shrugging into his jacket and wincing a little.

“Starsky, you heard Hutch –”

Starsky ignored him and headed for the door.

“Starsky –”

“I’m going with you,” Starsky said without turning around, “and that’s all there is to it.”

Hill gave a loud sigh, but he stopped arguing. “Hutch is gonna kill us all,” he muttered, loud enough for Starsky to hear.

Sean rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment, when he saw Starsky coming down the stairs. Even though this was Sean’s undercover car, Starsky checked to be certain there were door handles in the back seat. He wasn’t about to get stuck back there. Sean waited until they were rolling to say, “Your ass is stayin’ in the car, Detective, when we get there, if I have to cuff you to the damn bumper.”

“I wouldn’t be in the car if I was cuffed to the bumper,” Starsky returned mildly, with a grin.

“You know what I mean,” Sean said. “You let us handle this and you wait in the fuckin’ car or I’ll hurt you worse than you are already.”

“What he said,” Hill put in, glaring over his shoulder at Starsky, in the back seat.

Starsky leaned against the back seat and kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t staying in the car, and they all knew it.

~*~*~*~*

Hutch slithered around the outside of the building, listening with all his might for any sound from within. The area was deserted, and there was only the crying of seagulls and the sound of the water sloshing against the pier. He passed the main entrance to the building without even considering entering that way. Finally, he found a side door and tried it. Locked. But Hutch pulled a lock pick from his jacket pocket and was inside in a few moments, grinning a little to himself. Starsky had taught him that trick, only a couple of years before.

It was dark inside the plant, the lower windows where blacked out and the high windows gave very little light to the floor below. Hutch stopped just inside the door to give his eyes time to adjust. Most of the plant was filled with conveyor belts and machinery, but a catwalk ran around the upper edge, leading to the office area. Grateful for the silence his sneakers afforded him, Hutch hurried to the metal stairs and eased up them quietly. The offices were dark and deserted, and Hutch’s heart pounded in his chest with the adrenalin rush. He was certain they intended to ambush him. Matt probably wasn’t even here –

~*~*~*~*

Sean pulled up behind Hutch’s car quietly and shut the motor off. “Where to first?” he asked his partner.

“Starsky? What would Hutch do?” Hill asked.

“He’d pick a door out of sight and go in as unobtrusively as possible,” Starsky said, pulling his gun out of the holster and checking it. He reached for the door handle. He was glad Hutch had wanted him to have his Beretta for protection. Hutch never planned for it to be used to protect him when Starsky was still in recovery.

“No way, Jesse James,” Sean barked at him, seeing what he was doing. “I told you — ”

Starsky glared at him and Sean trailed off. “Look,” Starsky said in a level voice, “that’s my partner in there, alone, trying to save a friend of ours from getting killed like Rigger did. He’s gonna take chances and he’s gonna be vulnerable because neither one of us could take losing another person like we lost Rigger. If you think I’m gonna sit out here on my ass while the two o’ you back up MY partner, you’re dumber than you look!”

Sean and Jack exchanged a glance.

“I know how he’s feelin’ and I know what he’s thinkin’ and I’m goin’ in,” Starsky said. Without another word, he opened the car door and climbed out.

Sean let out a sigh and poked Jack in the shoulder. “Come on. He’s got a point.”

“Hutch is gonna kill us,” Jack muttered again.

They used the same door Hutch had used, but couldn’t spot Hutch or anyone else in the darkness. Starsky stood still inside the door, looking around, and followed his instinct to the bottom of the metal stairs, gesturing to the others to follow.

Sean reached out and put a hand on Starsky’s shoulder, shaking his head. He would go first. Realizing the wisdom of that, considering his healing condition, Starsky stepped back and let him. Jack brought up the rear.

~*~*~*~*

Hutch had checked all the offices and still had not found Matt or the men who were holding him. He stopped and looked down at the plant floor, attempting to decide where else to try. By now his eyes were well used to the dimness and he spotted another door, in the corner below, behind a stack of machinery. It took several minutes to make his way across the plant in the darkness.

As he approached, he heard voices, low and whispering. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but there was no time to try. A shot whizzed past his head.

“Shit!” Starsky spat, hearing the shot. He whirled and took off for the stairs, with Sean and Jack at his heels. Fear for his partner provided an adrenaline rush that overrode the pain he felt as he picked up speed. This was the fastest he’d moved in months and in the back of his mind, he knew he was going to pay for it later. He was already breathing hard and his gait was unsteady.

Hutch had thrown himself behind a piece of machinery as he returned fire.

“One more shot and we kill Dixon,” a voice snarled from inside the room.

“How do I know you haven’t killed him already?” Hutch yelled back.

A pause, and then Matt’s voice, shaking, “I’m okay, Hutch.”

“And he’ll stay okay,” the first voice came again, “if you drop your gun and tell us where you’ve stashed Starsky.”

“Fuck you,” Hutch growled. “You’re surrounded. You’re not calling the shots here.”

“Oh, really?” There was another shot and a cry of pain from Matt, then silence.

In a blind rage, Hutch threw himself toward the door and rolled through, surprising the two men inside and getting off a shot at one of them before they could react. The second of the two men fired at Hutch and a searing pain tore through his leg, knocking him off his feet.

But behind him, he heard the familiar, “Huuuuuuutch!” and another shot took the second man down a heartbeat before Starsky appeared in the doorway, with Sean and Jack behind him. The other detectives quickly subdued the two men, cuffing them and dragging them out of the room none too gently, while Starsky knelt next to Hutch. “How bad?” he asked urgently, peering at the blood soaking through Hutch’s jeans.

“Not too bad,” Hutch said through clenched teeth. “Hurts like a mother, though.”

Starsky gave a slight grin and looked over at Matt, who was unharmed. “I thought they shot you.”

“I did, too,” Matt answered, his face white and his eyes wide. “But the ugly one just hit me when the other one shot his gun.”

Sean came back into the room. “How many ambulances do we need this time?”

“One,” Starsky answered, briefly touching Hutch’s shoulder before he rose to go to Matt and turn him loose. “Hutch took a slug in the leg.” He was glad that Hutch’s eyes were closed when he stood, stiffly. Sean reached out to help him, but he waved him off, determined to appear unaffected by the events of the past few minutes. Hutch was in pain and he hadn’t noticed that Starsky’s breathing was still too fast, and his face was shiny with sweat.

“Gotcha,” Sean said, turning to go. Jack had already called an ambulance for the two perps Starsky and Hutch had winged with their gunfire. He chuckled at the thought that Starsky wouldn’t want his partner to ride in an ambulance with the two men who had just tried to kill him.

As Starsky released Matt, the other man laughed nervously. “You guys get into this kind of trouble a lot?” he asked in a shaky voice.

Starsky replied, “You have no idea.” He shook his head to clear it a little. The room wasn’t spinning, but he was already feeling the effects of his fading adrenaline rush. If he had any idea how thin his voice sounded, he would have remained silent, but Starsky was concentrating on appearing as normal as possible. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, staring through the fuzziness crowding in on his peripheral vision.

Matt looked at him and cocked his head to one side as he rubbed his sore wrists. “I’m fine, but you don’t look so good, Dave.”

Hutch heard that and he struggled to sit up so he could get a good look at his partner. Starsky was shaking his head and holding his hands up in a “shush” gesture to Matt. “I’m okay,” he said lamely.

Even from where he was, Hutch could see Starsky wasn’t exactly fine. He heard the sound of sirens coming closer to them and he sighed with relief. “Does he need to be checked?” he asked Matt.

The grad student climbed to his feet and helped Starsky up, looking closely at him. He steadied Starsky and looked into his eyes. He and Starsky both said, “No,” at the same time. Starsky smiled as he returned to Hutch’s side and lowered himself back to the floor to sit with his injured partner. His breathing was slowing, and his racing heartbeat felt less thunderous inside his chest. Starsky took another look at Hutch’s leg wound, using the distraction to keep from looking Hutch in the eyes. A strong hand cupped his chin and turned his face up to meet Hutch’s gaze.

“I’m all right, buddy. Just relax. Are you okay?” Hutch asked. He sighed, dismayed at the pain in Starsky’s eyes, but content that he wasn’t in any danger. Starsky nodded that he was fine. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, but gently.

“Saving your ass,” Starsky quipped.

Matt stood back and watched their interaction, making mental notes for his paper and kicking himself for turning this ridiculous situation to an advantage. He never hoped to get a chance to see the partners in action and he couldn’t help but be fascinated.

“I had it under control.”

“Sure you did. That’s why you’ve been ventilated.” He checked Hutch’s wound, looking underneath the blood-soaked handkerchief Hutch was using to apply pressure.

Sean and Jack came back into the room. Sean said, “The perps are off in their ambulance along with some uniforms. The other ambulance should be here in a few minutes. How you doing, Hutch?”

“I’m okay. The bullet went all the way through.”

“What?” Starsky asked, leaning in to look closer. While he did that, Hutch began to discuss the current situation with his partner.

He put his lecture finger in the air. “YOU,” he said to Starsky, “are not supposed to be here.”

“Hutch….” Starsky attempted to interject.

“Look at you,” Hutch continued. “You’re out of breath, probably didn’t take any pain pills tonight either, did ya? Well?”

Starsky hung his head a little. “You gave ‘em to me with dinner.”

“I didn’t see you take them. Did you?”

Starsky shook his head and protested, “Dammit, Hutch! I wanted to stay as sharp as I could. Looks like you needed me, too.”

Hutch ignored him, glaring at Sean and Jack. “And YOU two! You were supposed to keep him out of this. What the hell is he doing here?”

Sean and Jack looked at each other and tried to explain that they’d had about as much luck keeping Starsky away as they’d had keeping Hutch from going ahead of them without backup.

“Speaking of which, Hutch,” Sean said. “Dobey is hopping mad at all of us. I hear he’s set to meet us at the hospital.”

“Terrific,” Starsky said.

Matt laughed a little. Then, he hung his head when the four detectives turned on him. “Sorry, guys. I just…well… orry.”

The closest door opened to admit the crime lab team and some uniforms. They could hear the approaching ambulance and all four men sighed, knowing they were all going to get a lecture from Dobey. The only thing that made them feel better was that somehow things had worked out for them. No one was killed and they had the perpetrators in custody to interview for possible leads about what was going on and to verify that the recent events were done at Gunther’s direction.

“Um, thanks for rescuing me, guys,” Matt said, hoping to break up the tension.

“It’s our fault you’re in this mess, Matt. We’re gonna get you and Debbie to a safe place until we get this resolved,” Hutch said.

In the next few minutes, the ambulance arrived; Hutch was assessed and bundled off, with Starsky trailing along behind the gurney. The paramedic made him take a few minutes’ hit off an oxygen tank when he saw his color. Starsky protested, but a stony glare from his partner silenced him.

Hutch’s injury wasn’t serious. The doctor said that, apart from the obvious pain, the only thing to worry about was the possibility of infection. When the doctor finished treating him, he was released to go home, pain pills and antibiotics in hand.

Captain Dobey was waiting for him when he and Starsky emerged from the treatment area. Starsky was moving pretty slowly and Hutch was leaning heavily on a cane. Dobey sighed at the sight of them. Hill and Cavanaugh were sitting together looking like they were all about to face a firing squad. The two of them looked up at Starsky and Hutch as they hobbled toward them.

“Where’s Matt?” Starsky asked.

“I’ve had a black-and-white take him home. He and his wife will be moved to a safe place within the hour. Then, they’ll go underground until the trial is finished,” Dobey answered.

“Good,” Hutch said.

The look on Dobey’s face spoke volumes. All four officers knew they were about to get the dressing down of their lives. The captain had arranged to use a small conference room down the hall, and he motioned for the four detectives to follow him.

Starsky, Hutch, Hill, and Cavanaugh settled uneasily into chairs around a conference table. Their superior officer closed the door behind him and turned around, leaning back against it. Starsky could tell the captain’s blood pressure had gone up precipitously. This was going to be ugly.

“Gentlemen,” he started, his voice sounding both steady and furious at the same time, “I think the four of you have a lot of explaining to do.”

“Cap,” Starsky started, but he immediately stopped when he caught the murderous look in Dobey’s eyes.

“Starsky, if I were you, I’d clam up now,” Dobey said. “I want all of you to listen carefully.” That’s when the yelling started. “You first, Starsky. What the HELL do you think you are doing?” Dobey didn’t stop long enough for any of his questions to be answered. He rolled on like an out of control freight train. “YOU are supposed to be healing! You’re not on duty. Not even DESK duty. Do you have ANY idea how much paperwork you generated tonight? Not to even discuss the potential for injury to you, and to the men around you. Did it ever occur to you that these other officers might put themselves in unnecessary danger because you can’t understand when to stay down for a while? Dammit, Starsky, am I going to have to assign someone to baby-sit you? Maybe put you into lock down, only letting you out for court dates? Huh? What the HELL were you thinking?”

“But, Cap, Hutch….”

“But, Cap, NOTHING! Put a sock in it. From this moment on, I don’t want to hear of you doing anything more strenuous than HEALING! Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I mean that. Don’t push me. Do I need to remind you how close you came to not being here to HAVE this discussion?”

Hutch was having a hard time letting Starsky take all of the heat. He was planning on taking care of this incident himself. “Cap, Starsky isn’t the only one who….”

Dobey spun his head around to look at his other wounded detective. “Hutchinson, you’ll get your turn. Just shut up and listen. Don’t try to defend him. I’m not buyin’ it.” He turned back to Starsky. “What you did was DUMB! If you don’t stop putting yourself in these situations, I’m going to assign you to traffic detail for the rest of your miserable career. Assuming you don’t screw things up so badly you can’t ever come back to work. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Cap.”

The captain turned to Hutch next. “You promised me, Hutchinson.”

“I took backup.”

“The idea of backup is that it goes WITH you when you go in, Hutchison. NOT that they follow along behind you when they get everything together. You PROMISED me you’d take backup. The next time I’ll have Cain TAP that phone so I can have someone listening in on all of your conversations, not just put on a trace. Dammit! You PROMISED!”

“Did you want me to just let Matt die?” Hutch dared to ask.

“Don’t you even start with me, Hutchinson. If you EVER pull anything like that again, so help me….”

“I’m sorry, Cap,” Hutch said, deciding that contrition was the better part of valor in this case. He couldn’t help thinking about how glad Simmons and Babcock were going to be that they missed the blame assignment on this incident.

“Sorry isn’t enough, Hutch. You put yourself at risk, got injured, and your actions incited that one there,” he said as he pointed a beefy finger at Starsky, “to put himself at risk, too. Did you think about what you would have done in his place? Did you think about the chance that he would come after you?”

“He told me not to, Cap,” Starsky offered.

“No doubt. I hear Starsky was approximating RUNNING out there at that warehouse. I hear he had to take oxygen to recover from it. NO MORE chances. You got that?”

“Yes, sir,” Starsky and Hutch said together.

Then, Captain Dobey turned toward Sean and Jack. They had never gotten in as much trouble as Starsky and Hutch, so they were less used to being on the captain’s hot seat. Both of them braced for the onslaught.

“How many times have you two worked with these two renegades? Huh? You two are one of my best teams. I know you’re smart enough to know how they operate. Dammit! I was counting on you to keep them out of trouble. What the hell happened? Haven’t you learned by now that you have to stick to them like glue? Especially when one of them is hurt. He’s usually the worst of the two!” he exclaimed as he looked at both members of the dynamic duo.

“Cap, everything happened so fast,” Jack said. “We were really right behind Hutch.”

“Yeah, Cap,” Sean added. “You know how they are. Hutch had to go. We didn’t know how long Matt had before they’d kill him.”

Dobey sighed. He was yelled out by the time he got this far — a thing for which both Hill and Cavanaugh were grateful. They all knew that sometimes circumstances took over a situation and this was one of those. All four detectives stared at him in silence and the big man scanned their faces. Starsky looked near collapse. Hutch was obviously in pain and sitting there wasn’t helping. Sean and Jack looked like two teenagers he’d caught smoking behind the gym.

“All right. The two men in custody haven’t been allowed a phone call yet. You four get back over to Turk’s place before someone figures out that Starsky and Hutchinson are here. We didn’t go to all the trouble to put you to ground just to have you screw it up and get blasted on the way out of here.”

Starsky sighed heavily. “Cap, I don’t know if being under wraps is a good idea anymore. If we stay hidden, who’s gonna be next on Gunther’s list of people to get to us?”

Dobey considered that for a moment. “Well, you’re not going back to either of your places. Go back to Turk’s at least for tonight. I’ll think about what to do next and we’ll meet tomorrow morning.”

All four men said, “Yes, sir.”

Jack had driven Hutch’s car over to the hospital. He drove it to Turk’s with Hutch sulking in the passenger seat, letting Starsky ride over with Cavanaugh. Both Starsky and Hutch apologized to their respective drivers. Both of them received assurances that everything was all right. They all knew how Dobey was. He blustered and bellowed, but they knew that it was because their group antics had scared him.

When they were back at Turk’s and settled down to get some rest, Hutch had his discussion with Starsky. The ailing detective looked terrible. His color was better, but his body trembled with the left over weariness from what he had done.

“Do I have to confiscate your gun?”

“You think I’d let you?” Starsky asked. He was willing to accept his partner’s admonishments, but he wasn’t going to take them without comment.

“Funny. Doesn’t matter what I think, anyway. We both know you need it to protect yourself in case…in case Gunther’s operatives get through the rest of us and reach you.”

Starsky didn’t like that thought. “That ain’t gonna happen.”

“Yeah. You all right? You don’t look it.”

“I’ll be okay. I’m just tired. How’s the leg?”

“Not bad. Thanks.”

“Yeah.” Starsky knew that Hutch’s gratitude was for saving his skin, in addition to asking him how he was feeling. He wanted to talk to Hutch about it, but he was fading fast. The pain pills Hutch had insisted he take when they got back to the loft were dragging him under and he decided to let them. The last thing he remembered as he drifted off to yet another drug-induced sleep was feeling Hutch pull an extra blanket over him to help chase away the shivers he was still experiencing.

~*~*~*~*

Amazingly, the next morning found Starsky awake first. He went to the kitchen to make coffee and then checked on Hutch. Even in his sleep, he looked uncomfortable. Starsky chuckled at the irony of both of them hurt at the same time. He also sent up a prayer of gratitude that it hadn’t been any worse. Hutch would be all right and Matt was only slightly dented.

Sean had crashed there the previous evening and was just beginning to wake up to the sounds of Starsky slowly puttering in the kitchen. When the phone rang, Starsky was the first one to get to it.

“Starsky?” Captain Dobey’s voice said.

“Mornin’, Cap.”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news for you this morning.”

Starsky listened patiently, and the news was bad. The color drained from his face and he was unusually silent. He needed to sit down but couldn’t climb up onto one of the bar stools, so he leaned his back against the wall and slowly slid to the floor. By this point, Sean was awake enough to see what was happening and was instantly alarmed.

“Starsky!” he exclaimed as he got up and walked toward his friend.

“You all right, Starsky?” Captain Dobey’s anxious voice said on the other end of the line.

Starsky nodded. Realizing the captain couldn’t see him, he said, “Yeah, I’m okay. I… I gotta tell Hutch.” He held the phone up for Sean to take it and finish the call and then he leaned his head back against the wall, taking a deep breath to steady himself for what he had to tell his partner.

Hutch had heard the phone ring and was already getting up when he heard Sean shout Starsky’s name. He came into the room looking disheveled, but awake. Making the best speed he could in pain and using the cane, he glanced around for Starsky and the look on his partner’s face drove everything else out of his mind.

“What is it?” he asked, frightened without knowing why.

Starsky swallowed and wet his lips. “I got some bad news, buddy.”

Hutch hurried across the room and put out a hand to help Starsky to his feet. Sean had hung up the phone and he watched as his friends made their way to the sofa. Once Starsky was settled there, Hutch sat on the edge of the coffee table, grabbing Starsky’s shaking hands with his own. “What? What’s wrong with you?”

“Me?” Starsky shook his head. “Nothin’s wrong with me. Honest. It’s — it’s Cassie.”

“Cassie?” Hutch blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“She’s dead, Hutch,” Starsky said gently. “Murdered. Dobey just called to tell me a few minutes ago.”

“Cass is dead?” Hutch let go and sat up straighter, stunned. “How? What happened?”

“Just like the others,” Starsky said. “Shot in the back of her head, in her car. No witnesses.”

Hutch couldn’t speak for a moment. He didn’t think he was exactly mourning her death, but the news was a shock. She had been his sister-in-law and he thought he should feel something for her loss. What he felt was sick to his stomach. He had believed that his ties to that part of his past were effectively severed with Vanessa’s death. When Cassandra had shown up in Bay City months ago, that had changed. Now, the woman had been murdered in the same fashion as victims who may have been linked in some way to Gunther Industries. His face went pale at the thought that Cassandra could have been connected to the black cloud of danger following him and Starsky. Then, a terrible thought occurred to him. That thought manifested itself by him speaking one word aloud, “Vanessa.”

“Hutch, do you hear me? Hutch!” Starsky called. He’d tried to get Hutch’s attention a few times and he was becoming alarmed.

Hutch thought he heard Starsky calling to him above the ringing in his ears. He snapped back to attention and said, “Hey, take it easy. I’m all right.”

“Damn, Hutch,” Starsky said. “You scared me.”

“Sorry, Gordo.”

“Why did you say Van’s name?”

Hutch ran a hand through his hair and looked shaken. Starsky didn’t like what he was seeing pass through Hutch’s eyes — anger, fear, concern, and a dawning realization. Sean stood back and watched, knowing if he was patient, he’d find out what was happening between his companions soon enough.

With a shock probably equal to Hutch’s, Starsky knew just what his partner was thinking.

“No,” he said.

“Starsk, I-I don’t…I don’t know,” Hutch replied, his stammer creeping into his voice to belie the professed lack of knowledge. He did know — and he wished to God he didn’t.

“Oh, my God. Tell me it isn’t possible,” Starsky muttered.

“Starsk, you know Cassie was trying to get some information out of me months ago. Remember? She wanted to know what Van told me the night before she died.”

“That couldn’t have had anything to do with all of this. Van died a long time before we got involved with Lionel and Gunther. More than a year before then.”

Hutch shook his head, not wanting to believe it could have been relevant. He said, “I don’t know, but I don’t like any of it.” He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but a lot of things seemed to be falling into place. If he was right, their world had gone on tilt even more than it had been. He and Starsky locked eyes as they both said, “Vanessa was tied to Gunther.”

