Picking Up The Pieces

168

Months after Kira nearly succeeded in destroying their friendship Starsky and Hutch are still struggling to rebuild their trust in one another. Will their bond be strong enough to withstand the ultimate betrayal?

 

Originally published in The Bond #1.

---

Chapter One

Starsky stood at the window and watched the delicate snowflakes fall, gently covering the ground in a soft white blanket. Although he’d enjoyed spending the holidays with his mother and Nicky, he was ready to return to the warmth of Southern California and the day-to-day activities of his life as a detective with the Bay City Police Department. Christmas hadn’t been the same without Hutch…

Starsky had believed this vacation would be good for both of them—a time for distancing, giving them each a little space. The last few months had been rough. No—worse than rough. At times, almost unbearable. After Rigger was assassinated while under their protection, it seemed to Starsky that their lives and friendship had begun to slowly unravel. They’d gradually been drifting apart, bickering and getting on each other’s nerves. It seemed the tiniest, most insignificant incident would set off a monumental argument.

Of course, it had all come to a head with Kira. Even now, the memories of what had transpired between the three of them were painful for Starsky to recall. Thank God, they’d both come to their senses and realized she didn’t give a flip about either of them—had, in fact, played them both for fools. Unfortunately, that realization had almost come too late.

Starsky had forgiven Hutch his indiscretion and tried to convince himself that, if anything, it had strengthened their friendship, drawn them back together. But deep in his heart, the pain still lingered. In his entire life, he’d never felt so betrayed as the day he’d confronted Hutch—walking out of Kira’s bedroom, still buttoning his shirt, a look of undeniable guilt imprinted on his face. Starsky believed that if Hutch had plunged a knife through his heart, it couldn’t have hurt any worse than the agony he felt at that moment.

They’d talked about it later—at great length. The depth of Hutch’s remorse was immeasurable, and Starsky knew that. He knew it with his brain…but his heart still ached. Sure, they’d picked up the pieces and moved on, but for some indefinable reason, Starsky couldn’t forget that moment of ultimate betrayal and grieved for the innocent, lighthearted days of their friendship—the way it had been before.

So, when the Hutchinsons had called and asked their only son to come home for Christmas, Starsky had encouraged him to go. Eileen Hutchinson had planned a big wingding—a reunion of sorts—including relatives Hutch hadn’t seen since he was a child. She’d been anxious for him to be there and pretty much told him she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Of course, Hutch had asked Starsky to go with him, but he’d politely declined, insisting he needed to spend Hanukkah with his own family, discretely omitting that he thought they’d both benefit from some time apart.

Hutch had searched his partner’s face, believing Starsky had an ulterior motive for turning down the invitation. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew Starsky hadn’t been himself since Kira. It was the one instant in his life that he regretted above all others—betraying his best friend with a woman who’d meant absolutely nothing to him. To this day, he didn’t understand why he’d done it—sexual attraction? Ego? Jealousy? More likely…stupidity. Sure, Starsky had said, “Let bygones be bygones”—even joked about it and suggested they turn the tables on her. But from the moment he’d stepped through that bedroom door, their lives had changed. Nothing, absolutely nothing, between the two of them had ever been the same.

Hutch had agonized over the incident and tried to make it up to his partner, but he knew instinctively that Starsky now held back a part of himself, never quite letting down his guard. This was a constant source of grief to Hutch. He knew he’d literally give his right arm if he thought he could wipe out that short chapter in their lives and go back to the way they’d been before. But sadly, Hutch was beginning to believe there was no going back. Reluctantly, he accepted his mother’s invitation and flew to Minnesota for Christmas.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Rachel Starsky said, slipping her arm around her son’s waist. “You seem so solemn. Something bothering you?”

“No, nothin’, Ma.” Starsky turned and draped his arm around his mother’s shoulders. “Just thinkin’ about work.”

Rachel’s eyes searched his face, not quite convinced her oldest son was being completely honest. She’d sensed a sadness in David ever since he’d arrived home for the holidays. Not wanting to pry, Rachel had avoided asking questions, but now that he would be leaving the next day and still showed no signs of opening up to her, her motherly instincts demanded she offer him a sympathetic ear.

“Come in the kitchen with me. I baked some of those chocolate chip cookies you and Nicholas used to fight over when you were little boys. Just made a fresh pot of coffee, too.”

Starsky smiled at her and gave her an affectionate hug. “I was wonderin’ if you’d get around to that before I left.” Following her into the kitchen, he pulled out a chair at the table and sat down, while she poured two cups of coffee and joined him. On the table was a platter of still warm cookies, their delicious aroma causing his mouth to water.

Rachel sipped her coffee and watched him down two cookies before she spoke a word. Then, peering over her cup, she went straight to the point. “Honey, I wish you’d tell me what’s bothering you. You’ve been here a week, and the entire time, you’ve seemed depressed. Did you break up with a girl or something? Are things not going well at work? Or do you just miss Hutch and your other friends?”

Starsky sipped his own coffee, avoiding her probing eyes. “I don’t know what you mean, Ma,” he lied.

“Of course you do,” she retorted. “And, believe it or not, getting it off your chest may help.”

Starsky silently stared at the platter of cookies, wondering how his mother could still be so perceptive of his moods and thoughts after all these years apart. It suddenly occurred to him that she might be right. He’d not discussed what had happened between him and Hutch with anyone—not even Huggy. It was just too damn personal. But maybe, just maybe, sharing the hurt with his mother would make him feel a little better. Maybe she could offer him advice. Maybe he just needed to say the words out loud.

“It’s Hutch,” he muttered quietly.

“What about Hutch? Has something happened to him? I thought he was in Minnesota with his family.”

“He is.” Starsky lifted his eyes and met hers. “Something happened between us that I’m just havin’ a hard time dealin’ with.”

Rachel laid her hand on his arm, encouraging him to continue. “Tell me about it. Maybe I can help.”

It was the opening he needed. The story poured from him, as though of its own volition, non-stop and painfully honest. No glossing. No excuses. And when he was finished, he felt empty and sad.

Rachel’s face remained passive throughout his story, never once interrupting him, letting the anguish flow out of him, hopefully purging him of the burden he’d wrestled with for the last several months. When he was done, she was quiet for a moment. When she did speak, she chose her words carefully.

“Have you forgiven him?”

“Yes,” he answered honestly, “but I just…well…I just don’t feel the same. I don’t feel any anger or malice. I just feel disappointed…and I don’t trust him anymore.”

She walked over to the counter, picked up the coffee decanter and refilled their cups, then sat back down before speaking again. “David, let me tell you something I’ve learned the hard way. No one can hurt us as deeply as those we love most. But if we truly love them, we forgive them and move forward. If you truly love Hutch, like I believe you do, you’ll put this behind you and begin rebuilding your friendship.”

Starsky opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her finger, warning him to wait until she finished. “You don’t know how happy I’ve been to see your friendship with Hutch. I know you and Nicky aren’t close. There’s the age difference, and you left here when he was still a little boy. And…” she hesitated, “…he doesn’t always do the right thing. I know he’s been in trouble with the law, and with you being a policeman like your father—well, my point is—Hutch is the brother that Nicky should be to you. He’s a good man, David, and he loves you dearly. I honestly believe he’d lay down his life for you.”

“I used to believe that,” Starsky said, barely above a whisper. “Now, I’m not as sure.”

“Well, unless the pod people have invaded his body and he’s an altogether different person from the man I know—he would.” She chuckled at the absurdity of her own words, bringing a smile to her son’s face as well. “If you let this—this—” she groped for a non-profane word for Kira, “floozy come between the two of you and destroy the incredible friendship that you share, it’ll be a tragedy.”

Starsky considered her words, knowing they rang true. “So, Ma, how do I get past this? I mean, it’s not like I haven’t tried.”

“You not only forgive Hutch, you accept that it happened, that it’s not important, and that it certainly isn’t worth losing the best friend you ever had over. You just said yourself that you realized you didn’t love the woman. If Hutch isn’t in love with her either, why should the two of you let this ruin your friendship?”

When his eyes met his mother’s, Starsky saw the challenge in them. But he still had doubts.

“How do I trust him?”

“Didn’t you say when he apologized, he said nothing like that would ever happen again?”

Starsky nodded.

“Has he ever lied to you?”

“No,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Did he deny sleeping with that woman?”

“No.”

“If he was honest with you about that, why can’t you believe he’ll be honest with you about everything else?”

When Starsky didn’t answer, Rachel reached down and took his hand in hers.

“Son, don’t let this eat you up inside. Lots of people have been through so much worse in a relationship and gotten over it. Hutch is your friend, and that’s not something you should willingly throw away. Think what your life would be like if you never saw him again—if he was no longer a part of your world. I’d be willing to bet you’d miss him more than you can even imagine.” She smiled at him and squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Promise you’ll think about what I’ve said?” she prompted.

