Deadly Diversion

196

Starsky and Hutch are assigned guard duty to an informant.

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PART ONE

It was a cold, overcast Monday morning—nothing much out of the ordinary for a winter day in Bay City, California. Detective David Starsky’s candy apple red Torino sat parked in its usual location outside Metro police station. Inside, its owner and his partner, Detective Kenneth Hutchinson, tried to work amidst a squadroom bustling with hyperactivity. Despite the chaos of officer comings and goings and constant interruption by assorted clerks reaching over their heads, nothing seemed to disturb the pair. The always ravenous Starsky was all set to chow down on one of his typical ‘roach coach’ selections, while his partner did double duty catching up on the balance of the previous day’s reports.

“You almost done with that?”

“Almost,” Hutch answered, invariably noticing what his partner was about to stuff into his mouth. “I’m almost afraid to ask. What is that?”

“Scrambled eggs, chorizo, peppers and salsa wrapped in a toasty warm tortilla. Want some?”

“No, no, way. I’m still having trouble believing you really eat that stuff first thing in the morning.”

“Aw, come on, Hutch, gimme me a break, willya?”

Hutch shrugged and mentally wrote his partner off as a lost cause. He got up and placed the finished reports in the out box at the end of the desk. He was on his way back to his chair, and Starsky was just about ready to bite into his breakfast, when Captain Dobey poked his head out of his office door.

“You two, come in here!” he barked.

Starsky looked at Hutch and Hutch looked back at Starsky. Dobey’s head quickly did a disappearing act back into his office.

“Oh, oh,” Starsky muttered.

“Yeah, what have you done now?”

Starsky got up and reluctantly left his breakfast behind, following his partner into their captain’s office. On their way in, it wasn’t lost on them that despite his blustery directive, Captain Dobey looked uncharacteristically calm.

“What’s up, Cap’n?” Hutch asked cautiously.

“Yeah, what’s shakin?” Starsky chimed in.

“Have a seat, you two.”

Still mystified, both men took up their customary seats. Dobey looked at the both of them, not speaking for a while.

“C’mon, Cap’ don’t keep us in suspense,” Starsky urged.

“You two ever hear of a mob informant named John Carlisle?”

“Nope, doesn’t ring a bell. How about you, Hutch?”

“It was all over this morning’s paper, Starsk. John Carlisle is testifying against Vincent Bartok, the leader of a mob organization suspected of operating an extensive extortion ring here in the States.”

Starsky patted his partner on the shoulder. “Got to love that Hutch, got a memory like an steel trap.”

“I’m glad at least one of you is up to speed,” Dobey remarked.

“Don’t hate me cause I’m beautiful, Cap’.”

Dobey, well used to Starsky’s foolishness by now, ignored the comment and handed a thick file folder across the desk. “You’ll find everything there is to know about Carlisle in there. The trial date is two weeks from this Thursday. As of today you two are on babysitting duty.” He leaned forward and his girth pressed against the edge of the desk. He raised and pointed a stubby finger at the two of them.

“Hutch, I know I can count on you—Starsky…”

“Don’t say it, Cap’n, I’m way ahead of ya.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him,” Hutch assured the captain.

“Look, I know you two have a love/hate relationship with the Feds, so I’m letting you know up front, this is their baby. The reason I’m assigning this to you is because I know you’re the best. But don’t forget, this is serious business, too. I’m putting my ass on the line, not to mention the department’s, so don’t make me regret it.”

Starsky stood up and gave him a mock salute. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

Dobey abruptly rose from his chair. “Starsky, now that’s exactly what I’m talking about!”

Hutch stood up and quickly ushered his partner out with a smile. “It’s okay Cap’n, don’t worry, we’ll keep you posted.”

“See that you do!”

When the door shut, the exasperated man sat down in his chair and wearily covered his eyes, then let go a frustrated groan that could be heard clearly outside his office, even amongst the din.

********

On the other side of town, another set of individuals were being briefed by their ‘superior officer,’ Roger Samuels, the editor-in-chief of Inside magazine. Samuels, a one-time enlisted man, posed an impressive figure. He held his conferences seated behind a huge mahogany desk, surrounded by expensive furnishings and lush hanging plants. Seated before him were a leggy female reporter named Maxine Garvey, and the assistant editor of the magazine, Alan Piper. Piper was a small, bespectacled fellow who liked to dress in tailored, three-piece suits. He was by all appearances the buttoned down, by the book type. But then, looks could be deceiving. He watched attentively while Samuels snipped the end off a cigar and held it unlit between his forefinger and thumb. He was now ready to respond to their presence.

“Good morning to you both.”

“Good morning, Mr. Samuels,” they answered simultaneously.

“I’m very pleased to have this opportunity to finally meet with you, Ms. Garvey.”

“Same here, sir,” she answered.

“I hear from Mr. Piper here that you’re the reporter responsible for the very impressive stories we’ve been putting out lately. I told him I wanted to meet you personally, instead of talking to you on the phone as we have in the past.”

“It’s a privilege to meet with you as well, sir.”

“The privilege is mine. I’ll have you know that it’s in no small part due to your previous efforts that I’m considering you for our next exposé.”

Garvey’s eyes glowed with excitement. She wanted to leap out of her chair, but didn’t dare do it. “Really?”

“Really. As you know the mission of our magazine is to offer our subscribers a look into the questionable activities of those involved in organized crime.” He took a sip from his coffee cup. “Naturally, this means that there are some pieces that have to be obtained under very stressful and sometimes unstable conditions. I can’t emphasize enough the importance of discretion and good judgment on your part.”

“I understand.”

Samuels rose and walked over to the slide projector. He hit the toggle button on the machine and turned it on. The motor spun and the fan whirred as it came to life. “Mr. Piper, lights please.”

Piper got up and flipped off the overhead light switch. Samuels pressed the clicker for the slide. As Piper returned to his seat and looked on the screen, the first images to appear were artist’s renderings. At first glance, Maxine concluded that the individual being depicted was obviously of the hardened sort. But upon a more detailed observation, she discerned the refined intelligence of a man who possibly appreciated art and fine wines. There was definitely something behind the eyes that hinted at a deepness beyond that of just a hired gun.

“These are artist’s renderings of Mr. John Carlisle, an information source close to the FBI. He’s being escorted into the U.S. tomorrow to testify against members of a criminal organization run by Vincent Bartok, a wealthy businessman with connections in Japan and the United States.”

Maxine’s brow furrowed. “Do you mind if I ask a question?

“By all means.”

“Why the court renderings and no photos?”

“Good question. The answer to that is, except for a few very close acquaintances and members of his former organization, no one has ever seen him to photograph him. Most of the people he comes in contact with aren’t around for very long. And unfortunately for us no cameras were allowed at previous trials.” The next slide came up and Samuels continued. “Because of this the police and the FBI have him very well guarded. We think our readers would like an insider’s account of Carlisle’s treatment en route, during and after the trial.”

The machine noisily advanced from a dark screen to the next slide. The next pictures were actual photos and not artist renderings as before. What stared back at the three of them were two very intimidating looking Anglo and four Asian men, all wearing business suits and permanent scowls hidden behind very dark sunglasses.

“These are some of the members of Bartok’s organization who are going to try to assassinate Carlisle before he can testify. They’ll be looking for any opportunity to try and get to him. The FBI and the police will also be watching anyone who tries to get near him.”

Samuels shut off the projector, and walked over to her. “You need to tell me now. Do you think you can handle this assignment?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Yes sir, I can.”

“Good, that’s what I wanted to hear.” Samuels shook her hand heartily and turned his attention to Piper. “Mr. Piper, please see to it that Ms. Garvey is provided with all the effects she needs.” He turned to her once more. “Ms. Garvey, don’t hesitate to contact us should you need assistance.”

Mr. Piper, quiet for most of the briefing, nodded proudly and smiled at his protégé.

“Thank you sir,” she said, smiling back at the two of them.

********

By mid-day the heat from the afternoon sun had somewhat dissipated the dewy haze of the morning. Starsky expertly maneuvered his bright red Torino through the crowded downtown traffic like an experienced racecar driver. As he and his partner wound their way toward the hotel where Carlisle was being sequestered, Hutch busily immersed himself in the file on the elusive John Carlisle.

“Man, this guy’s got a list of priors longer than my arm. No wonder the Feds are so protective of him.”

“Like what, for instance?”

Hutch flipped through the file. “Oh, just a little assault and battery, arson, armed robbery…and that’s just here in the States.”

“Oh, terrific.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

“Those Feds are gonna be breathin’ down our necks the whole time. Any ideas yet how we’re gonna do this?”

“We do what we’re supposed to do. Keep our eyes and ears open and keep him alive.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

Starsky pulled up to the curb in front of the hotel and parked. Both men got out and flashed their badges, strolling up to the entrance and right into the lobby with no problem. Starsky brought up the rear while Hutch approached the desk clerk. He looked up at them and waited until one of them spoke.

Hutch flashed his badge again. “I’m Detective Hutchinson, and this is Detective Starsky, we’re here to…”

The clerk cut him off with a bored, “Follow me,” then stepped from behind the counter.

Hutch stole a look at Starsky, who was likewise mystified by the clerk’s behavior. They soon found themselves following him as he led them up to the Penthouse level of the hotel. On that floor, four plain-clothed Federal agents were gathered outside the door of one suite. As the two men came forward with the clerk, two agents, both with rather obvious high differences, cut them off.

“You guys are on your own,” the clerk told them, then disappeared from sight.

The two partners shrugged and moved towards the guarded door.

“Hold it right there. Identify yourselves,” the taller of the two agents directed.

“Detective Hutchinson.” Hutch flashed his badge and smiled, politely offering his hand to the tall agent for him to shake. It was flatly ignored.

“Detective Starsky here.” Starsky was serious as he flashed his badge, and after witnessing his partner’s gaffe, he didn’t bother offering his hand.

“You two must be the guys BCPD assigned to help escort our pigeon to his destination,” the shorter agent deduced.

Hutch nodded. The short agent knocked on the door.

A voice answered the knock. “Identify yourself.”

“Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson are here. Requesting entry.”

The door was unlocked and the shorter man stood aside to allow the two partners in. Starsky went in first, but in a gentlemanly manner stopped beside the door long enough to let his partner in ahead of him.

“After you, Blondie.”

Hutch walked in, wagging his finger at his partner and looking just a little embarrassed. “Cool it, Starsky.”

Once inside the room, a very large, very intimidating guard stood just inside the doorway. Both men jumped as he closed the door menacingly and secured it behind them.

Starsky looked up at the intimidating fellow. He gulped and smiled at him. “Hey, how ya doin’?”

There was no response. He pointed a large finger in the direction they should go and motioned for them to move forward.

“Tough room,” Hutch responded under his breath.

“Must be the tall, silent type.”

The detectives were led through a maze of hallways, one of which went past a balcony where three other agents seemed to be on a break. They continued on through a labyrinth of unguarded doors, until they were finally told to stop at one that opened into a guestroom. The burly agent escorting them stopped short of the door.

“Wait here,” he ordered, and then left.

“This is gettin’ kinda strange,” Starsky remarked.

“No kidding.”

“So where do you think Mr. Popular is?”

Just as Hutch was about to answer, a disembodied voice issued forth from a dark corner of the room.

“Gentlemen.”

Hutch turned around to try and see where the voice was coming from. Starsky strategically adjusted his position for a better view. When the dark figure came into the light, Starsky could have sworn he was looking at a character from out of one of those Christopher Lee horror flicks.

“Better watch your neck,” Starsky whispered to Hutch.

“Quiet, Starsk.”

Then the man of mystery came out from the shadows; he was dressed in an expensive bathrobe and slippers. He walked over to them and graciously shook their hands.

“Please, sit down, won’t you?”

The partners looked around for some familiar place to sit, but seeing nothing closely resembling that, they reluctantly took seats on the only objects available, two very stiff throw pillows. Starsky managed to sit down on his without spilling over, but Hutch, being the taller of the two men found the task a little more difficult to achieve. Obviously, this was some depraved interior designer’s attempt at humor, he thought. Finally, with time and a little embarrassment, he was able to remain stationary.

“May I offer you gentlemen a beverage?”

“Whatcha got?” Starsky asked.

“Starsky,” Hutch chided him.

“Right, we never drink on duty,” he answered sarcastically.

“I’d like you two to try something I brought back from my last trip to Japan.”

“Really, we can’t.”

Carlisle ignored Hutch’s demurrals and went over to a table where an ornate teapot with several small teacups sat on a small tray. He brought the tray over to where the two men were sitting and poured three cups of tea. He handed one cup to Starsky.

Starsky leaned toward his partner as he took it. “Whaddya think this is?” Starsky whispered.

Hutch took his cup from Carlisle. “Sake, Starsk. It’s a traditional Japanese rice wine.”

“Oh.”

Carlisle took a seat on the floor in front of them. He held the cup up and away from him and prepared to take a sip.

“Kanpai, gentlemen.”

“Kanpai.” Hutch followed his lead.

Starsky imitated Hutch. “Kanpai.”

“Drink, drink up,” Carlisle urged.

Hutch held the cup in both hands and sipped the tea slowly. Starsky followed suit, except he drank his down in one gulp. Carlisle set his cup down on the tray and waited for both of them to finish before he questioned them. Hutch put down his cup and set it on the tray as well.

“You’re the policemen who are going to be escorting me to the trial, am I right?”

“Right. Starsky and I will be your decoys in route to the courthouse, right, Starsk?” Hutch replied. “Right, Starsky?” he repeated.

When he didn’t get an answer right away, he turned to his partner and saw that Starsky looked a little strange. Maybe even a light-headed probably due to strength of the sake. He placed a steadying hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Hey, you all right?”

“What?”

“You okay, partner?”

Starsky shook himself free of the lightheaded feeling. “Whoo, yeah.”

“You’ll have to forgive my partner, you’d think he’d never had sake before.”

“Well, it is pretty strong, especially on an empty stomach. He’ll be all right though. So, have you worked out a plan?” Carlisle inquired.

“According to our captain, the FBI has arranged at least two separate routes leading to the courthouse. At least one of those that we’re aware of, will be a red herring. Starsky and I will be there to make sure you get where you’re going in one piece,” Hutch replied.

“When this is over, I guess I’ll owe you two big time.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, gotta get you to the courtroom first,” Starsky managed to reply.

********

Maxine Garvey was up early Tuesday morning, preparing herself for the possibility of a productive day. Several pairs of shoes, undergarments, wigs, sunglasses, and a dingy, weathered old coat lay on the daybed in the living room. She was going over in her head the strategy she would use to approach her subject, John Carlisle, when the phone rang. She rushed over to pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Max, it’s Allan.”

“Good morning, Allan. What’s goin’ on?”

She pulled the phone cord around the coffee table with her to sit down.

“Just checking in to see if you needed anything. How’s the apartment?”

“It’s very nice as usual, Allan. I’ve already thought up some ideas on how to get in. Why don’t you tell me what I’m up against?”

“It’s like Samuels said, the police, the Feds and Bartok’s inner circle. The most important thing is, whatever you do, they can’t know that you’re a reporter and you can’t help law enforcement in any way, the whole operation must run without interference.”

“I’m hip to that. I’ll be a fly on the wall, baby. Don’t you worry.” She consulted her watch. “Look, I’ve got to go, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Good luck.”

“I don’t need luck, Allan. But thanks anyway.”

She hung up the phone and she walked over to the hallway closet, pulled out a huge garment bag and stuffed the clothes and the coat into it, zipped it up and flung it over a chair. She took the shoes and several other small articles and put them into a light travel bag. She disappeared into the bathroom and a few seconds later came out looking completely put together, grabbed both bags and took them out the front door with her, mindful to lock it on her way out.

A white convertible Mustang sat outside her apartment. When everything was loaded into the back seat, Garvey slid in, put on her sunglasses and turned the key in the ignition. When the motor sprung to life, she put the car into gear, smiled a satisfied smile and sped off.

Twenty minutes later Garvey pulled the Mustang to a stop in front of the garage of a craftsman style duplex. She opened the glove compartment and pulled out a remote control, signaling the garage door to open. It all seemed very routine, as if she’d done it all before. She pulled the car inside, the interior lights coming on automatically as the door closed.

********

Hutch stood before one of the large picture windows in the penthouse staring out at the magnificent view it offered, the cleft in his brow clearly furrowed. Starsky kept carefully quiet, after working together all this time, it was second nature for him to know when his golden-haired partner needed time to mull things over.

“Okay, that’s long enough. What’s goin’ on in that blond noggin of yours?” Starsky prompted.

“I’m thinking about how we’re going to get Carlisle out of here without getting him or ourselves killed.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing. The crazy thing is, we don’t even know who we’re dealing with.”

Carlisle came into the room quietly, hidden in shadow.

“Never fear, gentlemen. I‘m well acquainted with my former employer’s habits. I’ll tell you all I know,” Carlisle said, his voice again seeming to come from out of nowhere.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Starsky said.

Carlisle moved into the sunlight. “I’m sorry. We have a lot to talk about. Won’t the two of you please sit down?”

Hutch looked down at the pillows, making a slightly sour face. “Ah, I’ll stand if you don’t mind.”

Starsky, having had no trouble the first time around, grinned cockily and propped himself up on the throw pillow across from Carlisle. While his partner leaned against a nearby wall.

“What can you tell us about Bartok?”

“Well, I know that he’s a very patient man. He’s waited a long time to get to me. I don’t think he’s going to let a little obstacle like the FBI or two undercover cops get in his way, if you know what I mean.”

Hutch folded his arms across his chest. “Do you have any idea how this guy works? What his M.O. is?”

“Judging from what I’ve seen in the past, his men don’t act without being led. They usually wait for the other side to make a tactical error. That’s when they make their move.”

“Well, if they’re gonna be poppin’ up from outta nowhere like you do, I’m tellin’ ya right now, we’re in for a lot of trouble.”

“I’m curious. What happened, what made you turn informer?” Hutch asked.

“Some might call it an attack of conscience, I call it an epiphany. After being his right hand man for the last fifteen years, I came to the realization that Bartok’s existence depends upon having someone as his enforcer, his muscle. That was his power. It meant that I was a device that fed the machine, and once I was gone, he would just promote someone else to take my place. In essence, it meant that I was expendable. And that’s not how I wanted to exist for the next fifteen years.”

“So you’d make good on his threats using intimidation and elimination,” Hutch guessed.

“For starters.”

“The main thing is, how are we gonna know when they get here?” Starsky queried.

“You won’t.”

“Well, the trial’s two o’clock next Thursday, we’d better think of something quick before they get here,” Hutch said.

********

On Wednesday, at about mid-morning, several men got off a private plane landing at Bay City airport. On close examination, they vaguely resembled the men on the slides shown to Garvey and Piper at Exposé magazine. There were at least twelve men, each of differing shapes and races, with an even combination of Caucasians and Asians. All of them were dressed stylishly, their eyes concealed behind sunglasses. No one spoke; gestures seemed to be enough to communicate with one another. A finger movement and waiting baggage clerks quickly whisked their accompanying luggage away, loading them into four waiting limousines.

In the center of this entourage was an elderly gentleman guarded by two security men, both tattooed and tough looking. They walked beside him with their hands held in close proximity to their weapons. Thus making it apparent to any would-be aggressor that crossing them was done at their own peril. The men divided themselves among the four cars and the chauffeur of the lead car pulled off while the rest followed close behind.

Bartok leaned his back into expensive leather upholstery and pulled a cigar from its holder, in an instant a lighter appeared.

“Where are they holding him?” Bartok asked, puffing on the now lit cigar.

His lead man, Crandall Grimes, sat beside him.

“The Imperial Hotel downtown. He’s heavily guarded.” Grimes put the lighter back into his jacket pocket.

“Federal agents and police, I presume.”

“Yes.”

Bartok’s eyes found his number two man, Franklin Manville. Again, no verbal directives were necessary, just a simple nod and the man instantly knew what to do.

Manville picked up the limo phone, dialed a number, said, “We’re on our way,” into the receiver and then hung up.

Grime’s continued. “Our reservations are at the Miyako hotel, which is within walking distance of the hotel where Carlisle is being secured. The rest of the men are positioned and ready to proceed on your order, sir.”

“That’s fine,” Bartok answered. When Grimes rose to leave, Bartok reached out and grabbed the man’s arm with such force he thought he might have broken it. Such was the ferocity of his well-harnessed anger. “Crandall, I want you to tell your men to use caution, but above all…”

“Yes sir?” Grimes winced.

“Tell them that failure is not an option.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bartok released Grimes’s arm then, freeing him to return to the seat opposite his. Bartok closed his eyes and took a long, slow drag off his cigar and then laughed, a long, hearty, wicked sounding laugh. Manville looked at Grimes, expecting him to be grimacing in pain from the near bone crushing assault. Instead, Grimes was holding his bruised arm and smiling.

********

In the Imperial hotel, just a few feet away from Carlisle’s heavily guarded room, the doors to the elevator slid open, a cleaning cart was pushed out of the elevator and onto the carpeted corridor. The agents on the outside, sluggish after a huge meal, were slow to detect the heavyset black cleaning lady who strolled in, her face partially obscured by long, graying hair.

The woman began to softly hum as she unlocked the door to the cleaning closet. She pulled out some cleaning supplies and other items and put them down on the cart, closing and locking the supply door. After she’d finished loading her cart, she continued pushing it down the hallway, still humming softly to herself.

********

Inside Carlisle’s suite, Starsky paced back and forth like a caged animal. While his cool and collected blond partner Hutch, played solitaire on the coffee table in the living room, far away from those damned throw pillows.

“Hey, Hutch, I’m going stir crazy. Can’t we go out or somethin’?”

“Why don’t you just go out on the balcony and get some air?”

“We’re twenty-two flights up, dummy. You know I hate heights.”

“So, don’t look down.”

Problem solved, Hutch continued with his game, while Starsky apprehensively wandered out onto the balcony, staying well away from the railing.

********

The cleaning woman continued to roll the cart down the long corridor, triggering one of the wheels to squeak loudly, bringing her presence to the attention of the taller of the two agents. He looked up and then roughly shoved his partner.

“Hey, what are you doing up here?!” he yelled.

Before she could answer him, both men were out of their chairs and racing the two feet where she stood, knocking over the cart and tackling her to the floor in the process.

“Aah, aah! What I do? Ya crazy, let me up”!

The two agents were still on the floor holding down the woman’s legs and were trying to secure her arms behind her when the commotion brought Starsky and his partner out of the suite to see what was going on. In seconds, they had blown past the guard, flinging the door open with their guns drawn. Upon seeing the two agents and the harmless trespasser they had captured, they lowered their weapons and returned them to their holsters.

Hutch shook his head. “What’s going on out here?”

“What’s it look like?” asked the tall agent sarcastically. The woman was still struggling under his grasp.

“Looks to me like they sacked the cleaning lady,” Starsky remarked.

“C’mon fellas. She looks harmless enough. Let her up,” Hutch suggested.

The two agents reluctantly released the woman. “She’s not even supposed to be up here, this is a restricted floor.” The shorter agent stated matter of factly.

Hutch knelt down next to her. The woman was wringing her hands nervously, obviously distressed by the whole situation. He tried to calm her, supporting her back as she got to a sitting position against the wall. Starsky knelt on her right, while the two agents kept a watchful and suspicious eye on all three of them.

“Calm down, all right?” Hutch instructed the agents, and then turned to the woman. “Are you okay?

“You’ll have to forgive these two. They really love their jobs,” Starsky informed her.

When she spoke, her words were a confusing jumble of West Indian patois. “Everting irie. They jes a-scared I witless is all! Lord all mighty, I never see such a ting.”

Strangely, the blond seemed to grasp all this. “They got just a little overzealous, ma’am. Come on, let us help you up,” Hutch offered.

Hutch took hold of the woman by her right shoulder and elbow while Starsky grabbed her on the opposite side. With their assistance she was able to get her to her feet. Of course, her first thought was to immediately try and right the heavy cart.

Starsky restrained her. “Hey, hey, hey! Let those two get that!”

“Go ahead guys, it’s the least you could do.” Hutch insisted.

The two agents halfheartedly righted the cart and picked up each and every spray bottle and cleaning rag from its resting place on the floor, and then put them back on the cart.

“There you go, ma’am,”the taller agent said, pushing it over to her.

“Now say you’re sorry, like good little boys,” Starsky insisted.

“We’re sorry—ma’am,” the agents responded begrudgingly.

The woman nodded at them and straightened out her uniform, then smiled at Hutch, who smiled back. Then she did something very strange, she took his chin in her hand and looked into his eyes.

“You are good man. I can see dis clear. So no worry, I mean to cause no trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all, ma’am,” Hutch answered, blushing a little.

Starsky knotted his brow. “Yeah, we’re here to help. Hey, ya mind if I ask you somethin’ though?”

“I will answer, if I am able.”

“How did you get up here?”

The housekeeper gave him a big sheepish grin. “It no magic, if that what you be thinkin’. I come up di wrong floor, dat all it be, no big ting.”

“Oh.”

And with that, the woman pushed her cart towards the elevator, summoned it, and departed just as curiously as she’d arrived, leaving the four men standing scratching their heads, literally and figuratively.

“How about that?” Hutch asked his partner.

“Mighty strange if you ask me.”

Excitement over, the two partners walked back to the penthouse door and knocked on it to be let back in. No response.

“Hey, Bruno, open up!” Starsky yelled.

“What’s the password?” The agent responded through the door, obviously finding this situation humorous.

“What password? Do you remember a password, Starsk?” Hutch asked.

“Nope.”

“Hey, Bruno, would you let us in please?” Hutch requested.

Then Starsky got an idea. “Hey Bruno, open up, I got somethin’ for ya.”

Curiosity peaked, the door opened and the agent looked out. “Like what?”

“This!” Starsky reared back and sucker punched him in the nose.

“OW!” howled the burly agent.

“Starsky!” Hutch yelled.

Starsky walked right past the big man without looking at him. “That’ll teach ya to play games with the hired help.”

“Nice, Starsk. Piss off the big guy with the gun,” Hutch remarked as he walked past the guard. Bruno was now leaning with his back against the door, gingerly examining his nose.

“What, it worked didn’t it?”

“I think you broke it!” Bruno grumbled.

Hutch rolled his eyes at his partner and put his hand on Bruno’s shoulder. “You’ll be okay. Why don’t you see if you can find some ice for that?”

