Judge Not

2

A son of Hutch’s friend is taken and it sends Starsky and Hutch back on the streets to find the boy and the kidnappers before it’s too late. At the same time, the boys are dealing with a change in their relationship.

 

Originally published in the zine Nightlight, a slash Starsky and Hutch anthology edited by April Valentine in 1986.

EDITOR’S NOTE: “Judge Not” is a sequel to “Home,” originally published in THE PHONE BOOTH STORIES, which was a sequel to “One Man’s Dream,” originally published in ONE SHOT, ed. Jan Lindner, both by Ruth Kurz, The author wishes to thank Paula Smith for editorial assistance on “Judge Not.”

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“…You and me we still belong together.
No one ever said we’d have an easy ride.
When you love someone you’ve just got to talk it over.
When you love someone you just don’t let it die.
Turn around. Look at me.
I just want to tell you
     what you’re looking for
           you’ve already found.
Turn around…”
–Diamond, Bachrach, Sager

 

Rrrrrrrrring.

Soft clouds of warm summer rolled over him as he reached upward for consciousness and the dawn. Gotta get up. Cleo needs milking.

Rrrrrrrrring.

Not the alarm. Not on the farm. Hutch slowly came awake, and fumbled for the phone, finally getting it to his ear. “H’lo?” he asked sleepily.

“Ken? This is Floyd Brown.”

Deja vu. Waking from a deep sleep to answer the phone. “Ken, this is Floyd Brown. I just adopted your baby. “

Hutch shook himself awake. “Floyd? What’s up?”

“Not you, obviously.” His intended joke sounded flat as he sighed heavily.

“Hutch, Kenny’s been kidnapped.”

The words fell like fists on his gut. His sleep-fogged mind presented a picture of ten-year-old Kenneth Floyd Brown, bright eyes and happy smile shining from his milk-chocolate face as he crossed the plate in that Little League game last spring.

“Wha…how?” he stammered, sounding less the alert police officer than a shocked friend.

“I got the word half an hour ago. Hell, they snatched him from his paper route.” The man sounded ready to cry.

“Hold on, Floyd,” Hutch said, fully, awake and trying to think, as he soothed the frantic father. “What’d they say?”

“Uh…the usual. No police. They’ll, uh, contact me later with their terms.” There was a pause. “I called Dobey, and he told me you were back. Welcome home, Sgt. Hutchinson,” he added wryly.

“Yeah. Look, Floyd, I’ll pick up Starsky and be right over.” He hung up the phone.

“Who’s Floyd?” The sleepy voice came from under the pillow beside him.

Hutch lifted it, and watched the grimace as light hit tightly closed eyes. “C’mon, partner. Looks like we’re back to work sooner than we thought.”

Starsky groaned, pulling the pillow down again as Hutch rolled off the bed and headed for the shower. He’d just finished shaving when a dull-eyed apparition appeared in the doorway.

“It’s all yours,” Hutch told him, squeezing his shoulder as he passed. “And hurry. A kid I know’s been kidnapped.”

Starsky spun around. “Christ, whyn’t ya say so?” He disappeared into the bathroom. Hutch heard the shower run as he pulled some clean clothes out of his suitcase and got into them. As an afterthought, he laid some out for Starsky, too, before heading for the kitchen to make coffee. A few minutes later his partner joined him, still-wet curls glistening as he bent to pull on his sneakers over Hutch’s socks.

“So, who’s Floyd?”

A vision of Floyd’s smiling face at Kenny’s christening rose in Hutch’s mind as he poured coffee and popped a couple of frozen waffles into the toaster. If Kenny was milk chocolate, Floyd had to be Special Dark. But he wouldn’t be smiling now. “Remember the abandoned baby I told you Huntley and I found when I was a rookie? Prosecutor Floyd Brown adopted him later.”

“Oh, yeah.” Starsky reached for his cup with both hands. “He’s a judge now, isn’t he?”

“Right. And the kid’s been snatched.” Hutch sat there staring morosely at the table. “It ain’t my baby,” the woman had insisted ten years ago. “You make me take it, I’ll drown it in the toilet.” “He needed a name,” Huntley had told him. “I gave him yours. You got a little namesake.” “Hey, Uncle Hutch, how come you don’t wear a uniform no more?”

God, Kenny kidnapped.

The waffles popped up, startling Hutch. “It never stops, does it? Not in the city, not in the suburbs, not even in Minnesota. Christ, there’s no getting away from it.”

Starsky reached out and grasped the back of his hand. “Nope. So we keep ahead of it.”

Hutch smiled. “Yeah.” He covered Starsky’s hand with his other one. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna run out on you again.” There’d been enough running, and it hadn’t been the answer to anything. The only good, solid thing in his life was sitting across from him now, support, encouragement, and…love shining from the caring eyes. Maybe we can’t lick the world, but we can hold up our end of it. Together.

After their hurried breakfast, Hutch slipped on the old, familiar holster and slid his re-issued Python into place as they ran down to the Torino. He gave Starsky the address, then sank back into the passenger seat to let the past couple of days wash over him again.

Yesterday Hutch had sat once more at the familiar desk he’d tried so hard to escape, had actually run away from to Minnesota, in order to pretend life was simple again. To pretend there was no such thing as the crippling pain of the past few years. Gunther’s machine gun, in ripping through Starsky’s body and car, had shredded the last restraining seams of Hutch’s much-patched world. He’d held on, despite the emptiness, despite the long months of Starsky’s convalescence.

Then Grandpa died. It should have hurt, but he had nothing left inside that wasn’t already thick with scars from old hurts. He only yearned for the peace of that inherited farm, for an earlier time before all the pain. Everybody knew he was chasing a mirage, even Starsky. Especially Starsky. And though Starsky knew he had to find that out for himself, he wouldn’t let him find it out by himself. He’d been there. He’d saved Hutch’s life—yet again—when the escaped con had tried to part the blond hair with a shotgun.