Starsky smiled at her, then reached over and lightly kissed her cheek. “Yeah, I promise. I know you’re right. I just need to work it all out for myself, I guess.”

“Okay!” Rachel stood up and gave him a self-satisfied smile. “Why don’t you go clean up a little and take your old mother out to dinner? I’d love a good Italian meal that I didn’t have to cook myself.”

“You got it,” he answered, heading for the bathroom. He paused at the door, looked back over his shoulder and flashed her the first genuine smile she’d seen since his arrival. “Thanks, Ma.” With that he disappeared down the hall.

Rachel sighed, tears springing to her eyes as the years rolled away. He looked just like his father when he smiled like that. God, after all these years, how she still missed Mike!

 

Chapter Two

Running late after arriving back from New York in the early morning hours, Starsky maneuvered the Torino in and out of the busy traffic at breakneck speed. His plane, socked in by fog, had been delayed nearly four hours. Starsky had fleetingly thought of calling Hutch to let him know about the delay, but decided against it, figuring most likely his partner wouldn’t even realize he was late.

Hutch looked up as Starsky entered the room, walked directly to the coffee maker, and poured himself a cup of the strong brew that had been sitting on the burner for at least two hours. A variety of emotions flitted across the blond’s face—relief, curiosity, and anger. He waited quietly until Starsky sat down at the desk, giving him the opportunity to offer an explanation for being so late. When Starsky gave none, Hutch couldn’t seem to bite back the snide comment that sprung to his lips.

“Nice you could join us.”

Starsky looked at him from beneath hooded eyes, answering tongue-in-cheek, “Yeah, well, I knew you’d be lost without me, Blondie.”

Knowing he’d deserved that, Hutch decided to start over. He hated this uneasy pattern they’d fallen into. They were, after all, adults, and he had no right to expect Starsky to report in to him. The hell of it was, a few months ago it wouldn’t have been an issue. Communicating was something they’d learned to do as a matter of self-preservation—always let your partner know where you are. “I called you last night to see if you wanted to grab a bite and catch up a little.”

“Flight left four hours late,” Starsky answered. “I sat in that airport ’til I thought my butt was gonna grow to the seat. Didn’t get in until two a.m.” Having said that, he abruptly changed the subject. “How about you? How’s your family?”

“Fine,” Hutch answered, smiling at the mental picture Starsky had just painted. “Christmas was fine. The weather was fine. It just didn’t seem…” Hutch paused, debating whether to finish the sentence—then decided against it. “It was fine.” He picked up his mug and took another gulp of coffee. “You could’ve called.” The words were out before he realized it.

“What?” Surprised, Starsky looked up.

“Well…I…uh…I thought something may have happened to you.”

“Sorry,” Starsky said, realizing belatedly that Hutch had actually been worried about him. “I should’a called.”

“So, how’re your mom and brother?” Hutch hastened to change the subject, wishing he’d not made an issue of Starsky’s thoughtlessness.

“Okay. Ma was glad to see me. And Nicky…well, you know Nicky. Saw him maybe an hour the whole time I was there.” Starsky plucked off the messages taped to their telephone and flipped through them absently.

“Don’t think he’s in trouble again, do you?”

“I don’t know,” Starsky answered, reaching up to rub his tired eyes. “I hope for Ma’s sake he isn’t.” He tossed the messages back onto the desk and looked up, making an effort to lighten the conversation. “Any progress on the house?”

“I called Ms. Choi, the realtor, when I got back into town. Said she’d contact the mortgage company and try to speed things along.” Hutch smiled before adding, “Hey, how about I take you by to see it? It’s great, Starsk. Has an nice little glass solarium on the back, two bedrooms, and real hardwood floors.”

“Yeah…sure. When do we go?”

“Starsky! Hutchinson! My office!” They both looked up to see Dobey looming in the doorway of his office, looking none too happy.

“Happy New Year to you, too, Cap’n,” Starsky said facetiously, as he squeezed past the obese black man and went into the office. Hutch, only a step behind, decided not to antagonize their boss any further. Starsky was doing a great job of that on his own.

“Okay, you two clowns have had your vacation, now it’s time to get your butts back out there on the street.” Slamming the door, Dobey bustled back to his desk and plopped down in the chair, all business. Secretly, he was relieved to see them back, but knew better than to let them know. It was part of the little game they played. Starsky and Hutch pretended he had no authority over them, and he pretended not to notice—just as long as they got the job done. And he was confident they could wind this case up faster than any of his other detectives.

“There’s a new pimp in the neighborhood who doesn’t play nice,” Dobey began, reaching up to loosen his already crumpled tie.

“A pimp?” Hutch looked up, unsure why Dobey would be assigning them to a prostitution case. “Shouldn’t that be handled by Vice?”

“Yeah, Cap’n. How fast we forget. We’re gone a week and you forget we’re homicide?” Starsky added.

“It’s not Vice when we’ve got a dead body on your beat, is it?” Dobey shot back. “Now, if you two will stop your wise-cracking long enough to let me finish, you’ll see why I’m assigning you to this case!”

Both cops sobered instantly, giving him their undivided attention.

“Over the past month, three hookers have shown up at County General emergency room, beaten within an inch of their lives. Somebody dumped them at the back door and drove off. When the police questioned them, they all refused to file a complaint, or even identify their assailant. All Vice was able to find out was that they all worked for the same pimp—but none of the women would give up his name.”

“Did Vice question any of the other women workin’ the street?” Starsky asked.

“They tried to. Said they didn’t know anything. But the officers don’t believe they were telling the truth. Most likely, scared of getting a taste of the same medicine.” Dobey looked at them, his face grim. “Two days ago, another victim was found outside the emergency room. Unfortunately, this one died. That’s where you come in. This is no longer a case of some pimp getting heavy-handed with his girls. Now it’s a homicide.”

“So…you want us to call in a few markers…shake up a couple of snitches?” Starsky asked.

“I know you have contacts out there who trust you and may give up some information. I don’t care how you do it. Just get him—before he kills another one.”

The two cops exchanged looks, then stood up and headed for the door. “Right. We’re on it,” Hutch said.

“Oh…Starsky…Hutchinson.”

They turned and looked back at Dobey.

“Welcome back.” As the door closed behind them, Dobey closed his tired eyes and leaned back in his chair for a moment, confident the case would be solved within forty-eight hours.

* * *

Hutch pulled the battered Ford into the driveway of the modest, circa 1950 bungalow and cut the engine before turning toward his partner, a self-satisfied grin plastered on his face. “This is it.”

Starsky was impressed and said as much. “It looks terrific. How about the inside? Do I get the grand tour?”

“Sure. I told Ms. Choi I wanted to come over here and take a few measurements for the bookcases I’m gonna build. Since it’s vacant, she loaned me a key. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

As they stepped through the door, Hutch was again overwhelmed by a feeling of contentment—like he’d always lived in the quaint little bungalow. He led Starsky from room to room, pointing out the high points and the low, expounding on his plans to renovate the outdated bathroom, refinish the hardwood floor in the bedroom, and install the bookcases he planned to build for the living room.

“I saved the best for last. Take a look at this solarium.” Hutch swung open the narrow French doors that led into a tiny, glassed-in porch, brightly lit by the morning sunlight beating down through a smoked-Plexiglas skylight. “Can you imagine the plants and herbs that’ll thrive out here?”

Starsky smiled, enjoying Hutch’s enthusiasm. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his partner so excited about anything. Buying this place apparently meant a lot more to Hutch than he’d realized. Inexplicably, just seeing Hutch happy made him feel good inside. They’d shared too few enjoyable moments these past months. Thinking back on his mother’s words, Starsky knew that in his heart he wanted the darkness between them to pass. His mom was right. He needed to move on.

“I think it has your name on it, Blintz. When do you move in?”

Hutch tipped his head to the side, giving Starsky a sidewise glance. “It’s not a sure thing yet, Starsk. I made an offer, and the seller accepted. But I still have to get approval from the mortgage company.”

“That should be a piece’a cake. I’ll vouch for you. ‘My partner, the model citizen, the super cop.’ What was it Marcos called you? ‘The White Knight?’ Just tell me what to say and who to say it to,” Starsky joked.

A smiled tugged at the corners of Hutch’s mouth. “I wish it was that easy. It’s not a matter of my being of good character. What it all boils down to is dollars and cents—whether or not the mortgage company thinks I’m a good credit risk. The realtor said it’s taking a little longer to get approval than she’d expected. So I’ll just have to wait.”

“Wait? How long? Could someone else buy it right out from under you?”

“No. I put down earnest money, so at least I’m good until the mortgage company makes a decision.”

“Oh.” Starsky nodded, assimilating what Hutch had told him.

