Starsky’s Stalker

798

The guys go undercover to catch a killer, Starsky as a gay hustler/dancer and Hutch as a porn bookstore clerk.

 

Originally published in The Fix #13-14 in 1995.

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Sounds of nighttime revelry reverberated through the smoggy air. The loud disco beat followed Detective Sergeant David Starsky out on the back porch as he went in search of a cooling breeze. The last dance set had been wild. He’d tried to steer his pretty dance partner out with him, but she darted off to the bathroom. Hutch was engaged in intimate conversation with the party’s hostess, a cheerful budding TV reporter named Gail. For the moment, he was alone.

Then not alone.

His cop’s instincts told him that before any other sense. He turned on impulse, then stared. This had to be one of the largest men he’d ever seen, closer to seven than six feet. His sudden proximity was equally startling. How had he gotten so close so quickly?

Starsky backed up, acutely aware of the loud music and conversation drowning out any other noise. He smiled uneasily, wary but not truly concerned. It was right in the middle of a party, after all. Another couple might come along any minute to share the breeze.

The stranger showed no sign of discomfort. He closed the distance between them once more in a single motion, nearly touching Starsky’s chest. Amusement gleamed in light feral eyes, though the cop couldn’t make out their color in the dark. His ruffled hair was light and straight but not blond. Tall though he was, he seemed lithe and sinewy. There was no extra fat on his frame.

Starsky backed up again, wishing despite the innocuous surroundings that he had his gun with him. This guy was way too intense for comfort. Despite this, he couldn’t help noting the high cheekbones, the square jaw, the mobile, smiling mouth. No doubt about it, the man was striking in an unconventional way. He knew it too; assurance moved with his every step.

“You dance really well.” The stranger had to nearly bend over to reach Starsky’s ear.

Now there was no ambiguity to the situation. Starsky knew a pickup line when he heard one. He eased himself further away, glancing at the door. “Er, thanks, I think,” he responded tersely. “I gotta go.” Then he abruptly found that he couldn’t leave, at least not without pushing the other man away. He was that close.

He tried, “Excuse me” while sidling around, but to no effect. The man’s arms simply came up from his sides, trapping Starsky against the wall. There was nowhere to go.

Anger flared deep in Starsky’s midnight blue eyes as his jaw tightened. This was beyond all bounds of politeness, party or not. He pushed deliberately against his admirer’s chest with both hands.

“I’m leaving now,” he added flatly, “unless you want to make a stupid scene. I don’t know who you are, buddy, but…”

“Waco,” came the grinning response. His smile had deepened into disarming dimples at Starsky’s challenge. “Your eyes are gorgeous, curly. What’s your name?”

Starsky sighed. Maybe this guy was too drunk to take pointed hints. In any case, pushing hard against his chest had no effect on his position. His muscles beneath Starsky’s palms were rock hard. He also seemed to be enjoying the contact.

“Starsky,” he ground out, “I’m a cop. And I think maybe you need to cool out some, friend. You’re gettin’ real pushy here.” Embarrassing though it might be, he wished Hutch would turn the corner. It was ludicrous, like a bad date he’d heard women complain about.

“Starsky what?” the stranger persisted, unimpressed. “Don’t you have a first name? Come on, I’m not gonna bite you.” He leaned in even closer until Starsky could feel his breath fanning his forehead. He didn’t smell drunk. One huge hand strayed up to Starsky’s thick dark curls.

This is it, he thought, fear mingling with outrage. He’s gotta get offa me. Marshaling all his considerable force, Starsky rammed his hands up into his assailant’s neck and heaved while he kicked out at the man’s knee. The sudden attack broke him free, but only for a second. Waco grabbed his arm as he tried to rush by and effortlessly tossed him back against the wall. He was still smiling, but his eyes were dangerously lit.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he crooned against the side of Starsky’s face. “All I did was ask your name. Come on, you can tell me that.”

To Starsky’s horror, Waco’s lips rested against his temple as he finished speaking. Blind panic threatened, but he pushed it aside. “I’ll tell you; just get your goddamn paws offa me.” Brute force had virtually no effect on this man. The strength in those hands that held him against the wall was steely.

Waco chuckled. “I think you owe me an apology first, little tough guy.” His lips drifted lightly down the side of Starsky’s face, seeking his mouth while Starsky fought him furiously. A moment later, they found it as a hand held his head in place.

Starsky had never thought about another man kissing him; it was too alien to consider. An air of unreality settled over the event, distancing his raw terror. Some part of him noted the aggressor’s skill at teasing and nibbling at his mouth, the way his tongue alternately lapped and probed. The man’s face was freshly shaven and smooth, with a hint of some familiar aftershave. His lips were surprisingly tender. But it was all far away, happening to someone else. He barely noticed his straining limbs loosening in the man’s grip.

“Am I interrupting something?” came a cold voice from behind them.

Starsky took a welcome breath and let out a sigh of relief as the kiss ended. Waco slowly turned to face Hutch while Starsky squirmed free and joined his partner’s side. Unlike Starsky, Hutch never went anywhere without his gun, and the deliberate bulge he displayed under his left arm confirmed that fact. That, and the icy glare of his own pale blue eyes. They met Waco’s without hesitation. Hutch had killed more than once to protect his partner and it showed.

“Just a friendly chat, Officer,” the larger man replied, unfazed. “Between me and Starsky here. Nothing to call the law about.” He’d sized up the situation fast, Starsky noted, and concluded correctly that Hutch was also a cop. “I guess I’d better be going. See you around, Starsky.” Hutch caught Starsky’s eye and the latter nodded. Best to defuse the whole absurd encounter by pretending it never happened. Starsky was mortified enough already. Waco simply turned and left quietly, his movements precise and strangely shadowy for one so big.

“Mind telling me what the hell that was all about?” Hutch demanded later as they made their way out the door and over to Starsky’s car. Starsky was still shaky, and that made Hutch more than a little angry. Starsky didn’t spook easy, but this had gotten to him. That goon had been playing with him, taunting him with threats to his masculinity.

“Haven’t got a clue. One minute I’m having a blast gyrating around the room with a pretty girl, the next minute I’m on the porch with some gorilla breathing sweet nothin’s in my ear. Not what I had in mind for the evening promenade.”

“Have you ever seen him before?”