And then night before last he had wordlessly brought Hutch to a heart pounding orgasm while Hutch was trying to talk on a public phone to his aunt and uncle back at the farm. Hutch remembered the touch of Starsky’s hands and hot breath on him, searing with fire as he tried to sound normal to his relatives. Christ. Starsk had held him before, had pillowed in his lap dozens of times, falling asleep on stakeouts, watching TV, even resting on airplanes. But he’d never touched him like that before.

And so last night—after their warm welcome at Huggy’s, after telling Dobey he was ready to try again, after Dobey had reminded him things weren’t any better, that there was a lot that needed talking out—they’d settled on Hutch’s couch with a couple of bears and stared at each other.

* * * *

Starsky finally broke the silence. “Well, where do we start?” Hutch gave a half smile.

“Simon says, ‘Start at the end.”

“Yeah. Bringing you off in a goddamned gas station, for chrissake.” He let off an incredulous snort. “That was something, wasn’t it?”

“Just one of several things we’ve been ignoring lately.”

“You’re really not mad about it?”

Hutch shook his head with an amused smile. “No. Mad is definitely not the word for it.” Starsky still didn’t look convinced. “I think ‘intrigued’ covers it pretty well.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not gonna freak out and question your masculinity and all that?”

“Are you?”

“Can’t see why I should.”

“Me either.”

They grinned at each other and sipped their beers for a few quiet minutes. Then:

“I died, Hutch.”

Hutch opened his eyes and looked at his solemn partner, who had yet to talk about the shooting in all these months. We really are facing facts tonight. “Yeah, I know.”

“It could happen again.”

“I won’t let it.”

“You can’t stop it.”

“I’ll sure try.”

“You tried then.” Hutch felt a rumble of fear, and the old anger, at Starsky’s words. He set down his beer, stood up suddenly, as Starsky persisted, “I don’t wanna die again, and I sure don’t want you t’die, especially with what we got going for us now. We just can’t say ‘Me ‘n’ thee’ anymore, Hutch, like a magic charm.”

Hutch leaned forward, supporting himself on the back of the couch. “Even Minnesota isn’t safe. I know.”

“I know you know.” They stared at each other a while. “What is it?”

Hutch looked down. “Honesty time. I was mad at the whole world when you got shot.” He hesitated. “But mostly, Starsk, I was mad at you.”

There was a long pause. Starsky said, “Really pissed, huh?”

“I felt you were cheating me!” Hutch beat his fist on the couch back. “Of…something. Of all the years— Of you. I was losing, and I didn’t even know what it was I was losing.” He began to shake with the memory of that emptiness.

Starsky got up, came around beside him and took him in his arms. Hutch pressed the solid body, the clean-smelling hair, the precious face, tightly against himself.

“Damn it, I missed you so fucking much,” he whispered. “This is what I’d lose.”

They held one another for a long moment, cherishing the rapport, the depth of their love. This is my partner—in everything. The only one I ever had. Not Vanessa, not Huntley, nobody else. This man held him, his life, honor, his love, in safe and strong hands. Forever.

Finally Starsky pulled back, a suspicion of tears in his eyes. “‘Til death do us part, huh?” He laughed shakily, glancing around. “Wanna unpack? Or what?”

Hutch looked at the pile of bags and boxes they’d lugged back from Minnesota and sighed. “Forget it. I’ll catch up tomorrow. How about your stuff?”

The grin was back. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

“Then let’s sit down.”

With the stereo on and a couple of fresh beers in their hands, they settled onto the couch and continued their quiet conversation, talking openly at last about all the fears and anxieties ignored for so long. Too lazy to cook, they called out for pizza, and spent the evening in gentle communion, occasionally stroking one another in a new awareness of their old love.

Hutch yawned. “Well, buddy boy, I’m dragging. Guess the trip’s catching up to me. “

Starsky stretched. “Me, too. S’pose I oughta go home.”

Hutch looked at him. “Why bother? I mean, what the hell. You’ve already compromised my virtue. Why not sleep with me?”

Starsky tipped his head. “You ain’t talkin’ about the couch, are you?”

“Uh-uh.”

“You mean sleep together, or, uh, ‘sleep together’?”

Hutch laughed. “I don’t know about you, boy, but I’m too pooped to ‘sleep together. ‘” He shrugged. “Let’s not rush anything, okay? Just play it by ear.”

Starsky grinned. “Hell, ears can be damned sexy.” He leaned over and blew in Hutch’s, sending shivers skittering through him.

“Yeah, well, keep your passion corked, Curly. I’m not ready for the big leagues yet.”

Starsky looked pleased. “I’m the big leagues, huh?”

“World Series, champ…or is that chump?” he added, standing and patting Starsky on the flank. “Race ya to the can.”

By unspoken agreement both wore shorts to bed, and crawled in on opposite sides. “G ‘night,” Starsky said, curling up a little, facing the edge of the bed.

Hutch turned off the light and slid down under the sheet next to the warm, hairy body. He allowed himself the pleasure of this new sensation. Not that they’d never slept side by side before, but this awareness was new, and Hutch found it very pleasant. Slowly he turned toward the curved back, fitting himself around, and placing his arm across the furred chest. Starsky sighed and nestled into the embrace, as Hutch pillowed his head behind the mop of curls. “G ‘night, partner,” he whispered, feeling totally at peace with the world.