The big man followed the blond’s instructions, holding his bruised proboscis all the way into the kitchen. Hutch patted him on his back as he walked past them.

“Let’s see what Carlisle’s up to.”

“Lead the way,” Starsky replied.

Both men set off towards the backroom to find Carlisle. When they stepped into his room, it caught them off guard to find him sitting on his bed meditating. They stopped in their tracks. Hutch cautiously approached him. “Mr. Carlisle? Ah…Mr. Carlisle? We’d like to go over the preliminary route with you once more so you know what’s going on Thursday…”

Carlisle didn’t respond. He remained in a deep meditative state, legs crossed beneath him.

“Mr. Carlisle? Did you hear me?”

He emerged from his trance. “I heard you.”

“Good. We’d like to go over the itinerary with you again.”

Carlisle peeled his legs from underneath him and extended them until his toes touched the floor. He got off the bed, patting his stomach as all three walked out to the kitchen and sat at the table.

“Before we do this, gentlemen, I’ve heard so many stories about the coffee and donuts popular with you policemen out here. Does either of you know where could we get some? I am famished.”

“Coffee shop downstairs…” Starsky replied, and then looked hopefully at his partner.

“You know the Feds won’t go for that,” Hutch reminded him. “We can’t even order room service.”

“Yeah, I know, I know. Possibility of a security breach.”

“Come now, you guys look like some pretty smart cookies. I know you can figure out a way to get something up here.”

“A man after my own stomach,” said Starsky.

“Starsky! We can’t take him out of this room, let alone past the guards outside.”

Starsky gave his partner one of his patented, ‘that’s what you think’ faces and then ushered Carlisle back toward his room. “I don’t know about you, but my stomach’s doin’ flip-flops and somersaults over here. If I don’t get at least a donut and a cup of coffee, my brain’s gonna be toast.”

“Oh, and that be a major departure from the norm for you, wouldn’t it?”

“Ha, ha. Very funny.”

Carlisle stood in the doorway. “I don’t think anyone ever said that you and Mr. Hutchinson couldn’t go down for something, now did they?”

Hutch thought about that a minute, then he realized Carlisle was right, no one had. He followed Starsky out of the room, and then yelled back at Carlisle. “I’ll have Starsky bring you back a bear claw!”

“Good!” Carlisle yelled back. “I take my coffee black, no sugar!”

********

The hotel’s coffee shop was accessible from the lobby and the elevator let the two partners off at ground level. During the ride down, Starsky went on and on about the white lie he’d told the two agents to get them out of the suite, and Hutch was still rollicking with laughter. When they entered the restaurant they made an extra effort to compose themselves, but to no avail. They were so glad to be out of that room for five minutes that they even failed to notice the small legion of black limousines parked in front of the hotel across the street.

Hutch went over to the waitress standing behind the counter. “E…excuse me, miss? Ah…could I get three coffees please, two black, no sugar.”

“No problem,” she answered.

“Make one of those coffees to go. And two bear claws, please,” Starsky added.

The waitress didn’t take long to fill their order and the two of them remained at the counter to enjoy their brief respite.

Outside, the limousine occupants filed out and made their way into the lobby of the Miyako. Bartok was the last to get out of the vehicle, and just as he was heading for the entrance, a filthy looking, toothless old bag lady carrying several mesh bags teeming her belongings came from out of nowhere. She walked into his path and held out her hand.

“Help an old lady? A dollar…some spare change?”

Bartok’s men were quick to act and seized her as she approached him. Too quick. Bartok stopped them.

“It’s all right, gentlemen. Those of you who have only been with me a short time will soon learn. Although some consider me cruel and heartless, I do have one caveat. I do not allow insensitivity or indifference when dealing with those less fortunate than ourselves. Release her, and as restitution for your ignorance, I would have you dig deeply into your pockets.”

The men didn’t question the order they were given; they simply pulled out several bills from their pockets and handed them to the woman, which she graciously accepted.

Her face lit up with happiness as she shook the hands of both men. “Thank…you…I’m gonna eat now…I’m gonna eat real good.”

Bartok was then led inside the hotel, leaving the bag woman to shuffle off across the street and into the very same coffee shop where Starsky and Hutch were finishing their coffee and donuts. The bag lady came in, and the putrid smell of something rotten wafted in with the mesh bags she carried. As she trudged up to the counter, she placed the bags on top. Starsky made a visible face.

“Aw, man-come on. Give a guy a break, willya lady?”

The waitress made a face also. “Hey! Hey! You can’t put that stuff there.”

The bag lady didn’t seem the least bit concerned. “I just want me some coffee and…and a piece of that there pie over there…that’s all. I got money.”

By now the waitress and the two partners were discreetly holding their noses.

“Ma’am, ma’am… Could you at least take those bags off the counter?” Hutch asked.

“Okay, okay, okay…” she agreed.

The woman removed the bags but relocating them only seemed to worsen the strength of the odor. Starsky picked up the bear claw and moved from his seat.

“Whew, man, let’s go back up, okay?” he whispered.

“I’m with you.”

Starsky was the first one to dart into the waiting elevator, with Hutch a close second. Just before the doors closed, they looked out and saw the bag lady smiling and waving at them, while the waitress, still grimacing, prepared her order.

Content now, the woman took her bags over to a far corner of the shop. She returned to the counter for the coffee and the pie and brought them with her to a table. She sat down and eagerly devoured a large forkful of the pie. Just as she was about to sip her coffee, her eyes caught sight of whatever was going down in front of the hotel across the street.

Bartok’s men were up to something all right, and while there was no sign of Bartok, several of them were filing out of the building and crossing the street to the main lobby of the Imperial. She watched with interest as they entered and disappeared from sight. She got up then, leaving the unfinished food and her bags behind.

The waitress shouted after her. “Hey lady, you can’t leave that stuff here!

The waitress’s admonishment went unheeded, for the activities of the visitors outside had distracted the woman’s attention. She exited the coffee shop and entered the Imperial through a side door. Watching the men closely, but guardedly, she employed a large potted plant in the lobby as cover to watch them as they approached the desk clerk.

The clerk looked up. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

Grimes stepped up, his face as devoid of emotion as a brick wall. “We need access to the penthouse floor.”

The clerk looked up, fully aware the area was off limits. “I’m sorry, sir, but the penthouse floor has been reserved until next Friday morning.”

The clerk’s trembling hand reached under the desk, fumbling for the alarm trip button. As he searched, one of Grimes’s men came at him from behind and cold cocked him with the butt of his gun, the clerk’s body slumped to the floor and Grimes stepped over it when he came around the desk. His sole purpose appeared to be gaining access to the contents of the clerk’s desk drawer. Upon discovering a concealed section inside, he pulled out what he was looking for, a duplicate log. He flipped through it single-mindedly and a self-satisfied look came upon his face when he found what he was looking for.

Grimes kneeled down and whispered into the unconscious clerk’s ear. “It appears the penthouse is no longer reserved.” He dropped the logbook on the floor and stepped out from behind the counter. “All right, he’s in Penthouse B, twenty-second floor. Let’s go.” He led the way toward the elevators.

As they crossed to the elevator, an unknown photographer caught their movements in a quick series of freeze frame images.

The bag lady hastily tucked an object into the pocket of her dingy coat and hurried out of the hotel and over to a nearby telephone booth. Digging into deep pockets again, she found what she was looking for, a dime. She slipped it into the slot and dialed anxiously.

“Hello, Allan?”

“Yes, this is Allan. Maxine?”

She turned and closed the telephone booth door. “Yes, it’s me. I think I’ve got something.” She removed two blackened caps from her teeth.

“What? Are you okay?”

She hunched closer to the phone as if fearing someone would hear her. “They’re here, Allan. I got pictures.”

“Good, good. Have you seen Carlisle yet?”

“No, not yet. He’s up in the penthouse. But I know who the good guys are, and I know who the bad guys are. And that’s half the battle. You were right, getting close to him is not going to be easy.”

“Never said it would be. What’s your next move?”

“I’m going back to the apartment. I must change into something more appropriate. I’ve got to get a job.”

“A job?”

“Trust me, Allan, it’ll be a gas. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay. Let me know what happens.”

Maxine hung up the phone, hunching her body over to once again to become the old woman. Bagless, she inconspicuously shuffled off in the direction of the craftsman house.

********

It was early Thursday evening and in a reserved portion of the Miyako hotel dining room, a huge meal had been served and subsequently cleared away. Grimes’s men had eaten heartily and they stood around the room fidgeting with nervous energy, ready for some kind of activity to burn off the meal. Crandall Grimes, a toothpick resting in his teeth, leaned over to exchange a few words with Bartok.

“Sir, the men are restless and I daresay stuffed like pigs, would you grant your permission allowing them access to the bar downstairs?”

“Hmm. They’ve had a long flight and a difficult assignment ahead of them. I see no reason why you and your men shouldn’t be able to enjoy a bit of entertainment in the meantime. Tell them to keep to themselves and not to overdo it. Oh, Grimes, do remember…”

“Yes, sir?

“You’re in charge down there. Don’t let things get of hand.”

“I won’t. Thank you sir.” He bowed to Bartok, and then turned to his men.

“You heard him. Downstairs.”

The men readily followed him down the carpeted stairs and into the lobby. As they approached the hotel’s bar, Grimes opened the door, and the loud thump of a dance song blared into the hallway. As they piled into the room, and the solid oak door shut behind them, there was absolute silence.

“Remember, behave yourselves and don’t overdo it. I’ll keep an eye on things out here,” Grimes notified them.

Despite the warning, in minutes the orderly gathering became a free for all, as some of the men went to the bar for drinks and others went to the club section to watch the entertainment. Hours passed while the men threw caution to the wind and overdid the drinking. Grimes, who was now watching the dancers himself, became so engrossed in their captivating beauty that he no longer paid attention to his men.

When the second set ended, an announcer came on stage and approached the microphone. “Gentlemen, I want to thank you for coming and welcome you all to the Club Miyako. Right now on our stage, I’d like to introduce you to two of our newest dancers, will you please welcome…Cleo and Renee!!!

The announcer left the stage and much applause ensued as dance music began to play and two very striking women, one black; the other Asian, came onstage and started their routine. They wore scanty costumes accompanied by fishnet stockings and high heels. Their routine was not professional, but for a roomful of drunken men, it proved very entertaining.

When their set ended, the men got loud and rowdy again, clapping and yelling for more. Maxine smiled as she went offstage. It confirmed in her mind that even though these men were trained killers, they were still men and therefore predictable.

Grimes, now aware of the complexity of the situation and realizing the possibility that he wouldn’t be able to control his men in their agitated states, walked through the crowd and over to the bartender. His manner was agitated, but calm.

“I need to see your boss. Right now.”

The bartender sensed that the man meant business. “No problem, I’ll go get him.” He walked into a back room and returned shortly with another man. He was a short, rumpled character with a badly trimmed mustache and a scraggly beard. By the look on his face it was evident he was used to having money thrown at him on a regular basis.

“I’m the owner, Ed Fleischmann. Sam here said you wanted to see me.”

“Mr. Fleischmann, I need to get my men out of here. I know of only one way. I want to make you an offer.”

The man looked faintly interested. “What have you got in mind?” He backed off noticeably. “My girls don’t do those kind of favors, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“That’s not it at all, my friend. I want to hire your dancers…just for tonight.”

“My dancers? If I do that who’s going to entertain the rest of my customers?”

Grimes pulled out a thick wallet and pulled out several bills of high denomination. “Here, this should take care of any inconvenience.” The man’s eyes widen noticeably at the sight of the cash.

“Which of the girls would you like to hire?” he offered eagerly.

Grimes glanced at the stage where Cleo Garvey, Renee Chao and another dancer, Geri Hawkins, were getting ready to go back onstage. “Those three over there will do fine. Have them come up to the Mr. Bartok’s penthouse immediately. They’ll be paid handsomely for their trouble.”

Fleischmann nodded and Grimes left the bar area then walked out to the middle of the club floor. Despite his men’s unruly conduct he had only to snap his fingers to get their attention. They follow him out of the club and back up to the penthouse without a word.

********

When the last set ended, Fleischmann walked over to the dancers as they went backstage to get dressed to go home. He stopped all three women as they were heading out of their dressing room door.

His greeting was syrupy sweet. “Hello, ladies, how are you?”

Renee blanched. “We’re fine, Fleischmann. What’s up? You’re not one for shooting the breeze.”

“I got a another job for you.”

“Another job? Come on, Fleischmann, we got homes to go to,” Renee responded.

“Yeah, it’s 10:30, our shifts over,” Cleo reminded him.

“C’mon, it’s an easy gig. You’ll get your base pay, plus, there’s a generous bonus in it for all three of you.”

Renee’s mercenary feelers were up. “How much?”

Fleischmann smiled, he knew he had her. “There’s a thousand for each of you for a night’s work.”

The girls were stunned by the amount, and they gathered around him like bees to honey.

“A thousand? What do we have to do? Something nasty I’ll bet,” Renee said.

“Not at all.” he assured them. “All they want you to do is dance, just like you do every night.”

“Just dance, huh?” Renee questioned.

“Yeah, just dancing,” Fleischmann said, stroking his beard lasciviously as he eyeballed Renee. “That is unless you’d like to join me in the backroom instead.”

“No thanks, Fleischy, I’d just as soon take my chances with the wolves upstairs. Come on, ladies,” Renee declared.

“So you’ll do it?” He inquired, smiling.

“Why not? What’s the room number?” Renee answered.

Fleischmann pulled out a pen from his inside jacket pocket and wrote down the room number on a slip of paper then handed it Renee. He watched her as she tucked it into the cleavage of her blouse.

“See you tomorrow, Fleischy. We’ll let you know how it turns out.”

Fleischmann nodded knowingly and disappeared into his office.

Cleo smiled. It looked like she was about to be welcomed into the maw of the beast and she was relishing it.

********

The three women got off the elevator and Geri, younger than the other two by a few years and a staid Midwesterner, looked around warily.

“Renee, are you sure we’re gonna be okay? I mean being up here with these guys?”

“Don’t worry about it, Geri, just do your thing, okay?” Renee took out her compact and carefully reapplied her makeup. “You’re real quiet over there lady. What’s up with you?” she asked.

Cleo stopped at the penthouse door. She could hear the men inside, laughing loud and having a good time.

“Oh, just preparing myself for the worst…you ladies ready?”

“I’m always ready. Let’s go.” Renee pressed the doorbell twice.

The door opened and Grimes let them in. “Come in ladies, your audience awaits.”

The girls sauntered in, cautiously taking in their surroundings. Cleo noted that it was very dark, except for a few lights on in the anteroom, giving it a night-clubby effect. Standing in the doorway of the room, they saw a makeshift stage in front of them. As they moved into the living room, the sound of their patiently waiting audience got louder.

“Come on girls, let’s get this over with,” Renee said.

The two women took off their coats and walked through curtains of the makeshift stage area. A phonograph and speakers sat nearby on a table. Geri volunteered for the job of putting on the records.

“Don’t forget to turn it way up,” Renee instructed.

“Come on girls, what are we waiting for? Let’s boogie!” Cleo shouted to Renee.

Geri put a record on. It was some generic disco tune with lots of guitar and rhythmic drumming. Cleo and Renee stepped through the curtains and onto the stage. The men went wild, standing up and jockeying for the best view. Some of them were very inebriated and were trying to rush the stage.

“MAN, THEY’RE CRAZED!” Renee shouted to Cleo over the din, as they continued with their number.

“HELL, FORGET CRAZED! THEY’RE LOADED! HERE THEY COME!” Cleo grabbed Renee’s arm and pulled her towards the end of the stage.

As the men made a mad dash for them, they quickly ran away behind the curtain. Out front, Grimes made an attempt to get his men under control.

“I will shoot the next man who moves,” he warned, and it looked like he meant it. He set off backstage and approached the three women who were huddled together in a circle, wondering what they should do next.

He approached them. “Ladies, ladies, I apologize for my colleagues. They sometimes forget themselves when they’re allowed recreation. Won’t you please continue your performance?”

“No way, man, they’re crazy…we’re going home!” Renee replied.

“I can’t let you do that. Those men out there have been promised entertainment. They will not react calmly if I have to tell them that you’re not going to perform.”

Renee grabbed her coat. “That’s your problem mister. You can keep your money, we’re going home.”

Cleo knew that leaving was not in the cards for her. She did some quick thinking. “Look, you guys go, I’ll stay behind and dance for them.”

Geri balked. “No way, you’ve gotta come with us.” She grabbed at Cleo’s arm.

Cleo took her hand and patted it. “It’s okay, Geri, I’m going to stay…but on one condition.” She turned to Grimes. “You have to promise that Renee and Geri will still get their pay and the bonuses.”

It sounded like a good deal to Grimes. “You got it.” He pulled out his billfold and handed the two women their money.

The other two girls were clearly surprised. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” Renee said, tucking the money into her favorite hiding place.

“I want to. Now you guys go ahead.”

“But how are you going to get home?” Geri asked, sounding very concerned.

Cleo smiled. “Hey, don’t worry about me, I’ll catch a cab.”

“Okay, Cleo, we’ll see you tomorrow night then!” Renee said. She and Geri then grabbed their things and headed out the back way.

“You be careful!” Geri called back.

“I will!” Cleo waved as the two girls left. When they were gone, Grimes planted his hands on Cleo’s shoulders and guided her back toward the stage entrance.

“Ready?”

She nodded. He went to the phonograph and put on the record. As the music started up, Cleo paused and took a very deep breath.

“Ready.”

She went out and began dancing, hesitant and uncoordinated at first, then gradually she found the rhythm of the music. The men magically calmed down, as her body movements seemed to mesmerize them. Then as before, the catcalls and yelling began again, as the liquor and testosterone in their bodies took over. Again they started to rush to the stage, forcing her off.

Grimes ran up on the stage. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, you must control yourselves! She is not going to dance for you if you’re going to rush the stage!” Grimes yelled.

There was no calming the horde now as they ran past Grimes and after Cleo. She started to scream as some of the men pawed at her costume and grabbed at the netting of her hose.

********

The commotion from the nearby suite was enough to awaken several occupants on the same floor. Some of them opened their doors slightly to see what was going on. But only one of them, an older woman wearing a bathrobe and a sleeping bonnet, came out to see what was going on.

Oh my, what’s is that? She thought.

Cautiously she came out of her room and went over to the door where the noise was coming from. All she could hear was loud music, a lot of male voices and a female screaming. She rang the doorbell several times and when no one answered, she scurried back to her room and closed the door. She picked up the phone in her room and dialed the hotel operator. A man’s voice answered and she spoke in hushed tones.

“Hello? This is Mrs. Thelma Norton in suite 303. Can you send someone up here? I think a woman’s being attacked!”

“I’ll call the local police for you ma’am. They’ll send a unit over right away.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much. Tell them to hurry, won’t you dear?”

“No problem, ma’am.”

The woman hung up the phone and returned to her bedroom, shutting the door tightly.

 

PART TWO

Not long after the hotel operator called the police, the blare of sirens cut into the night. Hutch was ready on the alert, going to the window to see if he could see what was going on. The disturbance was enough for him to want to investigate. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to make out anything much from his vantagepoint.

“Hey, Starsk. Looks like something’s going on at the hotel across the street.”

Starsky was sitting on the sofa, reading some kind of sports magazine. “Whaddya see?”

“Couple of black and whites pulling up across the street. Can’t see very much else from here.”

Starsky looked over at Bruno who was snoring away on a chair nearby. He could see his partner was restless and was probably up for some action.

“You think it means anything?”

“I dunno, maybe.”

Starsky dropped the magazine and stood up. “Well, there’s only one way to find out…let’s go.”

Starsky prodded his partner to leave, but Hutch stopped him cold.

“We can’t both go, Starsky.” He pulled out a quarter from his pocket. “Tell you what. Heads or tails?”

Starsky’s was used to this. “Tails.”

Hutch threw the coin up in the air and palmed it, obscuring his partner’s view. “Sorry, Starsky, it’s heads, I’ll go.” He knew full well it had landed tails.

“You know that is really gettin’ old.”

“What? It worked, didn’t it?”

Hutch laughed and as he walked by Bruno, patting him on the head briefly as he unlocked and opened the front door.

“Hey, keep an eye on my partner for me, willya?”

The agent woke up with a start. “What? Oh, yeah, sure.”

Hutch stepped outside the room and motioned to the agents outside the door. “I’m just going to check out a disturbance at the hotel across the street. I’ll be right back.”

The agents gave him the thumbs up as he got in the elevator. He rode it down to the lobby and when he got outside, the police were already taking away some of the drunken men. He walked over to a police unit and sought out one of the arresting officers.

He flashed his badge. “Detective Hutchinson. What’s the problem?”

The officer acknowledged him. “Oh hi, nothing serious detective, just a little party that got outta hand. Buncha guys tried to gang up on the entertainment.”

“Where is she?”

The officer pointed to the rear of a black and white unit. “Over there, trying to keep warm.”

In Hutch’s line of work, it wasn’t uncommon for him to encounter beautiful women on an almost daily basis. Of those he’d come to know intimately, only one or two had actually managed to capture his heart. So when he approached the black and white and leaned over to look inside, he wasn’t expecting much. In fact, he wasn’t expecting anything at all. Least of all encountering one of the most captivatingly gorgeous women he’d ever seen in his life. She was breathtaking, huddled beneath a wool blanket, holding a very hot coffee cup in her hands and shivering.

“Hi there. I’m Detective Hutchinson. You all right in there?”

She turned around in mid-sip and looked at him, somewhat startled.

“Oh, yeah, I’m okay, just cold.” She smiled, and the power of it just about melted him.

“You do look awfully cold.” He took off his jacket. “Here, maybe this will help.” He handed it to her.

“Oh no, I couldn’t.”

She saw the disappointment on his face and wondered if it was possible that she might be seeing things. Was he really digging on her? No, he couldn’t be. But she was willing to find out. She had some kind of gut feeling that he just might lead to something more important, so she took him up on his offer.

“Oh, why not?” she said, and then took the jacket from him. She pulled off the blanket and slipped it on. It was a size too big, but warm from his body heat. She draped the blanket over her knees.

“Hey, haven’t we met somewhere before?” he asked.

Cleo lowered her head, finished the last of the coffee. “I…I don’t think so. I think I would’ve remembered you.”

Hutch smiled. “You got a way home?”

Normally after making sure the female victims of a crime were safe, Hutch and his partner would let the unit handling the call escort them home or down to the station. But there was something different about this one. It seemed like there was some kind of magnetic force that glued him to the spot he was standing in. Or maybe it was the fact that she looked so damned cold and he was a pushover for a pretty face.

Still shivering, she slid out of the back seat of the squad car and stood beside him, tossing the blanket aside. Hutch mentally noted certain things he already liked about her. In particular the fact that despite a three-inch difference in their heights, she had beautiful, long, lean legs that gave her the appearance of being much taller.

She sighed. “I’m upset. I let my ride leave. I guess I’ll need to call a cab.”

“I can…oh, wait a minute. No I can’t. The only car I have belongs to my partner and he’d kill me if I took that.”

“It’s okay. I probably live too far away. Anyway, I wouldn’t want to put you to all that trouble. I could use a dime to call a cab though.”

Hutch put a protective hand on her shoulder. “I’ve got a better idea. I’m staying in the hotel across the street. Why don’t you use the phone and wait for the cab there? Besides, I can talk to you a little longer that way.”

Bingo, I am in, she thought, and courtesy of the foxiest detective she’d seen in a long time. She nodded her head in agreement.

Hutch led her by her arm past the arresting officer he’d spoken to earlier. The officer was now handcuffing the last of the drunken partygoers. He waved to him to get his attention.

“Hey, I’m going to let her use the phone inside. I’ll take responsibility to see she gets home all right, okay?”

“Sure, detective. We got her statement, she’s free to go. Have a good evening.” The officer waved, got into his unit and waited for the paddy wagon to pull off before he followed it out.

Hutch and the girl waved goodbye to the officer and he guided her into the warmth of the hotel lobby. They walked to the elevator and with a loud ‘ding’ the car settled to the lobby to let them on.

He leaned against the side of the elevator and watched her. This is really crazy. I must be outta my mind. Starsky’s really going to lay into me on this one. And here I’m the one who’s supposed to be keeping an eye on him, he thought. Then, as if she could feel his eyes on her, she turned around and smiled, her hazel eyes sparkling at him.

“I just realized something. Here you are being so thoughtful, and I haven’t even told you my name.” She offered him her hand. “I’m Cleo Garvey.”

He took it, holding on a bit too long before letting go. “Ken, Ken Hutchinson.”

“Lovely to meet you, Mr. Hutchinson.”

“Please, call me Ken.”

“All right, Ken. It’s really very kind of you to let me do this. I mean, you don’t even know me.”

“Well, my partner’s not going to like it, but it wouldn’t be the first time.”

The elevator doors opened at the twenty-second floor, and of course the Federal agents, this time a different pair, one black, and the other white, become extremely alert. Hutch noticed the new faces right away and stood protectively close to Cleo as they approached them.

“What happened to the other two?” he asked them.

The black agent responded. “We’re C shift. Word is you guys are in for the evening, orders are to let no one in or out past eleven o’clock.” He flashed his shield. “Who’s the female?”

“She’s a friend. Just needs to use the phone.”

The agent looked over her attire and lasciviously smiled. “I should have friends like that…”

“With your personality, friend, I wouldn’t count on it.”

The agent smirked and stood inside, elbowing his partner. Hutch knocked at the outer door of the suite, Bruno requested the password, and the blond successfully relayed it to gain them access.

When he and Cleo walked in, they found his partner, Starsky, sitting on the floor eating popcorn and watching a western on TV. He didn’t even look up when he spoke to them.

“What happened down there?”

“They were busting up a loud party at the hotel across the street.”

Starsky finally looked up and noticed the girl. “I see you brought back company.”

Hutch gulped slightly. “Oh, ah, Starsky, this is Cleo Garvey. Cleo, this is my partner, David Starsky.”

Starsky sprung from his seat on the floor and wiped the butter from the popcorn on his hands onto the sides of his jeans. Hutch made a face. The dark haired man’s next observation concerned Cleo’s torn fishnet stockings and the scanty costume she was wearing. As he extended his hand to shake hers, he wondered just where his partner had picked up this lost soul.