Starsky shook his head. “Never. And hope to God I never do again. That guy was weird.” He shook his head again in disbelief before starting the engine and putting the red Torino in gear. “Well, chalk it up to another wild night in LA. Consider me further sensitized to the plight of women in our sexist society. If I ever went out on a date with a guy like that, it’d lake me a year to recover.”

~~~

By morning, the incident was all but forgotten; Zebra Three had more important things to do than wonder about an unruly partygoer. Hutch had barely poured his coffee before Dobey called them in for a briefing. His usual gruffness seemed tinged with latent tension. Starsky glanced at his partner for his take on it, but Hutch merely shrugged. The story would come out soon enough.

“You guys remember the hotel Blaine was found in.” Dobey barked. It was not a question.

Both Starsky and Hutch recalled the shock of finding a dead cop in a seedy flophouse that catered to gays and whores on one-night stands. Worse yet was finding out that Blaine was there for the same reason. It had shaken Starsky in particular; Blaine was like a Dutch uncle to him, but he’d no idea that his mentor was leading a double life. It forced him to confront a lot of assumptions he’d always taken for granted. It had not been a pleasant experience.

“We remember,” Hutch answered, not liking the direction things were taking. “I was hoping it’d be out of business by now.”

“Dream on,” Dobey muttered uncomfortably. “It’s still doing the kind of business it always did.”

“Which is not Homicide’s concern,” Starsky replied, “or is it? Any other dead bodies on the premises?”

Hutch was unsurprised by the bitterness in his voice.

No answer was immediately forthcoming. Instead, their captain seemed suddenly engrossed in his coffee. Now his subordinates’ radar was bleeping bogies.

Starsky sighed; the longer it took for him to get it out, the worse it would be.

Finally, Dobey looked up with a hint of apology in his eyes. “Not yet, but Vice wants our help to prevent one. They think it’s brewing in that part of town.” His eyes dropped again.

Hutch was less patient with the twenty questions routine so unlike Dobey’s style. “Who and why?”

“Don’t know. Nobody does right now, not even the potential killer probably. Call it a hunch, or as they put it, an escalating pattern. Somebody’s been picking up young drifters out for a little spare change and making them earn their money. It started off as just a few slaps and games with rope. But each one got whacked a little harder and a little longer. The bruises didn’t fade so easy with the last two. One guy, Peter Gibson, is still in the hospital.”

“Why not just arrest the perp for assault?” Starsky demanded. “What’s the big deal?”

Hutch shook his head in disgust. “They won’t talk to the cops, will they, Captain?”

Dobey nodded. “You got it, Hutch. Five guys have been beaten by this clown, and three have skipped town. The other two don’t want to talk; either they’re scared shitless of this guy or they’re afraid of us. Either way, all we could get was a general idea of what was going down. Vice got so worried they even called in an FBI consultant.”

“So how do we fit in the picture if they’ve already got the Feds on the case?” Hutch wanted to know, feeling in his bones that he wasn’t going to like the answer.

Dobey was looking less happy by the minute. “This agent recommended that they put in an undercover team, not associated with Vice, that had some contact with the area. They came up with you guys because of the Blaine case. He’s going to be working directly with you on this one.”

“Have you met him? Is he okay on this?” was Starsky’s concern. A queasy feeling was bubbling around his gut. Undercover was one thing, but amongst gays? Could they really fool anybody?

“He acts like he knows what he’s doing. And he’s pleased with your choice. Thinks you’ll do fine. Let me call him in and introduce you.”

Zebra Three had barely enough time to wonder why this Fed would know anything about Starsky and Hutch when a towering shape filled the doorway to Dobey’s office. “Hello, gentlemen. I’m Special Agent John Waco.”

This is a bad dream, Starsky thought, hoping that panic wasn’t written on his face. It was bad enough that it was turning red. Good old Hutch deliberately faced the new arrival, giving his partner recovery time. Dobey likewise concentrated on Waco’s appearance.

Only the FBI agent was turned in Starsky’s direction; what he thought of the cop’s reaction showed not at all on his own hard features. He was the epitome of cool Washington bred professionalism. No trace of Starsky’s lascivious attacker remained. It might well have all been a dream, were it not for the faint bruising of his lips, Starsky concluded. Had it been some kind of test?

If so, it was not one he intended to allude to in front of Captain Dobey.

Hutch’s mind had raced to a similar conclusion; his temper in check. It would not do to embarrass his partner further. There would be time to confront the man about last night’s behavior later, in private. For now, it had to be all business.

After introductions, Waco got right down to it. “We’ve been tracking this suspect for over a year, if I’m correct. From New York City to Boston, from there to DC, then New Orleans. Last clue was San Francisco. Now, thanks to your Vice Squad, we may have the best shot at him so far.”

“Sounds like he’s generated a lot of interest in the FBI, but why?” Hutch inquired. “He’s only wanted on assault so far, if we could even get someone to press charges. What’s the deal?”

The FBI man’s hazel eyes were grim. “We’d like to question him about ten homicides in the above-mentioned cities. The pattern is the same in each place. He wanders into town, hangs around the gay strips. Finds out where the prostitutes hang out, what strips are safe. Starts off small, picking up some dumb kid and scaring him shitless. Gradually, over the course of a month or so, he escalates. Eventually, some nameless loser winds up dead. Sometimes two. Then he gets scared and moves on.” Waco took a breath rich in frustration. “Each time, we get called in after the murders have happened, and he’s already left town for parts unknown. Who knows how many others he committed before we even started tracking him?”

“And you’re sure it’s the same guy?” Starsky asked quizzically. “Same MO? Similar victims? Some identifying clues he always leaves?”

Waco smiled for the first time since entering the room. “Yes to all of that. Good thinking.”

Starsky felt his ears warm up, but no one seemed to note anything unusual. He kept his mouth shut while the Fed produced a thick manila envelope from his briefcase and opened it, spilling its contents onto Dobey’s desk. A moment later, he gasped. The photographs of the victims all bore a frightening resemblance to each other.

And to him.

This time, Waco did comment on his reaction. “You got it, Starsky. They’re all white, twenties, long dark hair, good-looking, slender…. Good dancers, I’m told. He picks them up in gay bars, buys them a drink or two, dances…. Then they go off to his place. Some return, some don’t.”

“So, what do we know about the perp?” Hutch interjected. “Have you interviewed the survivors in each of those cities? Between them and landlord descriptions, bartenders, etc. we should at least have a composite on the guy.”

“Here it is, for what it’s worth,” Waco replied. “Conservative dress. Average build, average height, short brown hair, brown eyes, white, late thirties to early forties…. I was hoping one of the LA victims could tighten it up for us a bit. You could arrest half a bar with this description.”

Dobey fingered the drawing and sipped his coffee. “Just for the sake of argument, then, is there anything else that gives us the certainty that it is only one guy? As you’ve said, a lot of men could fit this picture.”

The agent responded with another set of photos. They had been taken at various crime scenes. As one after another was passed around the room, grim silence took hold. All of the victims had been found bound and gagged with duct tape. Each had been beaten and mutilated in a characteristic fashion; they were all savagely castrated.

“Well, now I understand why the survivors are so reluctant to talk about him,” Starsky offered. “This guy is a real sicko.” Cop though he was, the detail shots were making him nauseous. He tried not to think about the men’s twisted expressions, the amount of blood. Hutch wasn’t looking any better than he felt.

“His MO, according to the guys I interviewed, is to offer them a decent amount of cash up front to let him tie them up. He comes across as such an innocuous guy that it seems pretty safe and the money is tempting. If they say no, he doesn’t push it, they just do the usual stuff. Next night, he picks them up again; they feel safer. Usually they agree on a second go round. Some even go for thirds. But eventually things get out of hand.” Waco paused for effect. “The guys lucky enough to walk away always have severe bite marks on various parts of their bodies, including the genitals. The unlucky ones are found after they’ve bled to death. The living don’t like to tell us their little secrets, but it’s pretty clear he offers them a lot of dope too. All the corpses have had very high blood levels of cocaine, PCP, speed, you name it.”

Hutch took a deep breath. “I hate to ask, because I really don’t want to know, but… did they find the, uh, missing parts?” Starsky turned pale at the implication of his partner’s question.

“No,” Waco responded shortly. “They didn’t. Either he keeps them as trophies, which is unlikely given how mobile he is, or he… disposes of them somehow.” His voice grew colder, if possible. “I think he eats them.” Shocked silence greeted his announcement for some minutes.

Dobey broke it. “Our five victims got picked up by this guy in the Green Parrot. They wound up at the St. Francis Hotel. Like I said, three were scared pretty bad but not seriously hurt. The other two were hospitalized. They all showed this pattern of bite marks.” He snorted in disgust. “Let’s try not to add to this gorgeous collection of pictures. You two are working directly with Special Agent Waco on this one. Give it top priority; your other cases can wait.”

~~~

The morning sunlight seemed particularly incongruous to Starsky after such ghastly sights. How could such a monster walk around under the same sky, breathe the same air as normal people he wondered. What could drive a human being to do such terrible things to total strangers? That the murderer was insane, he had no doubt. He shuddered despite the warmth of the day and welcomed Hutch’s arm across his shoulders. Perhaps his partner was feeling equally disturbed.

Waco walked ahead, leading purposefully to his nondescript blue government sedan.

“Wanna take mine?” Starsky offered, still uneasy.

The agent smiled. “That has to be the most conspicuous unmarked car I’ve ever seen. Why not just leave the red light on top? You can move it later. Right now I want to show you your new digs and let you get settled in for tonight.”

The new digs turned out to be many steps up from the St. Francis Hotel. “Why so high on the food chain? Not that I’m complaining,” Hutch commented. “This is pretty nice.” The room was practically a suite, with a private bath and small kitchenette. It was clean, tastefully furnished, and airy.

Waco explained, “From what I have observed, this is the kind of place he tends to favor. He never stays at the flophouses where his victims are found; just uses them for entertaining. The St. Francis is right down the street.”

“But how does some street hustler get enough together to afford this?” Starsky inquired. “Won’t this make him suspicious?”

“Not at all,” Waco replied. “The successful guys don’t sleep at the St. Francis either. And let’s face it, Starsky, you’ll never pass as a street kid. Too old, for one thing. You’re not hungry-looking enough, not a junkie. No, you’re more the mid-priced, foxy, experienced type.” Waco inspected him as he talked, as if sizing him for a suit.

“Gee, thanks,” Starsky muttered sarcastically, trying to ignore his embarrassment. A quick glance at Hutch reassured him that his partner felt equally odd.

Waco opened the closet and pointed out the clothing hanging within. “Captain Dobey gave me your sizes, gentlemen. Let’s see…”

It was surely not the first time they’d gone undercover in outlandish outfits. Starsky could easily recall a dozen instances where they’d posed as high-rollers, dope dealers, artists, hairdressers, cabbies, even cruise ship personnel. But he’d never had to dress up as a male prostitute before and had no idea of what sort of look he should be aiming for. Waco, on the other hand, had researched this area thoroughly and it showed. A week’s worth of flashy duds hung there for both of them.

“You’ve been busy,” Hutch observed in a carefully neutral tone.

Starsky immediately caught his partner’s thought. “Yeah,” he chimed in. “So, you knew who we were last night, at the party, an’ decided to meet us. Dobey tell you where to find us?”

Waco chuckled. “I was wondering when that would come up. No, he didn’t know where you were. I took his advice and asked around at The Pits, and the ever pleasant proprietor told me where to look. Yes, I did go over to check you out. And no, I’m not sorry I kissed you. You’re going to have to get used to being a little… demonstrative if you expect to attract any business, you know.”

The reality of what they were embarking on struck Zebra Three forcefully, just as the FBI agent had intended. Hutch glared at the man menacingly. Starsky took a deep breath, stuck his hands in his back pockets, and meandered around the room avoiding eye contact with anyone. Waco simply waited for their response.

Starsky broke the strained silence at last. “There’s no other way to handle this, is there? That’s why Dobey was looking so sheepish.” He finally turned to face the agent squarely. “There’s nobody else that fills the bill as well as I do, like it or not. I mean, it’s not as if we can ask the guys on the Force in the closet to come out just for this case.” He sighed. “And I don’t think we can just go door to door asking for stray body parts.”

“You got it, Starsk,” the huge man replied, a genuine grin forming across his mobile features.

Hutch was increasingly irate. He didn’t like the familiar manner with which Waco was addressing his partner or the indulgent way he was looking down at him. Most especially he resented the implications of his remarks. “Just how far is this supposed to go?” he demanded harshly. “I mean…”

“Just as far as it needs to,” Waco interjected. “We’re not going to nail this guy out on the dance floor. The only way we can identify him is by following things to their logical conclusion and being there to make the bust after he makes his intentions known to Starsky.”

“This sucks,” Hutch growled. “You can’t ask Starsky to go to bed with a guy just to see what he’ll do once they get there. And we can’t bust every guy that tries to pick him up.”

“Indeed, we can’t,” Waco responded with a quirk to the side of his mouth that made Hutch ache to punch him. “That’s where you come in. You’re the jealous boyfriend. When things get about as far as the law allows, you come in and make a scene. If it’s just an innocent john, you scare him off without blowing Starsky’s cover. If it looks like it might be the guy, you’re going to have to let things develop to the point where we can collar him on assault, if nothing else. We have to somehow skirt entrapment too. But once we get him into custody, we can check his prints, hair, etc. and match it to the other crime scenes. I’ve got enough saved up that our man should be able to be made on that stuff alone.”

Starsky was breathing a little easier. Relying on Hutch to back him up was a lifelong habit. All he had to do was… what? He glanced involuntarily to Waco for guidance; the other man smiled back reassuringly.

“You’re going to have to be seductive, a little demonstrative, as I said. But nobody’s expecting you to lose your virtue in the process. For tonight, you and Hutch are just going to hang out at the Green Parrot, get the feel of the place, and watch how the pros do it. Obviously, you’ll be looking for possible suspects as well.”

“And what are you gonna be up to?” Starsky asked.

“Oh, I’ll be there, mingling with the crowd. Right now I’m going shopping for hard-core porn, leather goods, and other S&M toys. This guy is sure to be into that stuff; someone may have some leads about a new buyer in town.” Waco deliberately leered. “Want to come along?”

“What about interviewing Gibson in the hospital? Trying to get him to cooperate. You know, if he’d agree to finger this guy, we could save ourselves a lot of trouble,” Starsky responded steadily, ignoring the man’s signals.

The agent shrugged. “Been there, done that. No go. The kid won’t even return to this part of town, much less point him out. Too spooked. Besides, he was really high on PCP at the time; not a credible witness. The other guy that was hospitalized goes by the name of Rusty Stevens. He wouldn’t even open the frigging door. Afraid we’re on our own, gentlemen.”