Hutch walked over to the widest expanse of uninterrupted wall and ran his hand over the finish. “Right here—this is where I’ll put the bookcases. And this corner over here—I can set my guitar up on that stand you gave me for my birthday.”

Hutch’s face reminded Starsky of a child’s on Christmas morning. Memories of earlier days—before Kira—rose up before him, reminding him of the easy-going, open relationship he and Hutch had shared. Today, for the first time, he felt a spark reminiscent of those happier times.

“Yeah, it’ll look terrific there.”

“I have to tell you, Starsk, it’s like I’ve always lived here. I know it sounds crazy, but I…I just feel so at home when I walk through these rooms.” Hutch turned to face Starsky and saw his amused expression. “I know, I know. You think I’m nuts.”

“No…no, I don’t. Nothing like that. I just don’t think you’re gonna survive until you hear from that mortgage company, that’s all.”

Hutch considered Starsky’s words for a moment. “I guess it’s not smart to get my hopes up too much. I mean, what if they turn me down? It’s just that, we’re not getting any younger, Starsk, and I…well, I want a place of my own—not some dinky apartment with all sorts of rules and regulations about what I can and can’t do. I’ve been holding off, waiting until the right girl came along. Settle down, buy a home together, maybe have a couple of kids. But with my lousy luck with women, that day may never come. So I’m gonna take the plunge and buy this place, quit throwing my money out the window on rent every month. I doubt you get what I’m trying to say here.”

Starsky blanched at Hutch’s words. He swallowed hard and averted his eyes to the floor before speaking. “I know exactly what you’re sayin’. I thought maybe I’d have a place somethin’ like this with Terry. Guess it just wasn’t in the cards.”

Instantly regretting the thoughtless comment, Hutch reached out and laid his hand on Starsky’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Starsk. I didn’t mean…I just wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay,” Starsky mumbled, reflexively withdrawing from Hutch’s touch.

“No—it’s not okay. Dammit, Starsk, I just seem to always say the wrong thing these days.”

“Let’s get goin’,” Starsky answered brusquely, as he turned away and headed for the front door. “Huggy should be in by now. Maybe he can give us a lead on this creep Dobey’s lookin’ for.”

Hutch looked away, frustrated by the way Starsky had clamed up again. It seemed to him every time they were on the verge of regaining their old camaraderie, he said or did something stupid, and the wall Starsky had erected between them since Kira, appeared to loom larger each day. Hutch was afraid—no, terrified—that soon it would be too massive to tear down. Not knowing what else to do, he followed Starsky through the door and back to the dilapidated Ford.

 

Chapter Three

Huggy looked up from the bar when the two detectives entered The Pits. “Well, look what the cat dragged in. Welcome back, guys.”

Starsky and Hutch each slid onto a stool and sat down. “Hey, Hug. We need your help,” Starsky said without preamble. Resting his chin in his hand, Starsky leaned on his elbow and stared across the bar at the thin black man.

“Ooo, that’s cold, Starsky,” Huggy said, wrinkling his brow. “Not even a ‘Happy New Year’ or ‘how was your Christmas?’ Can’t you at least pretend to be interested?”

“You’ll have to overlook Starsky, Hug,” Hutch hastened to explain. “Dobey saddled us with a homicide case the minute we walked in the door this morning.”

“Let me guess,” Huggy said, pressing his fingers to his temples, imitating a sideshow psychic. “The Fabulous Huggerino knows all, sees all.”

“Well, I hope so,” Starsky said. “We’re hopin’ to sew this one up pretty quickly.”

“The prostitute murder that occurred two days ago, right?”

“Hey, you’re pretty good. Does the Fabulous Huggerino have a name to go with that?” Starsky pressed.

Huggy sobered, dropping his pretense at clairvoyance. “Wish I could help you. Really. But, nobody’s talking. Seems this dude is real bad news. Arrived on the scene about six weeks ago, moved his stable here from Chicago. The word is that things heated up for him when one of his girls there disappeared. She’d apparently complained to the local heat that the man was a little heavy-handed when the ladies didn’t bring home as much green as he thought they should. Next thing anybody knew, she was taking an unscheduled swim in Lake Michigan.”

“Sounds like this creep plays for keeps,” Starsky observed.

“Yeah. And ten to one, that’s why nobody’s talkin’ this time,” Huggy agreed. He set two cups of fresh coffee on the bar in front of them. “I mean, not only are his own girls scared, none of the other chicks on the street are talking either.”

“I guess it goes without saying, you’ll keep your eyes open and your ears tuned, won’t you?” Hutch asked, taking a sip of the scalding hot coffee.

“Hutch, you gotta ask? This dude’s bad for business, if ya know what I mean. No action on the street makes Huggy’s a dull place.”

“Thanks, Hug,” Starsky said, slapping a dollar down on the counter before standing up to leave. Hutch followed suit, and they headed back to the car.

* * *

The two detectives passed the morning tracking down their contacts on the street, but no one was giving up any information. Either they didn’t know anything, or were just too scared to talk. As the day began to wind down, Hutch suggested they head back to the station to check the autopsy report on Melba Brand, the murdered prostitute. Although he didn’t mention it, Starsky suspected Hutch was also hoping to find a message from the realtor.

Starsky stared out the window on his side of the car, wishing they’d taken the Torino. It was easier to avoid making conversation if he could concentrate on driving. There’d been an uneasy silence between the two men since leaving the bungalow, and, despite his desire to act as though nothing had happened, Starsky couldn’t for the life of him think of anything to say. This was driving him nuts!

When they reached the station, he offered to go upstairs and retrieve a copy of the autopsy report while Hutch checked the office for messages. They parted company in the hallway on the first floor. “Meet you in the squadroom,” Starsky said, sprinting up the stairs toward the coroner’s office.

Hutch veered off to the right and went into the squadroom. When he reached the phone, he noticed a message taped to the receiver. This was it—Mei Choi had left a message marked “urgent.” His heart pounding just a little faster than usual, he dialed the number, and she picked up on the first ring.

“Mei, this is Ken Hutchinson.”

“Oh, yes, thanks for calling back so quickly. Listen, Ken, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Hutch felt his heart drop to his stomach. He held his breath as she continued.

“Your loan has been turned down. You have excellent credit, but you simply don’t have enough income to guarantee your ability to make the payments. Now, we can go back to the seller and see if he’ll lower the price in order for you to qualify, but I don’t hold much hope of him doing that. He’d already accepted your bid, despite it being considerably less than the asking price. I doubt he’ll go any lower.”

“I see,” Hutch muttered. “Well, thanks for all your help, Mei. I…uh…I guess you shouldn’t bother asking him to lower the price.”

“Ken, we’ll keep looking for something in your price range,” she encouraged him. “Or, if you could talk to your boss about a raise, we still might be able to hold the contract a few days.”

“Thanks, but there’s no chance of a raise. The city only gives across-the-board living increases once a year, and we’ve already gotten ours for this round.”

Mei Choi could hear the disappointment in his voice, and her heart went out to him. This was one part of her job she hated—seeing perfectly nice folks lose their dream home. “Well, if I find something else that I think might fit your needs, I’ll call you right away.”

“Okay…that’s fine. Thanks, Mei.”

“I’m sorry, Ken,” she said sincerely.

Hutch dropped the receiver back into the cradle and looked up just as Starsky came through the door, carrying what he presumed was the autopsy report. Starsky knew from the look on Hutch’s face that something was wrong.

“Hey, you look like you just saw a ghost or somethin’.”

Hutch didn’t respond, just reached out and waited for Starsky to drop the printed report into his hand. “I see you got it,” he mumbled.

Starsky handed him the report. “Not ready yet, but the girl had a record. This came in from Chicago this mornin’. Picked up a couple of times in Chicago for prostitution.” Noticing the change in Hutch’s mood from minutes earlier, Starsky asked, “Did you get some bad news? Nothin’ wrong with your folks, is there?”

“Uh…no…it’s nothing,” he lied.

“It’s somethin’ all right. Hutch, come on…you’re freakin’ me out here.”

“Okay,” Hutch said resignedly. “Mei Choi just called. My loan was turned down.”

Starsky reached down and squeezed Hutch’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, partner. Isn’t there anything you can do about it? I mean, like pay off some old debt and get your credit cleaned up?”

“It’s not my credit, Starsk. It’s this damn low-paying, thankless job. I just don’t make enough money.”

Starsky shook his head in anger. “It’s okay for us to put our lives on the line every day, but they don’t even pay us enough to have a home! This stinks, Hutch!”

His face a grim picture of dejection, Hutch snapped open Melba’s arrest record and said brusquely, “It doesn’t matter. I don’t need the headaches of keeping up a house, anyway. Now, let’s get busy on this case before that jerk beats another woman to death.”