 

Part IV: Denouement

Hutch studied the effect of his tie in the mirror. It was the third or fourth one he’d tried with this shirt and it looked as bad as all the others had. Impatiently, he yanked it off and threw it on the bed, turning to his closet to choose a different one — again.

“Ain’t you ready yet, Blintz?” Starsky’s voice asked dryly from the door, startling him. “We’re not going to a wedding, for cryin’ out loud.”

“I know,” Hutch said, yanking the last tie he owned off the rack and sliding it under his shirt collar. “But you know the courthouse will be crawling with reporters and I want to look professional.” He glanced into the mirror at Starsky, who for once was wearing dress pants, leather shoes, and a decent jacket — and a tie — instead of his usual courtroom attire of jeans and Adidas with a sports coat. “You dressed up.”

Starsky gave an embarrassed shrug. “Like you said,” he answered, wandering over to the bed and casting a critical eye over the untidy heap of ties there, “the place’ll be lousy with reporters. This is gonna be all over the papers, TV, even national TV, Dobey says.”

“National?” Hutch glared at the effect in the mirror and reached up to yank off this tie, too, but Starsky put a hand on his arm to stop him.

“It looks fine,” he said reassuringly, patting his arm. “Yeah, national. As in network. Somebody from ABC or maybe it was NBC — Cronkite’s office, anyway — called the public relations officer yesterday about covering the verdict.”

“That’s CBS, moron,” Hutch said as he finished tying his tie. Starsky was right, it looked fine. He smoothed his hair one last time with his open hand and turned away from the mirror. “I’m ready.”

“About time.” Starsky led the way down the stairs to the finally repaired Torino.

Hutch still shuddered inside every time he saw that car, but he tried to understand why it had been important to Starsky to get it fixed and now, to drive it. Especially today. So, he tried to keep his face impassive as he waited for Starsky to unlock the doors and let him in.

Starsky glanced at him sidelong every few minutes as they drove downtown, but he didn’t say anything. At least, not until they’d parked and were headed up the courthouse steps, with members of the media shouting questions at them.

“Vultures,” Hutch muttered under his breath.

“You’ll get a statement afterward,” Starsky shouted back at the reporters. “Be patient.” Once they were safely inside, Starsky nudged Hutch gently. “I had to bring the Torino today,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Hutch said.

The courtroom was packed, but Dobey had saved them seats near the front and was keeping an eye out for them. No cameras were allowed in the courtroom itself, but there was a whole crowd of reporters clutching notebooks and craning their necks to get a good look at Starsky, who held his head high and kept his eyes straight ahead.

“Good boy,” Hutch whispered.

Starsky gave him a jaunty wink, but the expression in his eyes didn’t match the gesture. He sat down next to their captain, and Hutch sat on his other side. It was only a few moments before the judge came out and they had to stand again.

“Mr. Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict?” the judge asked.

“We have, Your Honor.”

“What say you?”

The foreman, with a nervous glance at the crowd, the reporters, and the defendant — sitting stony-faced with his lawyers — cleared his throat. “In the matter of the State of California versus James Marshall Gunther, on all four counts of conspiracy to commit murder, we find the defendant…guilty.”

There was muttering and reaction from the spectators and the judge banged his gavel.

Starsky’s hands were tightly clenched in his lap and Hutch bumped his partner’s leg gently with his own to make him relax. Gunther had already been found guilty of racketeering, interstate drug trafficking, and mob action in earlier trials. No matter what happened now, he was going away for a nice long trip.

The foreman glanced at Starsky. “On both counts of attempted murder of a peace officer, we find the defendant…guilty.”

A collective murmur started among the spectators, then subdued as the foreman paused before reading the final verdict. “On the count of murder in the first degree against Anthony Caldwell Bates, we find the defendant…guilty.”

The gallery erupted in reaction and Starsky relaxed, giving Hutch a glance. There was no way, now, that James Marshall Gunther would ever see the light of day as a free man again. For Bates’ murder, he would probably get the death penalty.

“Thank you, Mr. Foreman. The jury’s service is concluded, with the court’s thanks,” the judge said. He glanced down at the top of his desk and made a notation. “The sentencing hearing is set for March 1 at 9 a.m. Court is adjourned.”

Two guards were waiting to take Gunther back to the secure lockup where he’d spent the last several months, but as they each took him by an arm, he shot a look at Starsky that made Hutch’s blood run cold. Starsky didn’t see that look, thank God. He was listening to something Dobey was saying. Hutch fought the urge to tear Gunther’s head off right there in the courtroom and save the State of California the trouble of feeding and housing him for the rest of his miserable life.

“Hutch?” Starsky touched his arm. “What’s wrong?”

“Huh? Nothing,” Hutch said, forcing a smile. “You ready to face the horde?” He nodded in the direction of the eager reporters to distract his partner.

Starsky rolled his eyes. “No. But I got no choice.”

With Dobey on one side, Hutch on the other, and the prosecuting attorney leading the way, Starsky headed into the hallway.

“Detective Starsky! Detective Starsky!” Voices came at them from all directions and they were nearly blinded by the lights of the TV cameras trained on them. Starsky straightened his back and his jacket in one movement and took a deep breath.

“Gentlemen,” the prosecutor said, adding hastily, “and ladies. Detective Starsky and I will each make a prepared statement, then we will take a few questions. Only a few.”

The reporters quieted down, pads and pens, microphones and tape recorders at the ready.

“James Marshall Gunther has been found guilty on all counts,” the prosecutor said, “and sentencing is set for March 1. Based on California State sentencing guidelines, I think it’s safe to say Mr. Gunther will spend the rest of his life in prison for his crimes. He may receive the death penalty for one of his crimes. We are satisfied that justice has been served.”

He glanced at Starsky.

“Thanks to my partner, Kenneth Hutchinson,” Starsky said, startling Hutch, who hadn’t known what he was going to say today, “Gunther will be punished for his crimes, including his attempt on my own life. But no amount of prison time will pay for what this man has done. If Gunther could live long enough to spend hundreds of years in prison, it wouldn’t pay for what he’s done. He’s either directly or indirectly responsible for the deaths of several people. He cheated honest, hardworking Americans out of their homes. He sold death in the form of drugs to kids on the streets. As a police officer, I am gratified that the system worked. I only wish the punishment could more nearly fit the crime.”

“Detective! Detective!” Reporters were jostling each other and waving their arms over their heads. The prosecuting attorney, as they had agreed, let Starsky choose the reporters whose questions he would answer. He studied their faces for a moment and pointed to one.

“Is it true that two of Gunther’s victims were your partner’s ex-wife and her sister?”

Only someone who knew Starsky as well as Hutch did would have seen the visible reaction to that question. To strangers, his face did not change. He simply nodded. “Yes, that is true.” He pointed to another one.

“Would you say you took this case personally, Detective?”

Starsky gazed at the reporter as if the man had lost his mind. “I nearly died, thanks to Gunther,” he said bluntly. “It don’t get much more personal than that.” He gave Hutch a sidelong look of disgust and pointed to another reporter.

“Will you stay on the force?”

He nodded, then realized he had to give a more quotable answer than that. “Yes. No doubt in my mind. In fact,” he paused and gave Hutch another sidelong look, “I go back on active duty as of Monday.”

Hutch was stunned, too stunned to keep it from showing. Starsky grinned at him.

“That’s enough questions,” Dobey hissed at the attorney.

“I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen,” the attorney said. “That’s all the time we have. We will have printed press releases for all of you within the hour.” He and Hutch started working through the crowd, making a path for Starsky and Dobey, who could pretty much make a path all by himself.

Once they were in the witness room, Starsky sank down on a chair, pale and as exhausted as if he’d just gotten over a long illness.

“You okay, buddy?” Hutch asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, sure,” Starsky said. “I’m glad it’s all over, but….”

“But what?” Dobey asked.

Starsky exchanged a glance with Hutch before he transferred his look to his captain. “I guess I won’t feel completely safe until Gunther is in San Quentin,” Starsky said.

“And what’s this crap about him going back on active duty Monday?” Hutch demanded. “He’s not ready for that!”

“Yes, I am,” Starsky said. “I’m sick of being a desk jockey and I’m sick of everyone treating me like a piece of spun glass. I’ve been cleared and I’m comin’ back and that’s the end of it.”

Hutch opened his mouth to continue protesting, but something in Starsky’s face made him close it again. He lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender and sank down on the edge of the conference table.

“Gunther will be kept under 24-hour guard,” the attorney told Starsky. “You’re safe from him, don’t worry.”

“I’ll feel better if I keep worryin’,” Starsky said.

~*~*~*~

“Sir, we plan to appeal, no matter what the sentence is,” Thomas Potter said to Gunther when they met alone after the verdict, keeping his voice low. He knew they were under visual surveillance, though recording a client/attorney meeting wouldn’t be allowed.

“Don’t bother,” Gunther hissed back at him. “We can worry about that later. What I am concerned about right now, Mr. Potter, is destroying those two officers.”

Potter glanced at the two-way mirror on the wall. “Mr. Gunther — ”

“I know they’re watching us,” Gunther said. “They can’t hear us. I know I’m going to get the gas chamber and there’s nothing more the legal system can do to me. But I will not rest, Mr. Potter, until I have exacted my vengeance on those two men, do you understand?”

Potter swallowed nervously and wet his lips. Inside or out, Gunther was still a powerful man, and he didn’t want to be one of the loose ends Gunther decided to snip off. After a moment of mental wrestling with himself, he finally nodded.

“Good. I don’t care what it costs or what it takes, this time, they must be eliminated, do we understand each other, Mr. Potter? Both of them. Eliminated.”

~*~*~*~

Dobey had given them the rest of the day off, so they went to Starsky’s apartment when they were done at the courthouse. Hutch was worried about how tired his partner looked, but Starsky insisted he was fine and he was driving. When he pulled the keys out of the ignition in his parking space, he leaned his head back on the headrest, closed his eyes, and let out a deep sigh.

“Starsk?” Hutch asked.

“I just want it to be over. I want him in prison. I want to stop feeling like he’s got a stranglehold on our lives.”

Hutch patted him on the arm and said, “We’ve won, buddy. The sentencing is the last step, but after that, he’s out of our lives forever. He’s probably going to get the death penalty.”

Starsky opened his eyes and asked, “You really think so?”

“Hey,” Hutch said softly, “don’t let him get to you.”

“Yeah,” Starsky replied. He opened his door and climbed out of the Torino. He loosened his tie as he walked up the steps in front of Hutch. His shoulders were slumped with weariness. Hutch shook his head as he thought about how hard Starsky had worked to get this far and how much Gunther had almost cost him. He didn’t like that look Gunther had given his partner back in the courtroom. Hutch cast his eyes around the area as he followed Starsky. If his partner was really going back on the streets, Hutch was worried that Gunther would find a way to get to him. He knew how much the man hated loose ends.

“I want to know how those reporters knew about Vanessa and Cass,” Hutch said thoughtfully.

“Wouldn’t take a rocket scientist,” Starsky said. “Court records are public, y’know, and they mentioned the connection Vanessa had to the organization during the trial.”

“I know, but — ”

Starsky decided it was time to get Hutch’s attention off Vanessa and her sleazy sister. He pulled at the knot on his tie. “Grab us both a beer while I change, huh, Blondie?”

“Sure,” Hutch replied as he went into the kitchen to get the beers.

When Starsky returned, he looked more like his old self. Although his clothes still hung a little too loosely, Hutch was pleased with how well he looked. Starsky had regained most of the weight he’d lost during his long convalescence, and the doctors had reassured Hutch that it was just a matter of time and continued physical therapy before his stamina and muscle strength were completely back to normal.

Starsky took a sip from his beer and said, “You don’t want me back on the streets, do you?”

Hutch sighed. This was going to be one of those long discussions. He needed to reassure Starsky, but he didn’t want to lie to him. “Of course I do, buddy. I just don’t want you to push yourself before you’re ready.”

“The doc cleared me. I’m really okay.” Starsky looked at Hutch with sincerity and hope in his eyes. Hutch knew Starsky only wanted him to believe he was ready. He needed that.

“I know he did. Do you remember everything he said? He told you to take it easy. No double shifts, no long stakeouts, plenty of rest, regular meals….”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I heard all of that. Hutch, I tested with the precinct. My marksmanship is there, not as good as it was, but almost. I passed the physical, what more do you want?” His voice didn’t sound bitter or angry. He sounded disappointed…and worried that Hutch wasn’t ready to back him on his return to active duty.

Hutch hoped he could explain how he felt. “I’m behind you, Starsk. I swear I am. Just try to remember those instructions, huh? You know I’m gonna remember them, even if you don’t.”

Starsky smiled at him. “You wouldn’t….”

“I would. Believe it. I just don’t want to see you go too fast. Active duty is one thing. Pushing it is another. No pushing it.”

Smiling again, Starsky said, “Your idea of pushing it, or mine?”

“Definitely mine. No arguments.” Hutch put his lecture finger up in the air and wagged it at Starsky, but he smiled at him at the same time.

“Okay,” Starsky replied. Seeing Hutch’s satisfied nod, he quickly added, “For now.”

Before the other man had a chance to protest, the phone rang. “Ah!” Starsky warned as he moved toward the phone. Saved by the bell.

“Hello,” he answered cheerily.

“Dave? This is Matt Dixon.”

Starsky smiled and said, “Matt! How are you doing?”

Hutch looked up, interested in the conversation. Matt Dixon was a graduate student who had given them a key piece of evidence in the Gunter investigation. He had inadvertently stumbled onto something that would result in additional charges being made against the old man in a few other states. He and his wife were placed in protective custody, but now that Gunther was convicted, Dobey probably believed they were no longer in danger. Even if Matt were to have to testify in future trials, James Marshall Gunther could only face life imprisonment or the death penalty one time. Harming the Dixons no longer seemed probable.

“Great, man. Saw you guys on the news. He’s done, huh?”

“Yeah, his goose, as they say, is cooked,” Starsky replied.

Matt laughed at him. “Lame, Detective. Look, speaking of cooked…you and Ken have plans tonight?”

“We were just going to hang out, maybe run out to get something to eat. Nothing special, why?”

“Good, come over for dinner.”

Starsky hesitated. “Dinner at your place? I thought you and Debbie were under wraps.”

“We were, but they let us come home today when the verdict came in and we wanted to celebrate. Debbie’s making up a batch of her famous hot wings and I’m going to grill some steaks. Can you make it?”

Starsky shot a questioning look at his partner. Hutch gave him his answer with a glance and a smile.

“What time? We’ll bring some brews. What’s the address again?”

~*~*~*~

A black sedan with darkened windows was parked around the corner, but within sight of the Dixons’ apartment complex. Two men sat in the car, waiting and watching both the street and the couple’s corner unit. They lived in a small complex of ten individual, Mediterranean-style bungalow apartments facing a center courtyard. The complex was quaint — surrounded by palm trees, Bird of Paradise, and other well-kept plants. The units were elevated a little from the street, along a nicely cut, terraced lawn. Both the exterior of the buildings and the three-foot high cinder block retaining wall along the sidewalk level were covered with bright pink bougainvillea. A short set of steps led up to them.

Hutch pulled his car up to the curb and parked. He and Starsky got out of the latest in a long line of beat-up, nondescript Fords. They started to walk toward the apartment.

“Hey, Starsk, don’t overdo it on the hot wings, okay?”

“Yes, Mom,” Starsky quipped. Then he noticed Hutch wasn’t carrying the beer.

“You forgot the beer.”

Snapping his fingers, Hutch turned to retrieve them from the trunk. “Go ahead,” he said, “I’m right behind you.”

Despite the fact that they were off duty, and Starsky hadn’t officially returned to the streets yet, Hutch wanted Starsky out of the open as soon as possible. He reached into the trunk with a weary sigh, offering a silent prayer that he’d be able to protect his partner. He still believed he’d failed to do that with Gunther. I hope we can keep each other safe.

Starsky was walking up the steps as Hutch moved toward him on the sidewalk. Inexplicably, Hutch felt the tingling sense of danger and all of his protective instincts engaged. He quickly looked for signs of a sniper or some other trouble. The street looked quiet, but he still didn’t like it. He was glad he had his Magnum as he set the beer on the retaining wall and reached for his gun. Hutch was opening his mouth to call Starsky’s name when it happened.

The Dixons’ unit exploded and burst into flame. In what seemed like a split second, the roof blew off and pieces of it began raining down on the neatly manicured lawn. All of the windows blew out, glass flying in every direction. Flames leaped into the air, singeing the palm trees and wilting the other plants. The front door flew across the yard in pieces, accompanied by bits of stucco, wood, plaster, and the sharp-thorned bougainvillea.

The explosion forced Hutch to take cover, hovering as close to the retaining wall as he could and protecting his head with his arms. He never saw the dark sedan pull away from the curb around the corner. Within a few seconds, the ringing in his ears began to be replaced by the sound of screams and calls for someone to get help.

Hutch staggered to his feet and yelled, “Starsky!” Frantically searching where he’d last seen his partner, he couldn’t spot him in the early evening darkness — despite the light coming from the flames.

“Starsky!” he called again. He saw some of the Dixons’ neighbors evacuating the closest bungalow and the other neighbors were streaming out into the courtyard.

Some of them had turned on hoses and had fire extinguishers, trying to put out the flames that were eating up the side of the apartment closest to the blast. He barked orders to the closest person, grabbing him by the arm and spinning him around from his view of the quickly burning bungalow. “Call the fire department, the police, and an ambulance!” The man nodded and moved away from him, back into the apartment across from the conflagration. He could tell by the looks of things, no one would be going into that apartment to make a rescue, and no one who was inside it would be coming out alive.

Someone else must have called the fire department. Hutch could already hear the wailing of fire truck sirens, accompanied by their throaty horn blasts. The fire station was close. He remembered passing it on the way into the neighborhood.

He turned around and around, taking in the sight of burning debris everywhere. His car even had a large, smoldering piece of wood on its roof. No time to worry about that.

Passing through the rubble, Hutch finally spotted a blue sneaker sticking out from underneath a tangled mess of bougainvillea and half a door. Calling his partner’s name, he started pulling the debris off of Starsky, ignoring both the heat and the thorns from the plants.

Starsky was lying on his side, breathing heavily. He’d probably turned away from the blast instinctively and he had put his arm up over his face. His left arm had bits of thorns, glass, and wood clinging to the sleeve surrounded by small trickles of blood and his eyes were closed, but he was starting to moan and move. Hutch heard a fire truck come to a stop nearby. The activity around him seemed like background noise as he tried to assess Starsky’s condition.

“Hey, you okay? Talk to me,” he called softly, shaking Starsky’s shoulder as he gently turned him onto his back to lie in the grass. The blast had thrown him far enough away from the fire to prevent a need to move him immediately.

Starsky opened his eyes and blinked hard. Then, he sat up suddenly, nearly knocking over his partner. “Hutch! Are you okay?” His heart was racing.

“I just asked you that.”

Starsky noticed the flames and activity and he tried to get to his feet. “Matt!” he exclaimed as Hutch pulled him back down to sit.

“I’m sorry, buddy. There’s nothing we can do. Let the firemen get it.”

Both men watched in stunned silence as the firemen worked ineffectually to fight the blaze. They were able to save the apartment next door from being a complete loss and to put out the fires in the trees before they spread.

The paramedics tended both men’s cuts and abrasions, but neither of them required a visit to the hospital. Starsky swore he hadn’t lost consciousness; he’d just had the wind knocked out of him and was stunned for a minute or two. Hutch sat on the bumper of the paramedic unit as his hand was bandaged. He was watching his partner, who was sitting dejectedly in the open door of the back of a black-and-white, his head in his hands. The street was covered with emergency vehicles and crawling with the media. The story was going to make the eleven o’clock news. Hutch looked around to be sure no cameras had caught them. He didn’t want Starsky subjected to that. He already knew his best friend was severely upset by what had just happened.

The arson team was just getting to work, and the firemen had found two bodies inside the apartment. As they were bringing them out to put in the coroner’s wagon, Hutch’s paramedic indicated he was finished. He quickly stood and strode over to his partner, putting himself between Starsky and the sight of their friends being taken away in body bags.

When he finally got Starsky to look up at him, Hutch’s heart nearly broke with the pain he saw in his friend’s eyes. He wasn’t crying. Not yet, but his eyes were bright with anger, unshed tears, and sadness. He dropped his hands into his lap.

“Starsk, come on, buddy. We’re going home.”

Starsky had seen the arson unit arrive. He looked at Hutch to see if he had any answers. He didn’t, but Hutch knew what his partner was thinking without asking.

“This could just be some kind of horrible, freak accident, Starsky. A gas leak, set off when Matt lit the grill.”

“You believe that?” Starsky asked, the anger creeping into his voice.

Hutch sighed and shook his head. “No.”

Starsky closed his eyes and brought trembling hands back up to cover his face. “Oh, my God,” he said.

“Starsky….” Hutch was upset, too, but he could see that he needed to hold it together for both of them until he could get Starsky someplace quiet where he could rest and they could talk.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God,” Starsky repeated.

“Let’s go home, Gordo. We’ll get some rest and maybe they’ll have some answers for us in the morning.” Starsky just shook his head “no” in response.

Hutch heard a car door shut and footsteps approaching. He looked away from his friend and saw their captain approaching. “Hutch, Starsky, are you two all right?” he asked.

“Yes, Cap,” Hutch said for Starsky’s benefit, but he shook his head and sent a clear message to Dobey that Starsky was anything but all right. Physically, his injuries were minor, but emotionally, Hutch was worried.

Starsky pulled his shaking hands away from his face again and his troubled eyes met Dobey’s concerned ones. “Cap,” he said in quiet anguish, “it’s my fault. They’re dead and it’s because of me.”

“Now, Starsky, that’s just stupid!” Dobey said gruffly. “You didn’t have anything to do with this!”

“No?” Starsky rose and glared at his captain, almost nose-to-nose with him. “What the hell do you call it then, Captain? Gunther wants me dead. He’s tried to kill me over and over again. He killed Allison’s dad and he killed Lionel and now he’s killed Matt and Debbie — ”

“You don’t know that for sure, Starsk,” Hutch interjected, but Starsky made an impatient gesture and kept his eyes on Dobey.

“You think this wasn’t a direct warning to me? Maybe he even thought we’d be in there when it blew and he’d get us all at once!”

“Then, if it’s anybody fault, it’s mine!” Dobey said. “I’m the one who told the Dixons it would be safe to come home. I made the decision.”

“He’d have got ‘em anyway,” Starsky said, his anger dropping away to reveal the pain underneath. He stepped away from Dobey and turned to go back to the car, head down. Dobey took a step after him, but Hutch put a hand on his arm and shook his head. He would do it.