* * * *

Still smiling with the memory, Hutch pulled himself back to the present as the Torino turned into the flower bedecked driveway of Floyd and Lila Brown’s home. Lila’s artistic touch was visible inside, too, as the partners were ushered by one of the older children to Floyd’s den. The judge’s strained face and Lila’s red-rimmed eyes gazed at them with that all-too familiar look of hope Hutch had come to dread. Knights were always expected to save people from the frightening finality of the usual outcome. He sighed and turned to Floyd, who was tense, but ready to work with them.

“Have they contacted you again?”

“No. Captain Dobey’s sending over some equipment to record and trace it when they do.”

“Yeah. Well, the kidnappers may be watching the house, so don’t be surprised if Dobey shows up in a telephone truck.”

The day dragged as routine procedures were put into operation. One thing that bothered Hutch was why they had picked on Kenny. Floyd wasn’t rich. He was well-known as an honest judge … and an
honest, hard-working judge whose wife taught school wasn’t a major target for ransom. So it wasn’t money they were after, whoever ‘they’ were.

“Sure you don’t have a bank account in Switzerland we don’t know about?” Starsky asked with a grin, but Hutch knew the humor was only to relax Floyd, as they tried again and again to come up with a reason that made sense.

“Maybe it’s a spite snatch,” Hutch suggested. “Anybody you put away recently make threats?”

Floyd snorted. “At least half of them, Ken.”

Hutch sighed. “Yeah, I know what you mean, but it might be a start. Give us the files and we can track down their crazy friends or relatives.”

Floyd looked thoughtful as he opened the file drawer. “You can do that?”

“Sometimes,” Starsky said, looking closely at the worried father.

Floyd handed over several files then stood, his hand hovering over the drawer hesitantly before he sighed and closed it. “Guess those are the most likely.” He sounded morose.

Hutch felt a gnawing sensation in his gut. He looked at Starsky who had the same dissatisfied expression he’d seen before when something didn’t feel right. With a nearly imperceptible shrug, Starsky reached for one of the files and sat down to study it. Dobey took another, and Hutch decided that whatever was bothering him would surface eventually, so he settled down with a third. Their list of possible suspects was growing when the phone rang. Dobey checked his tracer, then signaled Floyd, who picked it up with a shaking hand, and placed it on the conference box.

“Hello?”

“I told you no police,” a gruff voice said over the speaker. “That red car in your driveway belongs to a detective.”

So, Hutch thought, they’re watching the house. I wonder how much else they know.

“He’s a friend,” Floyd protested. “Just a friend.”

“Bullshit. He comes in pairs and you’ve got ’em both in there with you.”

“I’m sorry, but they are friends of the family.”

“Can it. I shoulda figured it anyhow. Nothing’s changed. You do what you’re told or the kid dies. Simple.”

“How do I know he’s still alive?” Floyd asked as instructed.

There was a pause, then mumbled words, and finally a small, shaky voice came over the phone. “Dad? It’s me, Kenny.”

Floyd’s expression flew from fear to relief to fear again. “Kenny. You okay? Have they hurt you?”

“I’m okay, but I’m scared, Dad.”

“Take it easy, son. I’ll get you out of this.” It was a vow. Hutch saw the determination on the usually gentle face.

There was the sound of scuffling and Kenny’s voice crying “Dad, Dad,” in the background, then the gravelly voice was back on.

“Okay, Judge. Now here’s what we want. You get $25,000 in unmarked, out-of-sequence bills, and we’ll call you later with more directions.” A click and dial-tone followed the words, and Floyd stared helplessly at the phone.

“Shit.” The man operating the trace pushed back his chair. “Couldn’t pin it down.” He looked up at a scowling Dobey. “All we got is that it’s local.”

“How local, Mathews?”

“Christ, Captain,” Mathews said in exasperation. “It’s a big city.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dobey said, wiping his face with a wrinkled handkerchief.

“Look, Cap,” Starsky said. “Me an’ Hutch’ll do better if we hit the streets. That guy won’t call back until Floyd has a chance to scrape up the money anyhow.”

“You know, Captain,” Hutch added, “he didn’t mention your being here. Maybe he doesn’t know, and if we get that tomato out of the driveway, whoever is reporting back to the creep can tell him the cops are gone.”

“Yeah, okay. Get out of here. I’ll call if we hear from him again.”

* * * *

Their first stop was The Pits. With a healthy respect for Huggy’s network of contacts, they knew he was their best lead. The Saturday afternoon crowd was sizable, filling several booths as well as crowding around the pool table and other games. Starsky and Hutch slid onto a pair of barstools and waited until their friend could get away from his customers to join them.

“Why so glum, chums?” he asked. “Thought you were glad to be back in town. Miss the green grass of Wyoming already?”

“Minnesota,” Hutch said automatically.

“Whatever.” Huggy looked at him closely. “You don’t look like men of leisure. You back to work already?”

“Yeah, Hug.” Hutch looked at Starsk, who spoke up, saving him the pain.

“A friend of Hutch’s has been kidnapped. A ten-year-old kid. Son of Floyd Brown.”

“The judge?” Huggy looked surprised. “Why him? He ain’t rich.”

No longer surprised that Huggy knew everyone, Hutch voiced his own doubts. “Yeah. I was wondering the same thing. We thought maybe revenge, but…” He shook his head. “Something doesn’t wash.”

Starsky looked at Huggy. “You got any ideas? Heard anything? Even something far-fetched might tie in.”

“Don’t worry you two. I’ll alert the eyes and ears of the world, and let you know if anything turns.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon and evening chasing down a motley assortment of relatives and friends of people sent to prison by Judge Brown, but nothing seemed even remotely connected to the kidnapping. A check with Dobey revealed that no further calls from the kidnappers had come in yet. By two a.m. they had run out of list, and were having a rough time waking people up for questioning. It became abundantly clear that these sleeping people were not thinking about Kenny.