Once Waco left, the highly charged atmosphere felt more breathable again. Starsky flopped onto the oversized king bed in relief.

Hutch’s feelings about the Fed were all too apparent for his comfort. His partner, meanwhile, scanned the closet for his sizes. After a few snorts of disgust, he threw himself beside Starsky on the bed. Propped on one elbow. Hutch faced him in silence for several minutes. Finally, he spoke. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? We could refuse this assignment, you know. Dobey would have fits, but he’d understand.”

“You saw those pictures, babe. We can’t just walk away from this because it’s to do with gays, you know? An’ like it or not, we are the best team for this thing.” Starsky rubbed his eyes in frustration.

“What makes you so sure we can pull it off? It’s not going to do anybody any good if we get made in ten minutes. It’ll just be that much harder for the next guys. We might just scare him off and he blows town. Then what?” Hutch demanded. “I mean, you’re the one who’s always said you couldn’t accept this stuff, didn’t think it was natural and all. Now you’re ready to go up to some total stranger in a bar and act ‘seductive?’ How?”

Starsky sighed. “Damned if I know. But we’ll have time tonight to see how they do it. How hard can it be?”

“If you give Waco half a chance, he’ll be glad to give you private lessons, you know,” Hutch sneered.

Starsky refused to take offense. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. Funny, you wouldn’t think the FBI would have this guy on board.”

“Maybe he blows Hoover on Saturdays,” Hutch sniped.

“Enough, already! Look, I’m not crazy about him either, but…”

“You sure about that?”

Now Starsky did turn and face his partner directly. He counted to ten slowly, giving Hutch a chance to appreciate how crude his remark was, determined not to be defensive. It worked.

Hutch reddened and dropped his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that, Starsk.”

“Yeah, right,” Starsky answered more coolly than he felt. “You’ve been on the verge of exploding around him all morning. He’s got you pegged perfectly for the jealous boyfriend. Seems to me that it’s you who’s having big trouble with this assignment so far. Wanna deal with that, or what?”

Hutch sat up and looked away. Starsky nearly held his breath, waiting. At last, Hutch replied gruffly. “Yeah, I guess. The whole idea of this gig gives me a bad feeling. Makes me want to clobber this clown for looking you over. It’s stupid, I know. You’re a grown man, a cop for crissakes.” He took a deep breath.

Starsky came up on the bed beside him. “Thanks.” Hutch glanced at him and caught his obvious sincerity. Starsky continued, “I get worried about you too sometimes, you know. That’s what partners are for. It’ll be okay.” He smiled and smacked the blond’s shoulder. “Just lighten up. We’ll do fine; we always do.” He bounced up in the direction of the closet. “So, anything in here match my eyes?”

~~~

Hours later. Hutch had other concerns besides Waco’s attraction for his partner. Starsky was a hit on the busy dance floor; his nervous energy redirected to one gyrating dancer after another. It kept him from having to deal too heavily with any one potential customer, which suited Hutch fine. But both men knew that couldn’t last. Hutch was also trying to observe anyone paying particular attention to Starsky, but the crush and the noise made that all but impossible. He could barely make out Waco in the crowd, big though he was.

Inevitably, men started hitting on Starsky, offering him drinks and making more and more physical contact. As far as Hutch could tell, he was handling the attention with aplomb. His knockout grin lit up more than once at compliments and invitations whispered in his ear. Nor could Hutch blame Starsky’s admirers; he looked extraordinarily appealing. His designer jeans were so tight it was a wonder he could move at all. Anyone could be forgiven for wanting to pat that tight round ass below his slender waist. A black silk sleeveless tank top and gold chain showed off his well-built, bronze arms and shoulders, while a gold earring lit up his thick, curling mop of dark hair. He had just the lightest touch of eye makeup on.

His partner had been right. Hutch reflected sourly. He was the one having trouble seeing Starsky in this light, watching other men touch him, press against him in the crowd with erotic intent. Seeing Waco do it was bad enough, but this was magnified many times over.

A long familiar arm encircled his shoulder. The cop was chagrined that Waco had the knack of appearing out of nowhere without warning. “You’re a little conspicuous, standing here by yourself. Why’s a gorgeous guy like you not trying to mingle?” Flustered, Hutch took the hint and allowed himself to be embraced by the bigger man. If Waco was amused by his stiffness, he kept it to himself. “Why don’t you go dance with your partner?” he asked huskily. “You’re dying to, you know. It’s all over your face.”

Cheeks suddenly scarlet. Hutch turned to Waco. “What do you mean?” he demanded coldly.

The agent leaned in closer to his face. “You know damn well what I mean. Need a hint?”

The next instant Hutch found himself crushed, much as Starsky had been the previous night, amazed by the power in the FBI man’s arms. There was no warning before Waco gripped the back of his head and proceeded to kiss the breath away from him. He writhed in a bear hug, shocked by the sensations generated in his mouth. Part of him was furious and appalled. The other part wondered what would happen if it simply went on and on. Waco tasted like nothing he had ever imagined. The man knew how to kiss.

As suddenly as it began, Waco released his reddened lips. Hutch held himself still, catching his breath and hopefully his composure. His tormentor smiled almost sadly, then continued “Because you’ve got gorgeous silky gold hair and amazingly soft skin, I’m gonna make this easy for you. You have a choice. Either you go dance with Starsky or stay here and kiss me some more. Which is it?”

“Suppose I decide to do neither?” Hutch challenged, still panting.

“Then I’ll go dance with him,” Waco replied, “after I’ve kissed you again.” A second later he made good on his threat. Hutch knew he was being fucked with, though he could not have said why. At the moment it didn’t matter. A more immediate concern was his carnal response to Waco’s overtures. Their intensity frightened him. That didn’t stop him from becoming aroused, however. Waco knew it too, the bastard. He pressed one thigh into Hutch’s crotch, caressing the growing bulge.

Hutch didn’t hide the fact that he was kissing Waco back, even from himself. It was impossible in any case. This is insane, he admitted, but Waco’s tempting and teasing had its own logic. Somehow, he would straighten this out later. Then he felt Waco pull back; a searing second later, he saw why.

“Mind if I ask a question?” Starsky interrupted in a low tone that nonetheless, carried over the disco music. His deep blue eyes were hooded, whether from anger or merely annoyance. Hutch couldn’t tell. “I mean, I know we’re supposed to be fitting into the local scene and all, but aren’t you two getting a little risqué? Right here in public?”

“Lots of people are making out, Starsky. Nobody gives a damn. Besides, Hutch and l were just settling a little dispute. Not to worry.” Waco smiled down at the tense lithe figure beside him.

“I’ve heard that before. About what?” Starsky demanded.

“About which of us was going to dance with you next,” the larger man replied, grinning.

Hutch took his chance. “And I won. Come on Starsk, let’s go.” His partner grabbed his hand instantly and then he was free, pushing through the throng, following Starsky onto the dance floor. He dared not look back until they were in each other’s arms, holding tight, whirling around the room. By then the FBI agent had vanished into the crowd.

~~~

It was a tired pair that climbed the stairs to their rented room in the dark hours before dawn. If anyone had taken other than the usual degree of interest in either of them, they couldn’t have said. No one matching the composite portrait had come anywhere near Starsky all night. Finally, the bar closed at three. It was time to call it quits.

“I could fall asleep on my feet if they weren’t so sore,” Starsky volunteered as they entered the unlit room. “How about you?” Hutch merely grunted in assent. They’d had no time to talk about Waco all night and he knew it was due. But like his partner, he wanted nothing more than to sleep. They’d been up perilously close to 24 hours already.

“Toss a coin for the chair?” Hutch offered as he removed his holstered gun and clothes, self-conscious for the first time in their career about sharing a bed. Starsky, also in the middle of disrobing, gave him a look that mirrored his words. “Don’t be a complete idiot. Just get in the bed. I promise not to take advantage.” He finished pulling his jeans down, peeled off sneakers and socks, and crawled under the covers. Hutch hastened to follow suit.

Despite Hutch’s exhaustion, sleep would not immediately come. Images from the frenetic evening kept swirling about, making him edgy. He turned over. There was Starsky’s supple body grinding into another man’s ass with apparent delight. The heat in Waco’s hazel eyes as he held him and kissed him. The way Starsky had looked at him when he found them like that. Hundreds more waited their turn before his closed eyes. He turned again, fluffing his perfectly adequate pillows. A deep sense of unease clawed at his stomach, not unlike the way he’d felt in the days before his ex-wife told him she was leaving.

He’d had lovers before and since, but not one had ever filled his life as Starsky did, he realized. The kind of soul numbing alienation he’d once known had never recurred once the New Yorker became his best friend. He knew without asking that it was the same for Starsky. They’d nursed each other through broken hearts, gunshot wounds, family troubles. He could picture himself not a cop far more easily than life without his partner. Hadn’t they made it clear to each other on more than one occasion that if one left, the other would go too? It had become a given of their relationship.

Now that bond was being obscurely threatened by a huge man with laughing hazel eyes and rich auburn hair. Waco’s high cheekbones danced before his mind once more. God, he was good looking. But what did he want? Hutch punched his pillow into submission again, wishing he knew what sort of game the FBI agent was playing with them.

“Need another one? There’s extras in the closet,” Starsky muttered, nearly asleep. Hutch started, guilty for disturbing his partner. Starsky had worked hard tonight, dancing for hours while Hutch kept watch. He smiled fondly at the dark, slightly damp curls on the white pillow beside him. An almost irresistible urge to stroke them suddenly suffused his whole being. Only on the rarest of occasions had he done so. Yet he and Starsky had exhibited more physical affection for each other over the years than many men felt comfortable with. It had been like the innocent closeness of young boys, augmented by the vulnerable child-like streak Starsky showed only to him and a favored few.

Starsky had opined more than once that he neither understood nor appreciated other peoples’ need for same sex affairs. He had never even flirted with bisexuality as a teen. Hutch had thought about it, but before tonight it was nothing more than a vague awareness of his capability in that direction. He probably would have gone his entire life without erotically kissing another man, had it not been for Waco.

Now, Pandora’s box had been pried open. Lying beside his partner in the dim room, Hutch knew he wanted to hold Starsky in his arms and kiss him. Knew that he had wanted to all night. Waco was right; it had been there all along. He had simply refused to acknowledge it before.

The dark head he’d been staring at rolled over to face him. “What’s the matter?” Starsky murmured, eyes barely open. “Can’t sleep? Am I snorin’ or somethin’?”