Dobey nodded and glanced toward Starsky. “He’s had to take too much lately,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” Hutch said.

Starsky was already seated in the car, hands folded over the steering wheel and his forehead resting on them. When Hutch climbed in, Starsky started the car without a word and drove away. He didn’t often drive Hutch’s car, but Hutch guessed that’s what he needed to do right then.

“Starsk,” Hutch began, but Starsky put a hand up and shook his head.

“Not now. Please.”

Hutch subsided, keeping a close eye on Starsky as they drove. But Starsky drove carefully, even conservatively, until he pulled up in front of Venice Place. They had driven over to Hutch’s place to pick up the beer for the dinner party and left the Torino there. Hutch wasn’t ready for Starsky to go home. “Come up,” Hutch said. It wasn’t a request.

Starsky shook his head. “No, I — ”

“I said you’re coming up with me,” Hutch said firmly but kindly. “I’m your partner and what’s more, I’m your best friend. I’m not letting you out of my sight and that’s all there is to it. Please.”

Starsky glanced over at him and met his eyes. After a moment, he nodded. “Okay.”

Hutch got him a beer without waiting to ask if he wanted one. He sat down across from Starsky after he handed him the bottle and waited. Starsky took a long, thoughtful sip, then turned the bottle in his hands, eyes on the amber liquid as if he would find the answers there. Finally, very softly, he said, “I can’t take much more, buddy.”

“I know,” Hutch said. “None of this is your fault, but you’re the one suffering for it. What do you want to do?”

Starsky sighed. “I don’t know.”

Hutch studied him for a few moments, while Starsky continued to stare down at his beer. “I have an idea,” he ventured at last.

“Yeah? What?” Starsky looked up.

“Let’s get out of here till after the sentencing,” Hutch said. “Go somewhere safe, where Gunther’ll never think to look for us, and wait till the son-of-a-bitch is safely put away.”

“Where can we go?” Starsky asked. “And besides, we oughta be here for the sentencing.”

“That’s not necessary. You were there during the trial, and the jury had to look at you, knowing what that slime did. It helped them vote guilty, partner. Now it’s up to the judge, and he’s not going to cut Gunther any slack.”

“But where?”

“Home,” Hutch said. “Duluth. My folks’ll put us up and we can relax for a change. You can play with my niece and nephew and I can go fishing. I think it would do us both good.”

Starsky nodded slowly. “Yeah. But what’ll Dobey say?”

“Let me handle Dobey.”

Dobey astonished them both by not only agreeing, but encouraging them to leave as soon as possible.

“I was thinking the same thing,” he said. “I want you two out of town and out of harm’s way. The D.A.’s already spoken to the judge, and Gunther’s calls and visits will be monitored in prison. Once he’s in San Quentin, he won’t be able to give any more orders without somebody knowing about it. And the second he does, he’s going to be charged with something else, the worst thing we can think of.”

Starsky’s eyes were wide with amazement, and Hutch was equally stunned.

“Sentencing’s in a few weeks,” Dobey went on, ignoring the looks on their faces. “Leave today. I’ve got the number and I’ll call when it’s safe for you to come back. Can you get a flight today?” He directed this to Hutch.

“Uh,” Hutch stammered.

“Let’s drive,” Starsky said. “Lotta pretty country between here and there. He won’t expect us to drive.”

“Not the Torino,” Dobey said. “Too distinctive.”

“We can take mine,” Hutch said. “Okay, partner?”

Starsky winced elaborately. “If I got no other choice.”

Hutch called his parents to warn them they were coming and his mother was delighted, he reported to Starsky after he hung up. “She said they’ve just redone the upstairs — again — and she can’t wait to have someone to show it off to,” Hutch said, shaking his head with a smile. “We’re having fried chicken for supper the day we get there. You know how much you love Mom’s fried chicken.”

~*~*~*~*

The first day was uneventful until they stopped at a roadside diner outside Phoenix, Arizona. Starsky got out — it had been his turn to drive — and stretched with a grimace. “How you drive that piece of crap is beyond me,” he complained.

“It gets me there and gets me home,” Hutch said. “What more could you want from a car?”

“A little bit of style,” Starsky retorted. “This thing is Early Disaster Movie.”

“That’s a style,” Hutch insisted, laughing.

Starsky gave him a playful whack on the back as they went into the diner. They had sat down and were studying the menu — Hutch complaining about the “greasy spoon specials” — when three men came in. Two sat in the booth behind Hutch and the other sat behind Starsky.

The waitress came for their order.

“I’ll have a double bacon cheeseburger with onion rings and a chocolate malt,” Starsky told her.

Hutch raised his eyebrows. “Good God, partner.”

Starsky made a face at him.

“I’ll have a tuna melt,” Hutch said. “And cottage cheese. And coffee.”

She wrote it all down and went back to the kitchen.

“You wanna push on a little further or find a place to stay here tonight?” Starsky asked, leaning back against the wall and propping his legs up on the seat.

“Let’s stay here,” Hutch said, punctuating the comment with a yawn. “We can make up some time tomorrow if we get an early start.”

“Okay.”

The waitress returned with their drinks, putting the coffee in front of Starsky and the malt in front of Hutch. The men exchanged an amused glance as they traded.

When Hutch leaned forward to reach for the cup, the men behind him went into action. Both produced guns and one laid the barrel of his against Hutch’s temple. “Move,” the man said with a wide, false smile, “and both of ya die.”

Hutch’s eyes went wide with alarm, and widened even more when the man behind Starsky also produced a gun and poked Starsky in the back of the head with it. “Now, gentlemen,” he said, “we are going to get up and go outside. You are not going to make any noise or any trouble unless you want us to kill you right here.” The look quickly exchanged between the two detectives wasn’t lost on the ringleader. “And don’t even think about trying anything. You may not care if you die here, but I’m sure you wouldn’t want us to blow away that pretty waitress and everyone else within earshot.”

The man who had the gun on Hutch reached inside Hutch’s jacket and took his gun, handing it to his companion. The one who had the gun on Starsky took his gun and stuck it into the waistband of his own pants. The diner was nearly empty and no one was paying any attention to them. Starsky looked at Hutch helplessly. Outnumbered and without their guns, there wasn’t going to be much they could do.

The men surrounded them and hustled them out of the diner into the parking lot. The sun was going down and it was almost dark outside, but not quite dark enough for the parking lot lights to have come on yet. The three men escorted them toward a panel truck parked on the far side of the lot.

“Who are you and what do you want?” Hutch demanded hoarsely.

“Uh-uh, no questions,” said the one who had the gun on him.

“And if you don’t already know, you’re dumber than you look,” added the second man. Two of them pushed Starsky and Hutch into the back of the panel truck while the third climbed into the driver’s seat. He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway, driving conservatively but not enough to draw attention.

But they hadn’t been driving long when red lights flashed into the back windows. The driver swore vehemently. “What do I do, Buck?” he called back.

“Stop, stupid,” Buck answered. “We can’t outrun the heat in this heap. Just try to keep him from looking in the back or we’re screwed.”

The driver signaled and pulled off the highway. In a moment, the state trooper shined his flashlight in on him. “I’ll need your license and registration, please, sir.”

“What’s the problem, Officer?” the driver asked, producing the paperwork and handing it through the window.

“We had a call from Kenny and Kim’s that three men took two other men out of there at gunpoint,” the trooper said, as they heard other prowl cars pull up alongside and other flashlight beams danced through the van. “You’re surrounded, Mr. Bradley. Don’t try anything.”

Another officer opened the back door of the van, and several officers were standing there with guns drawn. “Everybody out,” the nearest one said. “Drop the guns and keep your hands where we can see ‘em.”

The troopers lined all five men up alongside the van and started patting them down.

“Hutch and I are cops from Bay City,” Starsky said to the trooper patting him down. “My ID’s in my right hip pocket.”

The troopers stopped the pat down while the officer with Starsky pulled out the ID and peered at it in the light from his flashlight. “What’s the story, Sergeant?”

“It’s a long story,” Starsky said. “Bottom line is, my partner and I were abducted by these guys outta that diner. We think maybe they work for a guy who’s tried to kill me and is awaiting sentencing in Bay City right now.”

The trooper shined his light on Starsky’s face for a moment. Starsky met his eyes unblinkingly. The trooper whistled. “Okay, Sarge, which one’s Hutch?”

“I am,” Hutch answered. “My ID’s in my shirt pocket.”

The same trooper retrieved Hutch’s badge and glanced at it. “Okay, you guys step over there by the car while we deal with these turkeys. We’ll be right with you.”

Starsky and Hutch leaned against the nearest car and watched while the troopers patted down and disarmed all three men and cuffed them. A paddy wagon showed up to take them away and all the officers except two drove off. The last two, including the one who had examined their badges, came back to them.

“Long story, huh?” one of the said to Starsky. “Want to come down to the station and tell us? We need something to charge these guys with.”

“Sure,” Hutch answered for both of them. “But we need to retrieve our car later.”

“We’ll give you a ride back to Kenny and Kim’s,” the trooper said.

“What I want to know,” Starsky said as they climbed into the trooper’s car with him, “is how you guys found us.”

“Maddie,” he answered. “The waitress at Kenny and Kim’s who waited on you. She saw the guys pull guns on you and called us. Gave us a good description of their van and told us which way they headed. She didn’t let on she was watching them take you out for fear they’d hurt you.”

“I think we owe her a steak dinner, partner,” Hutch said to Starsky.

“At the very least,” Starsky replied. He was feeling a little winded for some reason. Starsky took a deep breath as he turned to walk toward the nearest cruiser. That deep breath ended in a cough.

~*~*~*~

Once the three would-be assassins were locked up, Hutch called Captain Dobey to let him know what happened to them.

“I guess the cat’s outta the bag, Cap. Word sure traveled fast.”

“Hmph,” Dobey huffed into the phone. “Gunther has had some visitors. Mostly lawyers, but his son did get in this morning. I’ll have him put in isolation. I can’t keep his attorneys from seeing him, though.”

Hutch looked up and noticed Starsky getting a cup of water from the cooler in the corner. He was coughing again, with a hand absent-mindedly placed on his chest. Uh-oh.

Returning his attention to the captain, Hutch said, “I know. Go ahead, but it’s possible he gave the orders before the verdict. One of his attorneys may even be responsible.”

“True enough. I’ll do what I can. What are you going to do next?”

“Maybe we’d better not get too specific on the phone,” Hutch replied. He was still watching Starsky, who was plopping into a chair and leaning his head back on the wall. Starsky looked over at him, sensing that his partner was watching him. Knowing Hutch was worried about the coughing, Starsky smiled and rolled his eyes. He mouthed the words, “Stop it,” to Hutch.

“The phone’s all right, Hutch. The lines in the house and the office are being monitored twenty-four/seven. No bugs.”

Hutch frowned at Starsky and continued his conversation. “I think we should ditch my car. I’ll pick up a rental and I’ll let you know when we get to Albuquerque.”

“Wait,” Starsky interrupted.

Starsky had a better idea about their transportation. They would pick up an unmarked car from the local police department and drive that to Albuquerque. From there, they would switch cars again for another unmarked police vehicle. Dobey agreed to make some arrangements. He liked the idea of his men changing vehicles, but still having access to a police band radio. He wanted them to stay overnight in Phoenix, but Starsky and Hutch thought they needed to put some distance between them and any additional attacks as soon as possible.

After a visit to the diner to express their gratitude to the staff there, Hutch traded keys with the officer who brought them a late-model, gray sedan from the local police motor pool.

“This your undercover car?” the young uniformed officer asked Hutch. Starsky laughed.

Hutch glared at Starsky as he informed the younger man, who couldn’t have been older than twenty-three, that the non-descript car was the perfect cover. He looked at his battered Ford with a mixture of affection and remorse at leaving it in Phoenix. “Take good care of her for me, will you?”

“Yes, sir.”

The men transferred the bags and supplies from Hutch’s car. Starsky slammed the trunk closed and reached to pull the keys out of the lock. Hutch shook his head, deftly taking the keys from his partner. “Nope. You rest, I’ll drive.”

“Why?” Starsky asked, followed by a cough.

“You really want me to answer that?”

“I’m fine. Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m too wired, buddy. Let’s hit it.” Hutch walked around and got into the driver’s seat without further protest from Starsky. He did push Hutch’s hand away when he tried to determine if Starsky had a fever.

“You feel a little warm, Starsk.”

“I told you, I’m fine. ‘S just a cold,” Starsky assured him. “Just drive.”

Hutch made good time. Starsky slept, allowing Hutch the luxury of frequent, undetected checks on his condition. He didn’t want to overreact to what probably was just a cold. However, despite Starsky’s miraculous recovery, any sign of illness was cause for concern. One of his lungs was compromised by the shooting and his doctors had warned both men that he should be careful about catching colds for a long time to come. Hutch was worried about being on the road in unfamiliar territory, far from medical professionals familiar with his partner’s circumstances. He hoped Starsky would improve with some sleep, and he had lots of time to think about things like the potential for snow and colder weather as they headed north. When Starsky shivered in his sleep, Hutch turned on the car’s heater and made a mental note to stop somewhere and buy them both warmer coats, in case the winter weather turned ugly.

Hutch drove straight through to Albuquerque. When he wasn’t checking Starsky, he was looking in his mirrors and scanning around them. He never detected any signs that they were being followed. Starsky napped the entire way, only waking up when Hutch turned off the car at the E-Z Rest Motel.

“Where are we?” Starsky asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Albuquerque. I’m gonna go get us a room so we can crash for a while.”

“I’ve been asleep for that long? Why didn’t you wake me up to take a turn driving?”

“I told you I was too wired to rest. You looked like you could use it. I’ll be right back.”

Hutch returned a few minutes later and pulled the car around the back of the hotel, out of view from the road. He followed Starsky’s weary progress up the stairs, hoping the additional rest would do him some good. They would sleep for several hours, and then call the District Attorney to set up their meeting and arrange to collect their next vehicle.

~*~*~*~*

District Attorney Jason Lands was delighted to meet the two officers who were responsible for Gunther Industries’ collapse. A local mortgage loan officer was on Starsky and Hutch’s list of probably simultaneous victims from the day Starsky was shot. Rudy Parker worked for Capricorn Mortgage, one of the Gunther subsidiaries. Prior to hearing from the Bay City detectives, they had no leads and no motive for why the man would have been shot in the head while sitting in his own driveway.

“Around noon, his wife heard him pull into the carport, but he never came inside. She says she was distracted by the telephone but realized when she hung up that ten minutes had elapsed since her husband’s car engine was shut off and he still hadn’t come into the house.”

Hutch filled in the next part. “Let me guess. She went out to check on him and found him dead. Didn’t hear a thing.”

“That’s right. The initial investigation didn’t turn anything. Then, you called in September. Our PD followed up on the leads you two gave us. At first, we didn’t know what to think about what you told us, but we had nothing else to go on.”

“What did you find out?” Starsky asked. He put a cough drop into his mouth. Hutch had insisted they stop at a local drug store to get some things to treat Starsky’s cold.

“A lot. First, we went back and re-interviewed the Parkers’ neighbors. One of them remembered seeing a dark van with California plates on it parked across from the house for a couple of hours that day. The neighbor ran out of the house when he heard Lavinia Parker screaming. The car was gone.”

“A panel van?” Hutch asked.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” Lands replied. “Dark brown and kind of beat up looking.”

Hutch answered, “Could be the one the guys who came after us last night were driving.” That was a stretch, since the other shooting had happened several months earlier, but Hutch thought it was possible that the perps had stolen the van months ago in California and kept it under wraps.

“Whoa. Well, we never found any trace of it here. Mrs. Parker provided us with some invaluable information when we pressed her. She said that Parker was being blackmailed by some hot shot in California. Seems Rudy, Jr. goes to college out in Bay City. Parker told his wife that some goons threatened that their only child would have an unfortunate accident if he didn’t ensure some loans were funded. Between her information and yours, we had a pretty solid trail back to your case against the judge. Now, tell me what you know about him, and the other players.”

Starsky and Hutch had no proof, but testimony from the trial, Matt’s research, and other evidence led them to believe that Rudy Parker was on a list of men fingered for death, presented to the late Mr. Bates by James Marshall Gunther a short time before Starsky was shot. This list of names may have included six men in different cities across the country…and two Bay City police detectives. Courtroom testimony revealed that Mr. Bates gave Gunther and his top officers a report on the status of their organization’s standing after Starsky and Hutch effectively shut down most of the west coast operation. That operation reached across the country. Mr. Bates’ report revealed that Phoenix was one city where they were still active. So was Albuquerque. Regardless, Rudy Parker was on Gunther’s hit list. He wanted to make an example of the man, to keep the doors to the city open to them, and to ensure that the rest of his minions were cooperative. The blackmailed man was an integral part of the destroyed parts of Gunther’s empire and that meant he was a loose end.

The two detectives carefully went over all they knew. They gave depositions and agreed to return to testify if it came to a trial. With Gunther likely to get the death penalty in California for the first-degree murder of his assistant, the other states might be in less of a hurry to incur the cost of trying him. The D.A. was willing to wait and see what happened with the sentencing before deciding on his final course of action.

Captain Dobey had made the arrangements for their next car exchange ahead of their arrival. The Albuquerque police department would hold onto the car from Arizona until Starsky and Hutch returned on their way back across the country.

As they headed for the highway that would take them into Texas, Starsky settled down behind the wheel. He argued that even though he was catching a cold, he might feel worse later. He would take the first shift driving and Hutch could take over in six or seven hours. They would be in Dallas by morning. Once again, they decided to keep moving over staying the night.

~*~*~*~

Thomas Potter squirmed visibly under Gunther’s icy glare. He’d had to report the capture of their operatives in Arizona. He couldn’t understand why the old man was so intent on killing the two cops. The concept of revenge, no matter how sweet, was foreign to him. When Gunther didn’t make any comment, Potter continued his recitation.

“We aren’t sure where they are going next. Our wire specialists have been unable to tap into their communications successfully.”

“Mr. Potter, I am not at all interested in your excuses, or in your methods. I told you what I wanted. They may have destroyed my organization, but I have enough money to buy them into hell many times over. I won’t miss the money where I’m going.”

Potter adjusted his tie and said, “Yes, sir. I’ve got my feelers out. They’ll turn up soon. When they do, I have other mechanics waiting to carry out your orders.”

“See that you do.”

~*~*~*~

Hutch was pulling into Dallas as Starsky was stirring restlessly in his sleep. He was uncomfortable and a fever had begun to creep up on him. Hutch made up his mind to find a doctor to take him to as soon as they’d rested and spoken with the Dallas D.A.

Giving in to his need to touch Starsky and see how feverish he was, Hutch reached a hand out and touched Starsky’s arm.

Starsky woke to that touch and sat up with a chest-rattling cough. “We there yet, Dad?” he asked, blinking hard.

“Yeah. You’ve been sounding pretty raspy, buddy.”

“I’m all right, Blondie.”

The two men argued about when, and if, Starsky was going to a doctor. In the end, Starsky won the argument, agreeing to see Hutch’s family physician in Duluth when they arrived in a couple of days if he wasn’t any better.

Sitting in a run-down coffee shop off of highway 35, Starsky choked down some more aspirin and cough medicine. The two men ignored the sideways glance the waitress gave them when they both sat in the same side of the booth. Starsky chose a booth in the back of the restaurant. They both sat with their backs to the wall and a full view of both the parking lot through the windows and the rest of the diner. They were waiting for the next attack, knowing Gunther wouldn’t give up so easily. Hutch had scoped out every exit in the place, both to watch for activity, and to retreat through if necessary.

“Duluth is still two more days, Starsk…” Hutch started after a particularly bad bout of Starsky’s coughing.

“No. We already discussed this. I know a cold when I see one. I’ll be fine ‘til then.”

The waitress interrupted Hutch’s next words. She set down their breakfasts and watched as the two men traded their plates. Hutch wanted oatmeal with his eggs, but they didn’t have any that morning, so the waitress brought him grits instead.

“What’s up with this?” Hutch asked.

“Grits,” she answered, setting down a side of butter next to the semi-liquid white hominy. “What? You never seen grits before, Blondie?”

Hutch glared at her. Forward waitresses were not his favorite type. “Yes, I’ve seen grits, but I ordered oatmeal,” he answered in a steady voice.

She poured both of them more coffee, sloshing a little onto Hutch’s hand and said, “Out of oatmeal. Give it a try, honey. I won’t charge you for ‘em if you don’t like ‘em.” She pulled a bottle of Tabasco out of her apron pocket and set it on the table in front of Starsky.

“How do you know I want this?” he asked her with a gleam in his eye. “Could be my buddy here wants it.”

That earned him a warm, friendly laugh from the bleached blonde who looked like she had an entire can of Aqua Net sprayed onto her over-teased hair. “Oh, baby, I figured you for the sizzle. ‘Sides, guys who order their butter on the side usually don’t want their sizzle on the top.” She swatted Starsky playfully on the arm and then turned away from them.

Starsky nearly choked to death laughing at the red that crept onto Hutch’s face all the way to his ears. They watched with amused admiration as the shapely woman walked toward the kitchen.

“That’s some swing in her backyard,” Starsky mumbled.

Their waitress was the most interesting and eventful part of their meal. No one suspicious cruised the lot. All of the other patrons seemed absorbed in their own activities. Though they couldn’t afford to let their guard down for even an instant, they were relieved.

The rest of their time in Dallas was equally uneventful. After another break for sleep and speaking with the District Attorney, they checked in with the captain.

“No, we’ve been on the lookout. Hutch thought he saw a suspicious car outside of Abilene, but it turned out to be nothing.”

“Don’t let your guard down,” the captain instructed unnecessarily.

“We’re not. No way he’s giving up, Cap. He wants me dead.”

Hutch blanched at that remark, however true he believed it to be.

“He wants you both, Starsky. He’s limited to just his attorneys for visitors, like I promised. Maybe it’ll be okay. When will you be in Duluth?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“I’ll call and let Mr. Hutchinson know,” Dobey said.

“Better not, Cap. What if they’re bugging his phone?”

“Don’t worry, Starsky, I’ve got it covered.” Captain Dobey was a good friend. Starsky was glad to have the quick-thinking, thorough man on their side whenever they were in trouble.

At their captain’s suggestion, Hutch planted the idea that they were going to Detroit after Chicago. Since they were going to Hutch’s parents’ home, giving out information leading them in another direction seemed like a good idea. They traded cars again and headed north for Oklahoma, eager to make it to Chicago as quickly as possible. Neither of them knew that their good luck since Albuquerque had just changed. Gunther had a mole in the Dallas D.A.’s office.