Starsky was quiet for a moment before sitting down. Hutch continued reading the report while Starsky’s mind raced, searching for a solution to his partner’s problem. Unfortunately, he couldn’t come up with anything that made sense. Wanting to break the uneasy silence between them, Starsky looked up and suggested offhandedly, “Hey, how about some lunch? We can go to that new place you been wantin’ to try. You know, the one that serves up all that health food junk. Maybe a tofu burger—or, or one those seaweed sandwiches. Whattaya say?”

“Not hungry,” Hutch mumbled.

“Well, ya gotta eat something. May as well be something you like. I’ll buy,” he added magnanimously.

Hutch tossed the report on the desk and ran a hand over his face. “Look, Starsk, I’m not a little kid that you have to bribe me when I’m disappointed. It was a bad idea in the first place.”

Sensing that Hutch wanted to change the subject, Starsky dropped it for the time being. He’d have to give it more thought—maybe come up with a plan to help Hutch out.

Picking up the report, Starsky began flipping through the pages. The mug shot, though not flattering, was more palatable than the way she looked on the ME’s table. “What was she, about fifteen?”

“Sixteen,” Hutch replied. “Just a kid. I want to nail this turkey to the wall. I hope something breaks soon—somebody comes through with something to help us find him.”

“Wait a minute!” Starsky snapped his fingers. “Hutch, I don’t know why we didn’t think about this before! Alice. Sweet Alice. She’ll help us. Ya know she’d do anything for you.”

Hutch looked up, surprised that he hadn’t thought of her himself. His enthusiasm for the idea vanished almost before it had time to take root. “I don’t know, Starsky. It might be a bad idea to involve her. If this guy’s as violent as they say, we’d be putting her in danger.”

“We’ll give her protection,” Starsky offered, “if she can just give us his name, or where he’s operating from. It’s not like we’d be askin’ her to go undercover or anything.”

Hutch mulled the idea over in his mind a moment before deciding. “Well, maybe. I mean, if we made certain to meet her somewhere that no one would see us together.”

“Right,” Starsky agreed. “We know where she lives. We can go straight to her apartment. I doubt this guy even knows who she is.”

“Let’s do it,” Hutch agreed.

 

Chapter Four

“Well, hello, Handsome Hutch,” Alice drawled. She stood in the doorway of the broken-down apartment she called both home and work. Wearing nothing but a transparent silky nightgown that clung to every curve and round of her body, she personified most men’s idea of seductive. Despite her sexuality, Sweet Alice had retained a sort of innocence that few men could resist. She looked up at Hutch coyly and asked in a breathy voice, “Change your mind about our spending a little time together?”

Hutch smiled at her. “Afraid not, Alice,” he said gently.

Starsky, who’d been standing right behind Hutch, poked his head around Hutch’s shoulder. “Hi, Alice.”

“Oh, Starsky, I didn’t see you back there, sugar.” Alice stepped aside, gesturing for them to come in. “You’re lookin’ mighty fine these days,” she cooed. “Maybe if your partner’s too busy, you’d like to stay awhile.”

Starsky smiled at her, taken aback. This was the first time she’d included him in her campaign to seduce Hutch. “I don’t think so. Wouldn’t wanna make my partner here look bad,” he answered humorously.

Hutch cut his eyes toward Starsky disapprovingly, but decided to ignore the jibe.

Familiar with the routine, Alice came right to the point, “Well, then…what brings you fellas here today? Lookin’ for somebody? You know I’ll help you if I can.”

Starsky dropped into a raggedy blue lounge chair, while Hutch sat down on the sofa, Alice close enough to reach out and touch him.

“You know us too well,” Hutch said, smiling down at the small figure beside him. “That’s why we’re here, all right,” he confessed. “We need your help to find the new player who’s beating up his girls.”

Alice’s face went deathly white. “Now, Hutch, darlin’, don’t ask me for that. I may not have the best life in the world, but it’s mine, and I’d like to keep right on breathin’. Who knows, maybe one of these days you’ll decide to make an honest woman of me.” She smiled sweetly, her voice teasing, but both cops knew she was dead serious.

“Alice.” Resting his elbows on his knees, Starsky leaned forward, his hands locked together before him. “Alice, did you know one of the girls died? She was sixteen. Sixteen. Don’t ya wanna help us put this creep away?”

Alice’s eyes turned to meet Starsky’s. He couldn’t help but think they were the eyes of one twice Alice’s tender years. “Well, of course I do, sugar.” Her voice quivered slightly. “But I’m scared. I don’t mind admitting it.”

“We’ll give you protection,” he offered.

“How are you goin’ to protect me, Starsky? I work the street, darlin’. You goin’ to be there, by my side every night? Could be bad for business, don’t you think?”

Hutch reached out and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Alice, we’ll see that he’s locked up for keeps. He can’t hurt you or anyone else if he’s behind bars.”

Alice considered his words for a moment, then smiled sadly. “Honey, you can put him behind bars, but that doesn’t mean he’ll stay there. How many of us do you think he’d kill before you pick him up a second time? You know the kind of justice folks like me get.”

Hutch dropped his eyes, not knowing how to reply. After a moment’s silence, Starsky piped up, “We’ll keep you totally out of the picture. Just give us a location—we’ll do the rest.”

Alice looked up, turning her head toward the window, staring out at the black smoke billowing from the chimney of the tire factory no more than a hundred yards from the apartment building. When she turned back, her eyes, filled with unshed tears, met Hutch’s and saw there the tenderness that always made her heart melt.

“He has a place on Clairmont and Fifty-sixth Street. Old abandoned boarding house. You can’t miss it. Still has the sign out front, ‘The Smith House.’ I hear he bought it outright for back taxes. Has it fixed up real nice, too. Most of the girls are under twenty ’cause he specializes in the younger set. He goes by the name of Willie Green, but his girls call him Big Daddy.”

She turned to Starsky. “Don’t forget—you didn’t talk to me. You found this out on your own, okay?”

“Sure,” Starsky agreed. “You have our word.

When both men stood up to leave, Hutch dug his wallet out of his back pocket, took out a twenty and pressed it into her palm. Alice looked down, then sought his eyes again. “I don’t want your money, Handsome Hutch. You keep it. Just get this creep out of town. He’s bad for business.”

“Keep it,” Hutch told her. He reached down and gently brushed her cheek with his lips, before following Starsky to the door.

“Ya’ll come back when you can stay awhile,” she said, her voice soft and Southern as a plantation belle’s.

“We’ll be seein’ you. Thanks,” Starsky said, gently closing the door behind them.

* * *

Hutch gave Starsky a jab in the ribs to roust him from his nap. The evening had dragged on to the point that the dark-haired detective had been unable to keep his eyes open. Hutch had listened to the car radio and fought the urge to fall asleep himself. Just as he thought he’d have to ask Starsky to relieve him a little earlier than they’d agreed upon, a dark blue Lincoln Continental pulled up in front of the house.

“Starsk, wake up. I think that’s our guy,” Hutch told him.

Sitting up and shaking his head to clear it, Starsky looked in the direction of the car and strained his eyes, trying to focus on the figure as he disappeared through the front door of the house. “Too late, you missed him,” Hutch said. “He’s a big guy, black, two hundred pounds, maybe two-fifty. Had enough gold around his neck to stake half the casinos in Vegas.”

“Terrific. A big guy like that should be real proud of himself, beatin’ up women who’re probably a third his size,” Starsky mumbled, running a hand through his hair. “What now? We don’t have an excuse to bust him.”

“I don’t know…maybe just wait awhile, keep our ears open. Maybe catch him in the act of smacking another of his girls around. Hey, where’re those binoculars?” Hutch checked the back seat and then the glove compartment before Starsky could answer.

“In the Torino, dummy.”

Exasperated, Hutch snapped back, “Fat lot’a good they’re doing us there.”

“Hey—it was your idea to drive this traveling garbage disposal today,” Starsky reminded him.

“Like we could really hope to conduct surveillance in that striped tomato?” Hutch came back.

“Yeah, well in addition to it bein’ clean and more comfortable, that ‘tomato’ can run circles around this bomb any day!”

“Who the hell said anything about running circles? We’re supposed to be undercover here, Starsk!”

Starsky wasn’t sure why, but he found comfort in their bickering. It was familiar, and harmless—a pastime they’d indulged in countless times during happier days. Smiling to himself, Starsky shot back. “Oh, really? Well, if that’s the case, why aren’t you out there ‘surveilling’ from those bushes under the window? Huh? You wouldn’t need binoculars from there!”

“‘Surveilling’ isn’t even a word, Starsky. This is getting ridiculous. I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

“Whattaya mean ‘when I’m like this?’ What’s this?”

“Cranky.”

“Cranky?” Starsky drew back his head and looked at Hutch like he’d lost his mind.