“No, babe. It’s just me, having a hard time unwinding,” Hutch reassured him. Starsky snuggled closer unselfconsciously. Without daring to think about it. Hutch did likewise. A shifting movement or two later, Starsky was in his arms, sighing comfortably. Hutch too found peace, nestling his face against the dark curls he had longed to touch, his hands along Starsky’s lean back. Content at last, sleep claimed them both almost at once.

~~~

Full sunlight streamed through the windows before either partner opened his eyes; it was a heavy pounding at the door that roused them instead. Starsky grabbed the bedsheet and wound himself in it as he made his way blearily to answer the door. Hutch muttered a curse, in search of something else to cover himself with. He had not fully succeeded when Waco entered and whistled appreciatively at his naked frame. Starsky sighed, “You’re not gonna start up again this early, are you?”

For answer, Waco smacked his butt. “Now don’t go feeling left out, curly. Besides, what do you mean early? It’s noon. I brought brunch with me.”

That at least was welcome. Starsky sniffed like an unfed puppy at the bags the agent carried, resulting in identical indulgent smiles on the other two men. Hutch gave up on false modesty and simply got up and went over to the closet for a robe. Anyone bringing coffee couldn’t be all that bad.

Accompanying the fragrantly scented coffee were croissants, butter, fruit danishes, and juices. Waco spread his largesse on the kitchenette table and without further ado, all three lawmen dug in. Starsky in particular was ravenous, though he was by far the smallest of the three. The agent smiled at his non-stop consumption pattern. “I see it’s going to cost the Treasury a fortune to keep you dancing at full steam. Ah well, it’s worth it to see you shaking your ass all over town. Who says we don’t fund the arts?”

Hutch managed to swallow his mouthful of croissant. “You didn’t come here just to feed us and flirt, did you? Any news?”

“No news is good news, I suppose,” the FBI man responded cheerily. “No hospital admissions, no dead bodies. Our man must have taken the night off. Not that I’m complaining. Gives us a little more time to investigate. A new guy in town matching our composite has been sighted at one of the porn shops. I’ve got a security camera photo of him from the owner. It’s being processed now. I’m hoping the kid in the hospital can identify him from that. It’s a long shot, but at least it’ll give us something to do this afternoon.”

This first tangible clue based on old fashioned police work encouraged Zebra Three as well. Perhaps the case would not be so difficult after all. Both silently acknowledged that Waco knew his stuff when he wasn’t acting cute.

“So, what’s the plan?” Starsky asked between bites.

“Our guy tends to show up every third day or so in the afternoon and checks out the magazines. They have the best selection in town. He usually buys one or two S&M bondage rags, sometimes a whip or something. I should have his photo back by three or so. You hang out in the shop by those racks and see if you can make him. The owner will be there. He understands why we’re so interested in this guy and is willing to cooperate. Strike up a conversation with him if he comes, hit on him a little, offer to meet him for a drink later. See if he bites. Hutch can keep an eye on things from the register. Try to find out where he’s staying without being too obvious.”

Starsky nodded approvingly. “Sounds cool. Where’ll you be?”

“I’m going to show his photo to Gibson as soon as its ready. If we’ve got a positive make, I’ll call Hutch at the counter and you can just bust him on the spot. If not, I’ll come by the place and hang out. Once our pigeon arrives, I’ll try to shadow him back to his place.”

“What if he invites Starsky back with him right then and there?” Hutch asked, still uneasy.

Waco shrugged. “Your call, guys. Starsk, if you feel okay about it, go for it if he’s walking. I don’t want you to get in a car with him. Hutch won’t be able to cover you. Remember, it’s all right to be cautious with a john you don’t know, especially when bondage is on the menu. ”

“Bossy little thing, aren’t you?” was Starsky’s only comment.

~~~

It was one thing to agree to come on to a stranger over brunch, Starsky reflected. It was another matter when standing in a gay porn shop amidst the bondage mags, trying to look blasé. He was dressed to attract business again, with the added plus of a studded black leather jacket and matching boots. Trouble was, he only wanted to attract one specific customer. Several men approached him, but none matched the photo he now had. Hutch somehow warded them off without losing their business, but it was nerve-wracking all the same. There was no word yet from either the FBI agent or headquarters about a confirmation from the last victim, leaving the whole situation ambiguous at best. They could be chasing the wrong guy, he reminded himself.

He inspected the shelves, thinking of how he would approach the man, if he did show up. But he kept getting distracted by the magazines. He’d been bound before, when it wasn’t a game, and was trying to figure out what made it erotic in the color spreads. His mind drifted back to the previous night’s scene of Hutch wrestling with Waco even as they were kissing. It was profoundly unsettling, even more than when Waco had accosted him; it also made him half hard just to recall it. Of course, he knew who had initiated the incident, but still… he never would have expected Hutch to respond that way. Or himself, for that matter. No doubt about it, that had been really hot. Hutch’s beautiful face, flushed with passion, his check and jaw muscles working in unison with Waco’s, eyes closed. Waco’s huge hands threaded in his long golden hair… Too much.

He shook his head, trying to clear the image. Maybe Hutch had sensed his arousal. That could explain why he was so spooked last night, asking about sleeping in the chair. Then again, perhaps he was worried about Starsky’s impression of the incident. Starsky smiled fondly to himself; poor Hutch, don’t you know I’d love you, no matter what? You’re my best friend, for crissakes.

He had no idea how alluring such a genuine smile made him, in bright contrast to the false images of passion surrounding him. To Hutch watching from the counter, he looked like a gypsy child, an arresting mix of innocence and street smarts. How could he look like that, surrounded by cheap trashy skin mags? What was he thinking?

Hutch’s reverie was broken instantly as a shadow approached across the aisles. His protective instincts came to the fore as readily as the scent of a rat roused a terrier. A quick scan of his photocopy confirmed what his gut somehow already knew. Their quarry was here.

Too caught up in his daydream to notice, Starsky smiled on. He made pretense of perusing another bondage rag but his gaze remained directed inwards. The stranger drew closer, evidently taken with the brash young beauty before him. Hutch felt the hackles rise on his neck in response. Why the hell hadn’t Waco called up yet? He desperately wanted to shake this man down before he ever entered Starsky’s line of sight.

Such was not to be. No call came through in the remaining moments before the man in the photo stood next to Starsky and murmured something to him that Hutch could not overhear. Whatever it was, it got his partner’s attention immediately. The man pointed at the pages opened in Starsky’s hands and said something else. Despite his role preparation, the cop turned crimson almost at once, then answered him. Far from turning him off, the stranger seemed even more intrigued by his response. He smiled blandly, then put his hand on Starsky’s shoulder.

From behind the register. Hutch felt his blood pressure rising dangerously. I wonder if I could get away with just blowing him away right now, came the unbidden thought. Na, Starsky’s too honest, besides, he just might be innocent. Not that he’s innocent of hitting on my buddy. For that alone, the man deserved to die. Not being able to hear them was killing him.

Starsky stood unmoving under the man’s hand, memorizing his every feature. It was as nondescript a face as he’d been led to expect. Not unpleasant, not memorable. He was slightly taller and older than Starsky, but it was a minor difference. His clothing was neat but not exceptional. The only thing about this potential john that hinted of danger was the unblinking coldness of his gaze, a sharp contrast to his unassuming smile. It reminded Starsky of a hawk he’d seen up close in an exotic pet shop once. He’s looking for prey, all right. Do l smell like chicken, or not?

Evidently he did. After gauging his availability, the stranger had wanted to know which he preferred, top or bottom. Coaching from Waco had taught him the correct response, but still he’d blushed to say it out loud. Now the man was carefully questioning him about his price. Once again, he had Waco to thank for his research. He tried to look seductive while boasting about how he’d be worth every penny, but the dull red creep under his ears didn’t make him feel very sexy.

His suspect was clearly interested, though cautious. “Where do you hang out in the evenings?” he asked next. “Maybe we could meet somewhere tonight. I think I can make it worth your while.”

Starsky was at once relieved and disappointed. His pickup’s barely inflected voice and constant stare were giving Starsky the creeps, yet he’d hoped for a quick resolution to this case. But the brown-haired man was certain he was in no hurry; tonight would be soon enough for him. They agreed on the Green Parrot for about ten.

Their date made, the older man gently lifted the magazine out of Starsky’s hands and took it to the counter where Hutch awaited. He paid without comment and left as quietly as he had entered.

“Did he tell you where he’s staying?” Hutch breathed aloud as Starsky approached. The stranger had already made his way down past the storefront. His partner shook his head in the negative. “I better go see if I can follow him then.” He was over the counter and out the door, only to reappear a moment later. Starsky joined him in front of the shop inquiringly. “Waco’s out there in a car; he waved me back,” Hutch explained. “Guess he didn’t get anything out of the kid, but maybe we’ll get lucky anyway.”