~*~*~*~

Bill Trask called Gunther’s attorney to report what he knew. “Yes, I’m sure it was them, Mr. Potter. They’re going to Chicago next.”

“Where after that?”

“I think I heard the blond one say they were headed to Detroit from there.”

Potter took some notes in his small book. “Good. What are they driving?”

“Right now, they’re in a white 1975 LTD. They’re switching cars everywhere. They drove into town in one that’s from New Mexico.”

“Clever. No matter. I have someone in the Chicago office, too. Thank you, Trask. You’ll be sufficiently rewarded.” Thomas Potter hung up the phone, satisfied that he finally had some good news for James Gunther. He would need a little while to arrange for a new hit squad. He’d plan to have them follow the detectives out of the Chicago to a more remote area.

~*~*~*~

Chicago proved as unremarkable as Dallas had — interviews, a stop for some sleep, more diner food. The Chicago D.A. was less than optimistic about making charges stick to Gunther on their case. Bates was the only murder they’d been able to pin on Gunther in California. He was sure to put enough distance between himself and all of the other killings.

They left the city late. Hutch was starting to feel like a rat on a wheel and Starsky was looking sicker and sounding worse. Hutch was glad they were on their way to Duluth. For the first time in years, he was looking forward to seeing his parents. When Starsky was shot, Richard Hutchinson took it hard. So hard, he surprised his son. Everyone was so busy and frightened when it happened. Since Starsky was the one who was hit, no one thought to call Hutch’s parents. Captain Dobey had to return a frantic phone call from Mr. Hutchinson hours after the shooting. Hutch’s parents learned about it on the national news.

Richard had never approved of Hutch’s career choice. He wanted his son to be an attorney and was angry when Hutch decided to be a cop. Richard allowed his anger to cloud his judgment and interfere with his relationship with his son. When a teenager shot Hutch about six months before Gunther, Richard Hutchinson began to see the error in his ways. He was planning to visit Bay City for Memorial Day weekend; a chance to mend some fences, but Starsky’s shooting interfered with those plans.

When Starsky was nearly killed, Richard and his wife rallied behind both men. They provided comfort and a steady presence that Hutch needed badly in the darkest time of his life. The Hutchinson’s were amazed by Starsky’s courage and resilience, and by their son’s loyalty and devotion to his best friend. Finally, things were looking up for the Hutchinson men to repair their relationship.

Starsky was sleeping not long after they left Chicago. The weather was cold and snow was expected. Hutch wanted to make as much time on their drive to Duluth as he could before the snow started. Driving in the dark made it harder for him to spot the black Charger that started tailing them shortly after they left Chicago.

“I thought you said they were going to Detroit,” the Charger’s driver said to his companion.

“That’s what Potter said.”

“Maybe they changed their minds. Whatever, just keep back far enough that they won’t spot us until we are out far enough to take care of business.” This time, Potter was sure to order his hit squad to go in a car with enough muscle to run with if they needed it.

Hutch started to worry more when they had been in Wisconsin long enough to be in a remote area. He wasn’t positive, but he thought the car behind them had followed them from Illinois. Just as those thoughts started him thinking about a potential course of action, he saw the car behind them begin a rapid approach. He looked ahead for a place to spin around, but the road he was on was only one lane in each direction and there were deep ditches on either side. He floored it, but the car behind was coming too fast. Hutch tried to get into the center of the road since there were no cars coming from the other direction, but the Charger was quick. The sudden change of speed woke Starsky as Hutch was pushing him down toward the floorboard. Before he had a chance to react, he heard the sound of gunfire and glass breaking. His heart lurched at the horrible sense of déjà vu, but he didn’t have time to think much about it. The car swerved suddenly, and he felt it leave the roadway. A few seconds later, the car slammed back down at an angle, rolled once, rolled again onto its side, and came to a shuddering stop.

Starsky was stunned for a few moments. He knew he needed to get himself free, but something heavy was pressed against him. As his head cleared a bit, he realized it was Hutch.

Shaking Hutch’s shoulder, Starsky called his name. He got no response. Frantically checking his partner, he found that he was breathing and he had a pulse. Starsky couldn’t see where it was coming from, but he felt warm, wetness seeping into his clothes. He knew all too well what it felt like to be shot, and he was sure he wasn’t hit, but Hutch must have been. He also knew that the shooters would most likely be coming along to make sure they were dead. Putting a hand up to his throbbing head, he felt a gash that was bleeding. Good, that will help. He pulled his gun and waited.

The two men in the Charger pulled to the side and walked back to inspect their handiwork. The driver wanted to move on, but the shooter was determined to make sure they’d succeeded in killing the two detectives.

They approached the car cautiously and saw no movement inside. Neither of them could see Starsky well enough to know they were being watched.

A glance through the starred windshield was almost good enough to assure them their quarry were dead. Neither man was moving and the there was enough blood to believe the wounds were fatal. Still, the shooter said they couldn’t be too careful. The view through the cracked glass wasn’t good enough.

When the shooter leaned into the driver’s window, he couldn’t quite reach Hutch. He ordered his companion to help him rock the car back down onto four wheels. Starsky continued to play dead, but he was relieved to feel Hutch’s weight slide off of him.

One of the men pulled open the door and reached for Hutch to drag him out of the car. As soon as he was close enough, Starsky raised his gun and fired, hitting the man squarely in the forehead. His companion wasn’t expecting that. Both men thought Starsky was dead. The man aimed at Starsky and fired, but his shot went wide. Before he could get off another, Starsky swung his gun toward him and fired again, spinning the man onto the ground a few feet from his partner — dead. A light dusting of snow was beginning to fall.

Starsky needed to be sure the other man was dead. He eased Hutch down onto the seat. Then, he found he had to slam his body against the passenger door several times to get it to pop open for him. He was stiff and hurting. The coughing was worse and he felt terrible, but he knew he had to keep moving.

His check of the two hit men confirmed that they were both dead. He dashed back to the car and found the radio was broken. Naturally. Then, the thought occurred to him that he had no way of knowing how the hit men found them. Someone in law enforcement might have fingered them. Hutch was hurt badly and Starsky was afraid to take him to a local hospital, if he even knew where to find one. He did his best to slow the bleeding. A bullet had grazed Hutch across the back of his head. If Starsky had been sitting up instead of lying down on the seat, the bullet would probably have gone past, hit him in the head, and killed him. Hutch had saved his life…again. A bullet had also entered Hutch’s chest and exited through his shoulder in the back. Starsky felt a lump on Hutch’s head that meant he’d probably hit it on something in the car while they rolled. Terrific. What a mess.

Starsky was amazed, but somehow grateful, that no other cars had happened along during this incident. He looked up the road and saw the Charger sitting there. Immediately, he knew what he needed to do.

He didn’t bother to look for car keys. The Charger was undoubtedly stolen. He noticed it had Michigan plates on it as he approached. The ignition was torn apart inside and he had to hot-wire it, just like the gunmen had. When he got it started, he backed it up as close to their car as he could. He was going to get Hutch into it and take off for Duluth. They had already discussed the route and he wasn’t thinking clearly. To his muddled, feverish, frightened mind, that seemed the best choice.

Starsky rushed back to the car and tried to rouse Hutch again. He was still not getting anywhere and it was starting to scare him. The bleeding had slowed, but not stopped. He grabbed the flashlight dropped on the ground by the hit men and checked Hutch’s eyes. At least his pupils were reacting to the light and they were the same size.

Realizing he had no choice, Starsky hauled the heavier man out of the car and picked him up in a fireman’s carry. His recently healed muscles groaned in protest and his lungs felt like they were about to spontaneously combust, but he made it.

When Starsky picked Hutch up, he felt more blood on his thigh. His initial inspection in the dark had missed another bullet wound. The bullet must have gone through the door and it was still lodged in Hutch’s leg. The gunman had done a lot of damage by firing as the Charger pulled past them. He quickly wrapped a shirt from his duffle bag around the thigh as a makeshift bandage. Knowing he was about to take off in a stolen car, leaving a shot up police vehicle and two dead bodies in his wake, held no sway over Starsky’s rising panic. All he cared about was protecting Hutch, and that meant getting him to safety. He was grateful for the powerful Charger engine as he peeled away from the wreck site.

He couldn’t afford to relax until there were many miles between them and the would-be assassins. He drove as fast as he dared in the snow without actually breaking the speed limit. All he needed right now was for a gung-ho county cop to pull them over and realize they were in a stolen car and that Hutch had been shot. The resulting explanations and difficulties would delay them for hours, and Starsky didn’t know whom he could trust anymore — that is, except for the man beside him.

He risked a glance at his partner. Hutch had not actually moved, but his eyes fluttered and he was mumbling something indistinguishable. Suddenly, Starsky had a terrifying thought. What if Hutch had a head injury from the crash, or damage to his spine? Starsky had made no effort to be careful with his neck when he pulled him from the wreckage and hauled him to the Charger.

Dear God, what if I made it worse?

Several miles had passed before Hutch roused. He groaned as he struggled into a more upright position and passed his hand over his eyes. “Starsk? What happened?” He looked around and frowned. “How’d we get in this car?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Starsky asked instead of answering.

Hutch frowned and rubbed his forehead. “I thought we were being tailed.”

“We were,” Starsky said. “They shot you and we rolled.”

Hutch stared at him. “This is their car?”

Starsky nodded and glanced toward him. “They’re both dead. How ya feel?”

“Shit,” Hutch said, resting his head against the window on his side.

Starsky didn’t know whether that was an answer to his question or a reaction to their situation, but Hutch seemed alert enough, so he let it go. “I saw a sign back there a ways that said we just passed a place called Wisconsin Dells,” he said. “Ring any bells for you?”

Hutch rubbed his forehead yet again, and that worried Starsky. Finally, Hutch said, “If we keep bearing north, we should be getting to New Lisbon before long. From there, we can get on the interstate. I think we’d be better off on it.”

“In a stolen car, buddy?” Starsky asked skeptically. “Don’t you think we’d better stick to back roads?”

Hutch sighed. “Shit. I forgot about the car. You’re right. But it’s going to take one hell of a lot longer doing it this way.” His hand went to his forehead again.

“How bad you hurtin’, partner?” Starsky demanded. “The truth.”

“Pretty bad,” Hutch admitted reluctantly. “You?”

“I’m fine,” Starsky said, but he ruined it with a spasm of coughing so violent it brought tears to his eyes and left him breathless.

“Let me drive,” Hutch said.

“You kiddin’? You ain’t in no shape — ”

“Neither are you,” Hutch said.

In the distance, Starsky could see the lights of a town and it looked like it might be of a decent size, not much like the wide-open places in the road they’d passed in the last few hours. “Look, let’s find a motel and stop for the night, huh? We’ll regroup and come up with a plan.”

“That must be New Lisbon,” Hutch said, trying to focus his weary eyes. “Okay, let’s stop.”

New Lisbon was big enough to have several motels to choose from. Starsky pulled off at a motel and went in to arrange for the room. He didn’t think it was a good idea to let strangers see Hutch in his condition. Even so, the desk clerk looked at him oddly, and once he had gotten the room unlocked and helped Hutch to one of the beds, he glanced in the mirror over the dresser and understood why. He had an ugly, bruising gash on his forehead and a rapidly darkening black eye. The pallor of his face, thanks to his cold, made both look much worse than they really were.

“Ain’t we a pair?” he remarked to Hutch, turning to grin at him. But when he turned and got a good look at Hutch in the light, he was seriously alarmed. The spot of blood on Hutch’s thigh was fist-sized and the leg was swelling. Both of Hutch’s eyes were black, and his blond hair was matted with blood. He was holding one arm against his body and the dried bloodstain on his shirt where the bullet had gone through was far too large for comfort. “Holy shit, Hutch,” Starsky said, not realizing he’d said it aloud.

“I’ll be okay,” Hutch said unconvincingly, his voice now so weak and soft that Starsky could hardly understand him. “Just help me get these damn clothes off and into bed.”

“You’re not trying to tell me a good night’s sleep is all you need,” Starsky said flatly.

Hutch gave a faint grin, but his face was so pale and his eyes so hollow that it was a caricature of his usual expression. “No, I won’t try to tell you that, but it would certainly help. Got a better idea?”

Starsky shook his head. “No.”

He helped Hutch undress to his underwear and got him under the covers, then he went to the bathroom and got a washcloth and soaked it in warm water. He brought it back and very gently bathed Hutch’s wounds. The shoulder wound oozed a little more blood, but only a little. The head wound was more of an abrasion, though Starsky could see by Hutch’s eyes that it had given him one hell of a headache. It was the thigh that really worried Starsky. The leg was swollen and had turned several angry shades of purple and blue, and there was no exit wound.

“We’ll be in Duluth tomorrow,” Hutch said wearily when he saw what Starsky was looking at. “I can go to my old family doctor then.”

Starsky opened his mouth, but the look of suffering on Hutch’s face made him shut it again — and a sudden spasm of coughing that made his lungs actually hurt precluded any remark anyway.

“Starsky?”

Starsky shook his head and tried to calm his breathing. It took a few moments. “I’m all right,” he said at last. “Go to sleep, huh, buddy? I’m beat and you are, too.”

Hutch nodded, though his brow creased in a worried frown, and he finally drifted off. Starsky couldn’t sleep just yet. He was too wound up from the events of the last several days, and when he tried to lie down, the congestion in his chest made breathing difficult. He didn’t want to keep Hutch awake all night with his coughing, so he sneaked down the hall to the vending machines and got himself a Pepsi and a candy bar. He sat there and watched Hutch sleep and grew steadily more and more concerned. Finally, he sat down on the other bed and lifted the receiver.

It took several rings, but finally a sleepy voice answered at the other end.

“Richard? It’s David.”

“What’s wrong?” Richard Hutchinson asked immediately, concern apparent in his voice.

“We ran into a couple of snags,” Starsky said, trying to keep his voice soft and calm at the same time. It wasn’t easy and he knew that if the lateness of the hour weren’t enough to scare Hutch’s dad, the worry in his own voice would do that job.

“What do you mean, David?” Richard demanded, now wide awake. “Don’t soften it, son. Give it to me straight.”

“There’s a worm in our apple someplace,” Starsky said. “A coupla guys caught up with us about a hundred miles south of here and ran us off the road and — ”

“And what?”

“Hutch is hurt,” Starsky said. “I don’t dare take him to a hospital. I don’t know how those guys knew where to find us and I don’t know who to trust. I’m…I’m scared.”

“How badly is he hurt? The truth, David.”

“He’s shot through the shoulder and in the thigh. The bullet’s still in his leg but the one in his shoulder went through. Banged up, nothing too serious.”

“Dear God,” Richard said, his voice shaking. “Where are you?”

Starsky hesitated, then decided there was no way Gunther’s goons could have known they’d choose this motel and be assigned to this room. But what if the Hutchinson’s phone was bugged? Dobey said it wasn’t, but Starsky was still worried.

“David?”

“I’m afraid of a bug on your phone,” Starsky said at last.

“Your captain had the local police make sure it was clean,” Richard said. “Where ARE you?”

“In the Stay-a-While Motel in New Lisbon,” Starsky said. “Right off the highway as you come into town from the south. Room 114.”

“I’ll be there as quickly as possible, not more than a few hours,” Richard said. “I’ll take the company plane as soon as I can get a pilot. Sit tight, and don’t go out. Understand, David? Let me handle this.”

“Okay,” Starsky said, rubbing his eyes. He was beginning to have chills and his vision was getting blurry.

After he hung up, he called Dobey at home. It was about midnight in Bay City, but Dobey answered on the first ring.

“You musta been sitting on the phone,” Starsky said, striving for a light note.

“Cut the crap, Starsky,” Dobey growled. “Where the hell are you?”

Starsky told him and explained what had happened and that he’d called Richard.

“Do as he says,” Dobey ordered as soon as he’d finished. “I’ll get in touch with the Wisconsin State Patrol and explain about the car you’re in. What’s the number there? I’ll call you back and tell you what to do after I’ve talked to them.”

Starsky’s mind was getting fuzzy and he didn’t answer.

“Starsky? Starsky!”

“Yeah, yeah, Cap, I’m here. Sorry. I’m not feelin’ too hot myself,” Starsky said, though hot was exactly what he was feeling. He’d have a spell of feeling too hot and then he’d have a chill violent enough to make him shake.

“Are you injured?”

“No, just a bug,” Starsky said. “I’m okay.”

“Stay by the phone,” Dobey said. “I’ll call back as soon as I can.”

Starsky lay down but he was so cold he had to get under the covers, fully clothed. His teeth were chattering and even when he rolled up in the blankets, he couldn’t get warm. He looked over longingly at Hutch. Any other time, he’d wake him up and Hutch would know what to do. Hutch always knew what to do. But the sight of Hutch’s bruised face and the lines of pain around his eyes and in his forehead wouldn’t let him. So, he lay there, shivering and feeling steadily worse, until he finally drifted off.

Sometime later, the phone rang. Starsky woke up with a start, heart pounding with fear, not recognizing where he was for a moment. Then the phone rang again and he snatched it off the cradle, afraid it would wake Hutch. He needn’t have worried; Hutch never even stirred.

It was Dobey. “I talked to a commander at the nearest state police district headquarters to you,” he said. “That’s in Tomah, about 20 miles northwest of you. His name’s Joe Ryan. He said to bring the stolen car there and report in to him and give him a statement before you leave the state. I told him about Hutch, and he said they could wait for his statement, but they want yours tomorrow. Can you do that?”

“Yeah,” Starsky said, trying to force his mind to clear.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Starsky?”

“I’m fine,” he repeated patiently. “Really, Cap’n.”

“All right,” Dobey said, but he didn’t sound happy. “Call me when you’ve finished with Ryan tomorrow.”

“I will.”

Starsky spent a miserable, restless night, alternately freezing and smothering. It seemed like as soon as he started to get warm, he’d be too warm and have to kick off all the covers. As soon as he did THAT, he’d start having chills and have to bundle up all over again. Through it all, Hutch slept so soundly that if Starsky had not been so sick himself, he would have realized something was very wrong. As it was, he was only grateful that his continual tossing and turning didn’t disturb his partner.

Richard arrived just before ten the next morning, his thinning blond hair mussed, and looking as if he hadn’t slept all night. When he knocked on the door, Starsky scrambled to get his gun before he cautiously asked who was there.

When he opened the door, Richard took one look at him and said, “David, you look awful.” Then his eyes traveled past him to Hutch, still sleeping, and he paled. “Kenny? Dear God….” He hurried over to the bed and felt Hutch’s forehead and patted his cheeks. “Kenny? Ken, wake up, son, it’s Dad.” Hutch moaned and thrashed a little but didn’t open his eyes. “How long has he been like this?” Richard demanded.

“He went to sleep about one in the morning,” Starsky said, trying to stand upright but swaying in spite of himself. “I didn’t wanna disturb him ‘cause I thought he needed the rest….”

Richard didn’t reply; he hurried to the door and called to someone named “Andrew” to come and help him. Another man joined him in a few seconds, and between the two of them, they quickly dressed Hutch, got a blanket wrapped around him and carried him out to a waiting station wagon.

“Get your things together and hurry!” Richard ordered Starsky as they were readying Hutch.

“I have to report in to the state police and drop off that car,” Starsky said, waving vaguely in the direction of the Charger, parked outside their room. But he handed over Hutch’s clothes and bag to Richard after they’d loaded Hutch into the car, and Richard took them.

“Then follow us as soon as you can,” Richard said. “There’s a small private airport in Tomah, just up the highway from here. That’s where we left the plane. We’ll wait for you there.”

After Richard left, Starsky gathered his own bag and loaded it into the Charger. He was moving very slowly, feeling much worse than he had the day before, and only the memory of Hutch’s pale, still face and Richard’s fear for his son’s safety kept him moving at all. He finally managed to get the bill paid, get into the car, and start up the road to Tomah.

His vision was blurring, and no amount of rubbing his eyes helped. His head ached, too, and the chills were, if anything, worse. He tried turning on the heater in the car, but it didn’t help much. Without meaning to, he had sped up past the speed limit and was looming up behind a semi, less than a car length from plowing into the back of it, before he realized what was happening.

He gave the steering wheel a violent wrench and slammed on the brakes, losing control and veering off the highway toward a guardrail.

~*~*~*~

Richard took the wheel of the station wagon and drove like a man possessed, while Andrew stayed in the back with Hutch and kept him warm and covered. They arrived at the airfield just as Hutch was really waking up, but he was groggy and incoherent, scaring Richard even more than he was already. Between them, Andrew and Richard got Hutch into the plane and bedded down on a mattress loaded just for that purpose.

“We don’t dare wait very long, Dick,” Andrew said gently. “He needs to be in a hospital.”

“I can’t leave David,” Richard said, pacing back and forth in the narrow aisle. “He’s in no condition to drive all that way.”

“No, but we could leave him a message and you could send the plane back for him after we get Ken taken care of,” Andrew said. “He’d only have to wait a couple of hours.”

Richard stopped pacing and looked down at his son’s face for just a moment of indecision. “All right.”

Andrew took the note to the office and described Starsky to them so they could recognize him when he arrived, and hurried back to the plane. The pilot was already warming up the engine, getting ready to go.

“Andrew, I don’t feel right about this,” Richard said. “David isn’t well. I think we should wait a bit longer.”

Andrew didn’t have to argue the point. Hutch took care of that for him. He was barely conscious, but he grabbed for his father’s hand and called out for Starsky. Suddenly, his breathing became more ragged and he lost consciousness. Richard Hutchinson sat next to him and felt his thready pulse.

“Go,” he said as he looked up with anguished eyes. Andrew nodded and pulled the plane’s door closed. He went up to the cockpit to give the pilot his orders.

~*~*~*~

Wet. Gray. Cold. Starsky’s return to consciousness included all three, in addition to a more severe pain in his head than he had before whatever had just happened. He shook his head and realized in a panic that the Charger was nose down and rapidly sinking in near freezing water. The water was already up to the bottom of the steering wheel he had just found himself slumped against. He fought against the weight of water on the door but was unable to open it. Starsky reached for his gun and used the butt of it to break the window, allowing him to escape.

The water was just above freezing and Starsky knew he had to get out quickly. He headed for the shore and reached it without too much difficulty. Climbing out onto the bank, his hands and feet were already numb. He stood and watched the car complete its fatal slide.

Starsky looked up and saw the torn guardrail the car had broken. The embankment was too steep here for him to climb back to the road. He gave a grim chuckle at the swan song the car must have done. “Upstream or downstream?” he asked the snowy sky. Deciding it made no difference, but that moving was going to be critical if he expected to survive, he began walking upstream.