“I think we should go home and grab some Zs,” Starsky suggested.

Hutch sighed. “I suppose you’re right. We can’t barge in on the Brown’s now. At least some of them might be asleep.” He looked dispiritedly at his hands, wishing they had turned up some kind of clue. Anything.

Starsky pulled the car over to the curb into the darkness of an unlighted section of street, and turned off the engine. Slowly he turned toward Hutch, and just as slowly raised his hand to cup the worried face. Mesmerized by the comfort of his partner’s hand, Hutch watched warm, shadowed eyes move closer as Starsky’s open mouth surrounded his. The soft inner flesh was damp across his lips, as Starsky closed in the gentlest of kisses, raising Hutch’s kidnap-wearied spirits out of their despondency.

Hand still caressing his cheek, Starsky leaned back. “Just wanted to see how you taste,” he said softly.

“Hell, man, you’ve kissed me before,” Hutch reminded him, pressing against the loving palm.

“Oh yeah. Clowning around.” He paused, his eyes reached deep into Hutch, fascinating him with their heat. “Not the same.”

“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.” He sighed heavily, reaching up to cover Starsky’s hand with his own, grateful for its solace. “It’s a lift, though.”

Starsky grinned. “I know,” he said smugly, pulling his hand away and reaching for the keys.

Hutch missed the warmth the moment it left his face, but leaning back on the seat as the car pulled into the street, he realized the warmth was still there, spreading through him just like all the other times Starsky’s warmth had pulled him out of depression after depression. God, I need him.

Starsky dropped him at his apartment with a comforting shoulder squeeze. “Pick me up in your heap around seven or eight. Somebody’ll be awake over there.”

“Okay.” Hutch ran up the stairs, knowing the Torino wouldn’t leave until his light went on. He heard the car pull away, then switched it off again and headed wearily for his bedroom, noticing with pleasure the mussed sheets and indentations on both pillows. I suppose I’ll have to think about where we’re heading. He pulled off his clothes, set the alarm, and slid into bed, aware of Starsky’s familiar scent in an unfamiliar place—on his pillows and sheets. Without bothering to wonder why, he accepted his pleasure over the new direction of their relationship, and drifted off to sleep remembering how natural—how married—it had felt to hold Starsky through the night.

* * * *

With disgusting precision, the alarm woke him at 6:30, and Hutch staggered into the bathroom where a too-cold shower slapped him awake. He grabbed some more clean clothes out of his suitcase, promising himself he’d unpack as soon as Kenny was home, safe. Skipping coffee, he drove his current “classic” car, a ’67 Falcon, to his partner’s apartment and let himself in. As he suspected, Starsky was still in bed, waiting for him to play alarm clock. Hutch walked in and sat on the bed, bemused by the innocence sleep brought to the familiar face. He looked like a little kid. Unable to help himself, he brushed back tangled ringlets, and leaned down to kiss the closed eyes lightly.

They shot open in surprise, then softened in recognition. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself. How come I always have to get up first?”

“I need my beauty sleep.”

“I’ll buy that.” Hutch sat there, his hand still tangled in the unkempt curls. “Maybe I ought to see how you taste,” he said with an amused smile.

Starsky grimaced. “You’d spoil all your illusions.”

Hutch’s smile broadened into a grin. “I doubt it.” He hand slid down to one smooth shoulder as he leaned forward, his lips touching the corner of Starsky’s mouth with a chaste promise. Regretfully he stood. “I’ll make coffee while you go wake up.”

As familiar in his partner’s kitchen as his own, Hutch made a quick breakfast, depending on the freezer. Neither had done any shopping yet, and he didn’t trust anything in Starsky’s refrigerator even under the best of circumstances. By the time Starsky came out, looking almost awake, the doughnuts had thawed a little, and the coffee was ready. They kissed, dunked breakfast in pleasant silence, then drove to Floyd’s house.

A new shift was manning the phone tracer, and their weary welcome showed that nothing had happened. Floyd was asleep on the couch and there was no sign of Lila. Hutch hoped she was in bed, but a few minutes later she came in from the kitchen, red-eyed from crying and lack of sleep, carrying a tray of coffee to the men.

She ushered the partners to another room to avoid waking her husband, and brought them up to date. “Floyd has arranged with the bank and some friends to get the money together by tomorrow.” Tears began to slide down her cheeks. “I didn’t know we had so many friends,” she said softly. “I just wish it could be today, though. I hate to think of Kenny’s being with them another day.” The fear was back in her face.

Hutch put his arm around her. “Maybe they can get the money today, even if it is Sunday,” he said reassuringly.

“Oh, no. Floyd says that’s impossible. It has to be tomorrow.”

Hutch frowned. “He said that?”

“Well, something like that. Why?”

“Oh, nothing. I guess he’s talked to the bankers so he must know.” But something was nagging at Hutch, and a glance at Starsky confirmed his suspicion.

Lila continued to talk, as much for something to do as for imparting information, Hutch decided. “We’ve kept everyone off that phone,” she explained. “Told them to call on Scottie’s.” Hutch remembered the older boy who had let them in, his worried face so different from his usual cheerful personality. “Floyd’s been using his phone, too. And your Captain Dobey. What a nice man.” Hutch nodded, his mind still toying with the idea that Floyd knew something he wasn’t telling them. “…stayed quite late, even though he had to cancel some plans with his family.”

“They’re used to that,” Hutch answered. “Uh, Lila, would you mind bringing me a cup of that coffee, please?” he asked, needing a chance to talk to Starsky, who caught his drift and asked for one himself.

Once she was out of earshot, Hutch asked, “What do you think?”