With thanks expressed to their host, the pair climbed into Hutch’s LTD and made their way back to the hotel. No point in blowing their cover by going near Metro. Besides, Waco would surely go there first, once he’d tailed the suspect to his place. It left a few hours to kill before dinner, but the progress they’d made was encouraging, Starsky decided. Even if Waco lost him, they had a contact now, plus a reasonable photo ID. Unless it wasn’t the guy. He shook his dark locks and dismissed the thought. Why would Waco have followed him if he wasn’t under suspicion? Maybe the kid just wasn’t sure enough to make charges stick.

~~~

Hutch couldn’t share his partner’s sanguine view of events. The sight of that creep’s hand on his friend’s shoulder had churned his stomach. Merely picturing Starsky meeting this man in a bar and leaving with him unarmed filled him with dread. He barely spoke a word all the way back to their room.

There was no way out of it, he knew. This was what they’d been waiting for. He wished for the hundredth time that the killer had a taste for blonds instead. Of course, he had no intention of letting Starsky out of his sight, but unforeseen things could happen to even the best teams. True, Waco would be there too, and that helped. All the same…

All the same, he was edgy and curt with his partner’s attempts at conversation. Starsky gave him a look or two, then sighed and subsided into silence. Hutch was just going to have to deal with this shit, like it or not. He dropped his leather jacket over the back of a chair upon entering the room, then turned on the TV and flopped onto the bed.

Nothing could have been calculated to annoy his apprehensive partner more. Starsky was lying sideways at the foot of the bed, hogging nearly all the pillows. The TV was set to some inane soap opera. The room felt smaller than before. There were no messages for them to ponder. Hutch paced.

A few minutes later Starsky’s snoring irritated him even further. How could he just drift off like that? Forgotten was the amount of energy the smaller man had expended dancing for hours the previous night, the precious few hours of sleep either of them had gotten. Well, at least he could turn the damn TV off now.

That done, Hutch felt ridiculous just standing in the middle of the room. He tried reading the paper at the table but found himself apathetic. His eyes repeatedly drifted over to his buddy’s relaxed form hugging the pillows. Perhaps a nap wasn’t such a bad idea; they were sure to be up most of the night again.

He tossed off his jacket and holster, then crawled next to Starsky, lying sideways. He’d managed to snag a pillow out of the sleeping man’s arms and put it under his own head, but not without effort. Starsky stirred and turned in search of his missing pillow, still asleep. The movement landed him squarely onto Hutch. He simply turned his partner into an oversized body pillow, throwing his arm around Hutch’s waist and pulling him closer. He snuggled his face into the crook of Hutch’s shoulder with a contented sigh.

Hutch froze in uncharacteristic panic. In earlier times he would have just pushed his friend over without ado. Somehow, nothing was that simple anymore. He debated for so long that even he knew he was being absurd. In the end, he did nothing. Starsky was warm and not very heavy. He smelled utterly male and familiar, his dark hair softly curling against Hutch’s cheek. The blond’s hand strayed up to his partner’s neck, sampling the texture of his skin with some daring. What would it matter anyway? Hutch closed his eyes, still savoring Starsky’s nearness. He was a bit tired, after all. Gradually, his muscles relaxed, his breathing evened and lengthened. It was easy enough to drift off, releasing his tension in favor of a pervasive sense of deep security. Starsky was safe and so was he for now.

When Starsky stirred, it was to discover how placidly his friend had tolerated abuse. Hutch didn’t mind at all being laid on. He slept peacefully beneath his partner, arms cuddling him close. Starsky smiled and on some crazy impulse strained to kiss Hutch’s cheek. It was slightly rough and his mustache tickled, but it smelled good. Truth to tell, he still hadn’t stopped thinking about Waco kissing Hutch. It may have even been part of a dream he’d been having. What did his partner’s lips feel like? Were they soft and silky like a woman? What did his breath taste like? Would it seem strange and unappealing to either of them, or would they respond to each other? Starsky admitted that Waco’s mouth had not been distasteful. He’d been scared by the big man’s intent, but with Hutch that could never be an issue. He knew he was loved.

Oddly enough, that was the problem. He loved Hutch far too much to tease or play with his heart. God forbid he should hurt him just for the sake of curiosity. They had both been completely straight their entire lives. It was just this damn assignment that was putting nutty ideas into his head. Probably Hutch’s too.

Probably Hutch’s too… Did Hutch want him, maybe a little? It wasn’t impossible. He was obviously protective of his partner and exhibited a lot of the classic signs of jealousy, but did that translate into desire? Was he scared of hurting their friendship too? He hadn’t seemed to mind kissing Waco…

Waco again. Damnit, he needed to concentrate on the job here, not worrying about his partner’s love life. Hutch wouldn’t dream of having an affair with that big FBI lug. Would he?

Hutch hadn’t moved a muscle, but somehow Starsky knew he was awake now. Caught. Had Hutch felt his little friendly kiss and woke up? Starsky swallowed, uncertain what to do next. Act casual, maybe. After all, they were friends, right? A little kiss on the cheek was no big deal. He tried on a powerhouse grin for size and waited.

The blond’s eyes opened and gazed steadily back, not fazed by Starsky’s embarrassment. The darker man had not moved out of his arms, had not stopped covering his body. And now this. The ball was surely in his court. Hutch leaned closer and pressed his lips to the side of his partner’s face. There he remained, inhaling Starsky’s scent. Now you, my friend.

Starsky knew what he had to do next. His heart thumped louder than he was accustomed to, his back and chest were getting flushed and hot. God only knew what his face looked like. Ah well… he slid his cheek over Hutch’s lips until the corner of their mouths met. Your turn, buddy.

Hutch needed no further invitation. His lips moved against Starsky’s, warm and moist. Easy, don’t scare him off. Let him open up on his own. That his street gypsy did a heartbeat later. It was an electric shock to them both, yet strangely familiar, as if in some forgotten time this had been a part of their lives. Starsky offered his mouth without reservation now; whatever Hutch wanted was his for the taking.

He took deeper and deeper draughts of Starsky’s honeyed essence, probing, teasing, tangling tongues. Teeth joined, lips flowing and tingling, getting hotter, sweeter with each assay. He wanted more; surfacing for breath, he let his mouth explore Starsky’s ear, his neck, the incredibly silky hollows of his throat. His partner still lay on top of him, slight moans the only sign that he was capable of response yet.

Anticipation was building in Hutch’s blood. He rolled his friend beneath him and resumed his exploration of Starsky’s luscious wide mouth, demanding a reply. This he got. The smaller man’s hands began to shakily stroke and massage Hutch’s arms and chest. They strayed up to his hair, seemingly intrigued by it. His low moans picked up in volume, sending vibrations echoing through Hutch’s body.

Both of them gasped for air after the second go round. Who would have thought it? Starsky wondered, then could think no more. Hutch was feverishly pulling his lover’s T-shirt out of his jeans, his fingers sliding under it up Starsky’s fuzzy belly. Moans evolved into frantic groans of accelerating lust. Omigod, I’m getting so hot, so fast. Buddy, you’re a blond devil.

His obvious arousal was driving his partner wild. Hutch hadn’t intended on things going this far, but there didn’t seem to be any way to turn back now. Starsky wanted him. Starsky wanted him. His fingertips roamed farther up until they found the little nubs he knew would pleasure his friend. There they rolled, feathered and gently tweaked. The effect was immediate and electrifying. Starsky bucked wildly under him, head thrashing on the bed. “Geez, babe! You’re burning me up.” Hutch used his greater weight to hold his partner in place, still teasing, until Starsky pleaded, “Can’t take it, Hutch, I really can’t. God…” still writhing.

“Okay babe,” Hutch soothed. “Okay, now. Don’t mean to rush you. Just want to make it real good, make it right…” His mouth fastened again on Starsky’s, his arms encircling now under the T-shirt around to his back. Gradually, his friend was ready for more again. Starsky pressed his hands between them and tugged at Hutch’s shirt. It was harder now; they were both sweatier with each caress. With some lifting and shifting, he nonetheless managed to get both their shirts off.

It was worth the effort. Hutch decided at once. Just watching those small brown tits turn wine red and hard made his mouth water. “Let me suck them,” he whispered. “I’ll take it easy, I swear.” Starsky nodded, too breathless to speak. A moment later, he found his voice as Hutch tongued first one, then the other. He cried out, almost beyond endurance, open throated, deep and long. Hutch wondered at the intensity of his response. Hadn’t a woman ever done this to him before?

It was definitely time to move on. Hutch carefully allowed one hand to slide down Starsky’s belly to his belt buckle, then waited. He knew his friend was rock hard under the denim, just as he was, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have to ask for permission.

Starsky’s hand joined his at once, fumbling at the leather. Permission granted. Seconds later, both of their belts were unbuckled and their zippers down. The relief was nearly blinding. Starsky rocked in his arms, beside himself with intensifying passion. “C’mon, babe. Touch me,” he begged, voice so husky it sent shivers up Hutch’s spine.

“Anything you want, Starsk. Anything at all.” His hand circled and pressed on the head of the beautifully molded cock, so fulsome and darkly red. Starsky was circumcised so it was naked and vulnerable to his every touch. He’d never imagined that the sight of another man’s erect penis would move him like this. The head was so tender, so soft, so like yet unlike his own. It fascinated him. Without really thinking about it, he twisted and bent until able to plant a fervent kiss on that precious smooth flesh.

“Hutch! Please…” Starsky was thrusting up at him, desperate for more contact. He wasn’t far behind, himself. There would be time for niceties later. He settled himself on top of his friend, pushing his own cock between Starsky’s jeans clad thighs, then pressed them together with his own legs. The heavy fabric created such friction he bit his lip to keep from coming right then and there. His hand worked and stropped his partner as they both began lunging. His mouth sought and found Starsky’s nipple. Inarticulate sobs filled the air around them, whose, no one could tell.

It was over almost at once. Hutch felt the base of his spine turn to molten lava and erupt through the top of his head. It was almost painful, such excruciating pleasure. His one clear image before collapsing on his lover was hot honey pouring all over his hand as Starsky howled. For a time they lay frozen in place.

Still clasped in Starsky’s arms, Hutch eventually rolled to the side. Both men were catching their breath, bodies slowly cooling. Neither was ready to let go of each other yet. Hutch grazed his partner’s forehead with reverent lips, still awed by what had transpired. This is David Michael Starsky, my oldest, dearest friend. He must really love me. How else could this have happened? A deep wound in Hutch’s soul surfaced to be cleansed, to be helped to heal. Somehow, his partner thought he was worthy of this much devotion. Lots of people had wanted to go to bed with him over the years; many had. This was a revelation, an entirely different order of magnitude. Gratitude suffused his every pore.

Starsky was silent, still. It was hard, so hard, to imagine all this. Sure, he’d wondered a little, but this… It was utterly beyond his experience. No woman had ever thoroughly reduced him to melted ice cream before, as his partner just had. How to explain it? He stole a glance at sky blue eyes, pure and transparent. No doubt. His conclusion mirrored his partner’s. Hutch loves me, loves me so much. He doesn’t care if I’m a guy, a girl, or a giraffe. Just wants to give me everything he’s got.

Unease crept along his bones like a chill. But what if I can’t give it back? Oh sure, I love him. I’d die for him. But what if I can’t please him, can’t suck him or fuck him? I can’t just lay back all the time and take, like I did today. What am I gonna do?

“Hey,” intruded a quiet voice. “Don’t look so scared. I still respect you, you know.” Concern had shadowed Hutch’s sweet expression, making the words sound more serious than he’d intended.

Starsky did his best to push aside his insecurity. “I know, babe. I know you love me, an’ I love you. I’m just blown away, y’know?” He reached for the beloved face of his friend and initiated a long, slow deep kiss. Well, this sure ain’t hard to do, came the optimistic thought. Maybe I’m just a little scared, like he said.

~~~

Starsky would have liked to talk things out over dinner at The Pits, but Waco finally appeared and the threesome went over the day’s events instead. He had struck out at the hospital; the most recent victim had signed himself out against medical advice that morning and vanished. Waco was sorely pissed that no one there had thought to notify the FBI and said so in vivid, colorful ways that amused his audience to no end as they awaited their food.

“We’ll ask Huggy to put the word out that were lookin’ for this Gibson guy.” Starsky suggested. “Maybe he’ll get more than we can.”