“Ah, nice to meet you.”

Upon his partner’s look of skepticism, Hutch’s body language changed from open and optimistic to defensive and protective. Starsky noticed the change immediately.

“You two guys know each other?”

Cleo searched Hutch’s face to see if she should reply. He smiled at her and laughed awkwardly. “As a matter of fact no, I sort of rescued her.”

Cleo smiled as well, watching Hutch jam his hands into his pants pockets, fidgeting uncomfortably. He could never really lie to Starsky.

“Cleo’s a dancer at the hotel. The guys at the party got a little out of hand. She missed her ride, so I figured she could come up, use the phone and wait for a cab.”

Starsky studied the two of them. He saw how his partner’s eyes admired the skin of the copper-hued beauty standing in front of them. Truth be told, Starsky would have no trouble getting lost in those warm hazel eyes of hers himself. She had a beautiful mane of hair, and a great figure any sane man would die for. But she certainly didn’t affect him like she was did his partner. What really struck him as odd was, as far he knew, Hutch had never dated anyone darker than a brunette or the occasional lady cabby. So where’d this Cleo come from? And why did he bring her here, when he knew it was against orders? What if something happened to her or she got in the way? Or worse yet, what if something happened to Carlisle? To him the repercussions were plain, but apparently they weren’t so clear to Hutch. He was going to have to call him on it.

“Hey, buddy, can I talk to you a minute?”

Hutch sighed, he knew what was coming. “Sure, buddy. Sure.” He turned to Cleo. “The phone’s over there on the table. The cab number’s taped to the side. I won’t be a minute.”

“Okay, Ken,” she answered, overemphasizing his name.

Starsky frowned at her and then regarded Hutch. His disappointment was evident. Did she know him well enough to call him by his first name already? Hutch obediently followed his partner into a spare room and Starsky slammed the door behind them.

********

Cleo waited for the two men to disappear behind closed doors before she moved to the telephone. For the benefit of the agent guarding the door, she went to the phone and pressed her fingers down on the switch hook. She gave it a minute and then spoke.

“Hello, this is Cleo Garvey. I need a cab at…um, wait-a-minute…” She turned to the agent. “Say, what’s the address here?”

The agent looked up from his post. “2611 Ocean Bay Avenue,” he answered.

“Thanks. Okay, I’m at 2611 Ocean Bay Avenue… I’ll come out when I hear the horn. All right, thank you…g’bye.”

Cleo lifted her finger from the receiver and hung up the phone. She walked over to the Bruno, who was more than a little bored and looked like he needed someone to talk to.

********

Once in the privacy of the room, Starsky began to pace back and forth across it like a feral animal, uncharacteristically furious with Hutch.

“I don’t get it! What the hell’s the matter with you, Hutch? Don’t you realize that bringing her up here could jeopardize Carlisle’s safety?”

Hutch was at odds—torn between being true to his partner and his job and doing what was in his heart. He thought before he spoke and measured his words.

“Starsky…she needed help. I’m helping her, that’s all.”

“There’s more to it than that and you know it. I’ve been your partner for seven years; you can’t fool me. I saw the way you were lookin’ at her.”

“Sure, I’m attracted to her, Starsk. Call me crazy, but I just couldn’t stand the thought of her waiting outside in the cold…at night…alone.”

“Okay, I understand where you’re comin’ from. But this is not the time to play Boy Scout. The cops could’ve escorted her home. After all, it’s not just Carlisle’s neck you’re riskin’, you’re riskin’ our necks too, and that’s serious business!”

Starsky stopped. He wasn’t getting through to him this way. He took a deep breath, composed himself. He looked his partner in his face. By virtue of their proximity to one another, Hutch could look straight into his partner’s eyes, those windows into the soul, and he knew his friend was only trying to help. Starsky put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“All I can say is, buddy, she’d better be worth it.”

“I’ll handle it, okay, Starsk?”

Starsky nodded his head. “Sure, okay.”

********

Cleo sidled up to the agent. “So, big guy, who are we guarding?”

Now a lot of things could be said about Agent Bruno Costagravas, but a mental or social giant he wasn’t. Consequently, he made up for in brawn what he lacked in brains. It was probably a plus in his line of work. That’s how it was he picked this moment to open up and start volunteering what he knew to a perfect stranger.

“We’re protecting an informant turning states’ evidence. Those two guys in there are supposed to make sure he gets to court.”

“Really? Would I know this guy’s name if you were to mention it?”

“I don’t…” He was caught in mid sentence as the door to the spare room opened and both detectives came out. Cleo quickly shut off the tiny compact/tape recorder in her pocket.

Starsky’s eyes darted straight to Bruno and the girl. He walked over to them, while Hutch went back to retrieve their very quiet ward. Starsky took it upon himself to reprimand the addle-brained guard.

“Bruno, you know you’re not supposed to say anything…you didn’t tell her anything, didja?”

The ‘hands caught in the cookie jar’ look on Bruno’s face spoke volumes to the dark-haired detective.

“Haven’t you ever heard of the sayin ‘loose lips sink ships,’ man? Get outta here, go watch TV or somethin’.”

The big guy loped off towards the balcony, leaving Starsky and the girl alone. Cleo sidled up to him, hoping to possibly get on his good side. “It’s all right, Mr. Starsky, I was only trying to be friendly with the guy. He was just telling me about his job, that’s all.”

Hutch then came back into the room with Carlisle beside him. “Would you believe he’s been in there meditating all this time?”

Carlisle caught sight of Cleo and he smiled at her. “I see we have an visitor. A policewoman perhaps?”

Starsky smirked. ‘Not likely.’

Hutch introduced her. “Mr. Carlisle, this is Cleo Garvey, she’s a dancer at the Miyako club across the street.”

“Oh, really. Are you going to entertain us?” He moved to shake her hand. “How do you do? I’m John Carlisle.”

As she stood there shaking his hand, an effortless smile grew upon her face. John Carlisle, wow! Here she was standing face to face with a man whom only few had seen, much less get to shake his hand and live to tell about it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Same here. Would you like a drink?”

“Sure.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I usurp your companion,” he said to Hutch.

“Not at all.”

Carlisle released her hand and she followed him over to the bar and he poured them both a drink.

Hutch sensed his partner’s unease and tried to diffuse it. He led him by his arm over to the balcony. Starsky face was set in a permanent scowl.

“I don’t like it, Hutch.”

“C’mon, Starsk, would you lighten up? She’s harmless.”

“You know that for a fact, huh?”

Hutch’s mouth hung open a second. “No, I don’t. But will you do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Look over there.” He pointed to Carlisle and the girl. “Does she look threatening to you?”

Starsky looked at the two of them standing over there laughing and enjoying their drinks. Yeah, she looked harmless enough, but where he was from, looks could be deceiving, and often were. Despite Hutch’s assurances to the contrary, he couldn’t quell the unease he felt. There was something about Cleo that wasn’t right, and since it was something he couldn’t put his finger on right now, he just as soon let it pass.

Bruno interrupted their discussion. “C’mon you guys, how ‘bout a game of cards or something?”

“Sure, why not? I’m battin’ a thousand tonight. What else could go wrong?” Starsky answered.

Cleo’s face brightened from across the room, she welcomed anything that might take Hutch’s partner’s mind off of her. Bruno brought over a deck of cards and they gathered at the dining room table to play.

********

While the others continued their card game in the dining room, Carlisle decided to retire early. After having his usual nightcap he said his goodnights and went to bed. Still ill at ease, Starsky kept looking at his watch during the whole game. Cleo wasn’t sure, but she suspected he was wondering where her cab might be. Finally, her suspicions were confirmed.

“That cab should’ve been here by now. Didja give him the right address?” he asked her.

Cleo cocked an eye at him. “How many times are you going to ask me that question, detective?”

“Until I get the right answer, sista.”

Hutch replied in her defense. “Cut her some slack, Starsk, it’s not like it’s her fault. Maybe he got lost.”

Indignant, Cleo jumped up. “Do you want me to call again? I can, you know! Look, I didn’t ask to be invited up here, Ken asked me if I needed to….” She stopped ranting in midstream and ran to the front door, but Bruno blocked her way.

“Sorry, I can’t let you out there, Miss.”

She did her best to get past him, but it was like getting past a Mack truck. “Just let me wait outside for the cab, stupid!” She was on the verge of tears.

Hutch got up and shot Starsky the most contemptuous look he could muster, slapping the playing cards down on the table and joining Cleo at the front door. He took her hand and pulled her aside for a private talk.

“Look, you’re not going anywhere. I don’t care what my partner says. I’m not going to be responsible for you catching pneumonia or something happening to you out there. You’re staying here until morning, you got that?” He smiled at her. “What do you say?”

She wiped her face and nodded her approval. No matter how much she tried not to, she couldn’t help but feel guilty. Why does he have to be so goddamned decent and sincere?

Starsky got up from the table, the disgusted look still on his face. “I’m gonna go check on Carlisle, you remember him? He’s the body you’re supposed ta be guarding.”

Hutch knew deep down that Starsky had a valid point, but right now his feelings for this woman were stronger than his need to follow protocol or conform to his partners’ wishes. She smiled at him sweetly and he put his arm around her.

“Care to take a stroll?” he asked.

“Stroll where? I thought we couldn’t leave?”

“We could go out on the balcony. I think there’s a full moon tonight.”

“All right,” she answered.

Hutch took her hand and led her through the glass doors and out to the balcony. Under the clear moonlit night, he pulled her close to him and held her. He gazed into her eyes so long he thought he might drown in them, and if that happened, no one, not even his best friend, would be able to save him. He directed her backwards against the cold concrete, until it pressed against her flesh. Then he braced his hands against the wall on either side of her and drew himself forward to kiss her. Afterwards, he drew back and waited for her response. Then she, tantalized by the brief sensation of his lips on hers, took his arms from their positions on the wall and seductively guided them down to her waist.

“Isn’t that better?” she asked.

He smiled to himself. The Hutchinson Charm at work. Once he felt confident they were on the same wavelength, he kissed her twice more, at first gently, and then when she didn’t protest, more firmly with the second. He drew back, almost as if he were waiting for a slap for his insolence. But instead of slapping him, she took him by his hand and led him out of the darkness of the balcony and into the brightness of the suite. Her boldness in leading him and his awkwardness at being led were obvious. They were headed for the same bedroom where he and Starsky had had their discussion earlier.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere more private.”

“Are you sure about this?” he asked.

She placed a finger to her lips. “Shhh. We’re just going to talk, get to know each other, that’s all.” A mischievous smile crossed her lips.

Hutch helped her close the door behind them.

By the time Starsky came back from checking on Carlisle, Hutch and girl were gone. However, the room wasn’t completely empty, there was no way he could miss the huge mountain of man nodding off in the corner. His mass barely fit on the chair he was sitting in. His weapon hung loosely at his side. Starsky went over and removed the gun from his hand; he checked the safety and carefully put it back into the man’s shoulder holster. As he turned to go look for his partner, he heard it, the unmistakable sound of stifled laughter. It was coming from the direction of the spare bedroom. Starsky now knew the location of his partner and his lovely guest.

Starsky’s face registered resignation as he went around and turned out all but one of the lights in the room, then dropped onto the sofa. He picked up and tried to read the sports page of the evening newspaper, but fell asleep almost immediately.

********

When Friday morning arrived, Hutch woke up and found himself fully clothed and spooned next to Cleo in bed. They hadn’t done “it,” but with all the hot and heavy kissing they were doing that night, it was hard to believe they hadn’t. He tried not to wake her as he rose up on one arm and watched her sleep. Then, as if she could feel him studying her, she woke up.

“Hmmm. Hello you,” she whispered.

“Hello. Sleep well?”

“Hmm. Wonderfully.” She sat up and stretched herself like a Persian cat.

Hutch leaned on one arm and touched her cheek. “Thought you and I could go down and get some breakfast.”

“Sounds good. Hey, what time is it?”

Hutch looked at his watch. “Seven-thirty.” He rolled off the bed. “You coming?’

“Sure.” She got out of bed and noticed what she was wearing. “Whoops, I can’t go out like this. Mind if we go back to the club first? I can pick a change of clothes there.”

“No problem. I’ll wash up.”

“Okay.”

While she lounged in bed a while longer, Hutch went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. He dabbed on some deodorant and a little aftershave for good measure. He stepped out and offered up the facilities for her use.

“All yours.”

Cleo stood and walked over to kiss him on his cheek as she went past, then closed the bathroom door.

“Don’t be too long!” he called.

“I won’t.”

True to her word, she was out of the bathroom in less than five minutes. When she walked out, she saw Hutch sitting at a desk, writing something on a slip of paper. She walked over to him and hugged him.

“See, I told you I wouldn’t be long!”

He finished the note to Starsky. “So you did. I thought I’d leave my partner a note, just in case he misses us.”

“That’s a good idea.”

Hutch took the piece of paper with him and went to the door. He quietly turned the doorknob. With Cleo standing behind him, he peeked out. Great, Bruno was still sleeping, and Starsky was snoring on the couch with a newspaper over his face.

“The coast is clear. Let’s go,” he whispered.

They tiptoed past the couch, and just as they got to the door, Starsky lifted the newspaper from his face.

“Hey, you two!”

His voice stopped them in dead in their tracks; they looked like two deer caught in highlights. The dark-haired man looked like he was taking great pleasure in watching the expressions on their faces.

“You two look like the cat that ate the canary.”

“Hey, Starsk, morning. How’d you sleep?”

His partner sat up on the couch. “Fair to middlin’, but I’ll bet you two slept a whole lot better,” he answered, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Where’re you off to?”

“I was just going to leave you a note. We have to pick up her stuff from the club, and then we’re going to get some breakfast. You want anything?”

“Nah, you two go ahead.”

Hutch and Cleo turned to leave.

“Oh, Hutch…”

“Yeah, Starsk?”

“Don’t get lost, huh, buddy?”

“Not a chance.”

Cleo stood behind the blond man; she liked watching the two of them converse. She could tell they really cared about each other a lot. When Hutch was ready, she followed him out the door. They weren’t able to go far before the two agents outside the door stopped them.

“Where you two off to now?” the short agent inquired.

“Breakfast. Oh, and guys…don’t wait up.”

“Yeah, just make sure you’re back in time for the final briefing today.”

“Count on it.”

********

Vincent Bartok had invested a lot of time and money into creating this dynasty of his and he wasn’t about to let one man destroy it all. Though it had been slow and painstaking, his men had been gradually infiltrating the staff of the Imperial, even before they’d arrived in town. Grimes’s men now were in control of the hotel kitchen as well as the lobby and loading areas. They could hold off their advance that way, and then when the order to strike was given, the operation would proceed like a well-oiled machine. The element of surprise, as opposed to waging a full-scale attack, had always worked for them in the past. But no plan was foolproof.

Grimes leaned against a back wall of the kitchen, smoking and rehearsing the next move in his mind. As near as he could figure it, his men far outnumbered the Federal agents and getting rid of them was a matter of time and a little effort. Until then they could be content to wait, at least until the day before the noon trial.

********

Hutch and Cleo sat in the diner laughing and talking over a healthy breakfast of blueberry muffins, fruit and orange juice. It had been a long time since he’d been this excited about a woman. So far she was the perfect companion, smart, funny and devastatingly gorgeous. He was in heaven, but somewhere in the back of his mind he kept thinking that something bad had to happen soon. Gillian Ingraham was still a strong memory for him. She’d been killed. Why? Because he was a cop. It seemed anytime he got close to finding a lasting relationship with a woman, she either ended up a casualty of his line of work, or she left him, so he’d pretty much settled in for a future of short-term romances. Maybe this time it would be different.

“So do you dance for a living?” he asked her.

“No. Just for kicks. It’s easy bread. Nothing serious.”

“Why nothing serious? If you don’t mind me saying so, you’ve definitely got the legs for it.”

“Thanks. I used to dream about becoming a professional dancer, way back when. But nothing ever came of it.”

What she was telling him wasn’t entirely untrue, she had considered ballet or acting when she was in college, but somehow her physical attractiveness always seemed to get in the way of the folks in charge acknowledging her true talent. At auditions, if the producer or the director of the show didn’t try to hit on her, she was left with the understudy role, or told thanks, but no thanks. She knew she was better than that.

After a while, weary of fighting off the wolves, she was drawn to her second calling: writing. She fell into it easily enough. Going from being the college newspaper editor to writing the Op Ed pieces. It wasn’t long before her connections and contacts led her to the job at “Inside” magazine; from there that she began her career as a reporter. And that path had her sitting here with a rather handsome cop, having breakfast and contemplating romance. She was afraid of leading him on at first, but now that she was into it, she figured she might as well enjoy it. It was too late to turn chicken now.

“So you’re a cop?”

“A detective.”

“How long have you been ‘a detective’?”

“A cop for two years, a detective, about six or seven.”

“Sounds kind of dangerous to me.”

“It is, but my partner looks out for me and I look out for him. We do okay.”

“He seems to care about you a lot.”

“Yeah, sometimes a little too much.”

He finished the last piece of muffin from his plate and noticed that she’d finished, too.

“We should get back.”

“Sure.”

The blond got up and let her slide out. He stuck his hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out a couple of bills and set them on the table. She took his arm and they went up to the cashier to pay the bill. Both of them practically floated on air on their way back to the elevator.

Hutch’s usually keen eye, now preoccupied by the charms of his companion, failed to detect the new faces manning the hotel lobby desk. The outfit she was wearing didn’t help matters either. It seemed a halter-top with hip hugger bellbottom jeans and hoop earrings did everything to emphasize her shapely hips and nothing to keep his attention on the job. As they exited the elevator, Hutch stopped, grabbed her around her waist and held her.

“Tell me something. Am I dreaming you?” he asked.

She laughed. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, am I going to wake up? Are you going on some trip you haven’t told me about yet? Or do you have to leave town to visit a sick relative? There’s got to be…”

Her exacting look stopped him. “Oh, baby, chill. I don’t go around planning my life. You shouldn’t either. I don’t know what’s going to happen today, tomorrow, or the next day. None of us does. I go with the flow.”

Hutch dropped his head a little, as though he’d been looking for some reassurance from her that she’d stick around for a while. She lifted his chin with her hand.

“Look, I think it’s better if we just take things slow for now, you dig?”

“Sure, why not?”

They kissed once more and walked over to the “A” shift agents guarding the penthouse door. Since Hutch recognized these two men from before, he didn’t bother pulling his badge.

“Glad to see you guys are back on duty. Um, this is Cleo…”

“C shift told us she was a guest of yours. Just remember if anything happens to Carlisle or her while she’s here, it’s your ass on the line, not ours.”

“I’ll remember that.” Hutch followed proper procedure to get he and Cleo back into the penthouse.

********

Starsky was out on the balcony popping peanuts into his mouth, and Bruno was standing beside him watching the skyline through a pair of Carlisle’s high-powered binoculars when they came in. Carlisle was at the dining room table, reading the morning paper and drinking coffee.

Starsky turned around and looked through the pane of glass as they came in. “You guys have a nice breakfast?”

Bruno looked at them and he could see they were both practically glowing.

“Look at them, can’t you tell? It’s sickening, that’s what it is.”

Cleo sat down at the dining room table with Carlisle and offered him a friendly smile when he looked up. Hutch joined Starsky out on the balcony.

“Hey buddy, I need to ask a favor.”

Starsky was still popping peanuts into his mouth one after another.

“What?”

“I want to take her out to dinner.”

“So?”

“So I don’t want to leave you here guarding Carlisle while I play Romeo. Unless you think you can handle this by yourself.”

“I can handle it.”

“Are you still ticked off at me because of Cleo?”

Starsky smiled and threw the empty peanut shells at him. “Who me?”

“Yes-s-s, you, you dummy,” Hutch answered, dusting them off. “Whaddya say?”

“Like I said, buddy, I can handle it. If I need help, I can have the nearest Junior G man come up and take your place.”

“Thanks, Starsk. You’re a pal.”

“Don’t mention it. Just do me a favor.”

“What’s that buddy?”

“Don’t get your heart broken into a jillion pieces this time.”

“It’s nice to know you care.”

“It ain’t that. I just don’t want to have to go to all the trouble of puttin’ Humpty Dumpty back together again when she’s done with ya.”

“It’ll never happen.”

The two men walked inside the room, patting each other on the back. Hutch separated from Starsky and went over to join Cleo. He looked a little perturbed as he walked over. Cleo again had to surreptitiously switched off her tape recorder as he walked up.

She looked up at him. “Oh, Ken, Mr. Carlisle was just telling me about when he lived in Japan for ten years. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Well, there’s something to be said for being well-traveled. Ah, could I see you a minute?” He motioned to Carlisle. “Excuse us.”

Carlisle nodded absently.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him innocently.

Cleo got up and followed him out onto the balcony. The look on his face was clearly not a happy one.

“Cleo, I have to ask you not to get too friendly with Mr. Carlisle. Especially not about his time in Japan.”

He watched her full mouth form an o-shape and her head drop down slightly. She seemed so genuinely and innocently taken aback that he felt kind of foolish for having made a big deal of it. What he’d seen was obviously a harmless conversation between the two of them. He was letting his partner’s suspicions of her become his own.

“I’m sorry Ken. I didn’t mean to pry.” Her lower lip quivered just slightly.

He couldn’t help it, seeing her unhappy made him useless. He put his arms around her.

“No, I’m sorry. How ‘bout we have dinner tonight, to make up for it?”

She looked up into his eyes. “How could I say no with those pretty blue eyes staring back at me?”

He bent his forehead down to hers and they held each other, swaying in slow motion to music only they could seem to hear. Starsky watched the two of them through the glass doors from his seat on the couch. He smiled to himself. His look said, ‘Here we go again.’ Starsky knew that as tough as Hutch was in the trenches, he was putty in the hands of a great looking lady. It usually fell to him to rescue his buddy from outside dangers when his insides had been turned to mush by love.

“Hey, you two, knock it off out there!” he yelled.

Hutch and Cleo, oblivious as whether they had an audience, turned toward him and started to laugh.

“Come on, buddy.” Starsky got up. “We got a meeting with the Feds in a few minutes. Even if you’re not gonna be here, you at least oughta know what’s happening. Ya ready?”

“Be right there.” Hutch turned to her. “I should be back in a couple of hours.”

He took her by the hand and let it go slowly as he departed.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” she answered.

Hutch, shored up by good feelings, joined his partner as they got ready to leave. Starsky left Bruno explicit instructions not to let their inquisitive guest get too friendly with Carlisle, then he and Hutch left.

********

It was mid-morning and several of the government agents were gathered in a small but well secured conference room on the tenth floor of the hotel. The agent in charge, Pete Drummond, stood up as Starsky and his partner entered.

“There they are. Gentlemen, finally. I’m Agent Drummond. Please have a seat.”

The two men quietly found seats at the huge conference desk.

“I’m going to go over this Wednesday’s transport schedule with you, for the day Carlisle’s moved.” He laid out a large blueprint onto the tabletop and with a long stick pointed out the entry and exit doors. “We’ve marked all the exits and entrances and have men posted at all of them. We’ve even got a few men posing as waiters and bellmen. We want to try and keep one step ahead of Bartok’s men if we can.”

He pointed to the penthouse floor on the map. “This area is still secured as far as entry by elevator and we’ve had no breaches of security as far as my operatives on that floor have reported.”

Starsky snuck a look at Hutch to see if his face betrayed the knowledge that the floor had already been breached, twice. It didn’t.

“The next step is for us to devise a method to use you two.” He pointed to them. “As you know already, one of you will be used as a decoy, you’ll be riding in one of the two cars we’re using to transport Carlisle to the courthouse. The other man will be with Carlisle and my men in the real transport car.”

The other agents seemed to be taking careful mental notes as agent Drummond spoke. Starsky raised his finger and Drummond acknowledged it.

“Have you decided which one of us that’s going to be?” Starsky asked.

“Well, Carlisle’s about your height and weight, dark haired, we figured you’d be the best one to pass for him.”

“Terrific.”

Hutch looked worried and raised his hand. “I have a question.”

“Yes, Detective Hutchinson?”

“Why are Starsky and I the decoys? Why can’t one of your men take that position?”

The other agents regarded him with rather reserved shock. Hutch was just full of surprises on this assignment. A superior’s plans were rarely questioned in their organization, and when they were, the doubter had better have a damn good reason to do so.

“I went over all this with your Captain, Detective Hutchinson, but if you must know, I’ll tell you. Our organization has been after Bartok and his people for years now. His men and my men have crossed paths more times than I care to remember. I don’t want the reason for Carlisle’s death, or our missing a chance to bring him to trial to be that his men got a make on any of my men. So your captain and I came upon the bright idea of assigning you two fellows. We needed some bright shiny new faces and you two boys are it.”

“I think we’ve just been complimented, Starsky,” Hutch said.

“Hum. No kiddin.”

********

Bartok was lying comfortably in a leather recliner, dozing off with a lit cigar clutched in his stubby fingers. The only thing that managed to disturb him was the offending sound of the telephone ring. He picked it up quickly.

“Hello. Bartok.”

“It’s me, Grimes.”

“Yes, Grimes, what is it that you had to wake me from a perfectly good dream?”

Grimes shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

“I’m sorry sir, just wanted to know what our next move would be and when.”

“It’s heartwarming to know how enthusiastic you can when you are trying to get into my good graces, Grimes. Where are your men now?”

“The lobby, kitchen and the loading dock so far.”

“Just stay there for now. I’ll notify you when the time is right. Until then, you and your men behave yourselves…and sit tight.”

“But sir…”

“Grimes, that is an order.”

Grimes sighed and hung up the phone.

********

On noon of the same day, Bruno, Cleo and Carlisle were having lunch on the balcony of the suite when the phone rang. Bruno got up to answer it.

“Hello?” He paused a minute and then looked over at Cleo. “Hey, Ms. Garvey, it’s for you.”

She looked at him, surprised. “For me?” She got up and put the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”

She was immediately serious when she recognized who it was.

She recognized Allan Piper’s voice. “How’d you get this number?”

“Oh, I have my ways. How’s the story going?”

She turned and whispered into the phone, watching to make sure Bruno returned to Carlisle’s side.

“I have notes and some little recorded bits. I’ll have time to flesh them out sometime today I think.”

“Sounds like things are going well.”

“Things are going fine. But look, this phone call is dangerous. I’ll be in touch with you later, all right?”