“I think it’s time we talked to Floyd again. Privately,” Starsky told him. “Something went down in the first phone call that we don’t know about.”

Hutch sighed. “Yeah, or Lila either.”

At that, Floyd walked into the room with his wife, who handed the partners their coffee. “Morning,” he said sleepily.

“Morning, Floyd.” Hutch wished Lila would leave the room.

Starsky looked pointedly at the man and said, “Hutch tells me you’ve got a nice rec room in the basement. Why don’t you show it to us?”

Floyd looked from one set face to the other. “All right,” he sounded resigned. “Lila, you stay by the phone in case they call.”

She looked from face to face curiously, but finally left, and they walked downstairs to the privacy of the basement.

“Okay, Floyd. Why won’t the payoff be until Monday?” Starsky asked.

Floyd looked startled. “Who said—”

“You, apparently,” Hutch said quietly. “What else did they say when they called you the first time?”

“What makes you think there was more?”

“Call it instinct, or just that we’re good at our jobs, too.” Hutch gave a hard look to this man he had respected for years. “We’ve wasted enough time, and Kenny’s life is at stake. Tell us,” he commanded.

Floyd looked down. “More than Kenny’s life is on the line, Ken.”

Hutch glanced at Starsky, then back to Floyd. “Tell us,” he said a little more kindly.

Floyd fidgeted, his face lined with pain. “Hutch, if I told you the prisoner involved, do you really think you could find Kenny?”

Starsky looked ready to explode with fury. “You mean all this time you knew who—”

Hutch quieted him with a raised hand. “We can try, Floyd.”

“But it would have been a lot easier if we’d started on it yesterday,” Starsky said, eyes still smoldering.

Floyd sighed heavily. “It’s Martin Jennings,” he said in a low voice.

“The dealer?” Starsky asked.

“Didn’t you hear his case already?”

Floyd nodded. “He’s coming up for sentencing on Monday.”

“And you’re the judge.”

“I’m the judge,” he agreed. “I hand down a suspended sentence or Kenny dies.”

“And the ransom is just a bonus,” Starsky stated.

“More of a cover, so there’d be no obvious connection to the case and risk having me disqualified as judge.” He looked at Hutch. “Ken, you have to find Kenny before 10 a.m. tomorrow, or…” His voice trailed off.

“Or you compromise everything you’ve always stood for,” Hutch finished for him, knowing the decision Floyd would have to make—for Kenny.

Floyd sighed. “There’s no choice, you know.”

“I know.” Hutch squeezed his arm. “Now, let’s get those files, so we can start hunting.”

Floyd looked up beseechingly. “Don’t let anyone else know. If I’m disqualified, Kenny dies.”

Grimly Starsky and Hutch followed the defeated man upstairs to his den, where he silently handed over the Jennings file. Ignoring the question in Lila’s eyes, they thanked her for the coffee and left.

“How the hell’re we gonna investigate this guy without alerting anybody?” Starsky grumbled.

“We’ll run the names in here through R&I for starters. Let’s get back to Metro.”

* * * *

Walking into R&I as casually as he could, Starsky pulled the records himself, including Jennings’. Hutch watched from the counter as his partner breezed through the routine he’d established while working there during his long recovery. Starsky nodded cheerily to the people on duty, who seemed to accept his being there without question. With a sigh of relief, Hutch followed him back to the squadroom.

“They knew you, huh?”

“Yeah, thank God. Let’s get these finished and back again before the shift changes.”

They compiled a list of suspects’ addresses through cross-checking everybody mentioned in the records, read Jennings’ file thoroughly, and returned the lot, without arousing anybody’s interest.

Back at their desks they studied their notes. “D’you see a pattern here, Hutch?” Starsky pointed to several names on the list.

Hutch compared the records. “Yeah, I see what you mean. They’re all young, busted for possession, and they live near the Manchester Factory where they work.”

“Sounds promising. Let’s go see Hug before we start stirring anything up.” Starsky frowned.  “As close as these guys are, rousting one would alert all of them.”

They found Huggy at home, only half-awake, as he blinked in the noonday sunshine. “I hope you turned something,” he said hopelessly, staggering over to his couch with a deep yawn.

“I take it that means you haven’t.” Hutch felt glum.

Huggy sighed. “Not a word, except…” He looked up, more awake now. “Word is that Judge Brown ain’t the 100% pure saint everybody thinks he is.”

Hutch’s jaw tightened. ”What’s that supposed to mean, Hug?”

“Somebody’s mouthing off that he makes deals.” Huggy looked troubled.

“Hope it ain’t true.”

“It isn’t,” Hutch said firmly. “Show him the list, Starsk.”

Huggy looked over the names and frowned. “These are just small-fry. Nobody here important enough to engineer the snatch.”

Starsky’s face was grim. “We need a contact, Hug. Somebody we can question without scaring the kidnappers into something drastic.”

“Who’s been mouthing off about the judge?” Hutch asked. “Any connection to the plant?”

“Yeah. The guy’s name is Hennan Otis. He works at Manchester, too.” Huggy looked worried. “But if he knows about the judge, he’d be too close to the snatchers to bust, wouldn’t he?”

Starsky frowned thoughtfully. “So, we don’t bust him. Where does he hang out with his big mouth?”

“There’s a bar near the factory. It’s more country than soul, but most of the workers go there. The Overtime Inn.”

After getting a description of their man from Hug, the partners left. “Sounds like Floyd’s reputation will be shot for sure,” Hutch said wearily.

“They could prove coercion.”

“And maybe get a mistrial. Start all over with a new judge. Doesn’t matter, his integrity would be compromised. People would only remember he made a deal, not why.” Hutch pulled up by his place. “Guess we need some work clothes if we want to blend in with the crowd.”