He’d had better luck following their suspect to a small, respectable family hotel clear on the other side of town. Mr. Ralph Townsend, or so the register said, had been in LA just long enough to have been involved in all five assaults. The elderly concierge had not been able to keep track of all his comings and goings; he was a busy man. But yes, he was definitely the man in the photo.

Waco had gotten close enough at one point to get a snapshot of Townsend. Now they were armed at least with an address and a much better picture of him. It was possible that, put over the wire service; one of the previous victims in other cities might identify him too.

“So far, the only things we can prove he’s done are buy a dirty magazine and make a date with me,” Starsky reminded them. “We still have a case to build.” Even though I just feel in my bones that this is the guy. “Let’s talk about how it’s going to go down tonight.” He hated the dark look that came over Hutch’s face.

Waco approved. “My guess is that he’ll want to head with you back over to the St. Francis after you leave the bar with him. If it looks like he wants to go somewhere else, steer him there anyway. He probably won’t object, since nothing came of the last few times he was there.”

“Do we know that?” Hutch interjected. “I mean, do we know he was there? Did you ask any of the hotel staff? Someone might identify him from his picture now.”

The FBI agent grimaced. “The night staff won’t come in until 11 or so. No one on days recognized him, but that doesn’t mean much. He wouldn’t have been there then. No, not for sure.” Hutch was satisfied with the agent’s thoroughness, in spite of his misgivings. Waco really was trying to cover all bases.

“Okay, so I get him over to the St. Francis.” Starsky continued. “Then what? We get a room, an’ I let him tie me up?” He tried to ignore Hutch’s wince.

“Basically, yeah. I’ve already made certain arrangements with the owner. Threatened to close him down if he didn’t go along. He isn’t happy about all the beatings and whatnot anyway, so he agreed, as long as we limit our investigation to this one guy. Being here on special assignment kinda helped him believe my assurances.” Waco paused. “I’ve got a designated room wired for sound and a camera mounted behind the mirror. You need to ask for room 311. Hutch and I’ll be in the next room, watching. You really won’t be in any danger.” He smiled reassuringly.

Starsky whistled. “You really don’t let the grass grow under your feet, do you? All this while we were reading dirty magazines an’ taking a nap.” An’ gettin’ laid. “You got a court order for this an’ everything?”

The big man’s smile grew into a grin. “Actually I had this set up before I even met you. What I desperately needed was the right bait. I think you’re it, Starsk. And I really appreciate what you’re doing here.” His hand covered the dark cop’s affectionately.

Get your goddamn hands offa him. Hutch responded silently. Aloud, he kept his tone cool and professional. “What if he insists on going elsewhere?”

“He won’t,” Waco assured them. I’ve been learning all I can about this creep for over a year now. He’s a real passive-aggressive type. Always goes along when he’s pushed a little. Until he has you helpless, that is. Then he lets it all out at once.”

Starsky couldn’t help reacting slightly. That would have been his take too, just based on remembering the fixed stare he’d gotten from the guy this afternoon.

He directed his attention back to Waco, who continued, “Our biggest hassle will be if he doesn’t want to do anything other than tie you up and fuck you. We’ll have to bust him on vice charges and pray his fingerprints and hair match at least one other crime scene. I’d love to nail him on attempted murder, but realistically, I’ll be real happy if we can just get aggravated assault charges to stick. No way he’ll be able to make bail and skip out on me then.”

Hutch lost his appetite. He’d studiously avoided imagining what his partner was going to have to go through tonight, even though Waco had warned them up front that this bust was not going to happen on a dance floor. But now… Starsk, you’re gonna have to kiss him, let him undress you, babe. Let him touch you all over. I can’t sit and watch that!

His partner sensed his distress. Hutch felt Starsky’s hand under the table on his thigh, giving it a friendly squeeze. “Well, if he’s like most Johns, he’ll want to get down to what he paid for,” the smaller man said, as if Hutch had spoken aloud. “We should find out real quick once we get to the room what he’s in the mood for. My question is, how far can I encourage him without it being entrapment? I’m gonna let him initiate the bondage thing. After all, that’s what he came onto me for in the porn shop. But do I make a big deal about not getting hit once I’m tied up, or would that strike him as funny? If I don’t, can he say it was what we agreed to, an’ get out of the assault rap?”

“Tell him on camera that you can’t afford to have any bruises on you; bad for business. Absolutely no marks. That won’t arouse any suspicions; it’s pretty standard. Then if he throws one punch, we’ve got him. Think you can do it?”

Starsky grinned. “One dancin’ boy comin’ up.”

~~~

Dancing, however, was the only activity Starsky was called upon to perform that night. Ten o’clock came and went. Several more hours passed. Already a hit from the night before, he was in demand on the floor, and off as well. Hutch made more of an effort to mingle and dance, keeping close, but Townsend never darkened the door. Finally, well after midnight, Waco corralled Starsky into a slow dance number. “Think you got made?” he murmured against the top of a soft tumble of moist curls. By now Starsky had loosened up enough to mold nicely into his arms without awkwardness.

“Don’t see how,” the darker cop answered. “No chance he saw you followin’ him, you think?”

Waco shook his head. “No. I’d bet my shield on it. Unless the concierge said something.”

“Well, all we can do is hang out a few more hours in case he shows, and check him out tomorrow if he doesn’t, I guess. Here I was, hoping my feet wouldn’t kill me tonight.” He sighed in mock exasperation. Too tempting to pass up, Waco stole a quick kiss from those upturned pouty lips. Half a heartbeat later Hutch cut in smoothly with a smile that was all teeth.

“You’re enjoying yourself entirely too much, you know,” his partner groused. This could get to be a habit, then what?” Starsky had the grace to blush, but replied steadily enough, “Guess we’ll have to buy more LPs for us to dance to at home.” Warmth suffused the blond’s features, bursting into a rare, beautiful smile.

Starsky responded in kind, melting his partner’s pique. For a long moment their eyes met and held as they swayed together, saying nothing.

It occurred to Starsky that this was the one place, the one time, when he could not be called to account for openly expressing his feelings to his new old love. He propelled them to the edge of the crowd and leaned closer. Hutch held on, breathless, as Starsky’s mouth made intimate contact with his lips, his face, his hair. They embraced and exchanged loving caresses on the edge of the scene for some moments before Starsky reluctantly broke away.

“Guess I should get back to work, babe,” he murmured regretfully. “Later.” He slipped back into the crowd, tight round buns swaying in time to the music.

Oh my God. I love him, came Hutch’s unbidden response to the sight. I love him all the way. What the hell are we going to do?

Waco and they mutually decided to call it quits at closing time again. “I’ll stop by the St. Francis and show his picture around, then check out his hotel in a few hours. I’ll call you if I find out anything,” he promised, looking exhausted.

Hutch could not suppress a twinge of guilt; the Fed was more than holding up his end of the investigation. Starsky was putting himself on the line every night. Only Hutch was behaving like a fifth wheel. “Want company tomorrow?” he asked. “He’s only seen me that one time in the porn shop.” The agent appeared truly grateful, making Hutch feel even smaller. He could have been doing more than critiquing the man’s performance up to now.

“Love to have you along. Why don’t I pick you up at nine? He’s not likely to be anywhere but in bed then, considering he keeps late hours too.”

“What about me?” Starsky interjected. “Can I come?”

“Too risky,” the agent replied with a half-smile. “We may still have to try this again tonight and I don’t want to blow your cover. No, I’m afraid you’ll just have to suffer all alone in that great big bed. It’s tough I know, but Hutch and I’ll be sending you consoling thoughts all morning. Won’t we?”

“Never doubt it,” the blond answered, already sorry his conscience had gotten the better of his common sense. Too late now, Bozo. You think Waco would get up early if he had Starsk in his arms? Not a chance.

~~~

An hour or so later, the partners entered their hotel room door, utterly exhausted. Starsky was annoyed with his own fatigue, especially since Hutch would be getting up early to meet Waco. He’d wanted to be alone with Hutch all night, to talk, to touch, to try to understand what was happening to them. At times it felt as though this fierce desire had always been there between them, other moments, it seemed like a fantastic dream sequence that he’d awake from, not quite remembering how it all happened. He said as much as they prepared for bed.

Hutch conveyed his understanding with a few precious words. When they were in bed together with the lights out, he reached for his dark partner and nestled him next to his heart. “I know, babe. I’m sorry. I love you, David. We’ll work it out. Just get some rest, now.”

“Love you too, you big lug,” Starsky whispered, momentarily overcome. “I just wish I had enough energy to take a piss with.”

“Even if you did, I don’t,” came a chuckled reply. “Go to sleep, buddy. It’ll keep. We’re here for the long haul.”

Comforted by his partner’s soft promise, Starsky fell out almost at once.

~~~

When he awoke, it was to an empty room at noon. Hutch had been gone for hours. Funny, he thought, I’ve only slept with him for two nights and already I feel weird waking up by myself. This is gonna be a hell of a mess to cover up if I can’t keep my hands offa him in public. I’m liable to get us kicked off the Force if I can’t cool it.

He stumbled over to the table, only to discover several cheese and apple danishes and a thermos of hot coffee waiting. Waco again. Too bad I’m already in love with Hutch. This guy sure knows how to impress a person. He sat and helped himself, uneasy now despite the food before him. Waco was awful glad to have Hutch along today. Why did my partner volunteer for that anyway? A sudden image of their embrace the night before last recurred. What or whom does Waco want, really? Is he just a cocktease or is there some point to it all?

Quite deliberately, Starsky turned his attention to the case. Wonder if they found out anything. Something musta come up for the guy not to show like that. As if on cue, the phone rang harshly in the small room. Starsky picked it up, still clumsy with sleep. “Yeah?”

“Starsk?” It was Hutch. From his inflection alone, Starsky knew something was very wrong.

“What, babe? Tell me.” His sharp premonition of disaster was confirmed.

“Gibson…he’s dead. And Townsend didn’t return to his hotel last night.” Hutch drew a breath and continued, “Didn’t check out yet, though. He’s still there. Listen, can you meet us? We gotta talk.”

~~~

Hutch and the Fed had driven off in the morning sunlight, expecting a routine check of Townsend’s hotel, nothing more. At first, it looked as if that was all they would get.

Waco wasn’t bad company. Despite the late hours they’d been keeping, he was fresh and sharp.

Several people at the St. Francis had confirmed for him that the photo looked familiar, though no one was really sure how often he’d been around, or with whom.

The concierge reluctantly checked with the housekeeping people. Yes, Mr. Townsend was in his room, asleep, with a Do Not Disturb sign on the door. He had been out late. Inquiries of the night staff established that he’d come in around five.