“Cranky,” Hutch said resolutely. “When you first wake up, you’re mad at the world. You’ve always been like that.”

“Have not.”

“Have to.”

“Have not!”

“That’s it!” Hutch held up his hand, cutting short Starsky’s next ‘have not.’ “We’re staying here another hour. If nothing happens, we’ll leave, then come back out here tomorrow. At least we’ve made the guy, and now we know what he looks like and where to find him.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Starsky agreed. “But tomorrow, I drive.”

 

Chapter Five

Hutch unhooked his shoulder holster and hung it in the coat closet before walking over to the kitchen counter to check his answering machine. The red light blinked impatiently, alerting him to at least one message. Pressing the playback button, he recognized a voice he hadn’t heard in a long time.

“Hi, Hutch. This is Frank Barber. Listen, kid, I have a business proposition to discuss with you. Thing is, you’ve got to call me as soon as possible. We’re working under a time crunch here. Give me a call at home, 555-3102. I’ll be here. Later.”

Hutch rubbed his chin thoughtfully, wondering why Frank would be calling, and what could be urgent enough that he needed to return the call “asap.” Well, if Frank needed him, he’d be there. The veteran cop had been a second father to him, taking Hutch under his wing when he was green, right out of the academy. They hadn’t seen each other often these past few years, but they’d stayed in touch—and Hutch knew he owed a great deal to the Barbers. The couple had been a constant source of encouragement to him during his nasty divorce from Vanessa. He immediately picked up the receiver, dialed the number and plopped down on one of the kitchen chairs. After two rings, Frank’s wife, Stella, answered.

“Oh, hi, Hutch. It’s so good to hear from you! How’ve you been?”

“Good. Doing good, Stella. How about you?”

“I’m better now that Frank’s improving,” she answered, lowering her voice slightly.

“Improving? What’re you talking about?” The intonation in her voice alarmed him.

“I tried to call you, but I guess you were out of town for the holidays. I told Frank you’d want to know. Anyway, I’ll let him tell you himself now. It’s good hearing from you, dear. We’ll have you and Dave over for dinner one night soon. Okay?”

“Sure…sounds good, Stella,” Hutch answered, his mind still stuck on the ‘I knew you’d want to know…’

Hutch heard wife and husband passing the phone before Frank Barber’s voice—just a little weaker than Hutch remembered it being—came across the line. “Hi, kid.”

“Hey, Frank. What’s going on?”

“Not a lot. Well, nothing all that unusual for an old war horse my age,” Barber answered, hoping to soften the blow of the news he had to deliver. “Seems like the old ticker’s started acting up on me. Had a little scare Christmas Eve. Nothing all that serious, but, you know, enough to make a guy slow down.”

“You had a heart attack?” Hutch hoped he was presuming the worst and that Frank would allay his fears.

“So they tell me.” Frank chuckled—a hollow, contrived sound. “Said it wasn’t a serious one, though, that I was lucky to get a wake-up call.”

“Man, I’m sorry to hear that, Frank. So…are you gonna be okay? Will they have to operate or anything?”

“Nah…no surgery right now—if I do what they tell me. Thing is, the doc said I’m going to have to take an early retirement.”

Hutch could hear pain beneath the veneer of nonchalance.

“That’s a tough break, buddy,” Hutch said, finding his own words inadequate.

“Aw, that’s all right. I’ve never had time to do any serious fishing or build that wood-working shop in my basement. Now I will.” Frank seemed to be trying to convince himself as much as Hutch. He abruptly changed the subject. “But I really wanted to talk to you about something; that’s why I called.”

“Sure. You have my undivided attention,” Hutch said, leaning back in the stiff-backed chair, trying to get comfortable.

“You know how long it took me to get this Special Unit up and running, and what a positive impact we’ve had on breaking up these teen gangs. There’s been a major decrease in gang-related deaths since we’ve been in this precinct. I’d sure hate to see it go under now, just because this old man can’t run with the big dogs any longer.”

“Yeah, I know what a great job you and your unit have done, Frank. I’m sure the chief will make certain someone’s brought in to keep things going.”

“Well, that’s what I want to talk to you about. They’ve asked me for a recommendation. I didn’t even have to think about it. Hutch, it has to be you.” Barber hastened to finish before Hutch could object. “Now, you’ll need to sit for the lieutenant’s exam sometime within the next six months, but they’ve agreed to go ahead and hire you at your current rank, but with a significant pay increase. Once you pass the exam, you’ll get another raise. I don’t have to tell you, Hutch, your record speaks for itself. And your involvement in the Big Brothers organization is another feather in your cap. With my recommendation, you’re a shoo-in.”

“Whoa—hold on, Frank. You’re going too fast here. Me—head up your task force? I don’t have the experience for that job.”

“But you’re a natural. You’ll be able to talk to those kids on their level. You’ve already helped several boys that you’ve come in contact with through Kiko. Hutch, you can do this, son. Just don’t sell yourself short. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have take over the reins for me.”

“Frank…I…I appreciate your confidence in me, but…I just don’t know. This is pretty sudden. I mean, I could really use the money, but I don’t know that this is a good idea.” As the words left his lips, Hutch was struck by the timing of the call. Only hours ago, he’d lamented losing the loan over a poor salary. Now this golden opportunity was being dropped into his lap.

“I wish I could give you more time to think about it, son, but the chief wants an answer from you by tomorrow afternoon. I wasn’t able to give them any notice, so they’ll have to act pretty quickly. I’ve agreed to serve as an advisor from here at home.”

“I…uh…I’ll need to talk it over with Starsky. He may not be interested in transferring into a special unit like that. He really likes working homicide.”

It seemed to Hutch that the silence blared back at him over the phone line, until Frank replied hesitantly, “I’m sorry, Hutch. I guess I didn’t really make myself clear. This promotion is just for you. There’re no vacancies on the team right now. There’s no place for Starsky. Of course, if someone leaves, as squad commander you can bring in anyone you like.”

For a moment, Hutch was speechless, never having considered the deal might exclude Starsky. “Frank, you know Starsky and I are a team. We’ve been through too much together to…to end a seven-year partnership without him having a say in the decision.”

“I’m sure Starsky will understand—not want you to pass up an opportunity like this. I mean, this is business, Hutch. Here’s a chance for you to make a real difference in a lot of youngsters’ lives. If Starsky’s your friend, he’ll see the wisdom in you taking this job.”

Hutch reached up and rubbed the tense groove between his eyes, not knowing how to deal with the situation. It was too much to comprehend. Too fast. He couldn’t make such a life-altering decision on the spot—a decision he’d never dreamed of an hour ago.

“Hutch? You there?” Frank prompted, when Hutch didn’t respond.

“Uh…yeah…sorry…I’m here, Frank. Listen, I’m really overwhelmed and flattered by all this, but I need to think it through, okay?”

“Sure. I understand. I hate to press you, Hutch, but do you think you can let me know something before the chief leaves at two o’clock tomorrow? If you’re interested, he’d like to meet with you on Thursday. Unless one of you has some major concerns, I’m sure the job will be yours for the asking.”

“Yeah. I’ll call you before two tomorrow. Thanks, Frank. And, listen…you take care of yourself.”

“Don’t worry. Stella’s doing a damn good job of that. If I know you’ll be in charge of my team, I won’t worry about them either. Talk to you tomorrow.”

Hutch slowly lowered the receiver to the cradle, then stared down at it like a coiled snake. He couldn’t believe the conversation that had just taken place. He was actually being offered a phenomenal job, at better pay, with an incredible chance for advancement. But without Starsky.

 

Chapter Six

Starsky lay awake staring at the ceiling above his bed, replaying in his mind their first day back on the job. Several times, it almost seemed like he and Hutch were back on level ground. Starsky longed for that easy-going relationship, and after pouring out his heart to his mother, he’d actually begun to think it might be possible. Seeing Hutch’s disappointment over losing the bungalow had stirred feelings of both sympathy and indignation. It didn’t seem fair that someone who worked as hard as Hutch—protecting the public, laying his life on the line every day—would have that very thing stand between him and the normal, everyday personal life others took for granted. Starsky had mulled over the problem all day, trying to figure out some way to help his partner. Acknowledging how important doing so was to him, Starsky began to consider that perhaps he was “over” Kira, and the rift between himself and Hutch had finally begun to close. The hours slipped by, and, as the dawn began to streak the morning sky, Starsky knew what he had to do. That settled, he finally succumbed to fatigue and closed his tired eyes, hoping to catch a couple hours of sleep before putting his plan into action.

* * *

Hutch picked up the phone for the fifth time and hung it back up. Ten minutes to two. He’d promised to give Frank an answer by 2:00 p.m. Staring at the wall clock, Hutch knew Starsky would arrive soon, so reluctantly, he lifted the receiver again and dialed the number.

“Hello.”

“Frank? Hutch.”