* * * *

They changed shirts before driving to the Overtime. Hutch parked his heap with others of the same vintage on the street, and, slipping into character, the partners sauntered into the bar.

They were working on their second beer when the shift changed at the plant. Watching carefully for a curly redhead who always wore a black jacket with a green dragon embroidered on the back, they were rewarded at last. He came in laughing boisterously, and clapping his neighbors on the back. Nobody looked thrilled at his camaraderie.

Waiting until he took a booth with another friend, Starsky and Hutch began to play pool at the table nearest their quarry. Listening intently as they played, Hutch began to get fed up with the obnoxious man.

“Big plans! Big plans!” he kept boasting. “I’m really going places.”

One by one the companions found excuses to leave, until he had no audience left. As if backing up for a better shot, Hutch glanced at the man and smiled. The guy responded, apparently delighted to find new ears. Hutch took his shot, grinning victoriously as a ball dropped neatly into the far pocket.

“Did ya see that?” he crowed to Otis, as Starsky swore convincingly. Hutch moved around the table for his next shot, noticing his pigeon stand and watch.

He missed.

“Gotcha, blondie,” Starsky said smugly, ignoring the incensed glare Hutch gave him before turning to Otis for sympathy.

“Missed an easy one,” he complained.

“You’ll catch up,” Otis said sympathetically, watching Starsky drop the next three neatly. As he was lining up his next play, Otis coughed loudly. With no more than a flicker of a glance at Hutch, Starsky missed the shot, swearing at his opponent’s new ‘partner.’

Hutch finished up the game, then signaled the bartender. “Three beers on the loser here,” he said, indicating Starsky who, with a great show of reluctance, paid for them and brought them to the booth.

It didn’t take much small talk before Otis began boasting again. “Gonna quit that damned job and take off for Hawaii.”

“Sounds great.” Starsky seemed enthusiastic. “Maybe I should, too. When ya going?”

“Soon, real soon.” Otis chugged his beer and Hutch quickly bought him another one.

“Takes a lot of money,” he said, catching Starsky’s cue. “Yeah. You got that kind of bread?”

Otis grinned, looking boozey. “Will have after tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?”

Otis attempted to look crafty. “Oh, just a deal I’ve got going.”

“Yeah?” Hutch leaned closer. “Anything I could get in on?”

Otis frowned dolefully. “Sorry, blondie. No outsiders. You understand.” He downed his beer.

“Sure, that’s okay.” Hutch refilled Otis’ glass from his own. “Guess you know some big people, huh?”

“Yep,” Otis said, drinking up. “Big people. Doctors, lawyers…judges.” He smiled secretively.

Starsky ordered a pitcher of beer. When it came, he said, “Booze is okay, but sometimes I need something more, ya know?” He poured another glassful for Otis.

“Like what?” Otis asked, his face taking on the look of a salesman about to make a deal.

“Downers usually. I don’t sleep too good.”

“Not me,” Hutch said. “I’d rather get high.”

“Yeah?” Otis drank his beer and Starsky refilled his glass. “How high?”

Hutch sighed, hating this part of the charade. “High as anything I can get.” He felt Starsky’s silent sympathy, knowing his partner also remembered how hard it had been to bring him down from that kind of miserable “high.”

Otis drank another glass of beer and looked at Hutch as though sizing him up as a prospect. “Can you keep your mouth shut?”

Look who’s asking. “Like a clam. Why?”

“Maybe I c’n help ya.” Otis looked furtively around the room. “But not here.”

“Where?” Hutch whispered conspiratorially.

“My place.” Otis reached for the pitcher. “But le’s finish th’ beer first.”

Starsky gave Hutch a crooked smile over their mark’s head, as he reached for the pitcher. When the beer was gone Hutch offered, “Can we give you a ride home?”

“S’j us a coupla blocks. I walked.” Otis stood unsteadily. “Guess I could use a ride though.”

They drove him home, following his drunken directions, and helped him up the stairs to his apartment. Reflects his charm, Hutch thought, eyeing the pages from Hustler tacked all over the walls, mostly beaver shots.

Otis staggered over to the bed. “I’m fucked,” he muttered, and fell across it.

Hutch decided not to remind him of the promised uppers. Besides, Starsky had already found a rainbow of packets in a container he held up surreptitiously. A cookie jar, for chrissake! Hutch snorted. “No imagination.”

“You noticed.” Starsky put the cache back as Hutch stared at the slob on the bed, wondering what to do next. Maybe getting him drunk wasn’t such a good idea. They still had no idea whether he could lead them to Kenny.

“S’ m’larm,” Otis muttered, groping toward the edge of the bed.

“The light?” Hutch asked.

Otis frowned. “No, th’larm clock. Gotta r’lieve s’boda t’morra.”

“Relieve him?” Starsky helped Otis sit up. “Relieve him from what?” But the guy didn’t answer. His face was twisted with the exaggerated concentration of the very drunk as he carefully set the clock.

Nine, Hutch noticed, as the man set it back on the beer case that passed as a nightstand. Damn, that’s cutting it close.

“Relieve him from what?” Starsky asked again as Otis sank back on the bed.

“Guardin’ th’ kid,’ he mumbled, and passed out.

Hutch sighed, half in relief, half in frustration that now they had to wait until morning. “Stakeout time.”

“Yeah, babe.” Starsky took a quick look around. “Only other exit’s the fire escape, and it doesn’t look too safe.”

“So we watch the front.”

* * * *

Parked across the street between two wrecks, Hutch’s car blended into the surroundings. In the semi-darkness of the lone streetlight, Hutch stared morosely at the door Otis wouldn’t come out of for hours.

“Can’t leave, babe. They might call him earlier,” Starsky said sympathetically.