As he walked, Starsky thought about what had happened. He couldn’t remember where the black Charger had come from and couldn’t understand why it was so cold in Southern California. Where was he exactly and where was Hutch?

Starsky wandered for over an hour. By the time he found a place that would allow him to climb up to the road, his fever had risen to an alarming level and he was so confused he really only knew he was cold, and he needed to get to help. He told himself that at least if he were up on the road, someone might find him. He still had no idea how he’d gotten in this condition, but he knew something was terribly wrong. The painful cough was sapping his strength and his ability to think.

His hope that someone would come along and find him was beginning to dwindle. Although the snow wasn’t falling that fast, this road was remote and everyone with any sense was probably at home by a warm fireplace. With his vision starting to blur again, Starsky stumbled forward as best he could until a painful coughing spasm cost him his consciousness and left him lying on the side of the road.

~*~*~*~

When the plane touched down in Duluth, a private ambulance was waiting to take the small party to a nearby hospital. Richard made the arrangements before he left. He put a hand out and laid it on Andrew’s shoulder as the medical team transferred his son to a stretcher and began treatment.

“Go back for David.”

“I will. I’ll bring him to St. Margaret’s within a couple of hours. Don’t worry.”

The pilot quickly logged a new flight plan to Tomah. They had plenty of fuel to get back to the other airport. Andrew shut the door behind him as Richard got into the ambulance with Hutch.

The medics knew they weren’t supposed to ask too many questions. Their injured patient was to be delivered to St. Margaret’s under an assumed name. They did ask Mr. Hutchinson how their patient had been on the plane ride and were not pleased with the answer.

Richard was more frightened than he had ever been. He was terrified of losing his son and worried about Starsky. When they arrived at St. Margaret’s, he gave them as much information as he dared, checking his son in under the name John Price.

The doctor tried to rouse him, using the name “John.” Richard told him to call him Ken.

“Ken? I need you to wake up for me,” the doctor called. The medical team was buzzing around Hutch, cutting off his clothes and looking at his wounds. The doctor looked at Hutch’s head injuries with concern. The graze at the back of his head had stopped bleeding, but the lump looked bad. A nurse came and escorted Richard out to the waiting area. As soon as Hutch’s vitals were stable enough, he would be taken to surgery. The bullet lodged in his leg was already causing an infection, having been there for hours. Richard was left with nothing to do but wait, pray, and pace.

~*~*~*~

“Are you sure you haven’t seen him?” Andrew anxiously asked the young woman at the airport.

“Yes, sir. No one has been here. Not even anyone who doesn’t match your description. This is a small airport. I would have seen him.”

The pilot was having the plane refueled while Andrew went in to get Starsky. They’d been gone for hours. Something must have happened. Andrew wasn’t sure what he should do next. He found a phone and got through to Richard at the hospital.

“How’s he doing?” he asked as soon as Richard was on the line.

“Not good. They’ve taken him to surgery. Is David all right?”

“That’s why I’m calling. He’s not here. He’s had enough time to get here.”

“Give me the number and I’ll call you back. I’m going to call their captain.”

He reached the captain in his office and could tell that Dobey was already agitated when he picked up the phone. “Captain Dobey, this is Richard Hutchinson.”

“Where are you?” Dobey growled into the phone. Then, he cleared his throat and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Hutchinson. I’m just worried. I haven’t heard anything for hours. What’s happening?”

“Nothing very good, I’m afraid. Ken was in such a bad way, we were forced to fly him out before David made it to the airport.”

“You what?” Dobey bellowed into the phone.

“I sent the plane back for him, but he never showed there. I feel terrible that we had to leave him, but the doctors tell me we may lose Ken. We had no choice.”

Dobey dropped his head in one hand and rubbed his hair as he thought about what to do next. “How did David look?” he asked quietly.

“Terrible. He had a black eye and a bruised cut on his head. He was sick, too, Captain. Anything could have happened to him. What if those men found him? He said he was going to turn the car over to the state police, in Tomah, I assume.”

“Hold on while I call and see if he’s still there.”

Captain Dobey hoped that Starsky made it to the state police. Maybe they had taken him somewhere for treatment. His phone call left him more worried. The state police had seen no sign of him or the stolen black Charger. The station commander told Dobey he would send troopers out searching for Starsky immediately. The captain was not pleased to hear it was snowing in the area. That would make it harder to find Starsky, but whatever had befallen his detective, he hoped that James Marshall Gunther had nothing to do with it. At least they had not responded to any calls on road accidents in the past few hours.

“Richard, they haven’t seen him either.”

“Captain Dobey, I don’t know what to do. How can I help him?” Richard asked, the worry in his voice palpable even over the phone.

“You’ve already done a lot. Just sit tight and keep me posted on Ken’s condition. I’ll let you know what I find out about Starsky.”

Richard called Andrew at the airport and told him there was nothing more they could do. He said Andrew should return to Duluth with the pilot, but the man refused. He decided he would send the plane on but wait for news of Starsky’s whereabouts.

~*~*~*~

Thomas Potter waited nervously to hear from his hit squad. They didn’t report in, but Potter was unable to find out what had happened to them. The Wisconsin State Police had put a lid on the story, before the media got wind of the two men found shot to death next to a wrecked, unmarked Illinois police car. Potter’s men had vanished. So had the two detectives. He called Detroit and found out that the two men never showed up there.

With the sentencing coming up, he had fewer reasons to visit with his client. Since Mr. Gunther was being kept in isolation, he knew he was safe from an attack ordered by the vindictive old man. Perhaps that would buy him a day or two to find the missing cops.

A few carefully placed phone calls later, Thomas Potter had the Gunther organization in the Midwest buzzing with the search. Everyone feared the old man’s wrath and they all got to work immediately

In that moment, Thomas Potter made an important decision. If the two detectives weren’t found and eliminated by the day Gunther was sentenced, he would end his own life. He would be a dead man anyway, and he had no desire to wait until his turn came to be yet another tied up loose end.

~*~*~*~

Although it was only three in the afternoon, the snowy, gloom made the day seem like nighttime. Dale Perlman was slowly driving on a back road when he saw what looked like something lying on the shoulder. He pulled over to take a look and found it was a man, unconscious and shivering in iced-over clothing.

“Hey, mister?” he said as he tried to rouse the obviously sick and injured man.

Starsky moaned and opened his eyes a little. He wanted to talk, but all he could say was “Help.”

Dale picked Starsky up and put him in the front seat of his banged up old pickup. Before he shut the door, he searched Starsky’s pockets for identification. He didn’t find a wallet — that had fallen out of Starsky’s jacket pocket back in the water. He did find the Beretta, which he quickly pocketed for himself — deciding that the man he’d just rescued wouldn’t mind him taking a little reward. Dale could hock the gun for some quick cash. Dale Perlman had a gambling habit to support.

When he got the pickup started back on the road, he cranked up the heat in an effort to warm his frozen passenger. Dale knew the man needed a hospital. He didn’t want any trouble, but he couldn’t leave the man lying in the road. Since he was so close to the Minnesota border, he decided to take his passenger to the small hospital in Winona. That would ensure that no one would recognize Dale and would also get the stranger some help.

Winona’s hospital wasn’t the best facility, but it would have to do. Dale pulled into their small emergency bay and went inside for help.

“Hey,” he said to the first nurse he spotted, “I’ve got a guy out in my car who’s ‘bout froze to death.”

The nurse and an orderly got a gurney and followed Dale outside. They hustled Starsky into the hospital, shooting questions at Dale on the way. “Who is he?” the nurse asked.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’m telling you, I don’t know. I found him on the side of the road. Look, I’ll go move my truck and be right back. You can ask me all the questions you want, then.”

Dale ignored the nurse’s protests as he exited the Emergency Room. He climbed into the truck and took off for Wisconsin. He’d go back home and forget it ever happened. As soon as he could, he’d drive over to Madison to hock the gun.

~*~*~*~*

The medical team got to work on Starsky. One of the nurses searched the clothes they’d cut off of him and found no identification. They couldn’t be concerned with that at the moment. They started immediate efforts to warm him.

One of the nurses tried to rouse him. “Sir? Sir, do you know where you are?”

Starsky woke up enough to look at her and moan.

“What? Sir, what’s your name?”

“C-Cold….” He was so tired. What did she ask me? My name? Even in his muddled state, he knew he shouldn’t give her his real name. His concentration was slipping, so he gave her the first undercover name he could think of and said “Larry Scanlon.” Darkness quickly claimed him.

“Geez, this one’s a mess,” the doctor declared. “Where’s that guy who brought him in?”

One of the nurses went out to look for him, but she knew the mysterious man in the pickup truck would be gone.

“No luck, Doc,” she said as she returned. “He took off.”

“Great. Wonder how he got this way?” The doctor ordered some tests and X-rays. He didn’t need a long time to realize that Starsky was in worse shape than they had the ability to treat in the small, rural hospital. As soon as Starsky was stable, they’d transfer him by ambulance to a larger, state run hospital.

~*~*~*~

“I’m sorry, but your son isn’t doing well,” the doctor told Mr. Hutchinson. “We’ve removed the bullet and repaired both wounds. He has an infection that we’re treating aggressively. In addition to a variety of minor injuries and contusions, his head sustained a hard blow and he has a grazing wound from another bullet.” The doctor indicated where the bullet had narrowly missed penetrating Hutch’s skull.

“Will he be all right?”

The doctor shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s too soon to say. He’s in a coma. The next twenty-four to forty-eight hours will be critical. Frankly, I’m not hopeful.”

“But, I don’t understand. I was told it wasn’t that serious.” Richard remembered the conversation he’d had with Starsky. Banged up, nothing too serious. That conversation varied markedly from what he saw when he arrived in that hotel room, and the doctor was confirming his worst fears.

“I don’t know about that, sir. Head injuries can be tricky. He’s definitely taken a turn for the worse here. I have to go back and check on him. He’s in recovery now, but I’ll send someone for you when we move him to the ICU.”

Richard thanked the doctor and watched as he walked away. Ordinarily, the hospital would have called the Duluth police when presented with a man suffering from gunshot wounds. That was one of the reasons Richard brought him to St. Margaret’s. His money, and a well-placed friend, guaranteed he could keep free of any law enforcement entanglements. He was sick with worry about Hutch and knew that he needed to call Captain Dobey again. That thought didn’t upset him nearly as much as the anticipation of the conversation he was going to have with his wife. He’d assured her when this nightmare began that he was going to take care of everything, and their son would be all right. If Ken died, Helen Hutchinson might never forgive him.

~*~*~*~

Captain Dobey was angry after he hung up the phone with Mr. Hutchinson. His rage directed his next actions. He was seated at a table, waiting for the guards to bring in James Gunther. Arranging the meeting wasn’t easy. Gunther insisted that his lawyer be present, but Mr. Potter was inexplicably unavailable. Instead, he’d sent an associate, Terrence Webster.

“He doesn’t have to answer any of your questions, Captain Dobey,” the nervous young man stated unnecessarily.

“I just want to have a little conversation with him. All of this is off the record, as far as I’m concerned, Mr. Webster,” Captain Dobey replied with as much patience as he could. He felt a little sorry for the attorney. He was obviously afraid, probably of his client. You should be afraid.

The guards ushered in James Marshall Gunther. As usual, he had a look of superiority and supreme confidence on his face. He didn’t look defeated. Not at all like a man almost certain to receive a death sentence soon.

“Mr. Gunther,” Dobey said, “thank you for agreeing to this meeting.”

“Not at all, Captain,” Gunther replied, ice dripping from every word. “Since my visitors have been limited to my attorneys, I welcome the chance for someone else’s company.”

Dobey huffed at that. “I’m sure you know why that restriction was put in place.”

“Actually, I’m sure I don’t.” Gunther turned to his attorney next, “Where is Mr. Potter?”

Terrence pulled at the knot of his tie with a slight tremor in his hand. “I’m sorry, sir, he was unavoidably detained. He asked me to sit in for him.”

James Gunther was many things, but a fool was not among them. He knew that in all likelihood, Thomas Potter had failed in his mission again. The two detectives must still be alive. No matter. I’ll deal with that…and Mr. Potter soon enough. The potential purpose for Captain Dobey’s visit did have him curious. He disguised his curiosity well. Having an unbreakable poker face was one of his greatest assets. Perhaps the good captain will have some valuable information for me.

Captain Dobey took a deep breath and started speaking. “This meeting is off the record, Mr. Gunther. We are not being observed, this conversation is not being recorded in any way, and you have representation. I hope you will be straight with me.”

Gunther smiled, almost imperceptibly, but Dobey saw it. “I’m not sure how I can be of any assistance to the police, but please ask your questions.”

“My detectives, Starsky and Hutchinson, have run into some trouble. I suspect you are the cause.”

“I?” Gunther asked with as much incredulity as he could put into his voice.

“Let’s not play games. You and I both know that you want my men dead. Especially Detective Starsky. I believe it eats at you that he survived your attempt on his life.” Dobey paused to allow Gunther to respond, but that slight smile and silence were the only response he was getting. The message was clearly received.

“I have reason to believe you’ve sent a series of hit squads after my men.”

“Captain Dobey….” Webster started, but he stopped at a glare from Gunther.

Captain Dobey was struggling to maintain his composure. His rage at James Gunther showed in his eyes, even if he was too professional to let it out in words. That anger was not lost on Gunther.

“Has something unfortunate befallen them?” The self-satisfied look on the man’s face was almost enough to break through Dobey’s carefully checked anger.

The captain lowered his voice to a dangerous growl as he stared down the bitter old man sitting across from him. “I want you to listen to me very carefully, James Gunther. Detective Starsky is missing. When he was last seen, he was in a bad way and I have every reason to believe you are responsible for that. If he can’t be found, or he turns up dead somewhere, so help me…I’ll prove it was you if it’s the last thing I do.”

Terrence Webster sat up straighter in his chair and said, “Now, just wait a minute here, Captain. You can’t….”

“Save it, Webster. This is off the record. My word against yours and Mr. Gunther’s. I can’t use any of it and neither can you.” He turned back to Gunther. “Until you are sentenced, I can’t bar your attorneys from seeing you. God willing, you will soon find yourself sitting on death row. So help me, if anything else happens to Detective Starsky, I’m going to see to it that you serve the rest of your time before justice is carried out locked so far away from anyone and everyone, you might die from lack of contact before the gas gets you. Do you understand me?”

“Captain Dobey, I really must protest this….”

Another look from Gunther stopped Webster’s objection. “Mr. Webster, I think perhaps you’d better remain quiet and allow the captain and me to have this conversation. Your concern is admirable, but I really do not need your assistance. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Gunther,” Webster said, dropping his eyes and taking out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his face. He was whiter than the walls.

“I understand you perfectly, Captain. However, I did not have anything to do with your man’s disappearance.” That much was technically true. Neither Captain Dobey nor James Gunther knew where Starsky was or what had caused him to drop out of sight.

“I just wanted to make certain you know where we stand. Don’t make me have to carry through with my promise, Mr. Gunther. Prison can be a lonely place in solitary confinement.”

With that remark, Dobey stood to leave. He had his hand on the doorknob when Gunther said something behind him. His curiosity was too great not to ask.

“What about Detective Hutchinson? I hope nothing has happened to him,” Gunther remarked with false sincerity.

Dobey turned so he could see Gunther’s face when he delivered his final bit of information. “Detective Hutchinson is dead.” As he left the room, he knew the look of utter joy in James Gunther’s eyes would stay with him for the rest of his life.

~*~*~*~

Starsky floated in and out of consciousness during the ride to Olmsted County Hospital near Rochester. He heard voices occasionally. Every now and then the paramedic would check his pulse or say something like, “How are you doing, sir?” When the paramedic spoke to him, Starsky tried to answer, but he couldn’t make any sound come out. His throat was so sore that swallowing was torture and he simply couldn’t get warm.

“He gonna make it there?” the driver asked at one point.

“Sure, he’ll make it,” the paramedic answered brightly, patting Starsky on the arm. “Won’t ya?”

He didn’t know where he was or where he was going. He didn’t remember much before climbing out of the car, down in the water. He didn’t know how he’d gotten into that car or into the water. The next thing he remembered after that was being loaded into this ambulance.

He didn’t know when he lost consciousness again, but the next thing he was aware of was being lifted into a bed and covered up. A couple of nurses fussed over the covers and an IV.

“W-where am I?” he asked, his throat less sore, but his voice so hoarse it sounded like a stranger’s.

“Rochester,” one of them answered, turning to him. “I’m glad you’re awake.” She smiled. “You had us worried.”

“Rochester?” Starsky searched his memory. There wasn’t a town called Rochester in California, not that he knew of, anyway.

“Rochester, Minnesota,” she said, her brow creasing. “Olmsted County Hospital. A man found you half frozen by the side of the road. You have pneumonia and several nasty bumps and bruises.”

Minnesota? How the hell did I get in Minnesota? His confusion must’ve shown on his face. The nurse came closer.

“Don’t worry about it right now,” she said soothingly. “You’re still groggy and we’ve given you something to help you sleep. Just rest. Time enough for questions later.”

But Hutch…will worry….

~*~*~*~

“Have you found something?” Richard Hutchinson had come out of his son’s room long enough to get another cup of coffee and he caught sight of Andrew coming down the hall. When there was no sign of Starsky for long enough to give up hope, Andrew had returned to Duluth.

“We’re not certain,” Andrew answered. “Wisconsin State Patrol told Captain Dobey that they’d found a car in the drink near Sparta. It had gone through the guard rail and into a small lake.”

Richard closed his eyes. “Oh, God. Did they find a….”

“No,” Andrew said quickly, anticipating the question. “No body. They haven’t been able to really investigate yet. A single diver went down to check in the car, but they have to call in a cold-water dive team to be more thorough. Looks like the driver’s side window had been broken out from the inside, so he must’ve gotten out of the car, but — ”

“But what?”

“But they can’t find him,” Andrew said. “No sign of him anywhere. He had to be wet and on foot and nobody’s seen him. It’s been snowing heavily there so any footprints have been obliterated.” He paused and put a hand on Richard’s arm. “They’re going to drag the lake.”

Inside the hospital room, Hutch lay listening. He had awakened just moments before the quiet conversation between his father and Andrew, and though at first he didn’t grasp what they were talking about, some instinct kicked in when Andrew said “they” were going to drag the lake.

The conversation went on for a few more minutes, as Richard and Andrew planned to mount an all-out search of hospitals in the area for a man fitting Starsky’s description. Hutch’s mind was still fuzzy, his body too weak to call out to his father and ask for details, but inside he was screaming that somebody had to find Starsky, and that somebody ought to be him.

~*~*~*~

Starsky had slept soundly, thanks to the sedative, and awoke feeling much better. His throat was hardly sore at all and it no longer hurt to breathe. Well, not much, anyway. When the nurse brought his breakfast, he ate it all, in spite of the fact that the oatmeal was runny and the custard — or whatever it was — was tasteless. The orange juice, at least, was cold and fresh and helped the lingering soreness in his throat.

When the doctor came in to check on him, he seemed pleased. “You’re looking much better this morning, Mr. Scanlon,” he said. “Do you remember what happened?”

Starsky was puzzled for a moment by the “Mr. Scanlon” before he remembered he’d given them that name. No way Gunther or his goons would know that name, but Hutch would. That’s why Starsky chose one of Hutch’s undercover names, instead of one of his own. Hutch would know.

“No,” he answered.

The doctor nodded and made a notation on the chart. “You didn’t have any ID on you.”

“Must’ve fallen out of my pocket,” Starsky said, keeping his face as impassive as possible.

“Is there anyone we can call for you?”

“I’ll call,” Starsky said. “There’s nobody in this area.” But his mind was worrying frantically about where Hutch was and what had happened to him. Once the doctor was out of the room, he’d try calling Hutch’s folks. They could call Dobey for him and Dobey could get a search going.

“I’m afraid we can’t let you do that,” the doctor said apologetically.

Starsky stared at him. “And why not?”

As if on cue, a uniformed officer stepped into the room. He did not look friendly. “There’s a warrant out on you, Lambert,” he said. “We’ve been looking for you for a week.”

“Lambert?” Starsky struggled into a sitting position. “My name’s not Lambert.”

The officer gave a cold smile and a shrug. “Neither is ‘Scanlon,’ is it? You’ve probably got a dozen aliases.” He moved closer and now Starsky could read the patch on his sleeve that identified him as an Olmsted County deputy. Terrific. All he needed was a gung-ho small-town cop who thought he was making a big bust.

“What am I supposed to have done?” Starsky inquired coolly.

“Broke out of Meeker County jail,” the cop said. “Like you don’t know. What kind of scum rapes a schoolteacher, huh? They’re gonna have fun with you in the pen.”

“Look, fella,” Starsky said, trying to be reasonable, “you got the wrong guy.”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say.” The cop turned to the doctor. “So, can he be moved?”

The doctor gave Starsky another apologetic look. “Yes, but you have to remember to give him his medication three times a day.”

“We will,” the cop said. “We’ll take him to the infirmary and let him get all better.” He grinned. “Don’t want him dyin’ and missin’ his trial.”

his can’t be happening, Starsky thought wearily. “What makes you think I’m the guy you’re looking for?” he demanded.

“Mug shot,” the cop said. “You think we’re amateurs just ‘cause we ain’t big city cops? I got a mug shot of you posted down at headquarters. They told us you might be coming this way, headed back home to Milwaukee. Now, we’re gonna move your ass to the jail where we can keep a good close eye on you until the Meeker County cops can send somebody after you.”

“I get a phone call,” Starsky said. “I know my rights.”

“You already had your phone call when they arrested you in Meeker County,” the cop said.

~*~*~*~

Richard went back into Hutch’s room and was stunned to see those blue eyes focused on him with a very determined look in them. “Ken,” he said, trying to hide his surprise but not his pleasure. “You’re awake. Thank God. We were so worried — ”

“Thanks, Dad, but what I’m worried about is Starsky. Where is he?” In spite of the thready weakness in his voice, Hutch’s tone warned that he would accept no kindly meant evasiveness.

Richard sighed. He knew his son. He sat down in the visitor’s chair so he’d be on eye level with him. “He’s missing.”

Hutch swore, a word he would normally not have used in front of his father.

Richard let it pass. “We’re doing everything we can,” he said. “Andrew’s on the phone with your captain right now, and I’ve got my secretary calling every hospital for miles around. In a couple of hours, the state police will be helping. Try not to worry.”

“Dad, you don’t understand,” Hutch said, having to close his eyes because keeping them open was so tiring. “Somebody’s trying to kill us, has been trying to kill us, followed us all the way here to try to kill us — ”

“I do understand,” Richard interrupted. “I’ve talked to Captain Dobey. I know what’s going on. Why do you think we’re combing two states to find him?” He gentled his tone and even laid his hand over his son’s, something he hadn’t often done. “Kenny, we’re taking care of it. I know how important it is.”