Back in Waco’s blue sedan, the pair of lawmen slumped over their coffee. “Now what?” Hutch griped. “Guess we can’t bust him for standing up Starsky.”

“Even though that really is a crime,” Waco agreed mischievously. “So, he picked up somebody else instead, I guess. Wonder where they met, where they went.”

“And what shape his date’s in this morning. We’d better call Dobey and hope there’s no news.”

The only message through Metro Dispatch was to call Huggy Bear at home. He’d gotten a lead on the whereabouts of their missing victim last night from a few dealers. A street urchin, Gibson was known to crash in an abandoned theater on the edge of the red-light district. Various street kids slept there from time to time. It was also an easy place to deal and do drugs. The boy had a reputation as a speed freak; for a few lines of crystal meth he could recite the Gettysburg address at double time and often did, to the chagrin of his companions.

No one had seen him since he’d vanished from the hospital, but even money was that he’d be there, licking his wounds and getting high. He’d be back out cruising when his dope ran out.

“Guess we may as well give it a try,” Waco replied at the news. “No point in sitting here all day. Townsend doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere any time soon.”

The Savoy had been closed for several years but Hutch knew exactly where it was. Zebra Three had cracked a case in the vicinity involving a serial killer of cab drivers. Starsky was the bait that time, too. It had been close, too close. He’d received a concussion from the killer and Hutch had barely made it in time to save him. Old guilt snaked around the blond cop’s soul. He was the one who had blindly sent Starsky off with the supposed little old lady that nearly killed him. If he’d been ten minutes later…

“Where to?” Waco broke into his reverie. He hastily jerked himself back to the present and gave directions.

The red-light district was quiet in the morning sun; customers, hookers, and dealers were all presumably asleep. Dead newspapers and booze bottles, fast food wrappers, used condoms and works littered the now empty streets. Torrid and seamy after dark, it struck a note of sordid melancholy by day. Who could say how many had truly survived the night there?

Hutch directed them to the theater a few blocks off the main strip. Here the oppression was even worse. It was a magnificent old building, grand and echoing with the greatest works written in English. Discolored bills from the last play still shrouded the ornate glass marquees around the entrance. The encroaching sleaze had destroyed its business; no one came to this part of town after dark to see a play anymore. At times it appeared to be the heart of a disease that would someday overtake the entire city.

It wasn’t hard to get in; the squatters routinely left one of the doors propped open. Hutch entered first, gun drawn in case one of the inhabitants took umbrage at their arrival. A quick look around did not reveal any. Debris of recent habitation led them further into the building, then up a lovely carved staircase to the balcony. The carpet was threadbare under their feet and the faded velvet curtains had been pulled down in piles to make bedding. Seat cushions had been similarly employed. Metal garbage cans held traces of fires along the corridors. An occasional rustle kept the cop alert, but the only shadows moving were those of rats.

Waco sniffed the musty air with increasing alarm at the top of the stairs. At first Hutch thought he was merely being fastidious, then he caught it too. A faint odor of blood and rotten meat. He followed the telltale buzzing of flies towards a balcony box.

The concentration of rats and flies gave it away even though the body had not begun to really reek. They’d been feasting. Hutch swallowed hard to keep his coffee down but it burned the back of his throat. He hated nothing more than this.

“Motherfucker!” Waco whispered the obscenity between clenched teeth in the putrid air. “It’s Gibson.”

The boy’s hands and feet were bound with duct tape, which had also been used to gag him. One bloodshot eye still bulged in horror, the other had already been eaten out. Thick dark curls lay flat in places, matted with blood. He’d been bony and frail in life, a typical speed freak. Now he resembled nothing more than a broken child. Congealed blood coated the floor around the naked prone body. A lot of it. Hutch kept trying to swallow.

“He was twenty.” The agent’s voice choked with suppressed rage. “Let’s call it in. Well need a crime lab team and a coroner here quick, with all these damn rats around.”

It was a blessed relief to make the calls from the car, to hear Starsky’s voice. Starsky… That kid could have been your little brother in ten years. Looked like him. Like you. Hutch rubbed a stray tear from his eye, hoping the Fed didn’t notice. His hair…I wanted to touch it like yours, Starsk. Oh. Jesus! I don’t want you to see him. Those fucking pictures were bad enough.

Waco said nothing, just stared out the windshield until the calls were done. Then he regarded his passenger gravely. He didn’t bother asking if Hutch was okay; it was perfectly clear he was not. Wordless, he reached over with one long arm and left it over the back of the seat. Such was the cop’s anguish that the covert compassion offered was accepted without comment. For several long minutes they simply sat beside each other, sharing each other’s warmth. Another tear squeezed out from behind a closed eyelid. Then another. Hutch knew if he opened his eyes, he’d lose the battle to contain them completely. A feather light fingertip to his pale cheek consoled even as it affirmed that Waco knew he was crying.

“It’s okay. Nobody here but us chickens,” Waco murmured softly. “I know… I know. He looked like Starsky, only younger, not so strong. Just a kid…And he hurt so bad, was so scared and so helpless…”

Hutch almost lost it then. A sob erupted painfully from his chest before he could suppress it. He tended to cry more easily than his partner, who never teased him about it. Starsky acted as if that made him special. Only when Terry died was Starsk able to express his grief, and only with him. No one else.

Hutch acknowledged he wasn’t that tough. Waco’s solace was taken gratefully at face value. Nothing further was said for some time as he alternately longed for and dreaded Starsky’s arrival. It seemed like hours, but was barely twenty minutes before the red Torino roared up the street and pulled behind them. He’d beaten everyone else to the scene, as usual. The pair in the blue sedan got out at his arrival.

Starsky peered carefully as his partner’s red eyes, then glanced at Waco for confirmation of something. Whatever he was looking for, he must have seen, for he nodded to the agent. “Wanna show me the body?”

Not really, partner. Hutch managed to point to the theater entrance. “This way.”

Eventually the coroner, the black and whites, the crime lab, even Captain Dobey came and went. Finally, only he, Starsky, and Waco remained.

Starsky was coolly noncommittal on the surface, but Hutch could sense a rage as deep and powerful as… Waco’s. It was just as well since fury left no room for fear. That would be Hutch’s burden; one he must keep to himself. Starsky should perceive only support and reassurance from him.

“Now what? Can we pick Townsend up for questioning an’ see what he says?”

Waco sighed. “Probable cause, Starsk? We still don’t have a thing on him except that he likes dirty magazines and tried to pick you up. We have to find some link between him and Gibson. Were they seen together? Was Townsend looking for him?”

Hutch shook his head. “I can’t believe the kid would willingly go with someone who’d just put him in the hospital. It makes no sense at all. And why wind up here? This hasn’t been the killer’s pattern up ’til now. My guess is that he came here for Gibson to clean up a loose end and decided to have fun at the same time.” It had been obvious as the body was turned over and removed, what the cause of death was. The same horrible pattern of mutilation had recurred, resulting in the boy’s massive hemorrhage.

“So how did he know where to find Gibson? He’s a stranger in town, right? He had to ask somebody.” Starsky paused, then continued. “He musta done what Huggy did; ask the dealers. He’s been buying from somebody if he’s been laying dope on his victims. They woulda told him.”

“So who told Huggy Bear? If we can find a dealer willing to point to a picture and say ‘this guy was looking for Gibson the other night,’ we got probable cause.” Waco was becoming excited. “Let’s call him.”

“His contacts may not be willing to talk to us though,” Hutch warned. “We’d better drop off the picture with Huggy and let him field it. They’ll be more likely to cooperate with him. I’d say it’s definitely time for lunch.”

~~~

The Pits was a setting for contained chaos at the best of times; today Huggy’s favorite barmaid was late and he was doing his best to cope. Three Huggarino specials later, Zebra Three and company were beginning to feel less troubled. Huggy had agreed to walk the photo around and get back to them ASAP.

“One thing I don’t get,” Starsky muttered between bites. “Why change his style? He never went after survivors before, right? Why this kid now? What’s he afraid of? There has to be a reason.”

“Maybe he’s tired of being on the run and wants to settle down,” Waco mused. “Serial killers usually do get bolder and more vicious over time. They start off scared with a crime of opportunity. Gradually they get more experienced and better at making their opportunities. They escalate in frequency and severity as they get comfortable with a routine.”

The blond cop snorted. “You make it sound like a career.”

“It is, Hutch. It’s what he lives for, how he defines himself. This isn’t some compulsion that he fights off, then succumbs to. He’s always waiting. That does bring up a question that’s been bugging me for over a year though. Where does he get his money from? For the men, for the dope, just for living expenses, traveling money.”

“Maybe he’s a dealer,” Starsky suggested. “We’ve been thinking he’s a buyer; but maybe we should have Huggy check to see if he’s supplying too. That would make his moving around make more sense. He could have a network of contacts in various cities that he services. An’ we even know what he’d deal: coke, PCP, speed.”

Hutch snapped his fingers. “The dope. That’s one reason Gibson would have met him again, at the theater. But Starsk, he’d have to be employed by a known organization. He can’t just plop himself into somebody else’s territory and set up shop. He’d have gotten himself killed by now.”

“Which means that the DEA might have a file on this guy. Why don’t we ask Dobey to send his picture an’ find out?” He turned to the FBI agent, who was listening intently. “You said he usually stays about a month or so in each place. He gradually escalates during that lime, then moves on after one or two murders. What if he just restrains himself until his dope business is almost done?”

Waco’s eyes glittered green. “He checked in his hotel two weeks ago. Either he’s ahead of schedule on business, or he made an exception for Gibson and he’ll still be here for two weeks. Let’s assume the latter for the moment. After all, this killing wasn’t quite typical for him. We may still get a positive ID from a victim in another city, the DEA may come up with something. I’ve already had our composite and photos sent to Washington. Huggy might hear something. If we get anything from anybody, we’ve got probable cause to bust him early. Otherwise, were still waiting at the Green Parrot for a date.”

“Can’t we at least put him under surveillance? I mean, suppose he runs into somebody prettier than me an’ wants to take them out instead? I don’t want to look at that mess again.”

“Cheaper maybe, babe, but not prettier.” Starsky blushed lightly as Waco chuckled. Hutch continued, “I agree though. We should try to convince Dobey to stake out this guy with another team. Maybe Narcotics would like in.”

The agent nodded. “Okay. But if he’s planning to stay another week or two, he probably won’t kill again soon. I keep thinking there’s another reason Gibson got it now. I’ll run a background check on him. Maybe there’s a connection we don’t know about. He sure wasn’t interested in fingering anybody while he was in the hospital. Yet, the killer goes out of his way to take him out. He had to know something.”

“So why didn’t Townsend or whoever just kill him the first time around?”

“Suppose he threatened the killer with exposure or somethin’ after he got to the hospital. Tried to blackmail him for more dope or whatnot? Maybe Townsend didn’t look for him, but the other way around.”

“The phone company would have a record of calls placed from the kid’s room,” Hutch replied slowly. “Another possible lead.”

“Well, gentlemen. I’d say we’ve got enough work for one afternoon. Let’s go,”

~~~

Few answers had surfaced by the time Starsky was polishing the dance floor. The DEA had no outstanding warrants on a Mr. Ralph Townsend. Huggy was hitting a brick wall. No one was willing to admit the guy was a player, and he apparently hadn’t asked anybody about Gibson’s whereabouts. No other city police had called back either.