“No problem.”

Cleo hung up the phone and walked over the glass doors. “Hey, Bruno?”

Bruno stopped what he was doing and walked back inside. “Yes, ma’am?”

She picked up her bag from the couch and slipped it onto her shoulder. “Bruno, that was my girlfriend Renee. I have to go back to my place and pick up some things from her. Can you tell Detective Hutchinson that I’ll be back in about an hour or so?

“Sure thing.”

Cleo knocked on the front door as a signal that she was coming out. When she stepped out and the two agents smiled at her.

“Good morning, gentlemen.”

“Morning, ma’am.”

“I have to leave. I’ll be back later on. Can I count on you two to be here when I get back?” She asked them in a voice that was as sweet as it was enticing.

The shorter agent’s pasty face tinged a shade of red. “You know it!”

“We’ll be here,” the black agent assured her.

“Good.” Cleo turned on her comely heels and smiled on her way into the elevator. She knew their eyes would follow her up until the very minute she disappeared into the elevator.

Once in the lobby she thought she recognized the two men at the lobby desk as being from the group of men she’d seen sometime earlier. She briskly walked past them as she hurried out of the building. She walked the short distance to her apartment with determination and anticipation in her step. When she got inside she removed the tapes and notes from her bag and sat down at a desk to begin the work of transcribing them.

She looked at her watch. It was one fifty-five. almost finished; Ken should be getting back around now, she thought. I’d better get back before he misses me. She took the tapes and her written notes and tucked them inside the desk drawer, locking it with a key that she dropped into her bag. She checked herself in the mirror before she left.

It was two o’clock by the time she got back to the hotel. She got on the elevator and pressed the button for the twenty-second floor. She kept her eyes on the display as the floor numbers went past, and then bit her lip when it stopped at the tenth floor. The doors opened and it was Ken and Dave. Hutch looked up at her, both surprised and pleased, but Starsky just looked startled.

“Hey. Where’ve you been?” Hutch asked as he stepped inside.

“Oh, my girlfriend, Renee, called. I had to go take care of some things for her.” Lies, building a bed of lies.

“How’d she know where to find you?” Starsky inquired suspiciously, following his partner in.

“I gave her the number,” she answered hotly.

“Hey, don’t mind him. I’m glad to see you, even if he isn’t,” Hutch said, trying to calm her down.

Hutch put his arms around her and noticed her shoulders were stiff with anger. He gave them a squeeze and she relaxed.

Starsky felt like a third wheel and was acting it. He turned away from them with his arms folded, and stayed that way until the elevator reached their floor.

When the three of them got off the elevator, the taller agent straightened up visibly.

“How was the briefing?” he asked Starsky.

“Informative, even entertainin’ ya might say.”

“Don’t worry, they’ll be calling you two down for the p.m. session,” Hutch advised them.

Starsky gave the password and Bruno let them in, this time immediately.

“Hey guys, you’re back. We missed ya.”

“We missed you too, Bruno,” Hutch said.

“How’s Carlisle doin?”

“Aw, he’s okay. Kinda bored though. I think he’ll be glad when the trial is over with.”

“Him and me both,” Starsky concurred.

“Admit it, Starsk, you’re just jealous cause I’m taking out a beautiful woman tonight and you’re not,” Hutch said.

Starsky knotted his brow. “Look, it’s just your timin’ that’s an issue here. I don’t have a problem with it.”

“Sometimes you just gotta do, Starsk, isn’t that what you’re always fond of saying?”

“This ain’t what I meant, Hutch, and you know it.”

“Look, Starsk…”

Cleo sat and listened to this war of words with interest. She thought that Ken had a point, but so did David. This Carlisle was an important link to the Bartok case. His allowing her to stick around really might threaten Carlisle’s safety. But for her the outcome of the trial didn’t matter, because she was there to do one thing, to do her job as a reporter. She couldn’t tell Ken who she was, or why she was working the party that night. She was torn between lying to a man she was getting to know and enjoyed being with, in order to do a once in a lifetime story.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Hutch called to her, managing to cut short her thoughts. “What’re you thinking about?”

She shook her head clear. “Oh, nothing, just curious about where we’re going for dinner tonight.” Lie.

“Well, I was thinking about this nice little place in Venice, best Italian food this side of Italy.”

“And a really nice greenhouse too I hear,” Starsky chimed in.

The three of them laughed.

********

That Friday evening, Hutch opened the door to his apartment and swung it wide open and he put the door key back in its spot above the door frame. He carried a grocery bag in one arm and he put his car keys in his teeth as he let Cleo in.

“Here we are. The best Italian restaurant this side of Italy. Café Hutch.”

Cleo smiled when she realized what he was going to do. Wow, she thought. This man is going to cook for me. I don’t believe it.

Hutch set the grocery bag down on the table and quietly pulled out three tomatoes, a clove of garlic, oregano, spaghetti, French bread and a bottle of wine from the bag. He saw her standing in the middle of the room watching him.

“Don’t just stand there. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Okay.”

Cleo eagerly took off her coat and draped it on the couch. As she sat down, she crossed her lithe, graceful legs in front of her. Hutch took down two glasses and carefully uncorked the bottle of wine and then poured them both a glass. He walked around to the couch and gave her one of them.

He toasted. “To good food, good wine and good relationships.”

Cleo smiled up at him, clinking her glass with his. “To you and me.”

They sipped the wine slowly with their eyes on each other and Hutch bent down to kiss her, and when their lips met, he didn’t know whether it was the alcohol that had him so intoxicated or the smell of her perfume. But he did know that if he didn’t get to the kitchen, neither of them would be eating. He pulled away from her.

“I’ll be back,” He promised.

“Promises, promises.”

Hutch willed himself into the kitchen and pulled down a pot, filled it with water and put it on the stove to boil. He then set about chopping vegetables and throwing them into another pot for the sauce. Hutch was definitely at home in the kitchen. Cleo occupied herself with a nearby magazine from his coffee table.

“So do you cook?” he asked.

She laughed. “I try not to. The last time I did I nearly killed somebody.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know how to cook?” he asked incredulously. At last, a flaw.

“Why, do you want to teach me?” She turned around to see his response.

“Come on in here and get your first lesson.”

Cleo dropped the magazine on the tabletop and got up. She walked over to him, hugging him from behind.

“So what’s my first lesson?”

“Let’s see, how about something easy. How about bread slicing?”

She moved around to the side of him. “Okay, sounds easy enough. Where do you keep your knives?”

He pointed south. “Right over there.”

She pulled open a drawer and pulled out a serrated knife. “This okay?”

He looked at what she had in her hand. “That’ll do fine. Now cut the slices about two inches thick, pull out the butter and the garlic press and we’ll make some garlic bread.”

“Cool.”

Cleo took the baguette out of the clear wrapper and put the bread on cutting board and started to slice it. Hutch opened the tomato sauce and poured it into the vegetable pot. He stepped out of the kitchen and went over to his stereo.

“How about some music? You like jazz?”

“Love it.”

Hutch wiped his hands on his apron and turned on the record player. Soon there was soft, romantic music filling the air, creating just the proper ambience. He smiled to himself and thought, Starsky, you old worrywart How could anything possibly go wrong?

********

Friday evening had come and gone, and now, dressed in a three-piece Armani, Starsky’s compact, muscular body nervously paced back and forth across the room, waiting for his partner to return. This was the last briefing before John Carlisle’s trial date and they both needed to be there ‘on time.’

John Carlisle slowly walked into the room dressed in an identical suit. He looked very much the part of a well to do criminal turned legit.

“Good morning, Detective Starsky.”

Starsky looked up, his thoughts disrupted and temporarily removed from worry mode for the moment. “Oh, yeah. Good mornin’, Mr. Carlisle.”

“You look preoccupied, Detective. Trouble?”

“Just running late for this morning’s briefing. No big deal. No sense sweatin’ it, I guess.”

“Quite right, Detective Starsky. What’s on the agenda for today?”

They both took a seat at the kitchen table while Bruno looked on.

“This is supposed to be a dress rehearsal. Anybody who’s going to be a part of this thing is going to be meeting with Drummond today. Hutch and I were late for the first meeting. Looks like we’re gonna be late for the second. I’m a wreck.”

That said, Hutch and Cleo chose that particular time to walk in the door. Hutch was dressed in a sweat suit, looking rushed and sweaty, Cleo just looked glowing and happy.

The look on Hutch’s face was hangdog. “Sorry, Starsk. Mr. Carlisle, good morning.”

Starsky grunted something unintelligible under his breath.

“Hey, Bruno.” A nervous smile broke over Hutch’s face as Bruno acknowledged his hello with a wave of his hand.

“Hey, Hutch, what time is it?” Starsky asked, ignoring the perfectly good watch on his own arm.

Knowing his partner was angry, he tried to deflect the situation with some humor. “I dunno, Starsk, daytime?”

“Funny. We’re late for the briefing. Are you gonna change clothes or what?”

“Sorry, Starsk, we went jogging this morning and I forgot the time. Let’s just go.”

Starsky, Bruno and Carlisle got up and headed for the door. Starsky and Bruno checked their guns and adjusted their bulletproof vests. Hutch stopped and turned to Cleo. The other three men impatiently waited for him at the door.

“We’ll be at this most of the day today. What’re you gonna do?” he asked her.

“I dunno, go shopping maybe. Wash my hair. Don’t worry about me, do what you have to.”

Hutch kissed her on the cheek. “You’re a doll, you know that?”

“No, I don’t. Keep telling me.” She kissed him back. “I’ll meet you at your place tonight, okay?”

“It’s a date.”

“Come on, Hutch, we don’t have all day,” Starsky chided him.

They all headed out the door and took the elevator down to the conference room floor. Cleo waved to Hutch as the four men exited and she continued on her way out of the hotel. Several heavily armed Federal agents escorted the group to the conference room. Things were getting close to the wire.

********

Agent Drummond drummed his fingers on the desk as he and several other agents waited impatiently for BCPD’s finest to show up. ‘Late again, as usual. It’s a wonder they made it through police academy training at all,’ he thought to himself.

A loud knock at the door signaled their arrival and one of the agents inside the room opened the door to let them in. Agent Drummond stood up and directed them to come in.

“Timeliness is a virtue, men. In this situation it could mean the difference between life and death. I ask that you try to be on time from now on. The next twenty-four hours are crucial.”

“Sorry, my fault,” Hutch said.

Drummond stepped forward and shook Carlisle’s offered hand.

“Mr. Carlisle. So nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise. I’d like to thank you for this opportunity.”

“Nonsense. It’s just the government’s way of thanking you for assisting us in putting a stop to Bartok’s operation. Please have a seat, gentlemen. We have a lot to go over.”

********

On her way back to her apartment, Cleo had to walk past the Imperial hotel’s loading dock area. It was then that she saw some of Grimes’ men standing vigil on the platform. She stood there in the shadows wringing her hands and debating whether to go back up and tell the two detectives what she’d seen. After a minute she decided, with some misgivings, to return to her apartment to begin writing the article.

She pulled off the outfit she was wearing and took a shower; a shower always seemed to get the creative juices flowing for her. She toweled off and put on a robe. She unlocked the desk drawer and took out the tape she’d made of her short conversations with Carlisle. She slipped the cassette into a tape recorder on the counter and pressed play. She listened intently to the sound of Carlisle’s voice while she braided her curly hair into two braids.

He talked about his life as a young man living on the Upper East Side of Chicago and how he fell into the criminal lifestyle after his parents died and he passed in and out of juvenile homes. She fast-forwarded the tape to him talking about why he decided to reform and deciding to testify against Bartok and going to the trial.

“You’re a very interesting man, Mr. Carlisle. I just hope your story’s worth screwing up my love life for,” she said aloud to herself.

She slipped on a pair of jeans and a top and then grabbed the two rolls of film from the drawer. With a journalist’s skill she took the rolls into a closet that had been transformed into a makeshift darkroom. Bathed in the warmth of the red light, ‘Cleo’ set about developing the film.

As she hung each wet photo from the tiny line strung across the room, she studied the images; the first ones were of Grime’s men. One as they entered the hotel, another shot of them getting into the elevator. Then there the more tricky shots of Carlisle, of him standing out on the balcony, smoking a cigarette, reading. She heaved a sigh as she put up the last two. They were both of a smiling Ken Hutchinson. What’s the matter with me? This is a job like everything else I’ve done. I can’t let what I feel for this guy stop me from doing this story. I’ve got to fight it. She blew out air from her cheeks and forced herself to get on with it. Locking the darkroom door, she went over to her typewriter, stuck a few sheets of paper into it and sat down. She hesitated a moment before beginning, but once she started, she didn’t stop until the first draft was finished.

 

PART THREE

A satisfied smile came over Bartok’s face as he prepared to make the call that would finally eliminate John Carlisle from his hierarchy. Soon, the long and painstaking task of tracking Carlisle’s every move would come to an end. And the FBI’s interference into his business matters would stop. It had been a long, exhausting ordeal, but the outcome would be worth it. There was palpable excitement as he dialed Grimes’s private number at the hotel.

“Crandall, this is Bartok. It’s time. Advise your men to be ready.”

On the other side of the receiver, Grimes was beaming.

“Don’t worry, sir.”

Bartok hung up the phone. There was no doubt in his mind that his men would be thorough in the implementation of their duties, and would die before admitting failure. He settled back into his easy chair and awaited the news he knew would surely come—that John Carlisle was dead and would never testify against him in court.

********

Agent Drummond stood over a large plastic replica of the two hotels, including the downtown Bay City courthouse. A roomful of agents, and the two partners, as well as Agent Costagravas and Carlisle stood in rapt attention as he continued with his demonstration. Drummond moved several small plastic men and cars in different spots within the model so that each man could see what was intended to happen the next day. Of particular interest were the dolls that sported small, dark business suits. Drummond pointed to the dark-haired detective.

“Detective Starsky, since you’re posing as Carlisle, you’ll be coming out of the hotel escorted by several agents. They’ll lead you into the parking lot, where you’ll enter this limousine here. This car will make its way to the courthouse using one of several undisclosed routes. Detective Hutchinson, you and Agent Costagravas will escort the real Carlisle in this car here, and go in the opposite direction. Any questions?”

“Yeah.” Hutch motioned with his hand. “What’s to stop Bartok’s men from offing Starsky if they think he’s Carlisle?”

Starsky gave the blond a wide-eyed look. He turned to Drummond with a expression that said, ‘yeah, that’s a good question.’

“Ah, but that’s the beauty of the plan, Detective. There’ll be more cars for them to wonder about than just the two,” Drummond answered, smiling.

Hutch’s face glowed with awareness. “So Bartok’s men won’t know which car is Carlisle’s or which ones are the decoys.”

“Exactly. Rest assured, Detective Hutchinson. We have no intention of losing Carlisle, or your partner either for that matter.”

********

Right around the time Drummond was finishing his meeting with the task force, Cleo had finished the rough draft of her story and had returned to the hotel. When she got to Carlisle’s floor, the same two agents she’d seen when she left were there. She stepped up to them and smiled genially.

“See, I told you I’d be back. Did you miss me?”

“Baby, you’ll never know how much. Hey, my name’s James, and this here’s my partner, Phil.”

“It’s very nice to meet both of you.” She stepped forward to enter, but he stopped her with his hand.

“So tell me, what’s a fine sister like yourself doing fraternizing with the man?”

She laughed. “I don’t see him as ‘the man,’ brother.”

“That’s because he’s leading you around by your nose.” He turned to his partner. “No malice intended.”

The shorter man nodded. He was used to his partner’s errant lack of decorum.

“I’ll tell you somethin’, sweetie. In my book, love don’t know no color. So do me a favor, and keep your black power speechifying to yourself.”

“That’s cool, but I’ll tell you what. When you get tired of vanilla, just remember, chocolate’s waitin’ right outside the door for you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She motioned for him to open the door.

The agent complied with her request and she disappeared inside. Just as the door closed, his partner felt a gun poking him in his side. He turned to check it out, and the muzzle of a gun was the last thing he saw. His out-spoken partner didn’t see much else.

********

The elevator doors opened and Grimes and his men moved quietly on the hotel floor, their movements were so fluid and stealthy, that it was almost submarine-like. Now, for the first time since Carlisle’s arrival, the hallway outside the penthouse door was unmanned. The tracks from where the two guards had been dragged into the closet were still visible outside the door.

One of the henchmen covered over the tracks with his shoe, then opened the door to the supply room closet and looked in. There were both Federal agents, sitting bound and gagged, their backs braced against each other. Their faces reflected both embarrassment and terror. The shorter one, Phil, had an ugly black eye, and the other one, Jerome, sported a busted nose. The man who opened the door winked at them and then closed it, leaving them again in pitch darkness.

The elevator’s bell alerted Grimes and his men that someone was coming up. He silently and quickly directed two of his men to stand outside Carlisle’s suite, while the other men followed him to a spot where they wouldn’t be seen. The elevator doors opened and let Starsky, Hutch, Agent Costagravas and Carlisle step out. The two new agents let them in using the set of keys they’d removed from the real agents. Bruno stepped inside and checked the room thoroughly before letting Carlisle and the detectives inside. He greeted Cleo, who was sitting on the sofa waiting for them. When they were all safely inside, he closed the door securely and the bogus agents took their places outside the door once more.

Not long after they were settled, there was a knock at the door. Bruno moved towards it, removing his weapon from his shoulder holster and bracing his back against the wall.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“It’s Agent Seymour. I’m told you’re needed downstairs.”

Bruno looked at both detectives, and they returned his gaze. “I’m gonna need the code,” he demanded.

The men outside the door looked at Grimes and shrugged. Grimes raised his hand and handed one of them a shotgun.

“Use this,” he ordered.

The second man took the gun and motioned for his associate to step aside.

Costagravas was still waiting at the door for some direction from the two detectives. Hutch and his partner pulled their guns and held them at the ready. The blond panned the room hoping for something large enough to take shelter behind, his eyes locked on the white divan where Cleo was sitting.

“Cleo, come over here,” he whispered.

She hunched down and hustled over to him, her eyes wide.

“I want you to stay out of sight. I don’t know what these guys are going to do and I don’t want you or Carlisle to get hurt.”

A chill of fear washed over her. She was afraid, not only for herself but also for him. “What are you and Starsky going to do?”

“We’ll have to wait for them to make the first move. There’s not a whole hell of a lot we can do until that happens.”

Starsky was doing some fast figuring in his head himself about what their options might be. The bad guys could break the door down and rush them, or they could try entering from one of other suites and get in through the balcony. Or, he and Hutch could try inviting them in and take their chances. None of their options seemed guaranteed. If they were rushed, there was no telling who might be hit. If they tried to enter from somewhere else besides the door, Bruno, Hutch and he would have a better chance of knocking them off one by one, but the odds that they would try that route were slim to none. The best thing would be for the three of them to put up a united front, and let them in through the front door.

Starsky motioned to Bruno, who was still waiting at the front door. “Okay, big guy, I’m going to count to three. When I get to three, open the door and get out of the way! You got that?”

Bruno looked at him a little scared. “Are you sure about this?”

Starsky nodded and turned to Hutch, he was standing ready with his weapon steadied on the back of the divan, ready and waiting.

“Ya ready?” Starsky asked him.

“No, but go ahead anyway,” Hutch answered.

“One—two—three!” Starsky started a slow count in tandem with the shooter. Unbeknownst to the detective, a twelve-gauge shotgun was being aimed on the other side of the door. But this was no ordinary shotgun though, they were using very special ammunition, known in criminal circles as Door Dusters, it’s a very dense, compressed powdered metal that lays waste to any lock or door hinge.

Right at the count of three, the door was rocked off its hinges by the concentrated blast. The impact sent Bruno soaring backwards against the wall across from Starsky. His weapon flew up in the air and landed about two inches away from his feet. The dark-haired detective tried desperately to check the condition of the felled man without exposing himself. From the rise and fall of chest, his breathing appeared regular but shallow.

Hutch ducked behind the divan and dropped to the floor. “Hey, you okay over there?”

“Just peachy,” Starsky answered, his voice shaking.

“Is the big guy okay?”

“He’s still breathin’. Looks like he’s just unconscious.” He pulled the safety on his gun and braced himself.

Hutch nodded and went quiet. Once the smoke had dissipated and the area was secured, Grimes walked in.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen. I do have a fondness for making a dramatic entrance. Forgive me. I just regret it had to be so loud.”

Hutch’s head came up over the couch. “Who are you?” he asked calmly, his gun aimed in Grimes’s direction.

“My name is Crandall Grimes I work for Vincent Bartok. You must be Detective Hutchinson. You have a partner somewhere, a Detective Starsky, isn’t that right?”

The blond didn’t let Grimes’s revelation unsettle him. “You seem to know us, but we don’t know anything about you. What do you want?” he demanded.

“I believe you already know why we’re here.”

“I’m confused. Did you think you could just blow your way in here and we’d let you take him without a fight?”

“No, not at all. I expected you and your people to be valiant until the end.”

By now, Grimes’s men had assembled in the foyer and were positioning themselves in the central area near the vestibule. So far Starsky had not been forced to reveal his exact location. All he needed was the right moment to catch them unawares.

“That said, if you were counting on being rescued by the Calvary, please, please put it out of your heads. My men and I have taken every precaution to see that we’re not disturbed during these negotiations,” Grimes stated.

Hutch could make out at least five armed men standing in the doorway, there appeared to be more in the hallway. Fortunately, he was still able to make eye contact with Starsky from where he was positioned. He didn’t think he would have any trouble signaling his partner when it was time for them to make their move.

“This can be very difficult, or very easy. It’s up to you. We have all the time in the world, gentlemen.”

********

When the explosion happened, Carlisle and Cleo quickly beat a hasty retreat to the safety of Carlisle’s bedroom closet. They were both holding their breath while they waited for the outcome of the gun blast they’d heard. It was pitch dark in there and it seemed an eternity before they heard another sound.

“I don’t hear anything,” Carlisle said, sweat beading on his forehead. He looked nervous for the first time since he’d been secreted away. “What do you think is happening?”

“I don’t know…but I’m sure going to find out.”

Cleo got to her feet and carefully slid open the closet door, a sliver of sunlight beamed through, partially illuminating Carlisle’s face. He put a cautioning hand on her forearm.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to see if they need any help.”

“Hey, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. After all, they’re cops, they should know what they’re doing.”

She hesitated a moment. “Even cops can use some help,” she answered. “Stay there, and don’t move.”

Carlisle shut the closet door and Cleo inched quietly toward the open door of the bedroom. She could hear the deep voices of men in the foreground, but she couldn’t tell if they belonged to the two detectives, or to the men who’d come for Carlisle. She rushed over to the wall and pushed her back against it, straining to see if she could hear Hutch’s voice. She tried to calm her breathing and racing heart long enough to make out his composed timbre among the rest. Once she was able to make it out, she could hear a hint of tension in it.

“Give it up, Grimes! There’ll be police backup here in two minutes!” Hutch was bluffing and he knew it. He hoped Grimes wouldn’t notice.

“I’m afraid that’s not going to happen, Officer!”

Starsky piped in from the opposite side of the room, surprising them both. “Whaddya talking about?”

Grimes aimed his gun slowly in Starsky’s direction. He’d known there were two detectives, he just wasn’t sure where the second one was. Now he knew. “My men have the briefing room and its occupants detained. There will be no SWAT team or FBI or police backup to save you. If you want to get out of here with your lives, I strongly suggest that you and your partner cooperate.”

Hutch was weighing in his head the likelihood that these guys really had the firepower they claimed, or whether they were just blowing smoke. He caught a glimpse of burly Agent Costagravas lying unconscious on the carpet near his partner. If they could put a big guy like that down, then he and Starsky would be playthings.

“What do you say, gentlemen? Have Carlisle come out and we can end this thing right here and now.”

“Nothing doing, chump. You’ll have to get by me and my partner before you even get a chance at Carlisle,” Starsky replied.

“All right then. We’ll do it the hard way.”

Grimes motioned for his men to advance. One of them took up a position against the wall opposite Starsky, matching his stance down to the positioning of his weapon. Another man aimed at the divan, positioning his weapon to fire on Hutch.

“I’ll ask you again politely. Please lay down your weapons and come out.”

The two detectives could not comply with Grime’s request, no matter how politely it was broached. Since his pleas were met with inaction, Grimes silently motioned for the man aiming at the divan to fire his weapon. He obeyed. The bullet pierced the divan’s white cushion, and left a sooty black hole after it. Hutch’s eyes opened wide as the bullet pierced the back of the chair just above his head. Starsky jumped, his only thought the safety and wellbeing of his partner.

“You okay, buddy?” Starsky inquired, his eyes wide with alarm.

“Um…I think so…” Hutch croaked back in response, his forehead beading with sweat and his heart racing.

Cleo stood paralyzed at the bedroom door. The bullet had come flying through a lower panel of the door, tearing right past her legs and lodging in the wall across from her. She took a breath and closed her eyes. She felt the urge to faint, but let it pass over her, pushing it away and opening her eyes again. She peered out through the crack in the door to see if Hutch was still lying on the floor. He was. He had turned over onto his back and had his weapon pointed toward the ceiling.

Grimes laughed. “I can’t believe you two are willing to give up your lives for a man you don’t even know.”

“You’d better believe it, buddy. We ain’t budging. My partner and me are ready to go out like Butch and Sundance if necessary!” Starsky called out.

“Very well, then.”

Grimes pointed his gun at either side of the divan without firing, prompting two of his men to cover both ends. As they came forward, Hutch could see the man’s head above the divan. He positioned his gun, ready for whatever was about to happen. Starsky was able to get a bead on the goon approaching his partner from the left. No sooner had his weapon cleared the wall, than the gunman stationed on the opposite side of it came forward and brought his fists down hard on Starsky’s gun hand, forcing him to drop his Beretta. The expression on his face was one of total surprise as the gunman twisted his arm behind him and pushed him forward.

The henchman now holding his gun to Hutch’s head stood over him. “Get up!” he ordered.

Hutch obeyed, laying his gun on the carpet and rising to a standing position with his hands above his head. One of the gunmen walked over and pushed him into his partner, almost knocking him over.

“Thanks,” Hutch responded.

There were a lot of things a cop could do in the line of duty. One of them was putting their lives on the line to protect an important state’s witness. But Hutch didn’t see the sense in having an innocent bystander buy it as well. Hutch tried reasoning with their leader again.