Hutch opened his eyes again and met his father’s. And nodded.

~*~*~*~

Andrew and Richard stood on the shore of the small lake — normally not very deep, but there had been a lot of snow this winter, a lot of melting and freezing and melting again, and the lake was much higher than normal. The black Charger’s rear end barely stuck out of the water, the nose and most of the rest of the body under the surface.

A wrecker was working with a winch to get the car pulled free of the water while Search and Rescue was dragging the lake. Dobey had been on the boat with them, but it was so cold that they had to change shifts often, and he climbed up the incline to join Andrew and Richard, shivering violently in spite of his heavy coat.

“Nothing,” he said to Richard. “I hope to God we don’t find him here.”

“Amen,” Richard said fervently.

As the car came slowly out of the water, Richard could see enough of the driver’s window to confirm the report that it had been broken, and he prayed that meant David had gotten out and made it to shore somehow. But if so, where the hell was he?

Once the car was free, a couple of state police officers began searching it. They found Starsky’s badge and wallet and rescued his bag. Then one of the officers approached the three men, clutching something shiny in his fist.

“Any of you recognize this?” the diver asked, opening his hand and holding it out toward them.

A necklace lay there, a silver charm on a broken chain. The charm was shaped like Thor’s hammer.

Dobey drew a deep breath. “It’s Starsky’s.” He took it from the diver and examined it more closely. “Never really looked at it before,” he said to Richard. “I know Hutch gave it to him after he got out of the hospital, but I don’t know what it means.”

“I do,” Richard said. “Thor’s hammer is supposed to provide protection. Old Viking legend.”

“Doesn’t look like it worked,” Dobey said sourly.

~*~*~*~

Hutch was slightly stronger and more alert, and had been waiting, terrified, ever since Richard and the others had left for the lake. It was late in the day before they returned, and his eyes went straight to the necklace Richard held in his hand. Something deep and painful crossed his face before he could control his expression.

Richard saw the look and gave it to him. “They found that in the car,” he said. “They did NOT find a body. He must’ve gotten out.”

“Then, where is he?” Hutch demanded. His eyes went to Dobey. “Anything?”

“We’ve already called all the hospitals anyplace close by in Wisconsin,” Dobey answered. “We’ve started on the ones across the border in Minnesota. We’ve also alerted law enforcement on both sides of the state line and sent photos and descriptions, in case he’s using a false name.”

“And he would,” Hutch said. “If he’s able,” he added, his voice dropping.

“He’s probably just lying low,” Richard began, but Hutch shook his head.

“He’d let me know he was safe somehow,” he said. “He’d know I’d worry about him. And there’s no reason for him to hide from us. He’s either trying to get back to us or he can’t.” He turned to Dobey and his captain could see the physical effort the next question cost him. “Have you checked morgues, too?”

“Yes,” Dobey said. “In every county from here to there and back again. No unidentified bodies matching his description.”

Hutch’s brows came down in a frown. “You’ve had time to check all those morgues and haven’t made it through all the hospitals yet? Sounds like you — ”

Dobey nodded and looked embarrassed. “We checked those first.”

“That’s just terrific!” Hutch spat, glaring at him.

“It was a reasonable assumption,” Richard said. “Considering the condition he must’ve been in. No need to raise your voice, son. Now we know he’s not dead, at least.”

“Or the body hasn’t been found.”

“What do you think your partner would say if he heard you talking like that?” Richard demanded. “Giving up on him?”

Now, Hutch looked embarrassed. “Sorry, Dad. I’m just worried sick.”

“I know. And we’re doing everything humanly possible. Have faith, Ken.”

~*~*~*~

Starsky lay on his back in the narrow bunk, staring dispiritedly up at the gray concrete ceiling. The so-called “infirmary” in the county lock-up was just like all the other cells except a nurse showed up once a day to take his temperature and blood pressure and tell Deputy Dumbass to make sure to give him his medicine with each meal. The problem was, he wasn’t getting his medicine. The deputy had given him a single aspirin and that was it, so far.

The mattress was thin and stank, the blanket was shabby, and he froze to death at night when they turned the heat down to what felt like sub-arctic temperatures, and the food was lousy. He’d been here three days and still nobody from Meeker County had shown up. He hoped they were more intelligent than this turkey, who had proudly pointed to the mug shot he’d used to decide Starsky was the missing Gary Lambert. Lambert looked nothing like Starsky beyond the fact that both of them had dark curly hair. Lambert’s eyes were narrow, he had a scar on his chin, and the description attached to the photo clearly stated he had a devil’s head tattooed on his right shoulder. When Starsky had pointed that out to Deputy Dumbass, the man had snapped at him to shut up and given him a shove toward the “infirmary.”

Maybe the moron couldn’t read. No, you had to be able to read to be a deputy. Didn’t you? Starsky sighed and shifted his weight and wondered how long it was until lunchtime. Not that he expected palatable food. Breakfast had been one of those tiny cereal boxes meant for kids and a pint of milk. Supper last night had been a hunk of cold meat loaf, three green beans and a stale roll. If they’d just let him make a phone call, he’d risk Gunther’s goons finding him and call Hutch’s dad. But the deputy wouldn’t hear of it.

“If Meeker wants to let you make another call when they come for ya, they can,” he’d said. “I’m not going to. You had your call.”

“I’m telling you, I’m not Lambert!” Starsky had flared. “I don’t have a tattoo, I don’t have a scar, and if you’ll let me use the goddamned phone, I can prove I’m not Lambert!”

“Don’t you use that kinda language on me,” the deputy had snarled, pulling his nightstick from his belt and holding it up.

Starsky had shut up. So far, he’d only seen two other deputies, both of whom were young and obviously too afraid of Deputy Dumbass to even talk to Starsky, though Lord knew he’d tried. He’d begged them to listen to him, to look at the photo of Lambert and compare it to him, to call Richard Hutchinson for him.

“Morgan’s in charge,” one of them had said the first day. “He makes the decisions.”

When he’d asked to speak to the sheriff himself, Morgan had laughed shortly.

“Sheriff’s a busy man,” he’d said. “I’m not bothering him with the likes of you.”

The sheriff and this gorilla are both going to be damned sorry they didn’t listen to me, Starsky thought angrily, thumping the stinky pillow in a vain attempt to make it more comfortable. I’m gonna hang both their hides from Dick’s barn door. At least, he reasoned, he was safe from Gunther for the moment. He prayed Hutch’s father had gotten him to a safe location and that he was all right. Many of the days since he and Hutch were separated were a blur, but he finally remembered how bad his partner looked when Mr. Hutchinson and his friend carried him out of the motel. How the hell did I get from East Egypt, Wisconsin to Moose Antler, Minnesota, though? He lay awake and thought about it for hours, shivering in the cold and wondering how he was going to get out of this mess. He was still weak and troubled by a hacking cough that wasn’t improving. The cold, damp cell wasn’t helping.

The next morning, Deputy Morgan unlocked Starsky’s cell and stepped inside with Reuben Johnson, one of the younger deputies.

“Get up, Lambert. You’re being transferred this morning,” Morgan stated.

Starsky had just finished his latest breakfast of a tiny box of generic cereal and too warm skim milk. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand; napkins were another item not much in evidence at the Olmsted County jail. He glared at the hulking man and said, “You realize that while you’re dickin’ around with me here, the real Gary Lambert, a possible rapist, is roaming around free, don’t you?”

“Shut up, Lambert,” Morgan ordered. “I said, get up!”

Starsky moved a little too slowly for the man, who stepped closer and roughly hauled him to his feet. The sudden change in position left Starsky standing on wobbly legs. When the flashing pinpricks of light in his vision settled, Starsky said, “I want to see a lawyer.”

“Save it for Meeker,” came the harsh reply. “Now put your arms behind your back.”

Starsky did as he was told, wincing as the handcuffs were snapped on, tightly enough to impair the circulation in his hands.

“Deputy Morgan,” Johnson said quietly, “isn’t he gonna need a coat? It’s 19 degrees out there.” Johnson had observed Morgan’s harsh, unprofessional demeanor with this prisoner for days. He’d been afraid to say anything — Morgan was the kind of man it was best not to anger. But this prisoner was still not well, and he couldn’t just stand by and say nothing while the older deputy took him out into a cold, Minnesota winter day without a coat. The fact that Morgan had already cuffed his prisoner made it look like he had no plan to take reasonable care of the man. Starsky had entered the jail in scrubs borrowed from the hospital, which had quickly been replaced by a thin orange jumpsuit that would offer no protection from the elements.

“What, are you his mother? It ain’t that cold in the squad. ‘Sides, it’s only 4 or 5 hours to Meeker.”

“I thought they were sending someone to get me,” Starsky said.

“They’re shorthanded so I volunteered to drive you up there.”

Lucky me.

Morgan turned to walk out, expecting Starsky to follow and Johnson to bring up the rear. Since he’d been so ill, Starsky hadn’t gotten any exercise and hadn’t been out of bed much. His legs were rubbery. He was busy thinking about the possibility he would be able to reason with the Meeker County Sheriff and he wasn’t paying enough attention to the ground. He tripped on the metal threshold of the door. Without his hands to stop his fall, Starsky crashed into Deputy Morgan’s back.

The deputy spun around and, before either Starsky or Reuben Johnson knew what was happening, the angry man had shoved Starsky the rest of the way to the ground and kicked him a couple of times. He was reaching for his nightstick when Johnson intervened, stepping between the raging Morgan and Starsky, lying helpless on the floor.

Outweighed by nearly one hundred pounds, Reuben was terrified as he put up his hands and yelled, “Stop it! What’s the matter with you, Morgan?”

Morgan paused with his hand on the nightstick, his eyes flashing and said, “Stay out of this, Johnson! You saw it, he came after me. He was resisting.”

Starsky moaned and let out a mirthless laugh at that. He was coughing again and his voice was strained when he said, “You’re gonna regret that.”

Morgan stepped around Johnson and kicked Starsky again. “Shut up, Lambert!”

“Morgan!” Johnson managed to get between the other two men again. “That’s enough. He wasn’t doing anything, he just tripped. I don’t know why you hate this guy so much, but let’s just get him out of here.” With that, he turned and helped Starsky to his feet. Morgan began to insist that Starsky be put in leg irons, but Johnson was feeling brave and he told him that wasn’t necessary. He got Starsky into the back of the squad car. Feeling the shivers already starting to run through the prisoner, he admonished Morgan to turn up the heat in the car.

“Why don’t you just mind your own business?” Morgan snarled. For reasons Starsky didn’t understand, the big man hated him. He was hurting and cold. Knowing he had four or five hours to be in the car with the man was motivation enough to keep his mouth shut, in the hope that he would survive long enough to get to Meeker County.

~*~*~*~

Hutch’s doctor stepped outside of his room to speak with Mr. Hutchinson, who motioned Captain Dobey over from a nearby chair to join them. The doctor finished writing a few notes in the chart and turned his attention to the anxious father. “Doctors don’t mind being wrong when it’s in the patient’s favor. I had my doubts for a while, but he’s doing much better.”

“Thank God,” Richard said. “And thank you, Doctor.”

“You’re welcome, but your son is responsible, too. He’s strong and he seems to have some underlying motivation to get out of here as quickly as possible.”

“Doctor, I’m sure you’re aware of the special precautions we’ve been taking with his identity and location,” Richard said, in a quiet voice. The doctor nodded. The hospital was under constant surveillance, and Mr. Hutchinson had bodyguards posted in Hutch’s room and undercover as hospital workers, where they could keep an eye on the entrances, exits, and Hutch’s room. Captain Dobey was impressed with Richard’s thorough and smooth handling of the situation.

Richard nodded toward Dobey and said, “The captain and I believe it is important to move him to a safer location as soon as possible. Can we move him safely?”

The doctor frowned. “I said he was doing better, but I’m not sure he’s ready to be taken out of here, yet. What type of facility did you have in mind?”

Dobey piped in and said, “Someplace the reason why we have to be so careful will never think to look.”

“I’m sorry, gentlemen. I’m afraid I never learned much about espionage. Are you certain this is necessary? Do you really think he’s in danger, even with all of the protection you’ve brought into the hospital?”

Richard looked toward Dobey for the answer to that question. “Yes, we do, Doctor. I want him in a more private place. It’s that important.”

The doctor looked serious, glancing through the chart and nodding as he read through Hutch’s progress notes. He took his glasses off, sliding them into his lab coat and said, “Very well. His temperature has been steadily dropping and his blood pressure is coming up. I want to give it a few more hours but go ahead and make your plans. We can move him out of here in the morning.”

The three reached agreement on what would happen. The doctor didn’t like it that they were unwilling to tell him where they were going or who would be caring for his patient, but he accepted it. He had no choice.

“I’ll tell him,” Richard said to Dobey after the doctor left.

“You do that and I’ll go call and see if they’ve found anything new on Starsky.” Dobey followed him into Hutch’s room. He had been trying to make phone calls from inside Hutch’s room. Not only was the phone being monitored to prevent bugs and taps, but more importantly, making the calls in front of Hutch was reassuring him that they were doing everything they could, and that they were keeping nothing from him. That was going a long way toward helping him rest and remain quiet.

Hutch was still weak and staying awake was a challenge. He was asleep again when they re-entered the room. Dobey went to the phone across the room and started making his calls. The first search through hospitals where Starsky might have turned up was completely fruitless. Dobey had a notebook with the names of all the hospitals, the contacts at each, and the names of any patients checked into them since Starsky disappeared who had any resemblance to the missing officer. All of the John Does had been eliminated, so he started to scan the other names for the third time between calls.

Next to the name of a small hospital in Winona, Minnesota, his eyes were drawn to a name. He’d read it several times, thinking that it was familiar, but not knowing why. Larry Scanlon.

Richard sat down in the chair and took Hutch’s hand in his. He’d never been physically demonstrative with his children, but in the past few days, he’d learned a little of what he’d missed. He knew that his son was a toucher. He’d seen that in how he treated Starsky while he was healing, and he’d seen how much it helped Starsky. Without his partner there to take care of him, Richard decided it was up to him to provide that comfort and Hutch responded to it…and to him.

“Son,” he said quietly as he reached with his other hand to touch Hutch’s hair, letting his fingertips gently brush the fading blackness around Hutch’s eyes, “can you wake up a little for me?”

Hutch squeezed his father’s hand and opened his eyes. “I’m awake,” he slurred. As his brain clicked into gear, he asked, “Starsky?”

“Nothing yet, I’m afraid.”

“Dad,” Hutch said wearily, “how soon can I get out of here? I need to look for him.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about, Ken. You are getting out of here, but not to go on a search for your partner.”

“But, Dad….” The monitors attached to Hutch were showing his growing agitation.

“Shh. Calm down, son. If you don’t, they’ll sedate you. The doctor says you have to be kept quiet so you can heal.”

Hutch nodded and said, “Where am I going?”

“Do you remember Cardinal Narro?” Richard asked. Hutch nodded again. “He has arranged for you to stay with the brothers at the St. Francis Friary. You’ll be safe there. I’ve seen to it.” Richard Hutchinson and his family were Lutherans, but he grew up with Bill Narro. As a favor to his old friend, the man agreed to help shield Hutch.

“Dad, I can’t slink away and hide while Starsky is out there, God knows where.”

He heard Captain Dobey say “That’s it!” and he rose and walked toward the Hutchinson men. “I heard that, Hutchinson, and that’s exactly what you’re going to do. Your dad has arranged everything to keep you safe. You’re in no shape to even get out of bed. We had to convince your doctor to allow this.” Hutch opened his mouth to protest, but Dobey shut him down with a glare. “Hutch, let me spell this out for you. Our resources are stretched about as thin as they’ve ever been. I can’t mount an all-out search for your partner across multiple states and be worried about you going off and getting yourself killed before we can get your partner out of whatever trouble he’s found. For once, you need to let us handle things and just do what you’re told.”

Hutch stared at him in shock. He didn’t know what to say, so he settled for, “All right, for now. But if he’s not found by the time I’m able to move on my own steam, I’m going after him.”

“Maybe that won’t be necessary. I think I might have something. A man matching Starsky’s description was seen in a small hospital in Winona, Minnesota the day he went missing. This patient was registered as ‘Larry Scanlon.’ Mean anything to you?”

Hutch smiled and heaved a sigh of relief. “Yeah, it does. That was my undercover name when we went after that scum Vic Humphries who had me pushed off into the canyon. Starsky must have been with it enough to know I’d recognize it.”

That was the first good news they’d had. Hutch closed his eyes wearily as he said, “Is he still there?”

“I don’t know. You just rest. I’m going to go make some phone calls and see what we can find.” He patted Hutch on the shoulder as he went back to the phone.

“How’s Mom doing with all this, Dad?” Hutch asked as he opened his eyes again. His blinks were getting longer as sleep crept up on him again.

“Funny you should ask, Ken. She’s been pretty angry that I wouldn’t let her come here. I was afraid to, for a number of reasons. Yesterday, we flew her up to Canada. Some of my people up there have doubled her back and she will be waiting for us at the Friary. We had to make sure she wasn’t followed.”

“Great. I want to see her.” Hutch yawned and closed his eyes again. “Promise me you’ll wake me up if you hear anything, okay?”

“Sleep, son. I promise. In the morning, we’re going to get out of here. Maybe we’ll know more about David by then.”

As Hutch drifted off to sleep, he stretched his thoughts and feelings out to his partner. Hoping he was well and trying to send him a message that it was going to be all right. They were going to come for him.

~*~*~*~

Throughout the time driving to Meeker County, Starsky had nearly frozen. He thought grimly about how Deputy Dumbass had refused to turn the heater on in the squad car until the windows were so fogged over they could barely see to stay on the road. Some of the heat from the defroster made its way through the wire screen to the back seat, standing between Starsky and freezing to death. His wrists were chaffed raw by the tight handcuffs and, by the time they pulled up to the Meeker County Sheriff’s office, he couldn’t feel his hands anymore. Morgan left him in the back of the squad car while he went in to report that they were there.

Despite the shivering, Starsky was finding it difficult to stay awake. He didn’t hear the door open but was jerked awake as he was dragged out of the car. His side and leg hurt where Morgan had kicked him, but he managed to stay on his feet. He was concentrating on getting into the building so he could put an end to this nightmare.

As soon as they entered the processing area, the sheriff came through the door at the other end of the room. “I wanted to personally welcome you back to our jail, Lambert,” he was saying as he walked toward them.

Starsky lifted his chin and looked at the man, who soon wore a shocked look. “Wait a minute, Morgan, this isn’t Gary Lambert.”

Morgan glared at the now smiling Starsky. “Are you sure?”

“I told you I’m not him,” Starsky said.

“Of course I’m sure, Morgan. I arrested Lambert myself. I’ve never seen this man. You’ll have to take him back.”

“No, please….” Starsky started to say, but Morgan stopped him by spinning him around and shoving him back out the door.

“I’ll be right back,” Morgan called over his shoulder.

“Please, you have to listen to me!” Starsky shouted, but Morgan had him out before anyone could listen. Starsky struggled to break free from the deputy’s hold, but he wasn’t strong enough. He shoved Starsky in the back of the squad car and slammed the door. Then, he returned to speak with the sheriff. He had to think of something fast. He smiled with the idea he had.

“What was that all about, Morgan? That man didn’t look well. Who is he?”

“He’s all right. Sorry for the mix up. We busted him on a B&E and attempted assault of a woman in Rochester. Too bad he’s not your guy. We’ll keep an eye out for him.” He shook hands with the sheriff and went back out to the car.

Ignoring Starsky’s protests, Morgan left town and headed off on a wooded road. He pulled off onto a small side lane that led to a deserted picnic grounds. When he stopped the car in such a remote place, Starsky was justifiably afraid the man was planning to kill him. He’d been caught in his huge mistake and had to do something with Starsky, other than return with him to the jail in his town. Morgan would have no way of explaining that. I’m sorry, Hutch. This guy’s gonna finish me and save Gunther the trouble he thought dejectedly as the car stopped and the deputy turned off the engine.

“What are we doin’ here?” Starsky asked.

“We seem to have us a problem, now don’t we. I can’t take you back, so I have to do something with you.”

Starsky tried to remain calm. “Look, we can still work this out….”

“Save it. I can’t just let you go, you know that.” He climbed out of the squad car. Starsky tensed, preparing to run when he was out of the car. If Morgan got a firm hold on him, he knew he was dead. He didn’t believe it would save him, but he had to try. Morgan never gave him the chance.

He pulled Starsky from the car and threw him to the ground. Once he had him off his feet, he proceeded to kick him and beat him repeatedly into unconsciousness, all the while swearing at him and telling him he’d better not tell anyone what happened. He told the barely conscious Starsky he wasn’t going to kill him this time, but if he ever told what had really happened, he’d find him and finish him. Starsky remembered thinking he’d never survive as he slipped into darkness.

Two hours later, Morgan pulled the squad car up to a state-run mental hospital. He went in to speak to the intake coordinator.

“I have a patient in the car, can someone please help me with him?” Morgan was the picture of concern and cooperation. This had to work. He thought Starsky was probably a drifter. No one had been looking for a missing person, so no one would miss the man he’d just beaten. Morgan was cocky enough to believe that if it came down to his word against that of a drifter, he would be all right.

A nurse and an orderly accompanied him out to the car. They loaded the unconscious, handcuffed man onto a gurney.

“Get those cuffs off of him,” the nurse ordered. “Does he need restraints?”

“Yes, the boy’s violent.”

“He’s also been beaten and he’s nearly frozen. What’s going on here?”

As they entered the hospital, Morgan told them the story of the man on the gurney. He said he was a mentally disturbed, shell-shocked Vietnam vet named Mike Ballard who had gone ballistic. Morgan said the patient had broken into a home and tried to rape a woman. Then he tried to kill himself and got into a brawl with the officers who had been called to the scene when neighbors heard the woman’s screams.

“He’s violent and dangerous,” he added.

The doctor who was now examining Starsky looked him over carefully. He saw the healing scars on his chest, underneath the cuts and bruises he’d sustained from his beating. The doctor knew they were not old scars and he raised an eyebrow. Something didn’t smell right. Listening to the patient’s chest, he heard the distinctive sound of pneumonia in both lungs.

“Was it necessary to beat him so badly?” he asked, giving the deputy an angry glare.

“Well, he attacked us. He’s a wild man, I tell ya. I’ve known him a long time. He’ll try to convince you of all kinds of things. Says his name is ‘Scanlon’ or something like that. He’ll tell ya all kinds of lies. Thinks everybody’s out to get him.” Morgan moved his left index finger in a circle around his ear as he added, “Completely wacko.”