Hutch sighed. “It’s just that I’ve got this feeling Kenny is right around here someplace. Just around the corner.”

“Yeah, right near the Manchester Factory, but we don’t know which apartment, which house, or which street,” Starsky said matter-of-factly. “They aren’t gonna hang a sign in the window for us, y’know.”

“I know. I just want to be doing something.” His fist clenched and he pounded the seat in frustration.

“‘S okay. Otis’ll lead us to him.” Starsky reached over and covered his hand. “We’ve gotta wait, partner.”

Hutch relaxed a little. “It’s not too bad, with you here.” He looked at Starsky and smiled. The crooked grin he got in return was balm to his nerves, and he opened his hand, turning it.

“Sort of makes stakeouts different, huh?” Starsky’s eyes were full of mischief.

“How different do you intend to get?” Hutch asked wryly. After a moment, “They were always tolerable, though.”

“Comfortable. Like an old shoe.” Starsky was still teasing him.

“So what’s wrong with old shoes?” Hutch let his hand trail up his partner’s arm, feeling the fine hairs with sensitive fingertips, sensitive to the newness of touching him this way.

“Nothing. I hear they fit the best.” He slid his hand across the back of the seat and began massaging Hutch’s neck.

It felt good, nonsexual—friendly. Hutch leaned into the caressing fingers, feeling his nerves settle down again. He watched the house front as Starsky soothed away the tension of waiting. When he finished, Hutch smiled and turned to him. “Always have loved you.”

Starsky’s fingers ruffled Hutch’s hair, then he lay down on the seat, pillowing his head on Hutch’s thigh. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to turn you on. Just need a few Zs.”

Hutch’s smile turned into a grin as his hand moved over the thick curls. “Gee, too bad.”

“After we get Kenny.” Starsky yawned and settled himself.

“After.” Hutch continued to toy with the soft curls, aware that his partner was drifting off to sleep. Yeah, old shoes fit best.

Despite the massage, he was too keyed up to take his turn at a nap. So he let Starsky sleep on, just glad of his presence as he waited through the night and early morning hours. He looked down at the sleeping face and felt a surge of love spread through him. There was a current that he knew to be desire, too, but it was mostly the old, warm affection he’d always had for this man. His hand strayed down the broad shoulder and arm, then over to circle lazily, lovingly on his back. Starsky sighed in his sleep and snuggled closer without waking.

“It’ll work out, love.” Hutch continued the quiet petting as his eyes took in the sunlight peeping between the houses, outlining the one he was watching.

As if an inner alarm warned him that it was almost time, Starsky woke with a yawn, trying to stretch in the cramped front seat. Hutch felt the warm breath as Starsky kissed his belly through the shirt, then sat up, completing his stretching and scratching routine.

“You look like a grizzly coming out of hibernation.”

“Be glad I don’t smell like one,” Starsky said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Hungry?” Hutch asked, as Starsky’s belly growled.

“Yeah, but I can wait.” Starsky glanced at his watch. “Almost nine.”

The minutes ticked by. At last the door opened and Otis emerged, heading down the street—on foot.

“Hell, I knew it was close,” Hutch muttered.

“I’ll follow,” Starsky said, opening the door and slipping out, barely closing it as he started down the other side of the street, keeping cars and distance between him and his quarry.

Hutch waited until first Otis, then Starsky, had turned the corner before starting the car. As he rounded the corner he could see his partner ahead by about a block, but Otis was out of sight. Starsky signaled the direction he’d taken, and Hutch kept the car creeping well away from the pair. Just as he turned the next corner, Hutch saw Starsky waiting, and stopped the car so he could climb in.

“He’s in that house. Guess we’d better call for back-up.”

Hutch made the call as they watched a man leave the house and climb into a battered VW across the street. Hutch wrote down the number.

“We’ll get him later,” Starsky said, his attention already back on the house Otis had entered.

“C’mon,” Hutch said, unable to wait another minute. He left the car in a crouch, and headed for the house, hearing Starsky right behind him. Bypassing the door used by Otis and the other man, he worked around to the back of the house. A look into the window showed no one in the kitchen. Surreptitiously, he tried the door. Locked. The window was open a little, probably for ventilation. Hutch didn’t care why, he just slid it up carefully and slipped inside, barely avoiding a collision with the kitchen table. He moved over and unlocked the door for his partner just as he heard a sound behind him.

“What the hell—” Otis started before Hutch caught him across the solar plexus with a double-fisted chop. Otis doubled over and Hutch finished him with one to the neck. Starsky cuffed him quickly and they moved quietly toward the other rooms.

Hutch peered around a corner and saw Kenny, lying on the couch, hands tied in front of him. Across the room, looking out the window was a tall man wearing a pair of coveralls with “Manchester” embroidered across the back. Hutch moved up behind him as Starsky headed for the couch. Pulling his Python, Hutch shoved it into the Manchester man’s back. “Turn around slow, mister.”

The man froze, then obeyed just as another voice from the hall called out, “Drop it, cop.”

Hutch turned slightly, still keeping his man covered, but able to see another man in the doorway holding a shotgun on Kenny and Starsky, who’d been untying the kid. Damn. Slowly Hutch uncocked his revolver and brought it away from his prisoner, who made a grab for it. He never made it as a small whirlwind crashed into him, knocking him off balance.

“Get him, Uncle Hutch,” Kenny shouted, as Starsky leaped for the shotgun while the man holding it was distracted by the child’s lunge. It went off into the ceiling, and Starsky followed through with a left hook that put the man out. Hutch grabbed the man Kenny was still hanging onto, pulled him loose and threw him against the wall into frisk position, cuffing him just as a black-and-white pulled up in front.