“What do you hope to accomplish by killing Carlisle?” Hutch questioned. “The FBI’s got plenty to nail you with already!”

“Shut up, cop!” Grimes replied angrily. He walked over to Hutch and stared at him for a moment, reading him. “They don’t have shit, and you know it.”

“That’s not what we heard,” Starsky insisted.

Grimes was slowly becoming impatient. In his mind, these two cops were mere annoyances on the way to achieving his absolute goal. “You know what would make my day, Detective?”

“I haven’t got a clue. Why don’t you tell me?” Hutch answered.

“I would love to just blow your head off.” He aimed the gun in his hand right at Hutch’s forehead. “How would you like that?” Grimes asked, there was a new glint of malice in his eyes.

“I kinda like my face the way it is,” Hutch quipped. “It goes with the rest of me so well.”

Seeing his partner was in danger, Starsky tried to make a move to get at Grimes, but he was quickly subdued with a blow to his side. He grunted and doubled over on the floor next to Hutch’s feet.

“Hey, that wasn’t necessary!” Hutch yelled, moving to defend his partner.

Grimes lowered the gun. “I hope you’re still cracking wise after we’re done with you.”

Hutch shrugged off Grimes’s threat and watched him step away and walk off in the direction of Carlisle’s room. Hutch was now able to kneel down and determine how badly his partner might be hurt.

“You okay down there?”

“Just peachy,” Starsky croaked weakly.

Hutch reached over to help him up. “Can you stand?”

Starsky nodded and then reached up to grab hold of his partner’s arm. He used Hutch’s hand as a crutch to gain some leverage, then stood up and adjusted his jacket. He leaned a shaky elbow on Hutch’s shoulder.

“What’re we gonna do now?” he whispered.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Hutch answered.

Hutch sighed as they watched Grimes and two of his men, those who weren’t guarding them—get closer to Carlisle’s room.

Back inside the room, Cleo could see three men coming toward her. What can I do? she thought. I have to distract them. Maybe Hutch and Starsky can disarm those men guarding them and Carlisle will be able to make a run for or it.

But how? Then it hit her. The convenience of being able to show a little skin almost always worked to her advantage. She closed the bedroom door carefully and locked it, then raced to the bathroom. She took off everything she was wearing; including the shoes, and then wrapped a hotel bath towel around her. It didn’t cover much, but it was suitable for what she needed to do. She checked herself out in the mirror, and then braced herself for her entrance.

“Here goes nothing,” she breathed.

She moved toward the bedroom door and unlocked it, slipped out and stood quietly in the room for a moment. Grimes and his two men were in the foreground, having stopped to check their weapons. Hutch and his partner were facing the front door, with two men guarding them and one other watching over the unconscious Bruno.

She steeled herself and let the words come flowing seductively out of her mouth as if she were in a scene from an acting class. “Ken, could you help me? I couldn’t find the soap.”

Starsky looked over first, then Hutch. Before she knew it every man in the room had his eyes on her. Hutch’s face was a mixture of confusion and surprise, but Starsky seemed to realize what she was trying to do even before he did.

“Did you try the medicine cabinet?” he answered.

“Er, right.” Hutch was ‘with it,’ directing his attention to Cleo. “How about underneath the sink?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t. I’ll go check there.”

As she turned to go back into the bedroom, Grimes grabbed her by the arm. “Wait a minute, honey, just who are you?”

“Who am I?” she asked coyly.

He pulled her away from the door. “It’s not polite to answer a question with a question. Come over here.”

“You wouldn’t deny a girl a shower, now would you?”

“Under normal circumstances, no. But these aren’t normal circumstances. Which one of these cops do you belong to?” he asked facetiously.

Hutch spoke up. “That’d be me.”

At that, Grimes pulled her closer to him, the heat from his breath hitting her directly in the face as he spoke. “Are you in the altogether underneath this towel?” She trembled as his grip on her tightened. “What say we find out?” She tried wrenching her arm free, but it was no use. With Grimes’s free hand he went to reach under the towel. She flinched in expectation, but the hand never came. Somehow Hutch had managed to grab it, twisting it behind his back, thus bringing to a halt the unwanted advance.

“Don’t…touch her!” Hutch ordered.

“What are you going to do, Officer Hutchinson? Arrest me?”

“I can’t do that right now. But I could probably break your arm in a few choice places.”

Cleo stood stock-still, breathing hard, watching them and holding the towel against her, not knowing what to do next. Both men’s eyes bore into each other and Hutch would not release his grip. “Let her go. She’s not a part of this.”

“Hutch, this is probably not such a hot idea,” Starsky warned, still smarting from the blow to his side. Grimes’s men were standing around them like bombs waiting to be detonated.

“Well, if you’ve got any suggestions, partner, I’d sure like to hear ‘em.” He wasn’t about to let go of the guy’s arm anytime soon, even with several bad guys aiming guns at him.

“Looks like we have a Mexican standoff here,” Grimes announced, chortling. He was enjoying this.

“I’ll make you a deal. I won’t break your arm if you promise to let the lady go.”

“You’ve got some big cajones, Hutchinson. I like that. Sure, I’ll let her go, just ease up on my arm.”

“In a minute. Cleo, go get dressed, you’re getting out of here.”

Cleo hesitated. “But Ken, what about you guys?”

“Don’t worry about us. We’ll be okay,” he assured her, still holding Grimes tightly. “Go ahead, get dressed.”

She shakily drew herself close to him and kissed him softly on the lips. “No matter what happens. You’d better remember this. I love you.”

Hutch seemed surprised, but pleased. “I…I love you, too. Now go on.”

He’d heard those words a few times in his life, uttered by different women on several occasions and under some pretty interesting circumstances, but this one took the cake. The words had special meaning given the fact that they were coming out of the seriousness of the situation, and not being blurted out in the throes of passion. People say anything when they’re in bed with each other, particularly if they don’t know each other well. He kept that thought in mind as he watched her shapely form disappear into the bedroom. As soon as she was out of sight, he quickly returned his thoughts to his hostage.

“As soon as she’s out of here, I’ll let you go. Not before then.” He tightened his grip. “You got that?”

Carlisle nodded and smiled unevenly.

Once Cleo had closed the door to the bedroom, she got dressed again. When she was done, she knocked softly on the closet door to alert Carlisle.

“Mr. Carlisle, you still in there?”

Carlisle slid the door open. “I’m still here. You were gone for a little while. What’s going on out there?”

“They’ve got Ken and Detective Starsky pinned down. If I don’t find a way to get you out of here, they’ll get you, too.”

Carlisle stood up, his legs a little cramped from sitting Indian-style for so long. “What do you suggest I do?” He now noticed what she was wearing. “Why do you have on my clothes?”

“I’ve got another idea, trust me.”

“What is it?”

“Since I’m wearing something of yours, I want you to put on something of mine.” She picked up a black cape. “This thing is pretty loose and has some flow to it. It’s also got a hood. Maybe if they can’t see your face, they won’t be able to tell the difference.”

“You must be joking,” he replied. “There’s no way I could pass for a woman.”

“But we’ve got to try something. Have you got any ideas?”

“No, but it’s never going to work,” he answered. But all the while he was rebuffing the idea, he was rolling up his trouser legs and putting on the cape she was handing him.

“Hurry up, man, they’re expecting me to out there soon.”

She never ever let on to Carlisle just how afraid she was that this plan of hers might not work.

********

Starsky had recovered enough to hold his own now, and Hutch was still holding on to the gang leader’s arm, tightening his grip and bringing forth a groan of pain from him whenever he sensed the gunman beside him was getting a little restless. Both detectives were being set a little on edge by the fact that Cleo hadn’t come out when they’d expected her to.

“What is she doin’ in there?” Starsky asked quizzically.

“Hell if I know.” Hutch cupped his right hand to his lips. “Cleo, you all right in there?”

“Yes, I’m coming!” she answered back.

Cleo frantically rushed to put the finishing touches on Carlisle’s disguise. When she done, she stepped back and took a look at him. He wasn’t perfect, but he looked about as female as he was going to get, considering he was five feet nine inches tall and built like a defensive back.

“Come on,” she urged him, leading him towards the door. “This is your big debut.”

“Wish me luck.” Carlisle opened the door slowly and Cleo gave him a reassuring nod. He walked out with trepidation, keeping his head covered and bowed.

********

Starsky’s eye was on her oddly cloaked form as soon as she came out of the room. His eyes traveled the distance from head to foot. That’s when he saw it. The shoes. It wasn’t Cleo. It had to be Carlisle. They’d switched places. And Cleo was still in the bedroom. He inched as close to his blond partner as the revolver pointed at his side would allow him and whispered in a cautionary tone, “Whatever you do, partner, don’t let go of him yet.”

“What?” Hutch asked, his voice level matching Starsky’s. Starsky motioned slightly with his head in the direction of the retreating form. The blond’s eyes followed his partner’s until he too could see his partner had seen. ‘Cleo’ wasn’t ‘Cleo’ at all, despite the femininity of the attire; the patent leathers were a dead giveaway. Hutch now realized that whatever happened, it was imperative that neither Grimes nor his men get a clear view of just who was headed out that front door. He had to give Carlisle enough time to get out of the hotel and hopefully get to safety.

“I’m curious, Grimes. Where’s your boss? Why isn’t he here to take the heat with you?” Hutch inquired, hoping to keep the man occupied.

Grimes tried to turn and face the detective to answer him, but Hutch jerked his arm behind him a little tighter, keeping him facing away from him.

“That’s none of your business.” He grimaced.

Starsky decided to try his hand at it. “What makes you think you’ll be in any better position with your boss after this is all over? Bartok is still going to have to stand trial.”

“You’d never understand.”

“Try me.”

Carlisle was at the front door, ready to leave—his hand was poised over the knob, almost free. That’s when the man guarding Starsky took his eyes off of the detective for a second and became very interested in the figure about to exit. He frowned and cocked his head to the side, the way a dog does when it’s confused. He directed his gaze first at the door, then at the cape, until he slowly made his way down to the shoes. His expression changed abruptly as he soon realized what the curly-haired detective and his fair-haired partner already knew. That was no lady beneath that cloak, it was Carlisle!

“Mr. Grimes?” he muttered, almost too quietly.

No sooner was the name spoken than Carlisle had opened the door and was closing it. Without looking back, surreptitiously stepped outside to his freedom.

“Mr. Grimes, I think you should know something.”

“What is it?” Grimes asked angrily.

“I don’t think it was the girl who just went out the door.”

“What!?” He shrieked. Then as if he’d acquired some superhuman strength, he wrested his arm out of Hutch’s grasp, whipped around him and ran for the door. He flung it open and raced out to the elevator only to see the doors closing in front of him. He turned back towards the penthouse door, breathing heavily, his face a portrait of uncontrolled rage.

He looked over at his men who were frozen in place. “Don’t just stand there! Go after him!”

The three of his men that did not have to guard the two detectives hesitated a moment longer, then reacted. Two of them raced down the stairwell and the other stood at the elevator impatiently pressing the call button. Now Grime’s wrath could not be contained, he stalked past Starsky and Hutch and headed towards the bedroom.

He turned toward the duo. “If that was Carlisle who escaped, your lives won’t be worth dirt!”

Cleo could hear Grimes’s voice coming closer. She was still dressed in Carlisle’s clothing. The angry man tried the doorknob and found it locked. He knocked furiously, she flattened herself against the door, deathly afraid to move.

“Miss…Cleo is it?” he said soothingly. “Please come out. I know it was Carlisle who got away. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

With nowhere to go, she unlocked the door and slowly walked out. Grimes allowed her to walk over to where the two detectives were without being manhandled. She still had on the white dress shirt and trousers that Carlisle was supposed to wear for the transport operation. As she walked over to him, Hutch marveled that she could make even men’s clothing look sexy. She lowered her gaze as she approached him.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work.”

“That’s okay. The important thing is you tried,” Hutch answered softly.

“I’ve had about enough of you three,” Grimes announced. “Lock them in the bedroom,” he ordered. “I’ll figure out what to do with them later.”

As the hoods began leading the three of them towards the bedroom, Starsky suddenly got an idea.

“You and Bartok thought you had it made. Didn’t you?”

Grimes motioned for the guards to stop. “What are you talking about?”

Starsky gave Hutch a sly wink and directed his eyes to the spot where Hutch’s weapon was still lying. Hutch nodded knowingly, he knew exactly what his partner had in mind. In tough situations like these, the partners’ ability to communicate to each other without the use of words was a viable asset.

You were one-upped by a lady. Must make you feel a little inadequate,” Starsky continued.

“Shut up! Shut your mouth!”

Hutch joined in. “What’s the matter, Grimes? Not feeling so smug now, are we?”

Grimes growled and rushed forward with all his fury to attack Hutch, who successfully held him off and tossed him aside. Starsky whipped around and forced the gun hand of the man covering him up into the air, holding it there by sheer force of will. With his free hand he retrieved his own gun from the man’s waistband. Hutch tucked and rolled over to his weapon and came up on his knees, quickly covering Grimes and the henchman holding Cleo.

“Let her go!” Hutch ordered. “I have no reservations about using this!”

“Do as he says!” Grimes ordered.

The man let go of Cleo’s arm and she rushed to Hutch’s side. She knelt beside him and they hugged each other tightly, but his eyes and his gun remained fixed on the two men in front of him.

“It’s gonna be okay. Just stay with me,” he told her.

Starsky pulled out his cuffs and fastened them onto the man he had subdued. Hutch rose from his stance and pulled Cleo up with him.

“Nice work, Starsk.”

“My pleasure.” Starsky walked over to Grimes. “Come on, pally, now it’s your turn to see how it feels to be locked up.”

Hutch used his gun to point the way to the bedroom. Grimes and his men had no choice but to do as they were told. Starsky had to practically push the offenders to get them to go along.

“C’mon. C’mon! Get over there!”

In their haste to get the prisoners into the bedroom and secured, Starsky and his partner didn’t take into consideration when the three men who’d gone out to recover Carlisle earlier, would return. They were motionless as they stood in the doorway calculating the situation, then they walked in quietly and pulled their guns.

“Hold it, you two!” they commanded in unison.

Starsky turned first, then Hutch. They’d been caught off guard, exactly the distraction Grimes needed to regain control of the situation. Hutch tried to make a move on him.

“Try it and we’ll shoot the girl!” one of them cautioned.

“Drop your weapons!” another demanded.

Hutch and Starsky reluctantly obeyed, sliding their weapons onto the uncarpeted floor next to the balcony’s sliding glass doors. The two henchmen standing closest to them picked them up and emptied the chambers of both. Cleo held onto Hutch for dear life.

“Good, good. I hope you’ll cooperate now and we can get this over quickly.” Grimes took a spare gun from the man who’d been guarding Starsky. “You!” he said motioning to the darker man. “Remove those cuffs.”

With a sigh of resignation, Starsky pulled his set of keys out of his jeans pocket. The gunman made no effort at hiding his indignation at being made a fool in front his associates once he was released. He grabbed Starsky roughly by the shoulder and shot him his meanest glare. He could just as well have saved the display. Such shows of hostility and manhandling only served to make the city-born detective more fearless.

“Maybe you oughta get used to seein’ these.” Starsky threw the cuffs at Grimes, who caught them and gave them to the man who’d just been uncuffed.

“On the contrary, Detective. It’s you who should get used to wearing them, and that goes for your partner, too. I assume that both of you were assigned a pair, as per regulation.”

Without provocation, Hutch reached into his back pocket and pulled out his pair of handcuffs.

“Now you, handcuff your partner,” Grimes demanded, pointing his gun at Hutch.

Starsky begrudgingly complied with the order by turning around and offering his wrists to his partner, who placed the cuffs on each of his wrists and locked them firmly. Starsky turned to confront Grimes, his face a mask of concentrated hostility.

“You won’t get away with this! Hutch and I’ll see to that.”

“An admirable reproof, my dear Mr. Starsky, but one I’ll fancy is without the necessary substantiation. I’m sure you’ll agree given the circumstances.”

“Just wait’ll I get outta these things!” Starsky lunged forward, but was held back both by Hutch and the man who was guarding him.

“Cool it, Starsk,” Hutch said in a soothing voice, trying desperately to calm him down. He placed a protective arm around Cleo’s waist. “What are you going to do with us, Grimes? I’m curious, seeing as how Carlisle’s probably safe in Federal custody by now.”

“Hmmm. Let me see,” he said, pointing the gun at the three of them. First the muzzle rested on Starsky, then on Cleo, then lastly, wavering on Hutch. Grimes inhaled and exhaled, looking as though he was trying to make up his mind which one of them to shoot first. Finally, the muzzle of the gun rested on the blond detective, and it stayed there.

“I don’t know, Hutchinson, I think maybe I’d like to make good on my earlier threat,” he said, cocking the gun.

Cleo’s eyes were alive with terror. “What are you going to do? You’re not going to shoot him a…are you?” The words tumbled out of her mouth too freely.

Starsky answered for him. “He’d do it. Sick men have no conscience.”

Grime’s mouth curved into an evil sneer as he slowly pulled the trigger. From Hutch’s point of view it all seemed to be occurring in slow motion. Grimes made a last minute change in the gun’s positioning and pulled the trigger, the bullet flew out of the muzzle, heading not at him but straight for Cleo. He moved with lighting speed, launching his entire body out into space to deflect the bullet’s course. At the same time, Starsky lunged at Grimes to knock him off balance, landing on top of him.

The bullet hit Hutch just east of the protective sheathing of his vest, searing through to the warm flesh of his thigh. He fell to the floor hard, the impact knocking him unconscious.

“Hutch! Hutch!?” Cleo screamed, dropping to the floor and cradling his head in her arms.

Although handcuffed, Starsky was able to wrestle the gun away from his accomplice while sitting on his back. Wrists still bound, he pointed the gun at the rest of the gunmen in the room and motioned for them to gather in the corner. They obeyed. “You over there!” He gestured to the man he’d taken the handcuffs off of earlier. “Get these things off me. Now!”

The man jumped forward and did as he was told without delay. He pulled the key out of his jacket pocket and undid the handcuffs on the detective’s wrists, then stepped back. Starsky took them from him and deftly placed them onto Grime’s wrists, getting off him and pulling him up roughly by his sleeve.

“Let’s go, Geronimo, this is your last stand!’ He pointed at the man. “You too, guys, hurry it up! Let’s not waste time.”

As each man filed into a makeshift holding area in the corner of the room, Starsky led a defeated Grimes over to stand with them. “Stay right there, don’t move!” Starsky raced over to his partner as Cleo sat crying and caressing his cheek. And like the Calvary, several armed FBI agents appeared at the door, guns drawn.

“Hey, everything okay in here? We heard a shot!” one of them inquired. They filed in.

“What took you guys so long?” Starsky asked, examining his partner’s leg wound. He lifted the bottom of the vest as much as he safely dared. The wound was bleeding a lot, but it wasn’t life threatening. He pushed the sweaty stray locks of blond hair off of Hutch’s forehead, then turned toward the Federal agent.

“Need any help?”

“All we can get. My partner’s been shot. We’re going to need an ambulance!” He pointed to Grimes and his men. “Those guys over there are gonna need a personal escort downtown.” Then his eyes strayed to the still unconscious Federal agent lying near the doorway. Lends a whole new meaning to the ‘bigger they are the harder they fall’ theory. “Oh yeah, looks like the big guy over there could use some help, too.”

The Federal agents converged on the five men and hauled them out the door. One of them remained behind to make the phone call to the hospital.

Starsky now concerned himself with the well being of Hutch’s lady friend, putting a comforting hand on her heaving shoulder. She looked up at him with tear-streaked cheeks. “Why did he do it? Why?”

“Because he cares about you. When Hutch cares about you, there’s nothin’ he wouldn’t do for ya, and that includes takin’ a bullet.”

“But he could have been killed!”

“I guess he felt like you were worth it. Some things…some people, are worth it.” His statement floated in the air, thick and heavy, like grey clouds heralding a storm.

When the FBI agent had the paramedics on the phone he directed them to the hotel. He finished with the call and was on his way out of the room when the dark-haired detective grabbed his arm.

“Say, what happened to Carlisle? Did he make it out?”

“Yeah, I don’t know how he did it without being caught, but he was the one who called us and told us what was going on. We hustled on down here and assessed the situation. Turned out Agent Drummond and the rest of them were being held in the conference room just like he said. IT also turns out that Bartok’s men had just about taken over the whole hotel. They jumped two of our guys and almost got our star witness.”

“Did you get them all?”

“We got them all. Going to be taking them downtown in a few minutes.”

“That’s terrific. What about Bartok?”

“Bartok? We checked with the hotel across the street, but he’d checked out two hours earlier.”

Starsky knew by now that Bartok was long gone. He must have been notified that his plan had failed somehow and beat a hasty retreat back to Japan or where ever he’d come from. But that didn’t matter now. The most important thing was to get his partner taken care of.

“What’s the ETA on that ambulance?”

The agent looked at his watch. “About five minutes. Is he going to be okay?” he asked, surveying the blond’s condition.

“He’ll make it. It’d take more than a bullet in the leg to stop Hutch.”

At that moment Hutch’s eyes opened slowly. “Whoa…what happened?” he asked groggily. Then, apparently oblivious to the fact that he’d been shot, the man bravely tried to stand. A foolish attempt which his partner vehemently discouraged.

“Whoa there, Blondie. Let me help you!” Starsky moved quickly, pulling his partner up on his feet and allowing him to lean most of his weight on his frame as he helped him to a chair. “C’mon, buddy, sit down, you really shouldn’t be standin’ on that leg.”

As Starsky was trying to maneuver his partner’s considerable mass on to a chair, Hutch felt his weight getting the better of the shorter man. In an effort to spare his partner a hernia, he let go and dropped down all too quickly on the unpadded seat. The searing pain in his leg hit him all at once.

“Oh man! What the hell…?” he exclaimed, grabbing his leg to stem the throbbing.

Cleo was suddenly kneeling in front of him. “He shot you, Ken! He was going to shoot me! But you…you jumped in front of me and he hit you instead.”

He touched her cheek weakly with his other hand and held on to the chair with the other. “I’d do it again, for you.”

Starsky took a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wiped the sweat from his partners’ brow. He then twisted the handkerchief lengthwise and carefully slid it under his partner’s thigh, keeping his eyes on his him as he did. Hutch flinched visibly as Starsky tied it as tightly as he could below the wound.

“You look terrible,” he blurted out.

“Thanks, partner,” Hutch answered.

Cleo couldn’t help softly sobbing at his feet. How can you possibly go through with writing that story now? A voice seemed to answer back. Because you’re a damn good writer and a dedicated journalist. Her mind searched for a counter to that cold reasoning. If we both care for each other like we think we do, it won’t matter. If not, then it wasn’t meant to be. The siren of the ambulance pierced the silence of the room as it pulled up in front of the hotel.

“Sounds like your ride’s here,” Starsky announced.

********

Bay City Memorial Hospital was almost like a second home for the two detectives. It seemed as if they spent a good twenty percent of their time recuperating from some ailment or physical attack. Despite the trials and tribulations of surgery and mending, it actually wasn’t all that bad. Some of the nurses were gorgeous and a few of them could even pass for models. How they’d ended up being nurses was a mystery to them both.

Hutch was wearing the prerequisite white hospital gown, lying in bed with his leg elevated and bandaged. And although he should have been very uncomfortable, the look on his face was one of pure contentment. The reason for his good spirits was all too obvious, one of the aforementioned nurses, this time a slim brunette, was tending to the changing of his bed linen. Her obvious charms were not lost on the injured officer. He had his arm draped around her neck and shoulder as she leaned over him to change first one, then the other side of the bed.

“Humm. You’re very good at this,” he complimented.

“Comes with years of practice, and it doesn’t hurt to have an outstanding bedside manner.”

It’s not your bedside manner that’s so outstanding, he thought. Hutch hadn’t seen or heard from Cleo since the day he’d gone into the hospital for surgery to remove the bullet in his thigh. While he missed her terribly, he couldn’t help indulging himself when the opportunity arose to enjoy a lady’s charms, even if they didn’t always fall for his magnetic charm and male bravado.

The nurse glanced at her watch. “Ooh jeez, I’d better hurry up and get you ready, visiting hours are coming up soon.”

“Oh, come on, there’s no hurry. After all, my partner’s seen me in worse positions than this.”

Hutch playfully nuzzled her nose, and the winsome nurse was barely able to contain her laughter. With some concerted effort on her part, she managed to finish tucking the sheets under her affectionate patient. She looked at her watch again. “I’ve really got to go,” she told him. The big smile disappeared from Hutch’s face and she gently removed his arm from around her neck and helped him lean back against the pillows. “I’ll be back later, I promise.” As she headed for the door, she blew him a big kiss. Starsky was just preparing to knock when she opened the door. The comely nurse smiled at him, then brushed past. He stood in the doorway a moment, lecherously admiring her uniform.

“Gotta love those nurses!” he remarked when she was out of earshot.

“Yeah, I know whatcha mean, partner. They’re a sick man’s answer to Florence Nightingale.”

Starsky closed the door and made his way over to the laid-up blond. He picked up a chair and moved it over towards the bed. With one intuitive glance, he was able to assess his partner’s overall mood.

“Hey, you don’t look half bad. Maybe I should get myself wounded so I can end up in here.”

“Believe me, buddy, that’d be doin’ it the hard way.” He stared at his partner. “So, what’s going on with Bartok?”

“Well, they picked him and the rest of his flunkies up in customs just after you got into the hospital. The Feds were able to detain them just on the strength of Carlisle’s information. He’s in lockup until the trial tomorrow. Yours truly will be sittin’ in on the proceedings.”

“That’s good. Maybe he’ll get what he deserves this time.”

“With Carlisle’s’ testimony, I think we’ve got a pretty solid case.”

Hutch tried to adjust his position in bed a little and winced with the effort. There was an awkward silence between them that let Starsky know his partner had yet another niggling question on his mind, just waiting to be posed. To make it easier he raised the question himself.

“Heard from Cleo since you been in here?”

Hutch looked up at him. “I was hoping she‘d come to see me. But no, I haven’t heard from her.”

“Don’t worry, buddy.” Starsky put a hand on his shoulder. “She’ll be in touch with you. You took a bullet for her, you just don’t pick up and leave after someone does that.”