The doctor stiffened and said, “This man may be the unfortunate victim of mental illness, but that does NOT give you the right to speak so derisively about him. You understand me?”

“Sure, sure, take it easy. Look, I want to get back before dark. Can you take it from here?”

“Yes. Stop by the intake desk and give the receptionist the information you have on him.” The doctor returned to looking after his patient and missed the self-satisfied look on Morgan’s face as he walked away. The nurse noticed the deputy’s scabbed knuckles as he passed. She gently picked up each of Starsky’s hands and looked at them. The doctor and she exchanged a glance as they both realized the man in their care hadn’t been in a fight. At least, not in one where he got in any punches. The color was slowly coming back into his icy, purple, but otherwise, unmarked hands. His wrists were a mess and the doctor was sure the handcuffs had done the damage.

As Starsky started to warm up, he began to climb toward consciousness. The doctor had already determined that he didn’t have a head injury and he was ready for any reaction. Barely conscious and unaware of his surroundings, Starsky thought he was still with Morgan and he started to thrash about, becoming combative.

“Calm down, Mr. Ballard,” Doctor Jefferson said, trying to sound calm, “you’re safe, now.” He administered a sedative. While Starsky’s movements slowed as he sank back into blackness, the doctor and nurse applied restraints to his arms.

“Suicide watch,” the doctor ordered. Then he continued to treat his new patient’s physical problems. As soon as he was out of danger and settled in a room, Dr. Jefferson would start looking into this patient’s circumstances. He had learned to trust his instincts, and something was wrong with this scenario.

~*~*~*~

The sun had come out and the weather had warmed up just a little by the time Richard, Dobey, and Hutch arrived at the friary. They were expected and were met at the door by a brother in brown robes and sandals. The cold didn’t seem to bother him, however, and he greeted them with a kind smile and helped bring Hutch in.

“I’m Brother James,” he said as he was showing them to the room where Hutch would stay. “We are so glad we could help.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” Richard said. “You do understand the need for absolute secrecy about Ken’s presence here, don’t you?”

James nodded. “We do, indeed. The cardinal himself visited yesterday and explained to us. I assure you, we receive almost no visitors and usually only Brother Michael goes out to buy supplies. Ken will be quite safe here.” He leaned over to tuck the blankets a bit more snugly around Hutch and smiled down at him. “And don’t worry about his condition. Brother David was in the medical profession before he came to us two years ago, and he is quite capable of looking after him.”

“Brother ‘David’?” Dobey grinned in spite of himself. “I feel better already.”

“Ken’s best friend is named David,” Richard explained when James looked puzzled.

James’ smile widened. “I’m sure you’ll like Brother David, too,” he said to Hutch. “He’s a fascinating man to talk to.”

Hutch had not spoken up to this point. The trip to the friary and the exertion of getting inside had left him breathless in spite of the number of people helping him. But now he looked up at his father. “Dad, you gotta find Starsky.”

“I know.” Richard patted his arm. “We had to get you settled and safe first. Now, Harold and I will go and get started on that and we’ll keep you informed every step of the way, all right?”

“Promise.”

“I promise.” Richard smiled and shook his head. To Dobey, he said, “I don’t remember him being this demanding as a child.”

“He didn’t know Starsky when he was a child,” Dobey said.

“Dad,” Hutch said.

“Okay, we’re going. We’ll be back later.” Richard turned to go but hesitated and glanced at James.

“He’ll be fine,” James said reassuringly. “Would you like to meet Brother David before you go? Would it make you feel better?”

“Dad.”

“No, we’d better get moving,” Richard said. “My son insists.” He patted Hutch’s shoulder and touched his hair. “I’ll call the moment we have any news.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Richard and Dobey left and James beamed down at Hutch. “Would you like something to eat, Ken? Brother Daniel makes a mean chicken gumbo.”

Hutch laughed in spite of himself at the image of a brown-robed friar making a “mean” anything. “That sounds good, thank you.”

“I’ll get you some.” James turned and called down the corridor and, in a moment, another friar appeared. “This is Brother David,” he said to Hutch. “We’re under orders not to leave you alone, and it’s probably a good idea to let him have a look at you, anyway.”

David came in, sat down on the edge of the bed and began asking Hutch questions, keeping him busy until James returned with a steaming bowl of soup and a glass of cold milk. Between the two men — and James had been right, David was friendly, talkative, and fascinating — he was kept occupied until he’d eaten and started to get sleepy again.

“You rest,” David told him, taking the dishes and rising.

“Brother,” Hutch said, forcing his eyes to stay open another few minutes, “may I ask a favor?”

“Certainly, Ken.”

“Would you…pray for my partner’s safety? He’s missing and…I’m scared to death.”

David smiled. “Of course, we will.” He glanced at James, who folded his hands and bowed his head. David recited something lovely in Latin — at least, Hutch thought it was Latin — and raised his head after a few moments of silence following his prayer. “Sleep now, Ken,” David said. “Your friend’s safety is in the Lord’s hands.”

~*~*~*~

Dr. Jefferson had made sure his new patient was comfortable and warm in his room, with an orderly guarding him. He collected the scant information the deputy had left at the reception desk and took it to his office to begin a chart on “Mr. Ballard.” He couldn’t put his suspicions to rest. Something was wrong here, and he was going to find out what it was.

With nothing else to put there, he typed “Michael Ballard” under “patient’s name,” but he put quotation marks around it and a question mark after it. He filled in the vital statistics fairly easily. They had measured the man’s height and weight while treating him. He scribbled notes about the man’s injuries, including the scars he had noticed on his chest and back. But under “diagnosis,” he had to pause. He knew what the deputy had said, but he wanted to make his own examination of the man. That would have to wait until the next day. He’d given the patient enough sedative to keep him out for a long time.

Starsky woke up because the morning sun was in his eyes. He blinked rapidly, looking around the unfamiliar room. He didn’t even try to struggle against the restraints. He remembered those from Cabrillo State. And he still felt so lousy that he wouldn’t have been able to do much about them anyway. He could see the outline of a man’s head on the other side of the door. Guarding him, most likely. He had vague memories, like a half-forgotten dream, of a conversation between Deputy Dumbass and a doctor. The deputy had told the doctor he was crazy. So this must be a mental hospital.

Well, that’s just terrific, he thought wearily. First jail, now the fuckin’ loony bin. I gotta be having a nightmare. This kinda thing don’t happen in real life.

It was a good while before a nurse showed up with breakfast, but she smiled at him and said, “Good morning, Mr. Ballard. How are you today?”

Ballard? Where the hell did they get that?

“I’m fine — I guess — but my name’s not Ballard, it’s Scanlon. Larry Scanlon.”

“Of course,” she said, still smiling. “I’m afraid I have to feed you, sir, the doctor hasn’t given permission for us to remove the restraints.”

“Terrific,” he said with a sigh.

At least the food was plentiful and hot and he hadn’t eaten a decent meal for days. When he finished eating, the nurse took his blood pressure and made a notation on a chart, then produced some pills. Remembering he’d been sedated — he recognized the hangover-type feeling — he tried to refuse them.

“These are your antibiotics, Mr. Ball — I mean, Mr. Scanlon,” she said. “For your pneumonia. Not tranquilizers, I promise. Dr. Jefferson asked that you not be tranquilized this morning because he wants to examine you.”

Starsky searched her eyes and didn’t see any guile there, and finally accepted the pills.

“There, that’ll help you feel better,” she said, still cheery. “Doctor’ll be in shortly. Want the TV on?”

Starsky hadn’t noticed the TV, up high and enclosed in wire mesh with just the screen uncovered. “Sure, why not?” he said.

She used a button on the pad at the bedside to turn the television on and set it to a game show. Starsky smiled his thanks — at least it was better than one of those godawful soap operas — and she left the room. He got a good look at the goon in the corridor as she opened the door and he was big. Definitely put there to guard him, Starsky thought.

The game show had ended and a new one had begun before the doctor came in. He was carrying a notepad and a file folder. He came in, accompanied by a different nurse, and pulled up a chair. “I’m Dr. Jefferson,” he said. “How do you feel?”

“Scared, to be honest,” Starsky said, liking the man’s frank gaze and friendly manner.

“I would be, too,” Jefferson said. “How much do you remember about yesterday?”

Starsky searched his memory and wondered how much he ought to reveal. The doctor waited patiently while he sorted it out. Finally, Starsky decided things couldn’t be worse if he did tell the truth, so he told the doctor everything he could remember, including the beating he’d taken at Deputy Dumbass’ hands.

The doctor listened in silence, making a few notes, shaking his head and once frowning fiercely. When Starsky finished, Jefferson said, “I guessed some of that. I didn’t trust that man.” He opened the file folder and set the notepad on his other knee. “I need to ask you some questions, and some of them are going to sound very nosy, but in spite of my opinion of that deputy, the fact is that you were brought here by an officer of the law. The legal term is ‘involuntary commitment.’ There are certain steps we have to go through because of that.”

“I know,” Starsky said with a sigh. He almost added that he was a cop and had taken a loony or two to the cracker factory himself but changed his mind in time.

“Your name?”

“Larry Scanlon.”

Jefferson noted that down, asked his age, place of birth, parents’ names — Starsky gave their real first names and didn’t offer a last name, hoping Jefferson would accept that, and he did. He asked for medical history and Starsky also answered those questions honestly, leaving out gunshot wounds but including the truth about when he got his tonsils out and how old he’d been when he had measles and chicken pox.

Then Jefferson started asking those “nosy” questions. Did he ever hear voices when no one was there? Did he ever have trouble discerning the difference between reality and imagination? Did he ever have blackouts and was he unable to account for long periods of time? Starsky fought the impulse to say his whole life had turned into a surreal nightmare and instead answered honestly.

The interview went on for almost an hour and finally the doctor laid his pen down. “Mr. Scanlon, normally I’d not share my diagnosis with a patient without talking to his family first. But I don’t think this is a normal situation.”

“Tell me about it,” Starsky muttered.

Jefferson smiled. “You, however, are normal and since this is a hospital for the mentally ill, you don’t really belong here.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“First, we’re going to remove these,” Jefferson said, indicating the restraints and casting a glance at the burly orderly, who went to work taking them off without a word. “Then,” Jefferson continued, “we’re going to try to get you well physically. How long have you been sick?”

Starsky had to think about that. The days in the Moose Antler jail had skewed his time sense. “About a week, I think,” he said at last.

Jefferson nodded. “I don’t think there’s been any damage done to your lungs, but I will have to insist you stay in bed except for using the toilet. You need lots of rest and sleep and good food to build your strength back up. We’ll continue with the antibiotics and monitor your lungs closely.” He paused. “I will understand if you don’t want to answer this question, but these scars on your chest and back — ” He waited while Starsky felt his face involuntarily flush. “Was there any damage to your lungs when that happened?”

“A little,” Starsky admitted.

Jefferson reached for his stethoscope. “May I?”

Starsky sat up, with the orderly’s help, and Jefferson listened to his chest and back, ordering him to breathe deeply.

“You still have fluid in your lungs,” Jefferson said when he finished. “I don’t like the way it sounds at all. Can you tell me how you got those scars?”

Starsky shook his head. “Sorry. I would if I could, but…” He looked into the doctor’s face and thought he could probably trust him. “I’ll tell you this much. I was attacked. And I’m still afraid for my safety.”

“Okay, I’ll accept that,” Jefferson said. He stood and motioned the orderly out. When the man was gone, he met Starsky’s eyes. “You’re safe here, Mr. Scanlon. Rest now.”

Jefferson went back to his office and re-read the notes he’d made and considered his next move. He knew bullet wound scars when he saw them. He’d done his residency in a Minneapolis public hospital emergency room where gunshot wounds were not an uncommon occurrence. Other than crime victims, usually, only two kinds of people had gunshot wounds. Criminals and cops. He wondered which one “Mr. Scanlon” was.

~*~*~*~

Richard hung up the phone with a sigh and rubbed his eyes and the back of his neck. Between them, he and Dobey must have called every hospital, clinic, and law enforcement agency in every county touching the ones Starsky might have been in. Nobody had seen him. The best they’d been able to find was the vague description from the Winona ER that a man who looked like Starsky had been treated there days earlier. Dobey had already issued a “missing officer” report thanks to the cooperation of the Minnesota and Wisconsin state police offices, and in a few hours, every law enforcement agency in both states would have the report, along with the most recent photo Dobey had been able to provide. The report said that Starsky was in ill health and would possibly be operating under a false name — and included the name “Larry Scanlon.”

Dobey was still on the phone to the sheriff’s office in Meeker County. “His name’s David Starsky,” he was saying. “Five-eleven, dark curly hair, blue eyes. Possibly using the name Larry Scanlon. No, he’s not a criminal!” Dobey rolled his eyes and rubbed his head with his free hand. “He’s a detective from Bay City. I told you, he’s in fear of his life from a criminal he and his partner testified against. The man’s already tried to kill them several times and — ” Dobey stopped and raised his eyes to Richard. “What? When? Well, what county was he from?” Dobey scribbled something on the pad in front of him. “Morgan? Okay, thank you.” He hung up and swore vehemently. Richard waited. “Some clown brought a man fitting Starsky’s description into Meeker County a couple of days ago and presented him as a fugitive named Gary Lambert,” Dobey said. “He doesn’t even look like Lambert, the Meeker sheriff said, and when he told the deputy it wasn’t their man, the deputy left with him.”

“So, call the deputy,” Richard said.

“I’m going to!” Dobey growled, punching the numbers in almost savagely. He waited, apparently had to speak to several other people first, and finally got Morgan on the phone, after threatening whoever answered with an investigation if they didn’t cooperate. “This is Captain Harold C. Dobey of the Bay City Police,” he said to Morgan. “I’m looking for a missing officer and I’ve been told you may know where he is.”

“Why do you think we know?” Morgan asked.

“Because the Meeker County sheriff said you brought in a man who looks just like him the other day!” Dobey barked, too upset to hold his emotions in check. “Dark curly hair. Blue eyes. Five-eleven, 170.”

Morgan thought fast, his heart beating so hard he could barely breathe. He’d just received the missing officer report a half hour earlier and he recognized the photo immediately. He was the one who first saw the report, and he quickly destroyed it. Finding out the man he’d dumped at the state mental hospital was a cop was unsettling. He hoped the man’s memory would be too sketchy to implicate him. “Couldn’t have been your man,” he said as soon as he could trust his voice.

“How do you know? And where is he now?” Even someone who didn’t know Dobey would have recognized the barely-controlled fury in the voice.

“I don’t know,” Morgan said. “This man fit the description of a fugitive. I took him to Meeker County, and when they said he wasn’t the guy they were looking for, I let him go. Could be anywhere now.”

“How do you know he wasn’t Detective Starsky?”

“This guy was homeless and had been a long time,” Morgan said. “Probably a mental case. I’ve seen my share of ‘em. Mumbling, not making sense. Dirty and ragged. ‘Sides,” he added, in a burst of inspiration, “his eyes were brown.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Dobey shook his head at Richard, who felt his shoulders slump in defeat. “Wasn’t him, I guess,” Dobey said, his voice mirroring the way Richard felt. “Thanks, anyway.”

“Sure, Captain.”

Dobey hung up. “The guy’s eyes were brown.”

“I thought Meeker County said they were blue.”

“He said he thought they were blue,” Dobey said. “He wasn’t sure. Only got a glimpse of the man.”

Richard rubbed his eyes again, one-handed, in a gesture so like Hutch’s that Dobey felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “What now?” Richard asked.

“We keep trying,” Dobey said. “He’s out there somewhere, he’s sick and he’s scared. And I’m not going to give up.”

~*~*~*~

The trouble with putting out a missing officer report on Starsky was that someone other than the appropriate authorities might hear about it. That’s exactly what happened. Thomas Potter received a phone call from an operative in Wisconsin.

“Do you know where he is, yet?” he asked the man on the phone.

“No. Nobody seems to know. I’m on it, Mr. Potter.”

“Don’t do anything without reporting to me, first. We have to be sure, this time.”

“Yes, sir.”

Potter hung up and glanced through the messages he’d been left that his client wanted to see him. The sentencing would take place in a few days and he had little choice. At least he had something to report. They had a lead on Starsky’s whereabouts. Potter’s associate told him that Hutchinson was dead, so at least he’d succeeded in eliminating one of them. He decided to go and see Gunther. No sense putting off the inevitable.

When they were alone, Gunther sat and glared at Potter for a few, uncomfortable moments. “Mr. Potter,” he said, “you’ve been avoiding me.”

“No, I haven’t, sir. I had to be in court. Mr. Webster told you that.”

“He told me you were ‘unavoidably detained.’ You know how much I despise dealing with underlings. See that it doesn’t happen again.”

“Yes, sir. I have good news.” Potter looked around the room again, ever concerned that they were being recorded. He lowered his voice and said, “We’ve already eliminated one of them, as you know. The other has been missing. I’ve just been informed that a missing officer report has been filed on him in Wisconsin and Minnesota. Our people are looking, and we’re bound to find him soon. It’s only a matter of time, Mr. Gunther.”

Gunther nodded and gave him a thin, evil smirk. “Yes. He’s the one I am most concerned with. In just a few days, I’ll be heading for the state penitentiary. When I board the bus that will quite probably take me to death row, I want to know that THAT man has preceded me into hell.” He sat back in his chair and his eyes opened wider. “Mr. Potter, if you fail this time, I may be forced to issue a sentence of my own.”

Potter felt the sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades. He knew that was no idle threat. If Starsky didn’t die, he would. “I won’t fail, sir.”

The two men sat and talked about the case. James Gunther had specific things he wanted said at the sentencing. He had a statement to read and Potter was not in favor of that. The attorney tried unsuccessfully to convince the vindictive old man that showing some remorse could only help him.

Walking out of the interview room after Gunther was led away by his guards, Potter heard a voice behind him say, “So, what’s it like…being the devil’s advocate?”

Potter turned and said, “Everyone has a right to an attorney. Even the devil himself.”

The devil himself. How did I ever get into this mess? When Potter and his firm took on James Gunther, they had no idea what his business would entail. They were one of many firms under Gunther’s influence. A powerful man often had less than seemly entanglements, but James Gunther was the kingpin of entanglements. Over time, the firm had come to accept his ways, and eventually they were in so deep, they couldn’t extricate themselves. Potter walked wearily to his car. He was starting to feel sorry for Detective Starsky. Almost as sorry as he felt for himself.

~*~*~*~

Hutch was sleeping after a long visit with his mother. Andrew was taking care of getting her safely back to Canada. As unhappy as she was to not stay, she couldn’t fight both her husband and her son. Hutch was glad to see her but concerned about her being anywhere near him. He had begged her to go and stay with her sister in Toronto until things were safer, and Richard agreed. Hutch said it was bad enough that his father was in danger. He couldn’t bear it if anything happened to her. After she left, Brother David went in and examined Hutch, administered his medications and then took Richard to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

“Your son is a remarkable person, Richard,” he said.

Richard raised an eyebrow and said, “I think he is, but what makes you say that?”

“He told me he didn’t care what happened to him, he just wanted his family to be safe and his partner to be found. Is he always so determined?”

“You have no idea, Brother. Especially where David Starsky is concerned.”

Brother David’s face took on a serious look. He had spent some time talking with Hutch while he administered treatments and during the times when the captain and Mr. Hutchinson were away. He had lots of questions about his patient. “Naturally, you don’t have to answer my questions, but may I ask you a few things? I’d like to understand Ken better — and this situation.”

“Certainly. I’ll tell you anything I can.”

“David must be a good friend for Ken to be so worried about him when his own health is compromised. To tell you the truth, if we weren’t in such a remote location, I’d be concerned that Ken would try to go over the wall.”

Richard’s face paled a little. “Has he said something to you to lead you to believe he’d try it?”

Brother David chuckled. “No matter how determined he is, Ken isn’t strong enough to get farther than the door to his room at this point. He knows that, don’t worry.”

“Thank God for that. You understand him pretty well, Brother.”

“In some ways. He said something to me yesterday that made me curious. Of course, he’s frightened for his friend. He told me that he trusted you and Captain Dobey to find him and that it was incredibly difficult. When I asked him why, he said that trusting Captain Dobey was the easy part.”

“I see,” Richard said. He sighed and set his coffee cup down on the tabletop. “I had hoped that was improving.”

“Ken does trust you. What he was trying to tell me was that trusting you was new to him somehow. Not that he didn’t trust you. In fact, he seemed to find some peace in it. Do you mind if I ask why that is?”

“No, I don’t mind. I’m ashamed to admit that it’s my own fault. You see, when Ken graduated from college, he went away to law school in California. We had great hopes for his future. Then, he took a different path in his life. Called and announced that he was quitting law school. He said that he wanted to help people and that he felt drawn to becoming a police officer. I think he had attended a panel session where a homicide detective was one of the panelists, and he just knew that was what he was meant to do.” Richard stopped and drank some more coffee. He got up and paced over to the window, looking out at the statue of St. Francis of Assisi on a courtyard covered in snow.

Brother David patiently waited while Richard gathered his thoughts. In a few moments, he turned back toward him and continued. “You could say that I reacted badly. Ken has been a cop for many years, and, in all this time, I’ve barely spoken to him. I was angry and convinced he had ruined his life. He was shot in the line of duty a little more than a year ago. That made me take notice. Then, when David was nearly killed, I realized what a fool I’d been. I promised myself I’d do whatever I could to make it up to him and I’ve really been trying. I want him to trust me and I’ll do anything I can to find David and keep them both safe. No matter what that means.”

“I can see how much you love your son. He loves you, too, Richard. I hope it helps you to know how much your being here means to him.”

Brother David’s office was near the kitchen. Captain Dobey was in there making phone calls and the men in the kitchen heard his agitated voice. All thoughts of their conversation fled as they rushed to the office to see what was happening.

“I want you to get some troopers over there immediately. Call that doctor back and tell him to keep the patient in isolation. Tell him not to let anyone else near him alone until Captain Harold Dobey gets there.” Dobey took some more information down, then handed the paper he’d been writing on to Richard. The paper included the name of a hospital and the town where it was located.

After he hung up the phone, Dobey said, “A doctor at the state mental hospital reported a suspicious situation with a patient to the Minnesota state police. He says the patient has identified himself as ‘Larry Scanlon.'”

“Praise God,” Brother David said, crossing himself and offering a quick prayer that this part of the nightmare these men had been enduring was soon to be behind them.

“Brother David,” Richard said, “when Ken wakes up, please tell him we’ve gone to follow a lead on his partner. Don’t say too much. I don’t want him to get too excited until we know for certain.”