“Take them in and book ’em,” Starsky said to the uniforms who charged in, guns drawn. “Kidnapping. We’ll be down later for interrogation. Right now, we’ve got to get this kid to court.”

Hutch had forgotten the deadline in the excitement. “How much time we got, Starsk?”

“It’s a quarter to ten, Hutch. Make that heap of yours fly.”

Hutch did as he was told, skidding to a stop in front of the courthouse. Starsky and Kenny dived out the door before he could turn off the engine, and he had to run to catch them half-way up the steps. Racing through the echoing halls, they found the right courtroom, Judge Brown’s voice sounding strained as he spoke.

“…have been found guilty as charged and it is my duty to pass sentence on you. Martin Jennings, by the authority vested in me I—”

“Daddy!” Kenny shouted, running down the aisle towards the bench.

“Kenny! You’re safe!” Relief transformed the judge’s face as he turned toward the steps Kenny was scrambling up and wrapped the boy in his arms, his robe hiding everything but the happy grin on his son’s upturned face. After a long hug, Judge Brown straightened, still holding Kenny tightly as he turned to the courtroom.

“Under the circumstances, I must disqualify myself from sentencing this man. Another judge will be appointed to pass sentence. Remove the prisoner.” Jennings scowled as the judge turned back to Kenny for another hug. “There will be a fifteen minute recess. Officers Starsky and Hutchinson, I want to see you in my chambers, if you please.”

Grinning, Hutch followed the judge and Kenny into the back office, Starsky right behind. They shut the door and waited while the relieved father hugged his son again, then turned to them.

“Does his mother know?”

“We didn’t have time, but the uniformed men oughta’ve notified Dobey by now,” Starsky told him.

“I’ve got to call her.” He moved toward the phone. “I don’t know how to thank you.” He shook his head. “Old words.”

“They do just fine,” Hutch said softly. “We’re just glad he’s okay, and that we got here in time.” Hutch’s eyes met and the judge’s and he felt the man’s relief and thanks for salvaging both his son and his integrity.

“We’ve still got some interrogating and reports to do,” Starsky said, edging toward the door.

“Yeah. Give Lila our love,” Hutch added and they left, feeling very good.

* * * *

Starsky pushed the steak bone away with a satiated sigh. “Now that’s what I call a celebration.”

Hutch felt pretty full himself, and began clearing the remnants of their feast from the table, leaning over to blow out the candles. Starsky stopped him.

“Let ’em burn. I like it.” He looked up at Hutch. “Sort of romantic,” he added with a grin.

Hutch snorted and continued clearing the table, aware that his partner was watching him thoughtfully. He finished up and returned to the table. “Okay, what’s on your so-called mind now?”

Starsky looked rueful. “I was just wondering what we do now.”

“TV? Book?”

“Bed?”

Hutch sat back and smiled. “If that’s what you want.”

“Don’t you?”

“I only meant there’s no hurry. Is there?”

Starsky patted his full stomach. “Well, we did say we’d wait until we found Kenny. Okay, we found him, those guys sang like birds, the really big dealer at Manchester is behind bars with Jennings, and the kidnapping charge makes dealing look like pattycake. So now we have time for us. Right?”

Hutch grinned. “Right.”

“So, like I said, what do we do now?”

“What do you want to do?”

“I dunno, what do you want to do?”

”What is this?” Hutch asked with a smirk, “a scene from Marty?”

Starsky chuckled. “Okay, so it’s up to me. And I’m feelin’ romantic.”

“Starsk, if you’re waiting for me to go all ga-ga and tell you how blue your eyes are, and how much I want to run my fingers through your hair, you’ll have a long wait.”

“You mean my body doesn’t drive you wild wit’ desire?”

“Now you ring in Cabaret.”

The crooked grin was infectious. “Zo, velcome zu Cabaret, mein Liebchen.”

“Your accent stinks,” Hutch said, but couldn’t keep from smiling as he stood and headed for the couch. “C’mon, Dummkopf.”

Starsky followed and settled down beside him, his arm along the back of the sofa, fingers toying with Hutch’s hair. It felt good. In fact, it felt perfect. Hutch reached over and rested his hand on Starsky’s thigh. Me and thee after all.

“What’s the silly smile for?” Starsky’s fingers were massaging now.

“Nothing. Just enjoying myself.” Hutch let his head roll with each stroke. “Comfortable. Like old shoes.”

“Yeah.”

Starsky leaned closer and Hutch could feel his breath before lips touched his cheek. “You trying to start something?” he asked, enjoying the tender moment.

“You objecting?”

“Nope. Just not sure I’m able to move yet.” But he could feel the contentment change slightly into a vague anticipation as he waited for the next touch. He tipped his head back, inviting it.

“Hutchinson, you’re an overconfident slob,” Starsky murmured as he ran a finger along the edge of his partner’s jaw, causing ripples in Hutch’s equilibrium. The light touch continued down his throat to the first button of his shirt, which Starsky’s hand opened, to rub his chest lightly.

Hutch sighed. “Y’like that?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Good.”

The gentle stroking continued for long, pleasant minutes until Hutch chuckled. “Guess we aren’t the most passionate pair of lovers in the world.”

“Lovers, huh?”

Hutch sobered. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Me, too.” Starsky stopped caressing and looked steadily at his partner. “Don’t sell us short, blondie. We’ve got a lot of exploring to do first, but the passion’s there.”

Hutch believed him, this comic-relief partner of his whose soul had long been entrusted to his safekeeping. Fair exchange. Starsky’s owned mine since… He couldn’t remember a time when Starsky hadn’t.

“Exploring, huh?” Hutch reached out to frame the familiar new face with gentle hands, then leaned forward to begin.