“I guess you’re right.”

The darker detective got up from his chair and walked over to the window, leaning his shoulder against the window frame and looking outside. This time the awkward silence was his. He turned to his partner and posed his own question with some hesitation.

“Hutch?”

“Yeah, Starsk?”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. It’s probably gonna sound real dumb. I mean…I think I know the answer, but I just wanted to hear it from you.”

“Spill it, Starsk…”

“Mind you, I’m not knocking the free love movement or experimentation or any of that great stuff. I mean, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve got every right to go out with anyone you want.”

Hutch was getting a little annoyed. “Starsky!!”

“Okay, okay. Here goes. In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve only dated blue-eyed blondes and willowy brunettes. What’s the story? Why the three sixty with Cleo?”

Hutch considered his partner’s question calmly. There he was, standing clear across the room, looking as if he was about to be struck by a bolt of wayward lightning for his blasphemy. The blond sighed, but instead of getting angry, he threw a pillow in Starsky’s direction instead, which his partner artfully dodged. As the pillow settled at his feet, Starsky looked up at the blond patient.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Lookit, if you don’t wanna answer the question, just say so, huh?”

“It’s not that, Starsk…”

“Then what is it?”

“Starsky, you of all people know the crappy luck I’ve had with women so far. If I had a nickel for all the times I’ve heard, ‘so long, it’s been great,’ or ‘sorry, it’s been nice knowing you, but I’ve made other plans, and they don’t include you,’ I’d be a rich man. I’ve had it up to here with women who are supposed to be ‘my type.’” Hutch put his hand up to his chin. “Cleo and I just clicked. When I saw her, I made up my mind then and there that the color of her skin wasn’t going to factor into my decision to get to know her. I think that’s just a lousy way to judge a person.”

Starsky folded his arms. “Well, aren’t we just the liberal thinker.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothin’.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of promoting diversity and love thy neighbor, Starsky?”

“Maybe, but I’da never’ve took you for one of those ‘60’s radical types.”

“Look, when it comes right down to it, I’d lay down odds that Cleo and I weren’t gonna end up walking down the aisle, living in a house with a picket fence and having two point three kids, but she sure as hell came close.”

Starsky picked up the pillow at his feet and threw it back on the bed. “Maybe I need to expand my horizons, too.”

The blond detective leaned forward and picked up the pillow, positioning it behind him again. “Knowing you, you’d probably end up dating the whole United Nations panel before you found the right one.”

Starsky laughed, and the laugh was followed by one of those great big smiles that Hutch could always count on to light up the whole room. It got Hutch to smiling, too.

“So when are you gettin’ outta this dump?”

“Doc says I can be out of here as early as tomorrow, if I don’t move around too much and aggravate it.”

“Great. I’ll be here around noon tomorrow to pick you up. We can have dinner at your place.”

“Sounds great. Lookin’ forward to it, partner.”

Starsky strutted over to the door. “I’ll see ya tomorrow then.”

Hutch saluted him as he headed out, and Starsky returned the gesture. When the dark-haired detective got the door and opened it, Cleo Garvey was standing there. She looked just as ravishing and radiant as the first day he’d met her.

“Well, Ms. Garvey. As I live and breathe!” Starsky exclaimed.

At the mention of her name, Hutch just about vaulted out of bed. He made a nervous attempt to fix his hair and straighten the hospital gown. Admiring her in a newfound light, Starsky stood blocking her way for the better part of a minute.

“Detective Starsky…do you mind?” she asked playfully.

“Oh no…no…go right ahead,” he said with a demonstrative sweep of his hand. “Don’t be too long though, he’s still a very sick boy.”

“I’ll be very careful, I promise.”

For the moment, Hutch wasn’t even able to see her, just hear her voice. That was all it took to send shivers of anticipation through him.

Cleo swept past Starsky and he closed the door behind him. Like a wish come true, she walked into Hutch’s view and greeted him with a warm smile.

“Hello, Kenny.”

He reached his arms out to her, and she walked forward and into them without hesitation, avoiding his injured leg.

“I missed you,” he said.

“I missed you, too,” she answered back, kissing him softly on the lips.

He shifted over on the bed so that she could find a space to sit beside him. There was an awkward pause as she anticipated the question he was most certainly going to ask her. In an effort to quell her nervousness, she held his hand.

“How’s your leg?” she asked.

“It’ll be fine. The next time our captain’s upset with us, we’ll have no trouble walking a beat.”

“I’m glad.”

Hutch didn’t wait any longer. “So where’ve you been?”

“Oh, I’ve been around. Mostly I’ve been hanging outside the hospital trying to get up enough nerve to come in.”

“Why?” he asked, almost surprised.

“Kenny, I’m the reason you’re in here. Don’t you get that?”

He turned his head and looked into her eyes. “Now you listen to me…you are not the reason I’m in here. If anything, I’m the reason I’m in here. If you want to blame somebody, blame Grimes, blame Vincent Bartok, but don’t blame yourself.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right, I know you’re right.”

Cleo absentmindedly played with the turquoise and silver ring on the third finger of Hutch’s right hand. She also prayed for a good time to tell him the truth, the whole truth, but it never seemed to come. Considering how he felt about her, did it really make sense for her to tell him what was going on, just so she could feel better about herself? Nothing made sense to her anymore, her reasons for what she was doing seemed out of place, and unimportant in the scheme of things.

“Check out time’s tomorrow. Starsky’s coming by to pick me up and we’re going to my place for dinner. Wanna come?” He squeezed her hand and released it.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. What time?”

“Why don’t you meet us here around noon? Then you can follow us to my apartment.”

She leaned her head against his and nodded positively. “Okay.”

With their hands clasped neatly between them, they slid down on the bed and lay next to each other, happily sharing one pillow. Of course right then came a knock at the door.

“Come in,” they answered in unison.

The duty nurse, an older woman wearing a stiffly starched uniform and hair to match, opened the door and poked her head into the room.

“Sorry to interrupt, but visiting hours are over.” She consulted her watch for good measure. Your guest will have to leave.”

“Oh well, sweetie.” Cleo turned to him. “Guess we’ll have to continue this tomorrow.”

Hutch released her hand to let her go, but before turning it loose, he kissed it. “I’ll see you then.”

“See you.”

The duty nurse didn’t leave until she’d seen Cleo out the door. Then she turned to the blond authoritatively.

“You get your rest, young man. You’ve a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”

Hutch turned to look at her. Did she knew something he didn’t?

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered obediently.

The nurse turned off the room light and closed the door when she left. Like a ten year old, Hutch pulled the covers over his head and promptly went to sleep.

********

A preliminary hearing wasn’t a very exciting affair in and of itself. Its main purpose for being was to determine whether or not the suspect in question had actually committed any crime. The judge assigned to the case was one William Houghton, a jovial tugboat of a man who’d had the displeasure of seeing Vincent Bartok in his courtroom once or twice too often. All previous cases against Bartok usually ended up dismissed, either for lack of evidence, lack of witnesses, or sometimes both. Houghton hoped this time that the prosecution had built a case against him that would stick.

There were no field reporters, no members of the general public or victims of the defendant allowed in the courtroom for this hearing. The judge always considered that the din they created getting to and from their seats was distracting and took away from the proceedings. A pretty bailiff opened the door to the courtroom and looked out into the corridor, locating a solemn group of men waiting impatiently in the hallway, she motioned for them to come forward.

“The judge is almost ready. Please come in and take your assigned seats.”

Starsky was already inside the courtroom, eyeballing his watch and waiting for Drummond and his men to show up with Carlisle. He watched with focused interest as several men in suits entered the courtroom and made their way to the prosecutor’s desk. The infamous Vincent Bartok was with them, looking disgruntled, but very accustomed to the whole process. The four of them walked past the detective and seated themselves at the defendant’s table, talking animatedly amongst themselves. Starsky strained to see if he could make out what they were saying, but he wasn’t able to.

It wasn’t long before Federal agents were escorting a heavily guarded John Carlisle into the courtroom. Starsky kept his eye on Bartok while the group found spots sitting behind the prosecutor’s desk. Bartok was dressed elegantly in a Nino Cerruti suit, but he was looking nothing like the haughty man who’d arrived in town just a few days ago. He flashed Carlisle a crooked smile. The latter did not make eye contact with the former as he sat down next to counsel. One of Bartok’s attorneys winked at Starsky and he tossed him a condescending smile, then leaned back against the railing.

The pretty bailiff disappeared into the judge’s chambers to check on his readiness. The court reporter, a young woman in her twenties, arranged her workspace, putting in paper, adjusting her chair and so forth. Having been to many of these, the detective was getting ready to prepare himself for a long, boring proceeding until one of the men who’d come in with the agents tapped him on the shoulder.

“You must be Detective Sergeant Starsky. I’m Phil Melton,” he said, offering his hand.

Melton was short, balding, and his suit didn’t fit him well. But he was sociable enough. His hair was combed to the side of his head, possibly in an attempt to hide a receding hairline and try to look a bit younger. The suit was an ill-fitting grey number, paired with spit shined patent leather shoes. He stuck his hand out at Starsky so forcefully that he couldn’t help but to shake it.

“Nice to meetcha.”

“Same here. So, you here for the hearing, huh?”

He thought that should’ve been obvious. “Sure am.”

Melton sat down on the bench beside the detective.

“I’m a research clerk with the law firm handling the case. Those guys up there are the partners. Real pros.”

“I’ve never seen ‘em before. Ya mind tellin’ me who’s who?”

“Sure, no problem.” Melton pointed out each attorney at the prosecution’s desk. “That silver haired guy there in the pinstripe suit, that’s Graham Withers, he’s got about twenty five years in, he was on the last lawsuit ten years ago when the case was dropped for lack of evidence. Swears he’ll win this one. Next to him, that’s Brent Taylor, his partner. He does a lot of the legal wrangling and research. The other guy on the right, that’s Philip Donner. He’s senior partner, works on a lot of these high profile cases, but only when they’re interesting, if you know what I mean.” Melton’s forehead crinkled. “Hmm, there’s somebody missing though. A new associate, her name’s Joyce Carlson. I thought sure she’d be assigned to this one.”

“I know the type,” Starsky supposed. “Probably started out as a secretary, seen a lot of cases in her day and came up in the ranks, right?”

“I don’t know much about her background. I haven’t really met her yet. I hear her opening statements are legend. It’s said she’s got a great way with words.”

Starsky nodded.

Two male bailiffs now stood sentry at the main doors, ready to keep order should any problems occur. They both stepped aside in unison as the doors came open and a woman entered. Joyce Carlson was unbelievably beautiful. She was dressed to impress from the shoes on her feet, down to the lines of her suit. In her hand she carried a thick manila document folder and under one arm, a black leather valise. All activity in the room ceased. Both Melton and Starsky had to turn around to see who could have such a powerful presence as to silence an entire room. She glided in. At first it looked as if she were about to join the gallery, but she continued her strut past the last bench.

When she stopped at the end of the aisle, every eye, including Starsky’s, was on her. By the time she got to the gate, all males within range, including the two male bailiffs who were at the door when she came in, vied for the chance to assist her. Even the defense attorneys got up to offer assistance. But only Starsky was close enough to her to render the service.

He smiled his most disarming smile as he swung the gate open for her. “Do you mind if I stare at you up close, instead of from across the room?”

Despite his corny come on, she had to stop and regard him. There was something about him that intrigued her. Without knowing why, she gave him a gracious smile and continued past the swinging doors, taking a seat next her colleagues. She turned again briefly to study the courteous gentleman standing behind her, still absentmindedly holding one side of the swinging door open. She caught his eye and gave him one those, ‘come hither’ winks, and then turned back around. Mesmerized, Starsky finally let the doors settle back into place and returned to his seat. Melton saw the whole exchange and proceeded to congratulate him on it.

He gave him a wink and a nudge. “You’re a sly devil. Already makin’ a move on her.”

“I wasn’t even tryin’.”

The detective hadn’t been this taken with someone he’d just met in a long while. He didn’t even know her formally, much less socially. She flashed him another curious glance and offered a second engaging smile a few seconds later. Starsky could only sit there, appreciating her in wonder.

Carlson set her valise down on the table and warmly addressed her associates. “Sorry, men, I’m late, I usually pride myself on getting here well before the gawkers.” Her tone was familiar, yet businesslike.

The heavyset man seated next to her turned around and greeted her with a smile. “Nonsense, Carlson, you’re right on time. Exactly what I like to see.”

“Glad to hear it, G.W. Makes my morning.”

Withers and Taylor slid down some on the bench, while Donner took the manila folder from her and laid it on the table. Still terribly curious about the strange man seated behind her, she looked back once more and checked him out. Yep, he was staring at her. Her eyes lingered on his for a moment. She cocked an eyebrow and then returned her gaze forward.

Melton was beside himself. “Ooh, did you see that? She looked straight at me!”

“Ya think so, huh?” Starsky replied, laughing.

Starsky was well aware that he didn’t have an ice cube’s chance in hell with her, and he was taking all of this in stride. She was no doubt intelligent, brilliant, and obviously classy. She was so totally out of his league that she probably wouldn’t even know how to begin to take him seriously. He watched her stand up to smooth her skirt, donning a pair of bookish-looking eyeglasses before sitting down again. She was definitely very classy.

********

A hearing that had begun at eight that morning stretched to a session that didn’t end until around three that afternoon. Starsky was tired, but he pulled up in front of Memorial at four o’clock, running up the walk and waiting patiently for the elevator. When it arrived, he stepped in and pressed the button for the fifth floor, his hand hovering above the ‘close door’ button for a second.

“Wait, oh, wait a minute! Hold the elevator!” an out of breath female voice pleaded.

He pressed the hold button and waited for who ever it was to enter. He was surprised when he saw just whom it was. None other than Hutch’s lady friend, the mysterious Ms. Garvey! Her face was glistening with perspiration as she charged into the elevator car. She held onto the railing with her left hand, putting the other hand on her chest to try and calm her frantic breathing.

“Detective Starsky…hello.”

“Hi. In a hurry?”

“Ah…yeah, well. Ken mentioned you were coming by to pick him up.”

“Oh, he did? Did he also tell you we were going to my place for dinner?”

“As a matter of fact,” she answered him cockily. “He did.”

Starsky finally pressed the button and the elevator doors closed.

They both stepped out of the elevator at the same time, almost like they were in a race to get to Hutch’s room. Starsky got to the door first, knocked and then walked in. Cleo, just this side of exasperated, huffed and walked in after him. When they got in, another nurse, not the pretty one who’d made up his bed earlier, was helping Hutch to get dressed. He was trying to button the front of his shirt, supporting himself on one of a pair of wooden crutches—the other one was leaning uselessly on top of the bed. He turned around when they came in.

“Hey, Starsk. Hey-y-y, Cleo!” he said smiling.

Starsky went over to give his buddy a welcome pat on the back, but Cleo had other ideas. She slyly walked in front of him to be the first in line. In her eagerness to get to him she almost knocked the blond off his crutch. Starsky’s hand was still cast out in space. He drew it back and shrugged.

Hutch laughed and held onto her. “Whoa there, lady! You going to put me back in here if you’re not careful.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just so glad to see you up and around.”

“I’m glad to see you, too. So, Starsk, what took you so long? I was beginning to think you’re weren’t gonna show up.”

“Sorry, pal. Hearing ran longer than I thought.”

“No harm done. By the way, what’s on the menu for tonight?”

“Huh? Oh, I ordered Chinese.”

“That sounds good. How’d the hearing go by the way?” Hutch inquired, trying to slip on his jacket. Cleo quickly assisted him.

“I’ll brief you on the ride over.”

“Sure.”

The nurse rolled a wheelchair over and waited for him to sit down. Cleo didn’t miss a beat. She put her hand on the top of the chair. “I’d like to take him down. Is that all right?”

The nurse nodded and stepped away, happy to busy herself with the task of returning the room to its unoccupied state. Cleo dropped into place behind Hutch. Starsky handed him the other crutch.

“Thanks, partner.” He turned to Cleo. “You ready?”

“Ready,” she answered, giving him a kiss on the back of his neck when he sat down.

“Hey, that tickles.”

Starsky made his way toward the door and held it open wide enough for them both of them to get through. When they reached the elevator, Hutch tugged at his shirtsleeve.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Starsk. I invited Cleo to have dinner with us. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no, why should I mind? The more the merrier, I always say. As a matter of fact, I’ve got someone waitin’ in the car that I’d like you to meet.”

Hutch let go of his sleeve and the three of them began the trip down in the elevator. He was curious as all get out.

“Anybody I know?”

“No…you’ll find out.”

Hutch gave him a look, and settled back in the chair.

When the elevator doors opened, Cleo rolled the chair out of the elevator, through the electric glass doors and down the slight incline that led to Starsky’s car. Starsky ran ahead of them to get to the car first.

Hutch propped the crutches under his arms, preparing to stand. Starsky gestured for him to wait as he opened the passenger side door with a flourish. He wanted his ‘date’ to step out in style. Hutch slowly rose to his feet and leaned his weight on the crutches. Once he was on his feet, an orderly came down and took the wheelchair from Cleo, and wheeled it back into the medical bay.

Starsky offered his right hand to his mystery guest and helped her out of the car. There was a glimpse of a hand as it reached out of the open car door to take his. Then came forth a pair of marvelous legs, followed by a face and figure that a lot of women would give their eyeteeth for. She stood and faced the stunned blond, extending her right hand to him to shake. When she spoke, her voice was sultry and sweet.

“I’m Joyce Carlson. You must be Hutch?”

He didn’t answer her right away.

“Well, I say, old chap, don’t leave me hanging.”

“S…Sorry.” Hutch looked up at her, then at Starsky. He was amazed, surely his partner hadn’t managed to secure the company of one of the loveliest females this side of paradise. He must have had a sort of an amused, shocked look on his face, because Starsky didn’t appear to appreciate it. Balancing himself expertly on the crutches, he finally took her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Joyce. But my friends call me Ken.”

She turned to Starsky and smiled. “You didn’t tell me he was so charming.”

“Believe me, there was nothin’ to tell. And he ain’t all that charmin’.”

Cleo wasn’t as enthused about meeting Carlson as the guys seemed to be. She’d already made up her mind about Starsky’s ‘date’. She didn’t like anyone who could get Hutch’s attention so easily. When their eyes met, she offered the woman few words and only a perfunctory smile.

“Hello,” she said coolly.

“Hello,” Joyce answered.

Then Starsky, smiling all the while, folded the front seat forward to let the girls get in. Hutch lowered himself slowly into the car with his partner’s help, then carefully stretched his long limbs out in front of him. Starsky handed him back the crutches and closed the passenger door, then ran over to the driver side, the smile still broad on his face as he slipped the key into the ignition, then pulled off down the street.

 

PART FOUR

Since no introduction seemed to be forthcoming, and Hutch seemed too preoccupied to handle the formalities, Joyce tried to get Cleo to engage in some ice breaking conversation, extending her hand in introduction.

“Hi, my name’s Joyce Carlson.”

“Cleo Garvey.” Cleo shook her extended hand and then proceeded to stare out of her window.

Well, so much for that.

Joyce was not enthused by the prospect of riding in the backseat with a person who had about as much personality as a wet rag. She shifted her focus to the two men sitting in the front seat. She wondered if this was typical behavior for the two of them, or if it was just chance that had them dating two black women at the same time. She thought the blond one might prefer ladies who looked more like himself, the blond, blue-eyed and available type. And the dark one, well, he was a conundrum. She just wanted to have a chance at figuring him out. She so liked a challenge.

In the front seat Hutch watched Starsky closely. The grin on his face was still as big as when they’d left the hospital, and to make matters worse, he was humming some annoying little off tune ditty as he drove.

“I hate to burst your bubble, good buddy, but you still haven’t told me how you met this lovely lady. Is it a secret? Oh, wait, did you want me to guess? Okay, don’t tell me…she couldn’t possibly be your date for this evening, could she?”

The smile slowly faded from his face. “What’s that supposed to mean? What’s the matter? Don’t you think I’m perfectly capable of…”

Joyce chimed in before he could finish his sentence. “David is perfectly capable of attracting whomever he wants.” She smiled. “He was so attentive and sweet to me before and after the hearing, I couldn’t help but find out if he was for real.”

Hutch’s eyes widened. “Oh, yeah. What about that hearing, Starsky?” he asked, trying to change what obviously was a touchy subject. “You said you’d tell me about it on the way.”

“Oh yeah, forgot. Joyce is on Carlisle’s legal team.” He looked at her in the rearview and smiled proudly.

Hutch directed his next question to Joyce. “That’s great. So what happened, counselor?”

“SOP. Preliminary hearings over, now it’s pick the grand jury time. Of course, his lawyers will try to appeal the whole thing. But the case still looks promising.”

“That’s good.”

Cleo was still in the back seat staring out the window and sulking, trying to figure out a way that she could get Hutch to herself. She didn’t need some female city lawyer usurping what was already limited and valuable time. She unceremoniously leaned over Joyce’s knees to whisper in Hutch’s ear.

“Ken, couldn’t we go to my place instead? We could watch a movie, and I can order pizza.”

Hutch turned to her and took her hand. “You know, I’d really like that Darlin’, ‘cept I promised ole Starsky here that we’d have dinner together. Rain check, okay?”

“Okay, sure.”

Cleo nodded her head and leaned back, heaving a shallow sigh.

********

The two couples sat in Hutch’s dining room at the small wooden table that did double duty in the mornings as a breakfast table. A carafe of wine, several half-empty cartons of Chinese take out and a small bottle of prescription medication sat between them. Starsky busied himself stacking the cartons inside themselves and Hutch was playing with the twist off cap on the medicine bottle.

“That was absolutely wonderful!” Joyce announced as she dabbed her lips with a napkin. “I don’t think I’ve ever had Cantonese before.”

“Glad you liked it.” Starsky began refilling her wineglass as well as his own, then set the bottle down and picked up a nearby water pitcher, tilting it over Hutch’s glass. “Care for a refill, Hutch?”

“Sure, pal, I gotta have sumpthin’ to wash these horse pills down with.” He showed Starsky the two pills in his palm. Starsky reacted with the appropriate concern and poured a glassful for him. He put down the pitcher and pick up the wine bottle again, then turned to Cleo. “Refill?”

Cleo’s hand went up to cover the top of her wineglass. “No, no thanks.” She looked at her watch. It was a quarter to eight. “Um, is there a phone around here? I have to…ah…make a call.”

Hutch pointed to the phone in the living room. “Right over there, on the coffee table.”

The detective’s apartment had that ‘bachelor touch,’ but with a real eye for what was aesthetically pleasing. There were plants just about everywhere you looked, and the room was bright and cheerful. She could tell that he found decorating a pleasant task. Her eyes darted to the big wooden coffee table across from them. It was decorated with plants, a cherub statue, three graduated candles and two cherubs hugging.

“A toast, a toast.” Starsky set the bottle down and raised his glass. Hutch and Joyce raised theirs. Cleo vacantly raised her empty one. “Here’s to good food, good company and good health,” he said.

“Here, here!” Hutch and Joyce chorused. Cleo was silent.

As their glasses clinked in mid air, Starsky and Joyce quaffed their wine, and Hutch swallowed his medication with his glass of water. Cleo lowered her glass slowly, her eyes darting about the living room, wandering. Hutch was watching her still. It was clear to him now that his new girlfriend was somewhere else. She definitely wasn’t here with him. He leaned toward her.

“You okay?”

“Hum?” she asked, startled. “Oh, sure. I’m okay.” She got up from her chair and walked into the living room.

There was something else she noticed about his apartment—there were essentially no dividing walls. His living room, kitchen and bedroom were almost one wide-open space. Certainly not the kind of environment needed to make the call she had to make. She turned to him. “Ken, don’t you have something a little more ‘private’?”

“Nope, sorry, Cleo.” Hutch shrugged. “Unfortunately, this is about as private as my place gets.” Hutch saw her disappointment. “If you really want some privacy, the three of us can go out to the greenhouse for a little while.”

She looked at the three of them. “Oh, would you guys mind that very much? I’d really appreciate it.”

“No, not at all,” Starsky answered accommodatingly.

Hutch yawned a couple of times. Before he knew it, Starsky’s face was next to his own.

“Don’t you think she’s actin’ kinda strange?” he whispered.

Hutch blanched. “I hadn’t noticed.” He picked up his crutches and shoved them under his arms, pulling himself up out of the chair he was sitting in. Joyce and Starsky escorted him out to the greenhouse while Cleo sat down to make her phone call.

After she made sure they were out of earshot, Cleo dialed the number for her office. It seemed an eternity before the ringing stopped. Thankfully it was Piper, and not his secretary, who answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Allan?” she whispered. “It’s Angela. I’m so glad you’re there.”

“Where are you? The deadline to go to press is in a couple of hours.”

“I know, I know. I’m having second thoughts about doing the story.” She was nervous as all get out.

“You having second thoughts? I don’t believe it. Since when?”

“Since I met this cop at the hotel. Turns out he’s protecting Carlisle. If this story goes to print, he’ll probably hate me for the rest of his life.”

“Sounds like hazardous duty to me. What do you want me to do about it?”

“I was hoping you’d have some sage words of advice on how to get out of this thing without hurting the guy.”

“Sorry, sweetie, I don’t, but if it means anything to you, I feel your pain. Just do what you feel is right, but whatever you do, don’t disappoint Samuels.”

“I appreciate your sympathy, Allan. But you’re not helping me much.”

“Sorry.”

He didn’t sound like he was all that sorry to her.

********

Hutch was sitting at the table in the greenhouse, while Joyce and Starsky sat on a nearby bench trying to get to know each other a little better, literally. Joyce looked past her amorous companion long enough to see his partner leaning on his fist, eyes barely open, trying to stay awake. Starsky was just getting ready to give her a kiss, when she patted him on his arm.

“David, I hate to kill a great moment…but look.”

“What?” he answered, his eyes closed and his lips still in mid-pucker.

“Look over there.” She pointed to where Hutch was sitting.

Starsky opened his eyes and followed her pointing finger to where his partner sat. Hutch was slumped over the table, nodding off. The detective shook his head.

“That guy sure knows how to screw up a fella’s action.” Starsky reluctantly pulled himself away from his ravishing guest and went over to where his very tired partner was sitting. He tried waking him with a tug on his shoulder.

“Hey, Hutch. You wanna go lie down?”