“You had me worried, kid. I was afraid you’d gotten cold feet.” Hutch could hear relief in the older man’s voice.

“Yeah. I’m sorry, Frank, but this wasn’t an easy decision for me. I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

“Important decisions are seldom easy, Hutch. But you’re doing the right thing, kid. I mean, a chance like this doesn’t come along every day, you know?”

“Yeah, I…I know. Frank…I can’t accept. I want the job, and I need the money—if you only knew how much I need the money—but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”

“What? Hutch—you can’t be serious!”

“I know you think I’m nuts, but I can’t take the job when it means not working with Starsky anymore.”

“Loyalty’s a fine trait, son, but this is crazy. It’s not like Starsky can’t make it on his own. He’s a sharp guy, and I have no doubt his break’ll come along soon. It doesn’t have to be with you, Hutch.” Frank waited impatiently for Hutch’s response. “Did you hear me? Starsky’s a damn good cop on his own. He doesn’t need you to carry him, kid.”

Unreasonably, Hutch felt his temper flare. “I know that! Don’t you think I, of all people, know how good a cop he is? Hell, I’ve never carried Starsky a day in his life. He wouldn’t let me, even if I wanted to. He doesn’t need me or anyone else to get the job done!” Hutch snapped, then realizing how harsh he’d spoken, tried to soften his tone. “Look, Frank, Starsky and I have this…this connection. It’s hard to describe. I know it may sound crazy, but our instincts, our ability to know what the other is thinking, how he’ll react—that’s saved our butts when we couldn’t count on anybody or anything else.”

“Okay, you two’ve had a terrific partnership, and you’ve become close friends,” Frank said, brushing off Hutch’s words. “Just because you won’t be working together doesn’t mean that your friendship has to go down the tubes. I’m just saying if you want to have a career in law enforcement, you need to look out for number one.”

“Don’t you see? I am looking out for number one! I’m trying to tell you, I’m a good cop because of the way we work together—that’s the key, Frank. ‘Me and Thee.’ Those aren’t just words to us. It’s the way we live our lives.” Hutch ran a frustrated hand over his face, searching for the right words—wanting to explain his bond with Starsky, but unable to verbalize it in a way that didn’t sound crazy even to him.

“Look, something happened a while back that threw my life out of kilter and almost resulted in my losing the best friend I’ve ever had. If I bale out on Starsky now, I’m likely to give up any chance I may have of making things right with him again.”

“So, you’re willing to throw the best career opportunity you’ll ever be offered out the window, because you don’t want to take the job without your friend?” Frank reiterated, obviously perplexed by such a concept.

Hutch rubbed the bridge between his eyes and smiled tolerantly. “Frank, from my perspective, having a partner like Starsky outweighs any other ‘opportunity’ that might come along. He’s always been there when I needed him—hasn’t let me down a single time. In my book, those aren’t odds I’m likely to beat.” Hutch’s voice rang with finality, ending the need for further discussion. “I appreciate your confidence and trust in me, pal, but I can’t turn my back on Starsky for a few extra bucks a month.”

Frank sighed, sounding tired and disappointed. “I can see there’s no changing your mind on this,” he conceded.

“Afraid not,” Hutch answered resolutely, at peace with his decision.

“Okay. It’s your life,” Frank said, resigned he could do nothing more. After a brief quiet, he spoke again, his voice lighter. “I hope you won’t be a stranger, Hutch. You know, I’ll have more time to go fishing now.” He chuckled softly, reminiscing for a moment. “Remember how we used to fish together on the canal when you and Vanessa were living in that little duplex down from us?”

Hutch closed his eyes against the visual image—the memory of fishing more pleasant than the memory of being married to Van. “Sure, I remember.”

“Well, we’ll have to take out that little bass boat I’m gonna buy with my retirement bonus.”

“That sounds like a great idea to me,” Hutch said sincerely.

“Okay. You call me in a couple of weeks, and we’ll set up a time.”

“I’ll do that.” Hutch hesitated, not ready to say goodbye. “Frank—thanks for everything. The job offer, the advice, the understanding. I appreciate it.”

“Aw…go on! I know I can’t tell you young punks anything. You’ve gotta learn for yourself. Take care, kid.”

“Bye, Frank. Give Stella a hug for me.” Hutch listened until the phone clicked and went dead on the other end of the line, then slowly lowered it into the cradle and turned back to the typewriter to finish typing one more boring report.

* * *

Hutch looked up from the typewriter, as Starsky sauntered into the squadroom thirty minutes late and, without comment, tossed a bag of sweet rolls on the desk in front of him.

“You look terrible,” Hutch said drolly.

“D’you check the mirror this mornin’, Blondie?” Starsky shot back.

“I didn’t sleep very well,” Hutch confessed. “What’s your excuse?”

“I guess I was a little restless, too, then got up early to run an errand.” Starsky scooped up both their mugs and made a beeline to pour them each a cup of the syrupy liquid masquerading as coffee. Starting the work day at three in the afternoon definitely had its disadvantages—not the least of which being the motor oil consistency of coffee left to brew three to six hours too long.

“What’re you workin’ on?”

“Finally got a copy of Melba’s autopsy this morning,” Hutch answered, wrinkling his nose as he tried to take a sip of the bitter brew.

“Great breakfast reading, I’m sure,” Starsky mumbled, digging to the bottom of the waxed-paper bag, foraging for a sticky bun. “Was it the blow to her head, like the ME figured?”

“Yeah. And she was riding pretty high on crack at the time.”

“This slime bucket’s a real winner. That’s probably how he keeps the girls from taking off—hooks ’em on coke.” Starsky picked up the morgue photo and studied the girl’s delicate features for a moment before tossing it back onto the desk. “Poor kid didn’t have a chance,” he mumbled sympathetically, then, looking up to see Hutch’s grim expression grow even more rigid, regretted saying anything—remembering too late their unspoken agreement to steer clear of the topic of involuntary addiction.

Quickly ending the discussion, Hutch set his coffee mug down and helped himself to a sweet roll. “I thought we’d catch up on some paperwork, grab a bite of dinner, then stake out Green’s place. Still can’t connect him to the girl, so I guess we’ll have to wait and catch him in the act.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get the turkey,” Starsky promised. “Hey,” he said, a quirky grin lighting his face, “maybe we should join the Canadian Mounties.”

Hutch did a double take, wondering down what strange path Starsky’s overactive imagination had led him now. “What?”

“Ya know, they ‘always get their man.’”

“Starsky, do you have any idea how cold it is in Canada?”

“Cold enough for your tongue to stick to a lamp post?” Starsky came back cheekily.

Hutch rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I think we’ve got enough bad guys right here without going to Canada to track down theirs. What about sending someone in undercover?” he suggested, hoping to redirect Starsky to the case at hand.

“Can—but that’ll take a while.”

“True. But if the girls are too scared to turn him in,” Hutch reminded him, “maybe we should pay him a little visit, let him know we’re watching. Maybe he’ll freak out and confess.”

“Yeah, right,” Starsky shot back, skeptically. “I say we go with your original plan—park outside the house and wait, like we did last night. Could be he got the news that Melba didn’t make it and was just a little off his game yesterday.” Starsky took another gulp of coffee and changed the subject again. “Any news on the house?”

Hutch glanced up, then back down at the desk before answering. “Uh…no…not really.”

“Whattaya mean ‘not really’?”

“Just what I said. You know the loan was turned down, Starsk.”

“Yeah, but what about other options? You know…make a lower offer or a bigger down payment, or somethin’.”

“No point wasting my breath,” Hutch replied irritably.

“Ya know what? You give up too easy,” Starsky grumbled. “You should be out there beatin’ the bushes, findin’ another mortgage company or somethin’.”

“Look, pal,” Hutch said, holding his hands up before him, imploring Starsky to drop the subject, “I know you mean well, but I’d really rather not talk about it. I’m a realist and know when to cut my losses. So please don’t give me any of your lectures.”

Starsky tipped his head to the side, shrugging his shoulders, stung by the implication that he was meddling. “Suit yourself.” Snatching a stack of files off the desk, he shuffled through them, checking to see which ones were incomplete, then dug into one without another word.

 

Chapter Seven

Hutch stretched, his back stiff from sitting in the car for almost four hours straight. Starsky had been quiet all evening, not even offering up his usual inane banter. Yesterday he’d been more like his old self; tonight the curtain of silence was once again drawn between them. Though he hated to admit it to himself, Hutch knew the change had begun when he’d none-too-delicately told his partner to butt out of his personal business. The old Starsky would’ve dropped the subject for all of two minutes, then jumped back in with both feet, harassing him to try one of a hundred different ridiculous schemes. Hoping to bridge the ever-widening breach between them, Hutch decided to apologize.

“Something bothering you tonight, Starsk?”