“Why don’t you stay here,” Dobey said. “I’ll go after him.”

“No, I’m going to see this through. Please, Harold. I promised.”

Captain Dobey agreed and the two men left on what they hoped would be a successful rescue mission.

~*~*~*~

Dr. Jefferson walked into Starsky’s room with an X-ray and a serious expression on his face. Four state troopers had arrived and were guarding this patient. Although he had no idea what Mr. Scanlon had done, he knew it must be serious. Jefferson posted his own guard outside the room with instructions that no one was allowed in unless accompanied by him. The troopers agreed to that condition. The doctor decided not to tell his patient that someone was coming for him, but Starsky had already caught a glimpse of one of the state troopers through the small glass window in his room’s door.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Scanlon?” Jefferson said as the door closed behind him.

Starsky didn’t answer the question. “Why the new guard?” His recent experience with Deputy Morgan left him understandably suspicious of Minnesota law enforcement.

“Nothing to worry about, just a precaution.”

“Precaution against what?”

Jefferson sighed. “Please, Mr. Scanlon. I need to talk to you about this X-ray.”

Starsky was not about to let go that easily. He struggled to sit up to where he could see a little better through the window and started coughing. He waved off Jefferson’s attempts to get close to him with a stethoscope. When the coughing subsided, he said, “Look, I have reason to believe I’m in danger. I need to know what’s going on out there.”

“All right. Sit back and relax and I’ll tell you.” When Starsky complied, he continued, “Those men are supposed to make sure no one gets close to you. I called and reported your presence here to the state police. Not long after that, I was told that these troopers would be here to guard you and that someone was coming to get you.”

Starsky didn’t like the sound of that. “Who’s coming here?”

“I don’t see why that matters, Mr. Scanlon.”

“NAME!” Starsky shouted before coughing some more.

Both the hospital guard and one of the troopers peered in through the window when they heard the shout. Jefferson saw them and shook his head to indicate everything was all right.

“Calm down. The man’s name is Dobey.”

Starsky looked stunned for a few moments. Then, he collapsed back onto the pillows in a mixed fit of laughter and coughing. Dr. Jefferson took the laughter to be a good sign, but he raised the head of Starsky’s bed to help get him into a better position to ease the coughing. “I’ll take it that this is good news,” he said with a smile.

“Almost the best news,” Starsky said, wishing Hutch were the one coming for him. A sudden look of dismay crossed his features and he added, “If this ‘Dobey’ isn’t a large demanding black man with a booming voice, don’t let him near me.”

Jefferson nodded and said, “Can we talk about this X-ray, now?”

“Sure,” Starsky answered.

Jefferson held it up so Starsky could see it. “You may not be able to see this, but some of the small bones in your right hand are fractured. Your day nurse said you were having trouble using that hand.” Jefferson paused and put the X-ray down when Starsky picked his hand up to look at it. The hand was swollen and badly bruised. The staff had taken several X-rays the previous evening, but he was so exhausted after the chest X-rays, he was asleep by the time they gotten to his hand. He was amazed that he didn’t remember them doing it.

“Must’ve happened when Deputy Dumbass kicked me,” he said with a wry smile.

Jefferson laughed. “Deputy Dumbass, huh? Fortunately, the bones are in place. We won’t have to rebreak it.” Starsky’s face lost a little color at the thought of that, but Jefferson smiled reassuringly at him. “Relax. I’ve asked Dr. Fischer to come in and put it in a cast. He’s waiting outside the room. I’ll stay in here with you and one of the state troopers insisted on coming in with us. I’m not supposed to let anyone in here, but I convinced them that you needed treatment.”

Jefferson put his head out into the hall and invited the other doctor to come in and get to work. The state trooper stood inside the door and observed. The friendly, efficient doctor was finished quickly. By the time he was done and Starsky had been given his latest round of medication, he was back in an exhausted sleep.

When Captain Dobey and Richard arrived, they were shown into Jefferson’s office where they waited while the doctor was paged.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen,” Jefferson said. He shook hands with them and said to the captain, “You must be Dobey. Mr. Scanlon described you to me. Said not to let you near him unless you were a large, demanding black man.”

Both Dobey and Richard chuckled at that. “That sounds like our man,” Dobey said. “Is he all right?”

“He will be. He has a bad case of pneumonia that has been resistant to treatment. Mr. Scanlon told me his lung sustained some damage in a previous incident. I suspect that’s giving him trouble recovering. He’s physically exhausted, underweight, and he took a serious beating just before he arrived here. Some of the bones in his right hand are fractured and he’s running an average temperature of 102.”

Dobey’s face showed an odd mix of concern over the doctor’s report and relief that it wasn’t worse. He produced a picture of Starsky and said, “Is this your patient?”

Jefferson looked and nodded. “Yes, that’s him. May I ask what he’s done?”

“Done?” Dobey asked

“Mr. Scanlon has some significant scarring from recent, serious gunshot wounds. Frankly, he looks like he’s been through hell. I figured he had to be a criminal, or maybe a cop, but he won’t tell me anything. He just says that he was attacked and that he is still in fear for his life.”

Richard sat in silence, barely hearing the conversation between the other two men. His relief that they had found Starsky alive was almost overwhelming. Dobey was explaining who Starsky was and thanking the doctor for his diligence. What brought Richard’s attention back into focus was when Dobey and Jefferson started talking about how Starsky arrived at the mental hospital.

“He was brought here unconscious and close to hypothermia. The man who brought him said he had raped a woman and attacked some deputies. He identified the man as Mike Ballard and said that the patient had attempted suicide and they’d had to subdue him. That was supposedly how he came to me covered with bruises and abrasions. The story just didn’t sound right to me. Something about the man who brought him was odd and his description didn’t seem to match the patient’s condition. The man said that Mr. Ballard was a mentally unstable Vietnam vet. When I examined the patient the next day, I knew at once that he was not mentally ill. He was completely lucid and rational, despite his caginess about his identity and physical condition. I’m sorry it took me so long to report it, but the man who brought him was a deputy and I had to assume that he was telling me the truth. This is a mental hospital. We prefer to err on the side of caution, as my grandmother would say.”

Richard perked up and asked, “A deputy brought him here?” beating Dobey to the question.

“Yes,” Jefferson replied. He picked up Starsky’s file from the top of his desk and said, “Deputy Wayne Morgan from Olmsted.”

Captain Dobey’s blood pressure shot up at that name. He started to mumble something Edith wouldn’t approve of under his breath. Then, he looked at the doctor and said, “Thank you, Dr. Jefferson. We’ll handle that later. Can we see him now?”

“Certainly.” The doctor showed the two men up to Starsky’s room. The state troopers made Captain Dobey show his identification before they allowed him to enter the room.

Richard couldn’t help but gasp when he saw Starsky. He was sleeping, and he didn’t look well. He was pale and had dark circles under his eyes. The black eye he had the last time Richard saw him was almost gone and the gash on his head was better. Starsky’s breathing sounded labored and Richard looked at the doctor with concern. Dobey’s eyes moved to the cast on Starsky’s arm and then back to the doctor.

“I want to get him out of here immediately. Is it safe for us to move him?” Dobey asked quietly.

“Yes, as long as you’re careful and you do it by ambulance.”

Richard said, “Don’t worry, Doctor. We’ll take good care of him.”

Dobey moved closer to the bed and gently touched Starsky’s feverish forehead. “Dave,” he said quietly.

Starsky opened his eyes and smiled. “Cap, thank God,” he said. “How’s Hutch?”

Richard laughed and stepped over to where Starsky could see him. “He’s safe, son. We’re going to take you out of here.”

Even half asleep, Starsky knew his question hadn’t been answered. “Glad he’s safe, but is he all right?”

Dobey said, “About the same as you. He’s getting better, don’t worry.”

Starsky accepted that and relaxed while Dobey and Mr. Hutchinson made the arrangements to get him out of the hospital. None of them knew it, but they were only a few hours ahead of trouble. As they were loading Starsky into an unmarked, private ambulance, Gunther’s operatives were entering Minnesota from Wisconsin. After hearing about the report from the mental hospital, Thomas Potter had given the orders on how to finish off Detective Starsky. By the time they arrived, Starsky was safe and too far away for them to follow.

“He’s gone,” the hit man reported to Potter.

“Gone?” Potter asked.

“Yep. A few hours ago. No one knows where they went, and they must’ve taken him out in a private car. None of the ambulance services did it. We already checked. What should we do?”

Potter replied, “Go back to Wisconsin. If I need you, I’ll call.”

He hung up the phone and thought about his options. He was out of time and he knew it. Potter could avoid Gunther until they went back to court. That gave him just one full day to make any arrangements he needed to make. He picked up the phone again and called his travel agent.

“This is Thomas Potter,” he said to the agent. “I need to buy three one-way tickets to Zurich. Yes, one adult, Marta Potter, and two children, Jessica and Scott.”

~*~*~*~*

Hutch was dozing when he heard a familiar voice in the hall outside his room. He came awake with a jerk and struggled to sit up. Brother James, sitting a few feet away reading “Gone with the Wind,” raised his head and smiled.

In another moment, Richard appeared in the doorway, supporting Starsky, who had insisted on walking into the room under his own power, though unbeknownst to Hutch he had come all but the last few feet on a stretcher.

“Hiya, Blintz!” Starsky said cheerfully, grinning. “I hear you’ve been takin’ it easy here with the monks while I’ve been having adventures.”

“Friars, dummy, not monks,” Hutch said tartly, but his shining eyes and the relief plain on his face belied the tone.

“Whatever,” Starsky said, coming in and sitting down in another chair smoothly enough that it wasn’t obvious to Hutch, in his weak state, that he’d barely made it that far. “How ya feelin’, buddy?”

“Better,” Hutch said. “How do you feel?”

“Ah, hell, I’m fine, but you know those stupid doctors, always wantin’ a guy to rest and stay in bed.”

Hutch cocked his eyebrow at his father, who somehow communicated silently that yes, Starsky was faking being better than he really was. Hutch had suspected as much.

“I’ll call a couple of brothers and we’ll get a second bed moved into this room,” James said, rising.

“Thank you,” Richard said.

James smiled and patted his shoulder as he passed him on his way out of the room. It was only about fifteen minutes before three of the friars had another bed moved in, made up, and Starsky installed in it against his protests.

“I’m the boss here,” Brother David said sternly. “You will stay in that bed until I say you can get out of it. Understand?”

Starsky blinked at him and glanced at Hutch, who was grinning.

“Better do as he says, Starsk,” Hutch advised. “He’s mean.”

Starsky glanced back at Brother David. “Okay, okay, no need to get the comfy chair.”

Hutch burst out laughing, but the friars and Richard all looked puzzled. “Monty Python,” Hutch explained. When they still looked puzzled, he added, “A British comedy on TV. They did this skit about the Spanish Inquisition — ” He gave up and shrugged. “Guess you’d have to see it.”

“I guess so,” Richard said, shaking his head. “But it’s good to hear you laugh, son.”

“It’s good to feel like laughing,” Hutch said.

Brother James took up his post again and picked up his book. The other friars returned to their own activities, and Richard excused himself to make some phone calls. Dobey had stopped off in Brother Michael’s office to make some calls of his own. Gunther’s sentencing was coming up, and he had to go back to Bay City. But he wasn’t leaving until he’d set wheels in motion to get Deputy Wayne Morgan his just deserts for what he’d done to Starsky.

“You up to telling me where you’ve been?” Hutch asked.

“You ain’t gonna believe it,” Starsky said. He also cocked his head slightly in Brother James’ direction.

Hutch glanced that way, then back at Starsky. You can trust him.

Starsky nodded, adjusted his pillows a bit more comfortably, and started telling Hutch everything that had happened to him since they’d last seen each other.

Hutch listened in silence as long as he could, but when Starsky got to the part about Deputy Dumbass and the beating he’d given him, Hutch lost it.

“That lousy, worthless, son of a bitch! When I get my hands on him — ”

“Whoa,” Starsky said. “Easy, Blintz. He’s in a lot of trouble, and you ain’t gonna get in trouble going after him, got that? Let the law handle him.”

“But — ”

The room wasn’t large and the beds were close to each other. Starsky reached a hand out to Hutch. When Hutch took his hand, Starsky looked at him with serious eyes. He softly said, “But nothin’, Hutch. Let it go, huh?”

Hutch visibly took control of himself. It took several moments. Finally, he nodded. “Okay, okay. I don’t like it, but okay.”

~*~*~*~

Potter waited nervously while the doctor examined the prescription bottle. “We were not told Mr. Gunther had this condition,” the doctor said suspiciously.

James Gunther had not been the typical inmate in local lockup. He was held in custody without bail due to the D.A.’s insistence that he was a flight risk. One of the concessions Potter had won for his client while in custody was that he was allowed to see his personal physician. Now, Thomas Potter was hoping that his work accomplishing that concession would serve him well.

“I can provide you with medical records,” Potter said, opening his briefcase and pulling out a file. “Mr. Gunther has had this problem for several years, but his condition fluctuates. It’s all in the files. His physician has been dispensing these as maintenance medication. As it says on the bottle, he is to take one capsule each evening before bed.” It had better be in the files, Potter thought. He knew about the law but couldn’t understand the medical information in the file at all. He’d paid plenty to get a doctor to make up that file for him, and to pass it off as if it were part of Gunther’s medical record with the doctor who had treated him for years. The doctor Potter had bought off specialized in writing prescriptions — Valium was his favorite — for rock and movie stars who didn’t want to risk the questionable purity of street drugs. For a hefty sum, the man had agreed to modify Gunther’s medical record and to write a prescription that would match the file.

The doctor paged through the file, taking his own sweet time, and finally nodded. “We’ll have to dispense the medication. We can’t let him have it in his cell.” The doctor agreed to put the medication in with the other items going with Gunther to San Quentin.

“I understand,” Potter said. He felt sweat trickle down his back but pretended not to notice. He had told Gunther the pills were a derivative of the barbiturates he’d been in the habit of taking to help him sleep while he was on the outside. And most of them were. But scattered throughout the bottle, in capsules exactly like the real sleeping pills, were a few pills containing strong heart medication, meant to be given to a patient having a heart attack, to get his heart beating properly again. For a man with a healthy heart, like Gunther, and in the quantity contained in each dose, the capsules would bring on a heart attack, and with any luck, would kill him. If Potter’s luck held, the death would come after he’d had time to get away and would look like a natural death and no one would ever be able to point the finger at him.

Potter couldn’t afford for Gunther to find out he’d failed miserably in his mission. Not only were Starsky and Hutchinson both alive, they were holed up under 24-hour protection in a place where even Gunther’s best hit men couldn’t get to them. And if Gunther heard that, Potter was a dead man. The only answer was for Gunther to die before he could give the orders to kill Potter.

Marta and the kids were already on a plane to Zurich. As soon as he knew Gunther was dead, Potter would follow. He had been frightened and desperate enough to consider killing himself rather than let Gunther kill him, until he’d thought of the pills. Gunther had been insisting he bring him his pills and that’s when he’d thought of it. Once he’d found the right doctor, the rest was easy.

When he joined his family in Zurich, they would change their names and vanish where the person who would succeed Gunther — whoever that might be — would never find them.

~*~*~*~

“I’m leaving in the morning,” Dobey said, watching as both his “boys” polished off supper as if they hadn’t eaten for days. “Richard will keep an eye on you until Gunther is safely put away.”

“Where is he now?” Hutch asked.

“Still in county,” Dobey said. “It isn’t secure enough to suit any of us.”

“Amen,” Starsky mumbled through a mouthful of mashed potatoes and gravy. “But is anyplace secure enough?”

“Quentin is,” Dobey said. “And he’ll probably be on Death Row. You two just relax and get well and don’t come back until I tell you, got it?”

“I’ll keep them in line, Harold,” Richard said, with a stern look for his son. “I still have my yardstick.”

Hutch chuckled. “Dad, you wore that threat out when I was nine.”

Starsky raised his eyebrows and looked from Hutch to Richard inquiringly.

Richard shook his head. “Nine? I thought it worked until you were eleven, at least.”

“Nope,” Hutch said, going back to his meal.

“I had a yardstick hanging next to the back door,” Richard explained to Starsky. “When Kenny and his sister were little, I used to threaten to spank them with it whenever they got out of line. I never actually did, because they straightened up when I threatened them. I don’t think I ever even took it off the hook.” He gave a mock sigh. “And here they saw through me all along.”

“That’s right,” Hutch said. “Still do.”

After Richard and Dobey left to go back to the Hutchinson’s for the night, Starsky cocked an eyebrow at his partner. “Okay,” he said, “I got a question. Several.”

“About what?”

“You. Your dad. That crap about the yardstick. You always acted like your dad was some kinda monster, and here you and him are, laughing about the yardstick. What happened?”

Hutch sobered and lay back against his pillows. “I’m not sure, buddy. I just know that for years we could hardly even talk to each other without hurting each other or getting angry, or both. We didn’t know how, I guess. Now….” He paused and shrugged. “I guess now, we’re trying. It’s like getting to know him all over again.” He smiled. “It’s pretty nice.”

Starsky smiled back. “Yeah. It is.”

~*~*~*~

As follow up to Dobey getting charges pressed against Deputy Wayne Morgan, Richard Hutchinson brought a stenographer to the friary to take Starsky’s sworn statement. Morgan had already been arrested and was being held in his own county jail, Richard told Starsky and Hutch with a great deal of satisfaction.

“Bet he’s having fun,” Starsky observed with a grin.

“I’ll bet he’s not,” Hutch muttered angrily. “And good enough for the bastard, too.”

“He’s been fired,” Richard said. “Usually in a case like this, they’d suspend him pending the outcome, but considering he did this to a fellow officer, and we have Dr. Jefferson’s statement and the sheriff from Meeker County to back up your complaint, David, he’s not going to get cut any slack.”

“What do you think will happen to him?”

“Prison,” Richard said without hesitation. “He’s not only guilty of dereliction of duty, but assault and battery of a peace officer, false imprisonment, even attempted murder, if we push it. He’ll probably plea bargain out of that one, but the others will add up to a nice long vacation in the clink.”

~*~*~*~

James Marshall Gunther was sentenced to death by the State of California, but he didn’t live long enough to make any appeals. Two weeks after being moved to San Quentin, Gunther was dead. The official cause of death was a heart attack. He was found in his cell one morning, peacefully in his bed, apparently having died in his sleep overnight.

Potter booked a flight for himself to Zurich to leave the weekend after Gunther was sentenced but died in a car accident on the way to the airport. A curious investigating officer, puzzled as to why a man who tested negative for alcohol and drugs would lose control and plow head-on into a semi on a dry, clear highway, discovered the brake lines had been cut almost through, letting the fluid leak out slowly. When the semi had veered into the oncoming lane to pass another vehicle — the trucker had sworn he didn’t see Potter’s car until he was already too close to avoid him — Potter had apparently slammed on the brakes and tried to pull out of the way onto the shoulder, but his brakes had failed and he’d died at the scene of massive head injuries. The highway patrol couldn’t pin the vandalism on anyone.

A few days after the sentencing, Dobey had called Richard to tell him it was safe for Starsky and Hutch to leave the friary and move to the Hutchinson’s home outside Duluth. The two detectives finished recuperating there, with Hutch’s mom hovering over them and Richard guarding them with the help of a couple of armed guards he had hired, just in case Gunther still had any plans. But once Gunther was dead, both Starsky and Hutch were ready to go back to Bay City.

“I’ve booked a flight to Phoenix for you so you can pick up your car,” Dobey told Hutch on the phone. “That is, if you’re up to driving back that far. We could send someone else to get it.”

“No, we’ll make it,” Hutch said. “We’re both feeling pretty good now after my mom’s been spoiling us for two weeks.” He smiled across the room at his mother, who smiled back and pantomimed a kiss in his direction.

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Dobey said with a chuckle. “Oh, I’ve already arranged to have the cars you didn’t wreck returned to the other police departments. See you in a couple of days, then.”

“Okay, Cap’n. Thanks.”

~*~*~*~

At the airport the day they left, Richard impulsively pulled his son to him for a long, affectionate hug. “It’s been nice having you close by,” Richard told him, still holding him by the arms. “Next time, maybe we can have a good visit without all this trouble and fright, huh?”

Hutch grinned. “I’d like that.”

“So would I,” Starsky said fervently.

“We’ll plan on coming out to California in a couple of months,” Richard said. “Your mother’s always telling me I work too hard. I’ll take a vacation and you boys can show us the town.”

“He does work too hard,” Helen said, giving her husband a gentle shove out of her way so she could hug her son, too. She gazed up into his face and then touched his cheek. “You are all right, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Mom, I’m fine. I promise.”

She smiled and kissed his cheek. “We’ll miss you. Call us when you get home, I don’t care what time it is.”

“I will,” Hutch said indulgently, giving Starsky a sidelong grin.

“And you,” Helen said to Starsky, pretending to be stern, “stay out of trouble!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Starsky said obediently. “If I can, considering I got this boy of yours to watch out for.”

“I am not the one who wound up in a mental hospital,” Hutch said with great dignity.

“They said I was normal,” Starsky pointed out.

“Then he must not be a very good doctor,” Hutch said, deadpan.

The older Hutchinson’s were laughing by now, and when the flight was called, the laughter eased the awkwardness of parting. They waved cheerfully as the two men walked away.

Once they were in flight and just as Starsky slid down in the seat to try to sleep — he hated flying and did his best to sleep through any flight he found himself on — Hutch said, “You feel safe yet?”

Starsky pried his eyes open and met Hutch’s eyes seriously. “Do you?”

Hutch sighed and laid his head back against the seat. “I want to,” he said. “There’s no reason not to. But after all this time, looking over our shoulders for that son-of-a-bitch or one of his merry men — ”

“It ain’t easy,” Starsky finished. He straightened in his seat. “The man’s dead,” he said in a low voice. “He can’t touch us now. And we did enough damage to his organization that it’s gonna take a long time for somebody else to put it back together.”

“I know.”

“And whoever that is, we did him a favor. He can scoop up the money now and he won’t have to share it with the old man.”

“That’s true.” But Hutch still sounded worried.

“Hey,” Starsky said, nudging Hutch’s arm gently, “we can’t spend the rest of our lives like this. We gotta get back to normal.”

Hutch nodded. “You’re right. It’s just — ” He rubbed his eyes. “Never mind. I’m being paranoid.”

“Yeah, you are,” Starsky agreed. “But being paranoid is what’s kept us both alive, buddy. Just don’t let it ruin your life, huh?”

Hutch smiled. “Not a chance, buddy.”