Hutch was so out of it he didn’t respond.

Starsky turned to Joyce. “I’ll gonna haveta put Sleeping Beauty here to bed. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

“Need any help?”

“Nope, I think I can handle it.”

Hutch was as almost as limp as a rag doll, he offered no resistance as his partner took his arm over his own shoulder, lifted him up and walked him out of the greenhouse and into his bedroom. Starsky yanked the blankets aside with one hand and lowered the big guy down on the bed, then pulled his slippers off his feet. He pulled the covers over him and was about to leave when he heard the sound of Hutch’s girlfriend’s voice whispering on the phone. He knew he shouldn’t be listening in, but he just couldn’t help himself.

“I think I need a little pep talk. I’m getting cold feet.”

He watched her tapping the tabletop nervously with her fingers as she hurried to end the incriminating phone call.

“Thanks a lot, Allan. I hope this story’s worth it…Yeah, well…all I can say is, it had better sell a million copies. Okay, I hope you’re right…Thanks, Allan…goodbye.”

Starsky stood leaning against the doorframe, he cleared his throat as Cleo hung up the receiver.

“Done with your phone call?” he asked her good-naturedly.

Caught off-guard, Cleo turned quickly toward him and started to stutter, giving him a startled, crooked smile.

“Ah…yes…”

“Who are you, lady? Some kind of a reporter?” he asked, coming towards her.

She shot up abruptly. “I…I can’t tell you that.”

“What can you tell me?” He was near the sofa now.

“Nothing right now, really. I’ve got to go now. Please tell Ken I’ll be in touch with him.”

“If you stick around long enough you can tell him yourself.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ve got to go.”

By the time he was close enough to touch her, she had made her way to the door and was outside and down the steps. He followed her as far as the street and watched her until she jumped into a waiting cab. When it took off, he went back upstairs. On his way past Hutch’s bedroom door, he looked in. “Well, here we go again, buddy. All I can say is, whatever happens, I’m here for you,” he whispered, then headed off to rejoin his guest.

********

It was six o’ clock in the morning, and the appetizing aroma of eggs and bacon, along with the strong smell of coffee, woke Hutch from a deep sleep. The blond sat up slowly, his tousled hair matted against his forehead like a little boys. He yawned and stretched, and then grimaced as he eased his injured leg down onto the floor. He swung his good leg over the side and grabbed his crutches, pulling himself upright. He could hear strange noises coming from his kitchen and he was curious to know who was foolish enough to be in there this early in the morning. He followed his nose until he reached the source of the activity. When he looked in, he half expected to find that Cleo or some other young lovely had made her way into his apartment and was working her culinary magic to prepare him some heavenly concoction. But he was wrong…it was Starsky.

And, he was…cooking. Hutch did a double take.

“Hey, Starsk. Good morning.”

Starsky turned away from his task of serving the eggs and bacon onto plates and wiped his hands on the damp dishtowel tucked in the waistband of his jeans. He looked over at his partner sheepishly.

“Mornin’, partner. Sleep well?”

“Like a rock.” He sniffed the air. “What’s for breakfast?”

“I’ll tell ya in a minute.”

Hutch moved over to the table and leaned unsteadily against it. He watched with wonder as his partner did his ‘Galloping Gourmet’ routine. Before long, the dark-haired dynamo had set two plates on the table, poured them each a glass of orange juice and filled two cups with steaming black coffee. He sauntered back into the kitchen just in time to capture two slices of bread as they popped up out of the toaster. Buttered them, sliced them on the diagonal and set them down on a plate in the center of the table.

“Voila. A breakfast fit for a king!”

“I’m impressed, Starsk. What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion, just felt like cookin’.”

Hutch hesitated, not sitting down.

“What’re you waitin’ for? Sit down, buddy.”

Hutch regarded his partner with apprehension. While he was wary of his partner’s arguable cooking skills, he really was starved. He eyeballed the plate. The appearance of the meal wasn’t entirely unappetizing. The eggs weren’t greasy or underdone, and the bacon wasn’t too burned. He sat down and forked in a mouthful of the eggs, followed by a bite of bacon, and then sipped the coffee to wash it down. Starsky looked on expectantly, apparently waiting for an acerbic review.

“Well?”

“It’s not half bad. With a little more practice, it’d almost be edible.”

“Hey, what’d you expect? Hangin’ around with you, somethin’ had to rub off.” He smiled.

The dark-haired man picked up a slice of toast from the middle plate and started nervously tear off pieces and devouring them. Hutch watched him curiously, pausing long enough to wipe his hands on the napkin covering his lap. Starsky had something on his mind, and judging from the way he was nibbling on the toast, it wasn’t that they hadn’t won the state lottery.

“Okay, Starsk. I know you. What’s on your mind? Who died?”

Starsky looked up at him, it was eerie how they were able to read each other sometimes. He decided to give him some trivial news first, and then he’d hit him with the major stuff. “Nobody died. Guess I’m just nervous about the trial tomorrow, that’s all. Joyce had a meeting at her law office early this mornin’ to prepare for it.”

Hutch sipped his coffee and curled his lips. “Ya know, Starsk, I have to hand it to you, you really lucked out, capturing the heart of a lady with beauty and brains.”

“Luck had absolutely nothin’ to do with it. She said she was intrigued by my devastatin’ charm and good looks.”

“If she says so. Speaking of dates, what happened to mine?”

Starsky checked his watch, looking even more uncomfortable then when he first sat down. He hated giving Hutch bad news, and this news flash probably came a close second to the worse as far as he was concerned. Especially considering what the blond had said to him back at the hospital. He decided to be brave and jump in, regardless of his partner’s reaction.

“You’re not gonna like it.”

“Spill it, Starsk.”

“She’s gone, man.”

The blond’s brow furrowed, he took the napkin from his lap and slapped it down on the table. There went his appetite. He pushed the unfinished plate aside.

“What’re you talking about, Starsky? Where’d she go?”

“I don’t know.”

“Whaddya mean, you don’t know? You saw her leave, didn’t you?”

“Sure did.”

Hutch started to get up, and then thought better of it. He tried again.

“Did she say anything before she left?”

It would have been less painful if Starsky could just say she hadn’t. But he would have been lying. “Yeah, we talked.”

“Well, what did she say?”

Starsky left the table, leaving his own breakfast untouched. He walked over to the sofa and sat down. His back was to Hutch now. Maybe it would be easier to say what he had to say if he didn’t have to look at him.

“I’m not sure how to say this. I mean, it wasn’t so much what she said, as what she didn’t say. You know what I mean?”

Hutch removed himself from his chair, secured one crutch under his arm, and left the other one behind. He hobbled towards the sofa and stood in front of his partner. Starsky kept his dark head of curls lowered, his eyes cast at the blond’s feet.

“No, I don’t, partner. Give me a hint, huh?”

Starsky looked up at him. “Okay, okay. But do me a favor, sit down first, before you fall down.”

Hutch obliged, leaning his crutch against the edge of the sofa. Starsky slid over and leaned back with his head against the pillows behind him.

“Okay, spill it.”

“Look, I don’t claim to know a whole heckuva lot about women, but I do know a thing or two about people. If you ask me, Cleo was just way too classy to be a go-go dancer. I just happen to think there was a whole lot more goin’ on inside that pretty head of hers then she was lettin’ on to us.”

“What are you driving at?”

The darker man crossed his arms. “You remember how antsy she was last night, right? You kinda dropped out on us after you took that prescription the doc gave you.”

“Sure, I remember. What about it?”

“Okay, since you don’t remember Cleo leavin’, I guess it’s a safe to say you don’t remember me cartin’ your carcass into your room for the night.” Hutch shook his head. “Okay, so after I tucked you in, I was on my way back to the greenhouse to finish what I was tryin’ to get started out there, that’s when I accidentally overheard Cleo on the phone.”

“Okay, so what did you ‘accidently’ hear?”

“Well, I didn’t get it all, but I did catch the name of the guy she was talkin’ to. His name was Allan. She mentioned somethin’ about an article she was supposed to be turnin’ in. Also said somethin’ to the effect of that whatever it was she was submitting, it’d better sell a million copies. So right then and there I figured her for some kind of a writer or a reporter or sumpthin’.”

“So you think she was here doing a story? On whom? No one even knew Carlisle was supposed to be here.”

Starsky was surprised how calmly his partner was taking the news, so he almost didn’t answer him immediately. “Ah…well…yeah. Somebody had to know he was gonna be here. She sure wasn’t doin’ a story on the two of us. I mean, think about it, here’s this guy who nobody’s supposed to be able to get to, and she’s close enough to kiss him.”

“Whom,” Hutch corrected.

Starsky accepted his partner’s redress without debate. Hutch leaned his elbow on the arm of the sofa and cupped his chin in his hand, contemplating the situation. Sometimes he wished his partner wasn’t so damned smart. Starsky leaned forward and patted him on the back.

Finally, the blond spoke. “What’s the matter with me, Starsky?” He laughed. “Life just keeps kickin’ me in the pants and I just keep bendin’ over to take it.”

“There’s nothin’ wrong with you, pal. You fell for her—hard, but that’s just how it is with you, all or nothin’.”

“But you saw right through her, even before you knew anything about her. How do you do that? It’s like you’ve got a sixth sense or something.”

“Humph, too bad it don’t work the other way round. It’d sure have saved me a lot of pain and misery.”

“So you think she was hired to do a story on Carlisle, and ole gullible me just led her right to him, huh?”

“If you’ll pardon me sayin’ so, if she’da been the hitman, Carlisle might be dead right now.”

“I played right into her hands, Starsk. I can’t believe it. She read me like a book.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Let’s face it, you were right, Starsk. Sometimes I can be a real pushover.” Hutch shook his head. “All she had to do was play the damsel in distress and I go automatically into White Knight mode.”

“Ya can’t help it, Hutch. It’s your way. I mean, let’s face it, you not wanting to help somebody in trouble would be like the Mona Lisa not wearin’ a smile. You’re just a natural caretaker.”

“Sounds like a load of bull, but I’m willin’ to buy it if you’re willin’ to shovel it.”

“Humph. I was just sayin’ it to make you feel better.”

“Thanks, Starsk, you’re a real pal. So what’s next? What do we do now?”

Starsky took his hand off of Hutch’s shoulder long enough to pick up the crutch that was lying on the floor. He rested it against the arm of the sofa and got up.

“First of all, you’re gonna lie down and rest that leg. Then I’m goin’ down to the law office and see if can help Joyce and Mr. Carlisle bury Bartok for good. After that, I’m comin’ back here to make you dinner.”

“Ooh, that sounds like a threat, or is it a promise?” Hutch stated, stretching his long legs out on the sofa.

“That’s a promise at best, and a threat if you keep bad-mouthing my cookin’.”

Hutch put up his hand. “Sorry, it won’t happen again.”

Starsky went into the kitchen, got a beer out of the refrigerator and grabbed the morning paper off the counter. He brought them over and handed them to his partner. “Here. There’s a football game on in two hours, you think you can keep yourself entertained till I get back?”

Hutch gratefully accepted the cold beer and the newspaper from his friend. “I’ll do my best.” Then he got quiet for a moment, and before Starsky was even out of the door, the flaxen haired detective looked up at his partner. “Ah, Starsk, you’re so good to me, what’d I ever do to deserve you?”

Starsky slipped on his jacket, retrieved the car keys from the pocket and opened the front door. “You’re just lucky, I guess.” Starsky smiled at his partner cockily, then left. Hutch nodded to himself, and got the widest of smiles on his face. He popped open his beer, opened the paper and started to read.

********

Joyce paced the expanse of the courtroom corridor, pausing every few seconds to check her watch. Where was David? She wondered. He’s twenty minutes late. As usual, she was dressed to impress, although a little less businesslike with him in mind. The courthouse was unusually quiet so early in the morning and she was alone except for the prerequisite guard or two at the entrance. She’d expected her detective boyfriend to keep her company until the trial started.

Starsky parked the Torino in the lot across the street from the courthouse. He knew he was running late, so he jumped out and sprinted over to the attendant to pay for parking, then ran across three lanes of oncoming traffic just to get into the courthouse two seconds faster. He displayed his badge for the guards at the entrance, dashed past them and flew into the elevator on his way up to Judge Houghton’s courtroom.

When the elevator doors opened, Starsky caught sight of Joyce, looking blindingly beautiful as usual, but with an agitated look on her face. He stepped out of the elevator and walked toward her.

“You’re late!” She feigned displeasure.

“I’m sorry.” He held out both arms as he walked over to her.

“Okay, I’ll forgive you.” She gave him a hug. “But just this once.”

“Good.” They walked arm and arm over to the bench outside the courtroom door. “So what’s on the agenda for today?”

They sat down next to each other holding hands.

“The arraignment begins in a half an hour. If Carlisle does what he’s supposed to do, Vincent Bartok won’t see the light of day for many years to come.”

“I think we can count on him to do that. He’s seems like a good apple that just got thrown into a rotten barrel.”

“What’s this? A little ‘there but for the grace of God go I’ philosophizing?”

“You ain’t kiddin’. I coulda been him if my Mom hadn’t sent me to California when she did.”

“Bad Boy Starsky, hummm. I kind of like the way that sounds. It’s got a kind of a ring to it. But no, I think I’d rather have you on my side.”

“So would I.” He kissed the space between her earlobe and her neck and she laughed.

********

Angela was sitting in front of Ron Samuel’s desk, blankly staring out of his office’s picture window. She half listened as Samuels commended her on a job well done, spouting all manner of praise about the article and the photos she’d submitted. For all she cared, he might as well have been talking to a wall, because the only thing on her mind right now, was how to tell Ken Hutchinson the truth about herself. This man whom she barely knew, had risked his life to save hers. And damn it, she wasn’t used to people doing unselfish things like that. Who did he think he was, anyway? Now would come the hard part, owning up to the web of lies she’d weaved and hopefully salvaging a relationship out of it. Just as she was about to figure out how to address the problem, Samuels put his hand on her shoulder and interrupted her thoughts.

Did you hear me? I said you did a marvelous job, Ms. Garvey. You should be proud.”

“Yes. Thank you, I am, sir.”

Samuels held the mock up of the magazine in his hand, flipping through the pages while he commented on the photos and the story. Reading the front page out loud: “‘The Bartok Trial: Memoirs of a Mob Informant or, The Double-edged Sword Of Criminality.’ Beautiful, just beautiful, and the pictures are spectacular!”

“I’m glad you like it. Ah, Mr. Samuels, I have a question to ask you…actually, it’s more of a request.” She smiled at him nervously.

“By all means, Ms. Garvey, what is it?”

“I’d like your permission to have a supplement printed with the story.”

“By all means, whatever you need to say, say it. Write it up, do whatever you need to do.” He took her hands into his own.

“Thank you, Mr. Samuels, this means a lot to me.”

She smiled at him, and he released her hands as she turned to go.

********

It was day one of the Grand Jury trial, and David Starsky stood in the corridor of the courthouse pacing back and forth, looking very Gentleman’s Quarterly in a navy blue suit and burgundy tie. He was waiting for Drummond and his men to escort Carlisle from the elevator and into the judge’s chambers. It wasn’t long before a group of men in dark suits emerged from the elevator and Starsky walked over to join them.

“Good mornin’, Sir.” He offered his hand to Drummond, which he promptly took.

Drummond had a monster of a handshake. “Detective Starsky, nice to see you again. How’s that partner of yours?”

Starsky flexed his fingers. “He’ll be okay. He’s resting up at home.”

“Good, good. I’m glad to hear that.”

Carlisle made his way through the crowd of agents guarding him, and he was resplendent in a broad brimmed Panama hat, and an equally fashionable jacket and tie. He proffered his hand to the detective, who shook it warmly.

“Well, don’t you look snazzy?”

“No matter where I am or what I’d doing, I try to look my best, Sergeant Starsky.”

“Well, you do. So, how’s it goin’, Mr. Carlisle?”

“Just fine, Detective. But I’ll be even better after this thing’s over.”

“Just go in there and tell them the truth. Everything else should fall into place.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Just then, the same attractive bailiff from the hearing opened the courtroom doors. “The judge is ready now. Please come in and take your seats.”

The twelve-member jury had already filed into the courtroom, the lot of them an odd collection of modern day society. They were mostly Caucasian and male, with a token female and a Black or two thrown in for good measure. The female bailiff knocked on the judge’s chamber door and the judge came out.

“All rise, all rise. The honorable Judge William Houghton presiding,” she announced and stepped away to her post.

Everyone rose as Judge Houghton strode in and took his seat behind the bench. “Please be seated. The hearing with regards to The State vs. Vincent Bartok, is in now in session.”

There was a focused rumbling from the gallery as everyone finished taking their seats and the judge began the proceedings. “We’ll begin with an opening statement from the prosecution and then the defense. Mr. Charles Harris for the defendant, Ms. Joyce Carlson for the prosecution.”

Ms. Carlson rose. “Thank you, your Honor. Good morning.” She turned to the defense table. “Good morning, Mr. Harris, Mr. Bartok, and others for the defense and members of the courtroom. My name is Joyce Carlson and I am associate counsel for the above-entitled action, The State vs. Vincent F. Bartok, et al. We seek to confirm and prove the involvement of Mr. Bartok in numerous acts of extortion, murder and arson.”

She sauntered confidently over to the jury box and pulled her glasses down over her nose as she studied each one of them.

“Members of the jury, I believe the evidence in this case will show beyond a shadow of a doubt, what we all know to be true about Mr. Vincent Bartok. That he is a well-known entity in the criminal world. That he has the means and certainly the power to make bad things happen to good people if they don’t settle the score with him. Up to now, he’s been very elusive and we haven’t had enough concrete evidence to put him away, that’s for sure. But that’s something that’s going to change, and it’s going to change today.”

She positioned herself directly in front of the jury members in the first row and placed both hands on the railing for emphasis.

“The purpose of this trial today is to prove to you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that a verdict of guilty is the only one that could possibly be decided. No, Mr. Bartok didn’t actually go out and commit any the crimes he’s accused of, but he is an accessory to murder after the fact. I leave it to all of you, after hearing the witnesses and FBI testimony, to determine whether or not to put Vincent Bartok and his associates where they belong, behind bars. Thank you.”

She paused a moment for dramatic effect, pushed her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose and walked back to the table to sit down. Everyone, including Starsky, was clearly impressed. She really was a very good orator.

The judge cleared his throat and turned his attention to the defense counsel table. “Thank you, Counselor Carlson. Counsel for the defense, are you ready with your opening statement?”

“Yes sir, your Honor,” Harris answered.

Harris stood up, conferred with his client for a moment and then nodded to the rest of his associates before standing. Joyce leaned in toward Mr. Withers, who whispered something in her ear that she must have found amusing and she smiled. She turned to find Starsky, and gave him a conspiratory wink and a triumphant thumbs up. That was all he needed to see to know that she thought they finally had Bartok dead to rights.

********

After the trial was over, Bartok’s counsel stood on one side of the corridor, while Carlisle and the Federal agents stood on the other. It was obvious from their facial expressions which side had won. One half of the room was adrift in downcast eyes and turned down lips, and the other half was strewn with smiles and handshakes. Into this throng walked the two people probably the most pleased with the outcome of the trial; the prosecution’s brilliant Counsel, Joyce Carlson, and the detective partially responsible for the trial’s success, Detective Sergeant David Starsky. Starsky eagerly walked over to Carlisle to congratulate him.

“Mr. Carlisle, you did a great job in there!”

“Call me John, Detective. You know I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you and your partner getting me here in one piece. Like I said before, I’ll be indebted to you two for a very long time.”

“It’s nothing you couldn’t have done on your own. But heck, if you want to heap praise on us, I won’t stop you.”

After doing some handshaking of her own, Joyce gracefully joined their little circle. She took Carlisle’s hand in her own.

“Congratulations, John. You did wonderfully.”

“Like I was telling David here, I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“So what are you gonna do now?”

“Well, my friends over here,” he pointed to the suited gentlemen adjacent him, “feel it would be in my best interest if I left the country. You know, travel, become one with the earth…”

“In other words,” Starsky assessed. “Disappear.”

“Correct. After today, John Carlisle will no longer exist.”

“It’s unfortunate the price you had to pay for freedom cost you so much,” Joyce offered.

“Yes, Counselor, but that price is small compared to losing piece of mind.”

“Touché.”

An enthusiastic young agent ran up to them, pausing to catch his breath. “Excuse me, Mr. Carlisle, sorry to interrupt, but Agent Drummond has a car ready for you!”

“Ah, and so it begins. Detective Starsky, Counselor, I bid you good day. Oh, one more thing, Detective…”

“Yeah?”

“Tell your partner I send him my best wishes. Let him know he really didn’t have to get himself shot on my account.”

“I will.” Starsky laughed.

Carlisle tipped his hat to them as he was led out of the courthouse, still heavily shielded by several agents. He was pressed into a waiting limousine and whisked away by a sea of state license plates.

Starsky turned to Joyce. “Just goes to show you, you can’t always tell the good guys from the bad guys.”

She tapped at her temple. “Sure you can, David. Just remember, the good guys always wear the white hats.”

Joyce laughed and Starsky joined her, remembering Carlisle’s unusual choice of head covering. “Well, you’re right about that. Come on, let’s go. I promised a certain blond dinner.”

********

It was no use, no matter what Hutch did, he still couldn’t figure out Cleo Garvey. He’d been laying on his bed the better part of the day, just thinking about her. If she was a reporter like Starsky thought, whom did she work for, how did she manage to infiltrate security during a federally mediated transfer of an important state’s witness? The questions were mounting fast in his head, but as yet he had no answers. It was five o’clock now and Starsky was due to drop by soon. He’d hoped to hear from her by now with a phone call or a visit, but since that didn’t happen, he could only assume that the reason was because she hadn’t really felt about him the way he felt about her. It had all been subterfuge to get close to Carlisle, and after she got what she wanted, there was no need for a blond patsy. He’d been a fool.

When Starsky and Joyce came through the door laughing and carrying on, he sighed. The sounds of a happy couple wasn’t exactly what he needed to hear right now.

“Hey, buddy, I brought company. Hope you’re decent!”

Hutch rolled off the side of the bed and put on a game face. He picked up the crutches and eased himself up onto them, hobbling out the bedroom to greet his two callers.

“Hey, Starsky, Joyce. How’d the trial go?” He positioned himself on the chair near the kitchen table and leaned the crutches against it.

“It went wonderfully. Carlisle’s testimony was the coup de grâce,” Joyce replied.

“No kiddin’.”

The two of them sat down together on the sofa. A solemn Hutch remained standing.

“What’s the matter, pal? You look like you just lost your best friend.”

“Wouldn’t be too far from the truth. I guess I really thought Cleo and I had something.”

Joyce made some space between Starsky and herself. “Come on, take a load off that leg and come sit down.”

Hutch did as he was told, planting himself down beside them. His melancholy was palpable, but nothing his partner hadn’t seen before at one time or another.

“Look, Hutchinson, if ya don’t put a smile on that ugly mug of yours, I’m gonna make ya regret it,” Starsky said, doing his best Bogart.

Hutch had to laugh.

“That’s it, that’s what I like to hear.”

“I wasn’t laughing at your Bogart imitation, Starsk. I was just thinking about my love life. That’s the joke. Seems I’ve got no trouble attracting the opposite sex, it’s keeping them that’s a problem.”

Joyce put her hand on his shoulder. “Come on, a great looking guy like you? It can’t be as bad as all that. Even though she and I didn’t exactly hit it off, I got the impression that Cleo was a good person, just a little distracted. I’m willing to bet she’ll come around soon.”

“I don’t know, Joyce. I just feel like there’s a window of opportunity you give a person where they’re allowed to explain themselves and be forgiven, and she’s missin’ it. Maybe I’m too old-fashioned.”

Starsky made a face. “There you go again, beating yourself up.”

“Sorry, can’t seem to help myself. Guess it’s the old Hutchinson family guilt complex flarin’ up again.”

“Okay, that’s it!” Starsky got up and walked into the kitchen, throwing open cabinet doors, checking out seasoning bottles. Apparently he was taking stock of the contents of Hutch’s well-appointed kitchen. “So what would you like, Sport? Veal Parmigiana? Lasagna? What?”

“I’m not really hungry, but lasagna sounds nice. Maybe by the time it’s ready I’ll have an appetite.”

“Good enough.” He glanced at Joyce conspiratorially.

“I’ll give you a hand. I’m great with lasagna,” she said, joining Starsky at the kitchen counter.

“Ah, yet another facet of your many charms.”

“You play your cards right, maybe you’ll get to know them all.”

He cocked an eye at her lustfully. She surveyed the kitchen and found an apron, tying it around her waist and bumping him with her hip as she did so. Starsky pulled down the ingredients for the lasagna, while Joyce started boiling lasagna noodles and putting together the filling. Hutch, left alone for the moment, reclined on the sofa clasping his hands behind his head, lost again in his own private thoughts.

********

The glorious aroma of the lasagna pervaded the kitchen while its two chefs busily went about setting the table. Joyce took fresh baked rolls from the oven and put them into a cloth-covered basket, then set it in the middle of the table. Starsky put the lasagna on the table with a salad and set three places for dinner.

The two of them stood back and admired their handiwork.

“Not bad. Not bad,” Starsky opined.

“If you must say so yourself. Shouldn’t we wake up Prince Charming over there?”

A deep voice came from the direction of the living room. “I’m not asleep. As a matter of fact, I’m wide-awake and I heard every word you two were saying over there. Including that remark you made about the getting it on on top of my kitchen table, Starsky.”

“What, who me? You musta been dreamin’, pal.” He snuck a look at Joyce.

Starsky walked over to the couch and helped his partner up to a sitting position. Joyce undid her apron and pulled out a chair to make it easier for him to sit down. Starsky, ever the gentleman, was next to her in an instant to pull out her chair.

“Madam.”

“Why, thank you.”

She draped the apron on the back of the chair and sat down, placing a napkin in her lap. Hutch complained a little, but slowly ambled to the table without the aid of the crutches.

Starsky noticed. “Hey, you must be getting better. You did that all by your lonesome.”

“It’s not as uncomfortable as it was before, that’s for sure.”

Starsky pushed his chair in for him. “So with any luck you’ll be back in the squadroom sooner than we thought.”

“Hey,” he said, putting a napkin over his lap. “Don’t rush me.”