Without turning to look at him, Starsky answered, “Nope.” His voice barely above a whisper. Hutch waited for more, but Starsky remained silent.

“You seem distracted…kind of not here,” Hutch prodded. “Are you mad about what I said earlier? You know, about the loan?”

Starsky turned toward him, his features hidden by the darkness. “I don’t know…maybe…” He paused a moment before adding, “Ya know, this time last year, you would’ve asked for my help if somethin’ as important as this house came up. You would’ve been glad for me to make suggestions. But today, you pretty much told me it wasn’t any of my business. I guess I just miss the old days, that’s all.”

Hutch felt the sting of guilt, knowing Starsky was right. He’d been too quick today to shut Starsky out. But his own emotions had been running close to the surface, after having rejected the solution Frank had generously laid at his feet. How could he explain it to Starsky without telling him what role he’d played in that decision?

“I’m sorry, Starsk,” he said quietly, “but I just didn’t see the point in talking about it. I’ve accepted the fact that it isn’t going to happen and just want to forget about it. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

Before Starsky could speak, a scream split the quiet night, jarring them both back to the job at hand. “Sounds like it’s show time,” Starsky said, his hand automatically going to his Smith & Wesson, as he flung open the door and bailed out of the Torino.

Hutch was out of the car and drawing his Magnum in one fluid move. Loud voices wafted through the night air, as he shouted across the top of the car to Starsky, “Front or back?”

“Front,” Starsky shouted back. They exchanged an old familiar look, each silently urging the other to be careful. Starsky felt his emotions surge, comforted by the familiar gesture.

Both cops darted across the street toward the dimly lit house, spurred on by the frightened sounds of a woman begging for the beating to stop. Hutch circled around the back of the house, while Starsky ran up the front steps. Finding the front door ajar, he hurled it open, shouting, “Police! Stop right there!”

Hand drawn back, Willie Green looked up from the pathetic girl cowering at his feet, surprise and indignation springing to his eyes. “What the hell you want, honky? This is family business! You got no right to come bustin’ in here! You got a warrant?”

“He doesn’t need one when there’s a crime in progress,” Hutch said from behind the pimp. “Now lower your arm real slow, and lay that belt on the floor. Both hands where I can see them!”

Green hesitated, considering his options.

“I’m only gonna tell you once!” Hutch warned.

Knowing he didn’t really have a choice, Green lowered his hand, a string of curses streaming from his lips.

“Come over here to me.” Starsky held out his hand, gently coaxing the weeping girl. Hesitantly, she went to him. Taking her trembling hand in his, Starsky backed toward the front door, taking her with him.

“On your knees, slime bucket!” Hutch barked. “Hands behind your head! Now!”

“Okay…okay…be cool.” Dropping to his knees, Green obeyed. “You think she gonna testify against her Big Daddy, pig?” he challenged.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. One thing I do know is that right now you’re going somewhere you can’t beat up kids and pump them full of coke,” Hutch ground out between clinched teeth. “You have the right to remain silent…” Reciting him the Miranda, Hutch shoved the huge man face down on the floor and cuffed his hands behind his back.

Still keeping a bead on the pimp with his Smith & Wesson, Starsky drew the sobbing girl to him. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “We’ll get you some help—we’ll get you all help. He ain’t gonna hurt you anymore.” The diminutive figure pressed herself against his chest, hanging onto him like a lifeline.

A sad smiled played upon Hutch’s lips, when in a moment of astounding clarity he knew it. This is why I’m here…this is why we’re partners.

* * *

Starsky took the steps two at a time, entering the building from the police parking garage. He felt terrific, his mood greatly improved by a good night’s sleep. Seeing Green booked and safely tucked away in a cell, he and Hutch had gone their separate ways without discussing the little scene in the office earlier in the day, but today, he’d clear the air with Hutch, once and for all. He wanted to put Kira and the last few months behind them—get back to the way it used to be. When they’d made the bust together last night, he’d remembered what it was like to be that in tune with his partner. They were darn good cops, and even better friends, so it was time to tell Hutch he was tired of carrying around this chip on his shoulder, and get back to the friendship and working relationship that meant so much to him.

Starsky glanced down at his watch. Oh, man, late again! Rushing to avoid another butt-chewing from Dobey, he didn’t see Purdue coming down the steps until he’d already slammed into the smaller man.

“Whoa, Starsky, where’s the fire?”

Grabbing Purdue by the front of his uniform, Starsky helped him regain his equilibrium before continuing up the stairs. “Sorry, Purdue. I guess I was a little preoccupied.”

“Yeah, I don’t wonder at it. Heard about Hutch.”

Starsky pulled up short. How the heck did he hear about Hutch’s loan being turned down? They didn’t even work in the same department. “Oh, yeah? How’d you hear about that?”

“Jenkins. He’s in Barber’s unit, you know.”

“Barber? Frank Barber?” Now Starsky was confused.

“Yeah. Jenkins and the other guys couldn’t believe Hutch would pass up an opportunity to take Barber’s job. Is he nuts, or what? You’re his partner. What’s the story, Starsky?”

Starsky’s head snapped up. He must’ve heard wrong! Frank Barber’s job? Hutch had been offered Frank’s job? Unreal…Hutch would never keep something like that a secret…at least the Hutch he used to know wouldn’t.

Swallowing hard, Starsky fought to maintain his composure, not let on he didn’t have the slightest idea what Purdue was talking about. Of course, that wasn’t an easy thing to do, considering that all the blood had drained from his face, and he felt like someone had smacked him with a two-by-four and knocked the breath out of him.

“I…uh…don’t think you’re asking the right person.”

“Come on, Starsky. You don’t expect me to believe you don’t know anything about it, do you?” Purdue asked skeptically.

“What I’m sayin’ is, that’s my partner’s business,” Starsky answered, looking him straight in the eye. “I don’t discuss his private affairs with anyone, and I suggest you don’t either.”

Propelled by an overwhelming need for air, Starsky pushed past the other officer and bounded up the last few steps to the hallway outside the squadroom. Slamming the door behind him, he leaned back against its cold, hard surface, trying to regain his balance and figure out what the hell had just happened. Hutch had been offered a plum promotion and hadn’t even told him. Unbelievable! Why? When? So many unanswered questions. Confusion slowly gave way to fury. How could Hutch do this? Make a fool out of him? Go behind his back and apply for another job? Did Hutch hate him now—so much that being Starsky’s partner was more than he could deal with? If so, why didn’t he just take the job and be done with it? Starsky pushed away from the door, his temper raging.

Storming down the hall and into the squadroom, Starsky’s face was rigid with anger. Hutch looked up just in time to see him before the volcano erupted. “What the hell’s this about your gettin’ a promotion, Hutch? Huh? Ya wanna tell me about that, or do I just wait and catch it on the six o’clock news?!”

Caught off guard, Hutch didn’t answer for a second, but looked around the room to see that every eye was on his partner. “Calm down, Starsk.” Hutch stood up and walked toward him. “Let’s go outside and talk about it.”

“No! Let’s talk about it right here—right now!”

Hutch took Starsky’s elbow, spinning him toward the door. “Outside,” he growled under his breath, commandeering his partner out of the squadroom. As they burst through the door, Starsky snatched his arm loose and spun around, outrage contorting his features.

“Starsky, calm down, dammit! How can we talk about this if you’re acting like an idiot?”

“I’m an idiot?! Me? I’m not the one who went behind his partner’s back to finagle a promotion.” Starsky punctuated each word with a jab at Hutch’s chest. “then—turned—it—down!”

“That’s it!” Hutch grabbed Starsky’s hand and shoved it away. “Outside—NOW!” Pushing Starsky ahead of him, through the hall and down the back stairwell, Hutch bit back a response until they reached the garage and a modicum of privacy.

Starsky whirled around and glared at the blond. “All right. We’re here. Now, ya wanna tell me why I had to hear from some lackey in another department about your bein’ offered Frank Barber’s job? Huh?”

Reining in his own temper, Hutch began as calmly as he could. “Just listen to me, Starsky. I didn’t ask for that job. Frank called and offered it to me. I turned him down, and…well…I just didn’t see any point in bringing it up, that’s all.”

“And that’s it?” Starsky challenged. “I’m supposed to believe that somethin’ this important wasn’t worth mentioning to your partner?”

“Let’s just say, I figured you’d react just like this!” Hutch snapped back.

Slowly, the fight drained from Starsky, leaving him empty and miserable. “Did he really offer you his job—command of the special unit?”

“Well…yes…but…you’ve got to believe me, Starsk…I didn’t apply for the job. I didn’t even know he was retiring. Doctor said his heart’s bad.”

Fighting for composure, Starsky looked Hutch straight in the eye. “If that’s true, why didn’t you just tell me, Hutch? Huh? Can’t you even talk to me anymore?”