Starsky took the seat closest to Joyce and the two men picked up their utensils to start eating. As the two men prepared to dive into their plates, a look of surprise came over the counselor’s face. She instinctively pulled their plates away from them, effectively interrupting the movement of food from fork to mouth.

“Don’t you guys bless your food before you eat it?”

Starsky looked somewhat perplexed. “Oh, yeah, all the time,” he answered, his voice affecting sincerity.

“Sorry Joyce. I guess Starsky and I are so used to eating on the run that little practice just fell by the wayside,” Hutch answered earnestly.

“You guys,” she sniffed. “Okay, I’ll say it. Close your eyes.”

Starsky screwed up his face into a pout, held his folk in his hand and waited.

“Come on,” she urged him.

Soon realizing his meal was going to be held hostage and he had no choice, he closed his eyes with an, ‘Oh, all right, if you insist’ look on his face. Hutch closed his eyes as well. Once she was confident they wouldn’t start eating before she was done saying grace, she pushed their plates towards them.

“Lord, bless this food we are about to eat, and please bless these two guys, because in their own weird and wonderful way, they’re doing your will and making this world a better place to live in. Amen.”

“Amen,” the two men said in unison.

Starsky looked at her expectantly. “Now?”

She nodded. “Yes, now.”

She shook her head and smiled as they plowed into the meal.

********

It had been four weeks since the Bartok trial had taken place, and just a little more than five since Hutch had heard from his missing love. The window of opportunity he’d given her was passing her by, and he was beginning to think he wouldn’t be able to forgive her even if she did show up now. He was in the office on this day, going over the reports for some old cases and getting them ready for the dead file. Starsky’s spot across from him was vacant for the moment, so he had a little time to himself.

He stacked the last file folder neatly on top of the others, and then pushed the entire stack to the side. He glanced over at his crutches leaning on the corner of a nearby chair and heaved a sigh. The sight of them served as a painful and constant reminder of Cleo. He’d almost thought about turning them in to the hospital now that the pain in his leg had diminished to a dull ache.

The arrival of three uniformed officers and his grizzly bear of a captain, Harold Dobey, soon intruded upon Hutch’s solitude. The big man pushed through the squadroom door using his shoulder, as his hands were preoccupied with the task of carrying in his breakfast. His fare of choice for this day was a greasy bacon and egg sandwich that would make Starsky proud, and a large cup of Coke to wash it down with. Loaded down as he was, he didn’t seem to notice the stifled snickers being held back by the officers in the room, including Hutch. He stopped in front of his office door and immediately acknowledged the detective’s unexpected presence.

“Hutchinson, what are you doing here? I thought you weren’t supposed to be back here for another week.”

“Got bored, Cap. Couldn’t take sitting at home another week.”

“Well, make sure you take it easy. I wouldn’t want you to have a relapse or something.”

Hutch smiled. “I’ll make sure I don’t overexert myself filing. Thanks, Captain.”

Dobey headed for his office door, realizing too late that unless he somehow acquired telekinetic abilities, the door wasn’t going to open itself. One of the officers stood up to help him. “I can do it,” he grunted. The officer sat back down. All eyes were on him. Dobey shifted the cup of Coke to his left hand and put the sandwich in his mouth, paper wrapper and all. Then with his right hand he successfully opened the door. He turned, took the sandwich out of his mouth and gave the officers a cocky ‘I knew I could do it,’ grin. “Tell your partner I want to see him when he gets here,” he indicated before closing the door.

“Will do, Cap’.”

Hutch was pouring himself a second cup of coffee when his partner walked in, armed with his usual exuberance. In his hand he was carrying a magazine, and there was a huge smile pasted to his face. Hutch looked over at him as he pulled up a chair and straddled it.

“What’re you so goddamned happy about?” Hutch asked, setting his coffee cup down on the table.

“Got something to show ya. By the time you’re done readin’ it, I think you’ll be pretty happy, too!”

“I doubt it. What is it?”

The dark haired man opened up the curled magazine and confidently handed it to his partner. “Take a look. I think you’ll find it’s a good read.”

Hutch at first gave the rag no more than a perfunctory glance. The magazine, befittingly titled Exposé, was a fairly innocuous publication he remembered seeing on the newsstands, but he’d never found it interesting enough to plunk down any change for it. It was definitely Starsky’s cup of tea though. The headline jumped out at him: ‘The Bartok Trial: Memoirs of a Mob Informant or The Double-Edged Sword Of Criminality,’ photos and exposé by Angela Garvey. He was confused, who was Angela Garvey?

“Is this the article…on Carlisle?” he asked.

“Bingo!”

“And Angela Garvey is…”

“Cleo…”

“Right again.”

Hutch put the magazine down as if it had a curse on it. Starsky picked it up again and thrust it back at him.

“Read it!”

“I-don’t-want-to-read-it,” he insisted.

“Read it,” Starsky commanded, “or I’m gonna read it to you.”

Hutch refused to comply, folding his arms across his chest and staring directly at his partner.

“Okay, Turkey Buzzard, if you’re gonna be stubborn, I’ll read it to ya. Mind you I’ll be skippin’ past the appetizers, so’s I can get to the entrée.”

Hutch cocked an insouciant eyebrow upward.

Starsky began to read: “Okay, here goes. ‘This article could not have been realized without the dedication and perseverance of some very courageous individuals. Due to the nature of their professions, these individuals shall remain nameless, but for the sake of decency, I feel an obligation to right a great wrong that was done to one of them in the name of journalism. This ‘shining’ individual whom I must acknowledge, is someone who might have been considered a knight in shining armor in another age, but in this day and time he might be deemed somewhat of a bleeding heart.’”

Hutch winced at this description of himself, but Starsky continued on.

“‘This person, in the face of danger, risked his life for the life of another and expected nothing in return. For his unselfish act, you the reader reaped the reward of reading this exposé and I got to write it. But what was his remuneration? There was none. So, in an attempt to correct this dreadful oversight, I would like a chance to express my appreciation. If this individual is willing and open to receive it, a message will be communicated to him that will require a response, positive or negative, that will indicate to me whether or not the bond formed was irreparably breached or if it is repairable. It is up to him. P.S. Until contact is made, just know, I am in your debt and as always, UYS. Signed Angela Garvey, BKA “Cleo”.’”

Hutch was able to come down off his high horse long enough to reach for the magazine his partner was holding up to him. Starsky handed it over. The blond looked it over from the cover to the postscript. Then he put the magazine down on the table, careful to avoid knocking over the unstable stack of files.

“Well, I don’t see any message.”

“I’ve got it.”

“You’ve got the message? How’d you get it?”

“Easy. Joyce. Joyce has a subscription to Exposé magazine. She read Angela’s message and knew exactly who it was for. She called me at home.”

“Okay, you’re so smart, what’s the message?”

“Okay, get this. According to Joyce…Cleo, I mean Angela, wants to meet with you.”

He tried to appear nonchalant. “Meet with me where?”

Starsky leaned in close to the blond detective and whispered conspiratorially in his ear.

“She wants to meet you at Huggy’s tonight, in the booth in the back, in the corner, in the dark.”

“At Huggy’s…okay, what time?”

“Oh, ah…seven o’clock. She says to come dressed to impress.”

Hutch stood up. “Okay, got it. Oh…ah…by the way…the Captain wants to see you.”

“Oh, yeah? What does he want?”

Hutch shrugged, grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and headed for the door. He was moving with just a bit more of the grace of his former self now. Starsky picked up the magazine started to reread it, then looked up.

“Hey!”

Hutch stopped at the door. “What?”

“Let me know how it goes, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Hutch agreed, answering without much conviction, and departed without a second thought.

The door to Dobey’s office opened quietly, and when he caught sight of Starsky sitting there blatantly reading a magazine he almost exploded. He knew good and well that Hutchinson had relayed his message. Mildly incensed, he decided to give the man a good scare and teach him a lesson at the same time. With his eyebrow raised in playful irritation, he walked up behind the detective, bent down to ear level and then whispered, “Starsky.”

The detective was so deeply engrossed in the article he didn’t even notice the captain was trying to get his attention. He dropped the magazine on the desk and stood up over the chair.

“Yeah, Cap?” he answered a little shakily.

“In my office. NOW!”

Starsky stepped over the chair and followed the rotund black man into his office. Dobey was already in his chair, finishing off the last of his breakfast. He looked up at the detective and wiped the residue from the sandwich from his mouth.

“Didn’t Hutchinson tell you I wanted see you?”

“Ah, yeah, he did. I guess I got distracted. Sorry.”

“So tell me something I don’t know.” He downed the rest of the Coke. “Where is he?”

Starsky stood there quietly, waiting for him to finish his drink.

“Well, don’t just stand there looking obtuse, sit down.”

Starsky sat down obediently. “Ah, he left for an…ah…appointment. What’d you want to see me about, Cap?”

“I wanted you to try and talk your partner into staying at home and taking it easy for a few weeks. Why he came in to work today is beyond me.”

“Ah, you know Hutch, it’s hard to keep him reined in.”

“Well, be that as it may…let him know he’s got two weeks off with pay. I want him back on the job in tiptop shape. He’s no good to the department or me at half capacity.”

“You’re right about that, Captain!” Starsky enthusiastically agreed.

“It’ll also be a chance for you to get off the streets, too,” he added, smiling deviously.

“Whaddya mean?”

“I’m putting you on clerical detail for two weeks.”

Starsky’s eyes opened wide and his mouth dropped open. “Clerical detail!? You’ve gotta be kiddin”!”

“Nope. You saw that stack of files on the desk out there. That’s a month’s worth of reports that didn’t get filed while your partner was laid up in the hospital.”

Starsky sulked. “Thanks a lot, Captain.”

“You’re welcome.”

The mischievous grin that crossed Dobey’s lips as one half of his top team rose to leave was undeniable. Serves him right, he thought, after some of the stunts the two of them have pulled on me.

Starsky closed Dobey’s office door and picked up the magazine from the desk, then noticed that Hutch had left his crutches behind. He grabbed them and left the squadroom.

********

Angela got to The Pits early enough to find street parking out front. She got out of her car and was as usual, impeccably dressed and coifed from head to toe. She was wearing another of her many form fitting outfits she favored. This time a Saturday Night Fever inspired number with spaghetti straps that bared her smooth shoulders, and accentuated her cleavage. A high side split above the top of her right thigh exhibited just enough of her smooth bare legs to entice. She was unadorned by jewelry, and a smooth silk wrap offered the warmth she needed for a cool evening. As she walked into Huggy’s establishment, the fragrance of lavender and patchouli lingered in the air. Of course, Huggy noticed her immediately upon entering. He stepped out from behind the bar to do a meet and greet, stopping her in mid-stride.

“Hello, hello, hello, Foxy Lady. How may I assist you?”

She smiled at him. “Oh, hi. I’m here to meet someone.”

“Ah, just my luck. I guess it’s true what they say about all the staggeringly exquisite ones being taken.”

She smiled again, a little embarrassed by his flattery.

“Allow me. I’m Huggy Bear, the proprietor of this humble establishment. Let me show you to one of our better tables.”

Huggy put his arm around her lightly and led her to the booth area across from the bar, only candles lit this section of the room. It was far enough away from the bar patrons and their noise to allow for conversation and could also be suited to a romantic interlude if the situation warranted it. Huggy took her wrap from her shoulders and draped it over his arm as she slid into the middle of the booth.

“What can I get the lady?”

“How about a Rum Collins, on the rocks?”

“Ah, the lady is not only foxy, but has taste to boot. Rum Collins on the rocks, comin’ right up.”

She took out a compact to freshen up her makeup a little, and then a thought occurred to her. “Oh, Mr. Bear.”

“That’s Huggy to you.”

“Huggy…I’m meeting a guy here. He’s tall, blond, and very easy on the eyes. He’ll be looking for someone sitting in the ‘booth in the back in the corner in the dark’.”

Huggy’s eyes perked up. “This tall blond, he wouldn’t happen to answer to the name of Hutchinson, would he?”

“Yes, do you know him?”

“Do I know him? I practically taught him everything he knows about women.” Huggy turned back and leaned both hands on the table. “Now tell me something, how does a first class sister like yourself latch on to a no good bum like Hutchinson? And I ask this question with the utmost love and respect for the brother.”

“What can I say? He’s a good guy.”

“Truer words were never spoken.” He straightened up. “I’ll be getting that drink for you, sweetheart. When Hutch gets here, I’ll definitely steer him your way.”

“Thanks, Huggy. I appreciate that.”

“No problemo.”

Angela looked after the tall, angular black man as he walked away and kept her eye on him until he was out of sight. She unconsciously bit her lip, a nervous response to the seriousness of the situation. She very anxious about the kind of reception she’d be getting from the blond detective. A few minutes later, Huggy returned with the drink she’d ordered and left her to herself. She sipped it slowly-clearly hoping the alcohol would calm her frazzled nerves.

********

Hutch had nervously tried on several combinations of shirts and slacks before finally settling on a black turtleneck sweater and tan pair of gabardine slacks. He slipped a tan suede jacket on over it, dabbed on some cologne and gave his freshly shaved face a once over in the mirror. Satisfied, he ran his hand over the top of his thinning blond hair and turned to leave.

********

Maybe he’s not coming. Angela eyed her watch, looking a little disappointed. It was now seven forty-five and there was still no sign of Ken. Even Huggy was chomping at the bit when he rejoined her at the booth.

“Looks like my man got tied up.” He pointed to her glass. “Care for another?”

“Oh, no, thank you. I want to be clearheaded-I mean, you never know, I might have to drive home alone. By the way, do you have any appetizers?”

Huggy smiled at her. If there was anything he liked better than serving his drink concoctions, it was the cuisine served up by his skilled cooks in the kitchen.

“Do I have appetizers?” he repeated. “Now what self-respectin’ eating establishment you know of that doesn’t? One order of hot wings and potato wedgies are on their way to you, tout suite!”

“Thanks again, Huggy.”

Huggy headed out to the kitchen just as Hutch was walking in the front door. He looked a little stressed out. He was holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Huggy stepped in front of him and put a friendly hand on his arm.

“Hold on there. You’re looking good, man, but you’re late.”

“I know, Huggy. Where is she?”

Huggy pointed to the booth section. “Back there. Waiting patiently, in the booth in the back…”

Hutch cut him off. “In the corner in the dark…yeah, I know, I know. Where the hell is that from?”

Huggy gave him a ‘you’re not hip to that?’ look and let the blond go past. “If you don’t know that question, then I feel sorry for the lady.”

Hutch didn’t want to appear too eager, so he paced himself as he made his way back to the booth. He found himself noticing how the atmosphere of the room changed the farther away from the bar he got. Huggy had really done a great job making the privacy booths more ‘private.’ When he rounded the corner and caught sight of her, he almost tripped. She looked up at him with a mixture of delight and a tinge of regret in her eyes, the flickering of candle flames dancing across her face.

“Ken?”

“Hello, Cleo. Or do I call you Angela?”

His voice was cold and reserved hostility seemed to roll off him like heat. Now it was the time to put out the flames.

“Have we met before?”

She’d caught him off guard. “What?”

“Have we been formally introduced?”

It didn’t take long for Hutch to realize what she was trying to do. He decided to play along, if nothing else to see where she would lead him.

“Ken Hutchinson. But I’m sure we‘ve met before.”

“No, I don’t think so. I think I would have remembered meeting you,” she replied. “My name’s Angela Garvey.”

Hutch grinned as he sat down, purposely staying some distance away from her. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Angela.” He handed her the flowers he’d brought. She took them guardedly. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?”

“What would you like to know?”

“Everything.”

“Okay, I was born in Connecticut on New Year’s Day.”

“Keep going.”

“I’m a writer.”

“Aha…a writer, and what sort of things do you write?”

“Magazine stories, mostly.”

“Anything else I should know?”

She cleared her throat and started to laugh a little. “I’m a photographer, and I’m pretty good at disguises.”

“Who exactly do you write for?”

Angela looked into Hutch’s eyes and saw no warmth there. What she did see was a man seeking retribution, not reconciliation. Despite her wish to re-establish communication and get reacquainted, he wanted to interrogate. If he wanted to play hardball, she could play hardball with the best of them. But when the interrogation was over, and he found out all he could about her, the prospect of anything good happening between them would be over.

“If you must know, I work for Exposé magazine, Detective Hutchinson. We do exposés on the backgrounds of criminals.” Her tone was deadly serious.

Hutch’s tone was getting more and more pointed by the second. “Just where do you get off, lady? Did you think I liked being suckered into being a part of your little exposé?”

“Do you actually think I planned that? How I could have known you’d show up that night and come at me with that irresistible, ‘can I help you ma’am?’ look on your face. Maybe I should have blown you off. But would you seriously have let me do that?”

He knew the answer was no. The ice was broken. Hutch’s temper started to cool and he leaned back. “I kind of stepped right into that one, didn’t I?”

“You tried to help me out. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“So you think we still have a chance?”

“I should be asking you that question. How do you feel?”

“Well, I…”

Just as he was about to answer, Huggy came back in with the appetizers, setting the mouth-watering tray of chicken wings and potato wedges in front of them. “Ah, I see you found your blond. Tell me, can I get you two anything else? It’s on the house.”

Hutch picked up a potato wedge and took a bite out of it. “Thanks, Hug, why don’t you bring us back a bottle of your best wine?”

“You got it. Say, I been meaning to ask, how’s the leg?”

“It’s much better. Thanks for asking, Hug.”

Hutch winked at Huggy indicating to him that he should be off fetching his best from the liquor cabinet right away. As soon as he was gone, Hutch turned to Angela and looked into her eyes.

“So?” she inquired hopefully.

“So, what?”

“So, what’s the answer to the question?”

“How about this?” He moved in very close to her and started whispering something very suggestively in her ear. Judging by her facial expressions and laughter whatever he was proposing must have been inviting.

“Ooh, honey, if I could blush.” She giggled, playfully nudging him with her shoulder.

“So what do you think?” He leaned away from her slightly.

“At this point, I’m not doing a lot of thinking.”

“Hmm. So, your place or mine?”

They kissed. As their lips parted and they opened their eyes, Huggy was standing beside them, wearing a big grin on his face.

“I’ll say one thing, Blondie, you do work fast.”

Hutch was thoroughly absorbed by the warmth of Angela’s eyes. “Beat it, Hug, I’m busy.”

“Your wish is my command, sahib,” he replied, setting the bottle of wine down on the table, and then slipping quietly away. When he got back to the front counter the phone was ringing. One of his waitresses, Diane, stopped to pick it up.

“You’ve got the Bear’s place.”

“Hey, Diane. It’s Starsky. Is Huggy there?”

“Sure, he’s right here. One sec’.” She handed the phone to Huggy. “It’s Starsky.”

“Thanks, Diane.” He grabbed the phone and put it to his ear. “This is Huggy Bear.”

“Hey, Hug, this is Starsky. Is Hutch there?”

“Yeah, Starsky, he’s here, but I don’t think he’s exactly in a talkin’ mood.”

“So he’s hittin’ it off okay with Angela, huh?”

“Boy, is he. I should be so lucky.”

“Well, tell him I got a message for him from Cap’n Dobey. Tell him it’s important.”

“Okay, Starsky. You want I should bring him to the phone?”

“Yeah, wouldja mind?”

“Sure thing, Starsk, I’ll go pull him away from one of the great loves of his life. I just hope it’s worth me getting slugged over.”

“Huggy, will ya just go get him please?”

“Okay, okay, don’t get your knickers in a bunch.”

Huggy laid the receiver down on the counter and rushed back to the booth where Hutch and Angela continued to make out. Huggy scrunched one eye closed so he wouldn’t see what they were doing and cleared his throat to get Hutch’s attention. “Excuse me…sorry to intrude on your interlude, but your good buddy Starsky is on the horn. Says it’s important.”

“Tell him I’ll call him back.”

“No can do, Hutchie, he’s passing on an edict from the top.”

Hutch finally pulled himself away from the irresistible allure of Angela’s neck.

“I’ll be just minute. Be here when I get back?”

“You know I will.”

The blond slid out of the booth and followed Huggy out to the bar area. He picked up the phone with a sweep of his hand and put the receiver to his ear. “Speak to me, Starsky, and make it fast!” he said, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

“Great to hear your voice too, pal. Guess you and Angie made up, huh?”

“What do you think?” he answered sarcastically. “What’s the message from Dobey?”

“The Cap’n asked me to talk you into taking some time off. I know what you’re gonna say…but I think you should really think about it…”

Hutch’s eyes widened, “Oh, yeah? How much time off?” he asked, sounding pleased and excited.

Starsky didn’t sound too happy in contrast. He’d thought Hutch would protest profoundly. “Two weeks, and guess what?”

“What’s that, pal?”

“Guess whose stuck on clerical detail until you get back?”

“Minnie?”

“Guess again.”

“Starsky…who?” he urged.

“Me, you dummy. I have to file those reports that have been backing up and sittin’ on your desk. Not to mention the ones that’ll come in while you’re on vacation.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I feel your pain, buddy.” He checked his watch. “Look I…”

“Yeah, I know, you want to get back to your date, and I don’t blame ya. Gimme me a call when you get in, okay?”

“Sure thing. I’ll talk to you later. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Hutch handed the receiver to Huggy. “Thanks, Hug. Look, I think Angela and I are going to get outta here. Put the wine and everything on my tab, willya?”

“Sure, sure. I got you covered. See you on the flip side, man.”

Hutch made his way back to the booth area for the second time that evening. Angela was still sitting right where he’d left her. He leaned over the table.

“Ready to go?”

Angela nodded her answer and raised her right hand out to him. He took it and helped her slide out. She stood next to him with an inquisitive look on her face. He realized what she wanted.

“Oh, that was my partner on the phone. Our captain’s giving me a few weeks off to recuperate.”

“You think you’ll need any help with that?”

He pulled her to him and hugged her. “I need all the help I can get.”

The two of them walked to the front and sought out Huggy.

“Hey, Hug!”

“You two ready to make tracks?”

“Yeah, Hug, do me a favor, keep an eye on my car for me?” He threw his keys over. “I’ll be back for it tomorrow.”

“Sure thing, man. Have fun.”

“Don’t worry, we will,” Hutch answered, winking at Huggy as they left the bar. They laughed all the way across the street to her car. She shook the keys and threw them over to him, he helped her into the car and they drove off into the night.

********

Angela opened the door to her apartment, and he waited for her to free her key from the lock before stepping in. He looked around, and was clearly impressed with what he saw. The apartment was painted in a sort of an off-yellow color with white siding along the ceilings and baseboards. Most of the furniture was khaki in hue and detailed with shams edged with a diaphanous skirting. It was very pleasing to the eye.

“You’ve got a very good eye for color,” he complimented her.

“Do you like it?” She closed the door and then took off her wrap, laying it across the sofa.

“Sure do. Does journalism pay that well? Maybe I should consider changing my line of work.”

“Depends on what kind of journalist you are.”

She sat down on the sofa and motioned for him to join her. He sat down next to her.

“Well, I’d probably be no match for you.”

“Damn right.” She drew herself to him and kissed him long and hard. When he did not return the kiss, she drew back. “What’s the matter?”

“I was just wondering…”

“Wondering what?”

“How did you get into the penthouse?”

She smiled and put her arms around him. “Mamie does have her ways.”

He practically gasped. “You were the cleaning lady?”

She nodded and smiled.

“I was wondering why the cleaning woman was coming on to me.”

“You met another one of my alter egos, too.”

“Don’t tell me, in the coffee shop? The bag lady.”

“You got it.”

“You know, you’re pretty good. Maybe you ought to think about joining the department.”

“No way. I’ll leave that detective stuff to the big boys.”

“One more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“What’s U.Y.S.?”

“U.Y.S, sweetheart. Under your spell.”

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, slowly leaned her body against the arm of the sofa. She inhaled in anticipation of his touch and a warm feeling gathered in the pit of her stomach. She closed her eyes as he kissed her, his lips following a path that led from her lips and down her neck, to over the top of her shoulders. He stopped and looked at her as she slowly opened her eyes.

“What’s the matter now?”

“Nothing. I think I…”

She put her hand to his mouth. “You don’t have to say it. I feel the same way. But tell you what, if you want to wait until we’ve gotten to know each other better before you say it, I’ll understand.” She cuddled next to him, nestling in the bend of his arm.

Hutch was speechless as he gazed into her wanting eyes, and it was all he could do not to take her right then and there. They would lie together in each other’s arms for most of the evening, making love and talking. He still wanted that committed, long-term relationship to happen, but he wasn’t going to press her for it, not just yet. If it was right, there’d be lots of time for them to spend together like this, and plenty of time for commitment, if there was to be any. For now, they were content.

********

The next morning, there were gales of laughter escaping from the greenhouse of Hutch’s apartment where the two detectives were entertaining their lady friends. Joyce was dressed in casual clothes for a change, and was sitting next to Starsky, who was in his usual blue jeans and favorite black shirt. Hutch, also dressed casually, had his arms linked around Angela’s, thoroughly enjoying her company.

Joyce put a hand on Starsky’s thigh and tapped her fingers on his chest with the other. She seemed to have something on her mind.

“David, I have been wanting to ask you a question.”

“What’s that?” Starsky asked, playing with a ring on her little finger.

“Promise you won’t take this the wrong way.”

“Promise.”

“I’m not complainin’, mind you. I just gotta know. This black, white thing, are the two of you for real?”

Starsky thought for a moment. “Well, see, it’s like this. Hutch and I believe that love is blind, and so are we.”

Everyone started to laugh.

“That’s color blind, Starsk, color blind,” Hutch corrected him.

“Yeah, that’s it,” He acknowledged, a little embarrassed.

Angela piped in. “So what we’ve got here, isn’t this part of what the whole Civil Rights movement and Martin Luther King’s speech was all about?”

“What? Us creating our own little United Nation’s panel?” Hutch smiled at her, “That’s one way of looking at it,” he said, kissing her hand.

“Well, if that’s the case, we’d better get started with negotiations,” Starsky suggested with a leer. “We wouldn’t want to waste any time just sittin’ around, now would we?” He then placed a long, lingering kiss on Joyce’s lips.

Hutch and Angela watched them for a second. “Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait for us!” he urged them.

With that, Hutch wrapped his arms around Angela, and they kissed too, both couples making their own personal statement about what it might be like to live in a truly colorblind world. Nice.

THE END