The vulnerability in Starsky’s voice cut Hutch to the core. “I…I guess I should’ve, Starsk. I don’t know. Things have been so strained between us. I’ve tried to make it up to you, but you just—things just aren’t the same.” Hutch ran a tired hand over his face, his voice exhausted from the burden of guilt he’d been carrying around. “I just didn’t know how you’d react.”

Starsky was quiet for a moment, his emotions in an uproar, not knowing what to believe or how to deal with it. “But, why? I mean, if that’s how you feel, why’d you turn down a promotion? Especially now—when you need the money and all.”

Hutch closed his eyes and rubbed the deep furrow wrinkling his brow, trying to decide just how honest he really should be. Things were pretty shaky right now, and he didn’t want to make matters worse.

“Hutch, what is it you ain’t tellin’ me? Hmmm?”

“Starsk, man…I just…I couldn’t do it.”

“Couldn’t do what?”

“Any of it. I couldn’t imagine being a cop without you as my partner. I told Frank we’re a team, and, unless you came along, I didn’t want the job.”

There it was. Honest. Unvarnished.

His voice thick with emotion, Starsky spoke just above a whisper. “But, Hutch, I don’t wanna hold you back. If you have this chance, buddy, go for it. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Hold me back?” Hutch smiled sadly, then reached over and gripped Starsky’s shoulder. “That thought never entered my mind. Truth of the matter is, I can’t do this unless you’re there by my side. Frank’s job, nor the one I have now.”

Starsky looked up, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I thought you couldn’t stand bein’ around me anymore. Things have been so…so…different since the business with Kira.”

“I know. I’ve felt it, too. And I hate what it’s doing to us,” Hutch said with heartfelt emotion. “I’ve tried…I’ve tried every way I can think of to win back your trust, buddy…but I can see it in your eyes. You don’t believe in me anymore—in the honest, down to earth friendship we had.” His voice penitent, Hutch searched for a way to express the anguish he’d been through in the aftermath of their confrontation in Kira’s living room. “I know I screwed up, Starsk—big time. But I apologized, and, to be honest, I don’t know what else I can do.”

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, Starsky tried to answer, but found it difficult to find the right words. Finally, dropping all pretense of anger and pushing aside his pride, Starsky did what he knew he should have done months ago—he spoke from his heart. “I know I’ve been hell to be around. And I know you’ve tried to make it up to me. I just—I guess I just needed time for the wound to heal, that’s all. You’re the one person in this world I thought I could always count on.” Seeing the hurt in Hutch’s eyes, he hastened to finish. “I did a lot of thinkin’ while I was in New York. Made me see things in a whole different light.”

Hutch nodded, knowingly. “Ever notice how a little distance can put things in perspective?”

“Yeah…that and havin’ your mother tell you how stupid you’re actin’ doesn’t hurt either,” Starsky said humorously. “Thing is, I made up my mind while I was there to come back here and put this all behind me. Set things right with you and get on with our lives. Then, when I got back, and you were tryin’ to buy the house, I was real excited for ya. I know how bad you’ve wanted a place.”

Encouraged by Starsky’s honest expression of caring, a hint of a smile curled Hutch’s lips.

“But when I wanted to help, you just shut me out. Told me to mind my own business. So…I figured that’s the way you wanted to keep things. Strictly business. No gettin’ involved in each other’s personal lives.” Starsky looked up and locked eyes with him. “That hurt, Hutch.”

“I didn’t mean it, Starsk. I admit I’m disappointed about the house, but I had no right to take it out on you.”

“So, when I heard about the job offer, I figured while I was gone, you’d been lookin’ for a way to get out of this partnership.”

Astounded at just how wrong his intentions had been interpreted, Hutch laughed softly and shook his head in disbelief. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

“What?”

“Starsk, I don’t want the job unless we go as a team. That’s the answer I gave Frank, and it’s the only one he’s going to get.”

“But—” Starsky tried to interrupt.

“But nothing! I’m being totally honest with you here. Me and Thee. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed and isn’t about to, as long as I have any say in the matter.”

Starsky gave him a lopsided grin, the words sinking in. “Honest?”

Exasperated, Hutch glared back at him. “Dammit, Starsk, I said so, didn’t I?”

Starsky nodded, the smile spreading across his face. “Then I say we got a job to do, partner.” Extending his hand to shake on it, Starsky grew more serious.

Hutch looked down at Starsky’s hand, then reached out and gripped it in his own, reaffirming the precious bond of friendship that had almost slipped away from them. His eyes glistened, as Starsky pulled him into an old familiar bear hug, sealing their unspoken pledge as brothers.

* * *

Starsky decided to wait at the car while Hutch ran back upstairs to the squadroom to get his jacket. Snagging it from the back of his chair, Hutch looked down and saw a note taped to his phone. Call Mei Choi. Urgent! His curiosity piqued, Hutch quickly dialed the realtor’s number.

“Hi, Mei. What’s up?”

“I’m so glad you called back, Ken. I wanted to tell you as soon as I got the good news. The extra two thousand Detective Starsky threw in on the down payment lowered the principal enough that the bank’s reconsidered your application and—the wonderful news is—they’ve approved your loan! We can schedule the closing for sometime next week!”

Speechless, Hutch stood frozen, the receiver glued to his ear. “The two thousand? What are you talking about?”

“Uh-oh,” Mei squeaked. “I’m sorry…I guess I’ve spoiled his surprise. He said he’d tell you first thing this morning, but I guess he hasn’t, huh?”

“Are you saying Starsky put two thousand dollars toward my down payment?”

“Yes. I thought you knew—honest. He said it was a going to be a surprise, but he’d tell you this morning. I’m so sorry I’ve spoiled it. Please ask him not to be mad at me.”

Hutch closed his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. “Uh…don’t worry about it, Mei. But hold off on that closing, will you? I need to talk with him first.”

Hesitantly, she agreed. “Okay. But please don’t blow this deal, Ken. You may never find another this good. Give me a call in a couple of hours, all right?”

“Sure…a couple of hours.”

* * *

Starsky sat in the Torino, his hands drumming the steering wheel as the BeeGees belted out “Staying Alive” on the radio. Hutch jerked open the door and slid in beside him, his face rigid with anger. Slamming the door with a vengeance, he turned to Starsky, ready to do battle.

“What?”

“You know what!” Hutch shot back. “Starsky, how could you pull a stunt like this without discussing it with me first? You’ve got a lot of nerve, you know it? And you had the audacity to stand there not twenty minutes ago and lecture me about not telling you about the job!”

Hoping to diffuse the situation with humor, Starsky replied drolly, “Anyone ever tell you you’re beautiful when you’re angry?”

“Knock it off, Starsky! This is no laughing matter!”

Starsky leaned back against the door, deciding it might be safer to keep his distance and let Hutch rant and rave until it was out of his system.

“What gives you the right to put money down on a house I’m buying without asking me first?” Hutch pointed a self-righteous finger in his partner’s face. “You’ve pulled some pretty asinine stunts since we’ve been together, but this one takes the cake.”

Starsky watched Hutch from beneath hooded eyes, still reluctant to break in on his diatribe.

“You don’t have that kind of money, Starsky. That probably wiped out your whole savings.” Winding down, Hutch looked at him, exasperated. Slowly, the fire in his eyes diminished to only a flicker. “So, what’ve you got to say? I think you owe me an explanation as to why you didn’t talk to me about this first.”

A lazy smile curved Starsky’s lips, as he answered smoothly, “Like my partner once told me, ‘Maybe because I knew this was just how you’d react.’”

His mouth already half open to deliver an angry retort, Hutch couldn’t think of a single comeback. Leave it to Starsky to turn his own words around on him. Hutch held up his index finger in front of Starsky’s face—a warning not to say another word.

Starsky reached over and gave him a friendly punch on the arm. “Got ’cha, Blondie!”

Hutch realized it was pointless to try and reason with Starsky on the matter. As always, his hardheaded, stubborn partner was going to do exactly what he wanted to do, regardless of anything Hutch said. Determined to have the final word, Hutch made one thing perfectly clear. “It’s just a loan.”

“I know.” Starsky cocked his head to one side, cutting his eyes toward Hutch. “Besides, I may need a place to crash sometime—ya know—between apartments.”

“Right,” Hutch agreed sincerely. “You got it, pal.”

Knowing he’d won this round, Starsky righted himself in the seat and turned the key in the ignition. Revving the engine of the Torino, he looked back over his shoulder and started to back out of the parking slot.

“Hey.” Hutch reached out and laid his hand on Starsky’s shoulder. “Thanks, Starsk.”

Blue eyes met blue. “’Welcome,” Starsky answered lightly—not trusting his voice to say more.

Feeling on top of the world for the first time in months, Starsky threw the striped tomato into gear and headed for Huggy’s.