The only phone call Gibson had made from the hospital was to a pay phone in the Green Parrot itself. Waco was doing his best to find out whom the kid had talked to, but no one was being forthcoming. Hutch had taken up his position nearby, tension coiled in every muscle. The morning’s gruesome discovery had not faded from his interior sight.

The hours dragged on; Starsky had begun to believe he would never want to dance again when a familiar hand tapped his shoulder at the bar. After so long waiting, it seemed almost anticlimactic to be accosted by the suspect again. It took all his will power not to turn and look for Hutch.

“Would you like to dance?” Townsend inquired politely. “I was watching you before. You move really well.”

I’d really rather shoot you. “You betcha. I was hopin’ you’d come tonight.” He gave his best invitational sunshine grin to match. Starsky found some floor space towards the center and led him along. Only then did he dare glance around for his backup. He didn’t have to look far. With unerring instinct the tall blond was right behind Townsend, almost peering over his shoulder. They exchanged glances as Starsky began dancing with his date.

Townsend was a better dancer then Starsky would have figured him for. He kept pace easily with the younger man, moving close, then further out. They did several numbers together. Funny, if I wasn’t expecting him to try to kill me, I could really enjoy this. He certainly seems to be. Then again, maybe he’s just picturing turning me into shish kabob.

Out of breath finally, the stranger offered to buy him a drink. Starsky had been carefully sticking to soda for three thirsty nights, but now was the time to go along. He ordered a Margarita, as Waco had suggested earlier. “Whores always order expensive drinks from johns in bars, Starsk. It’s how they return the favor to the establishment for letting them hang out and do business. Otherwise they’d get kicked out after a while. He’d be suspicious if you didn’t do likewise.”

They found an out of the way table towards the back and sat. Even here men crowded in various positions of mutual compromise. But at least it was quieter. At first Townsend didn’t have much to say; he simply watched as Starsky sipped at his drink. Measuring me for my coffin, I guess. Maybe I should be a little more aggressive here. After all, I’m an experienced whore, not a cheerleader. He slid closer, still sipping, until their thighs met under the table. A hint of a smile now crossed the man’s face. His hand dropped to Starsky’s leg and caressed it, wandering up to his crotch. The cop’s gasp and shiver were entirely real, which brought a broad smirk to his companion.

“You enjoy your work, don’t you, friend? What’s your name?” His voice was a lot less flat now. Interest gleamed from his amused eyes.

“David.” Somehow Starsky kept smiling back. All he could think was that Hutch was near, that he couldn’t blow it now. We’ve got him. Now to reel him in, real careful like.

“David.” He repeated it slowly, liking the sound of it. “Well David, should we get a room somewhere? I’d like to see how well you move in bed. Same price we talked about yesterday? Same scene?”

“Yeah; sure. You got it.” He made as if to rise, but the other man patted his thigh.

“Relax, David. You’ve been dancing hard. There’s no rush, is there? I’ll pay you well. Have another drink.” His eyes were darker now, almost obsidian.

What’s he up to? This ain’t how johns usually act. He knows the meter’s running an’ I ain’t cheap. Realization dawned in the pit of his stomach. He ain’t plannin’ on paying. All the same, he knew this was a whore’s dream and gratefully ordered another Margarita. Wonder if he wants me drunk? Is that how he operates? He leaned back into the man’s hand, which now caressed the back of his neck, fingering his curls. As the second drink arrived, Townsend moved closer still, his arm across Starsky’s shoulder, face nuzzling into his ear.

“You like to get a little high, David? Something to make it more intense for you? I bet you like a little spoonful every so often don’t you?”

Starsky faced him eagerly. “Course. You want me to find us some?”

Townsend kissed his lips softly. “That won’t be necessary. I have my own stash nearby. Let’s go. I want to see what’s in those nice tight jeans.” His hand splayed across Starsky’s zipper and squeezed just hard enough make him gasp again. “I think I’m going to enjoy you, David.”

As they rose to leave, Starsky considered that the guy had come on to him a lot stronger than vice versa. Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around? But then again, he liked to tie guys up. Maybe being the aggressor from the get go was part of the whole turn on for him. In any case, it was working.

The night air felt cool on his face as they stepped through the door. “Wanna head over to the St. Francis? It’s right up the street.” Starsky volunteered on cue. “No hassles from the manager, cheap rates.”

“Sure, why not?” he replied disinterestedly. “But we’ve got to stop at my car for the stash. I don’t carry it on me. Too risky. It’s right down there.” A nondescript late model beige Chevy sat at the end of the block. Starsky followed along, masking his trepidation. It was plausible enough. Besides, it wasn’t like he couldn’t take the guy out if he got cute. And Hutch was somewhere right behind him in the dark.

They reached the car and Townsend opened the trunk. “Here it is. A few nice toots. Real good shit. I have everything we need.”

“Sounds terrific.” At least we can bust him on possession and distribution for sure.

“I don’t want to walk around with this stuff anywhere I don’t have to. Jump in, we’ll drive up to the St. Francis and park around back.” The man closed the trunk and went over to the side door where Starsky was waiting. He carried a rumpled paper bag in his hand.

All too damn reasonable. This is spooky. But what if I say no? We’re liable to lose him. Goddamnit. I wish I had my gun. Aloud he replied, “You think you might lose a good parkin’ place? The lot back there is full lotsa times. Maybe we better walk. It ain’t that far.” He meandered away from the car, giving Townsend time to make up his mind. After all, I’m supposed to be careful, right?

The man capitulated just when Starsky thought he’d lost. “Okay, David. We’ll walk.” They fell into step beside each other and turned back up the street. As they went by the Green Parrot, Starsky saw Hutch and Waco across the street in a doorway out of the corner of his eye. They were apparently in deep conversation, ending with a passionate embrace and a kiss. His face flamed a little in the dark despite his relief at seeing them. They’d never been more than 30 feet away.

Once at the St. Francis, Starsky nonchalantly asked for 311 if it was available. Townsend looked quizzical until he explained that it had a functioning air conditioner. He’d worried that the excuse would sound bogus on a pleasant night, but Waco assured him that Townsend would appreciate it. Suddenly he knew why; it kept the windows closed and drowned out a lot of sound.

They took to the stairs without further conversation. Three eleven was at the far end of the hall around a corner. Townsend’s perpetual half smile was broader now; he approved. You wouldn’t be so smug if you knew what was next door, mister, just you wait.

The older man allowed Starsky to open the door and enter, then followed him. He’s bein’ cautious too, in case I try to rip him off. What a crock of shit way to live! The bare bulb in the ceiling revealed a sagging double bed, an unmatched dresser, a straight-backed chair. A small bathroom opened to one side. The air conditioner was noisy but it cooled the room well enough. A large mirror hung on the wall adjoining the next room.

Starsky imagined what lay beyond it. Hopefully Hutch and Waco had taken up their positions while he’d been checking in downstairs. The camera and microphones should be already on, operated by a police technician. It was show time.

He crossed over to the chair and dropped his leather jacket onto it. Keep cool, buddy. It’s just a game. Everything’s under control. Despite his repeating mantra, Starsky’s stomach was in knots. Townsend came up behind him and hugged his waist, hands crossing to the front of his jeans. His teeth tickled the dark curls at the base of Starsky’s neck. It was murder, but Starsky managed to relax his muscles and force himself to lean back into the man seductively. You were right, Hutch. This is real hard. Hope I can pull it off.

If it were you, it wouldn’t be hard at all. It would feel so good… Starsky deliberately closed his eyes to imagine a tall blond man with large, rugged hands fingering his crotch, opening his buckle and zipper. He tried to picture Hutch’s blue eyes darkening with stormy desire as his partner pulled open his shirt.

But this wasn’t Hutch. The man swung him around suddenly and slapped him hard enough to tumble him backwards towards the bed. Time to earn my money, he reflected as he resisted the instinct to strike back. If all he wanted was sex, he coulda picked up somebody there for free. He forced himself to look inviting, falling back onto the bed. “Like I said yesterday, no marks, right? I gotta earn a living, y’know,” he reminded his john regretfully.

Townsend smiled blandly. “I remember. No rough stuff, just some tape and a few smacks on your gorgeous checks. Take off your clothes, David. I want to see them now. I want to see all of you. Then we can do a few lines, get more in the mood.”

He slowly did as he was told, then lounged on the bed nude as Townsend produced a small mirror, a razor blade, a rolled-up dollar bill and a small vial filled with white powder. With expertise born of long practice the dealer prepared four generous white lines along the surface of the mirror.

Townsend helped himself to the first line, snorting it through the dollar bill in less than a second. He inhaled sharply, tossing his head back with the rush. “Here you go. It’s real pure. You’re going to love it.” He passed the dollar bill along with the glass, then ran his palm down Starsky’s smooth back, across his jutting ass.

Starsky had never done cocaine before but he’d patrolled long enough on the street to know how. There was no time to second guess this. He put the dollar bill to the next line and copied Townsend’s maneuver as the man watched. Hope this doesn’t blow our case right here, but if I refused, we’d be history. He handed the paraphernalia back to the dealer. “You weren’t shittin’ me, man; that’s great.”

It was too. He instantly understood why people were so fond of it. His lungs first burned with the unaccustomed coating, then a burst of pure pleasure began to course through his blood with each breath he took. It heated his skin, his nerve endings, even his hair. His heart was starting to pound in response to the extraordinary central nervous system stimulation. All his senses cleared, heightened. His nose was tingling with power like a bloodhound’s. It was amazing. As if he was in the middle of making love, about to come. But no one was even touching him now. No wonder whores love this shit.

Townsend did the third line without hesitation. A subtle shift in his posture alarmed Starsky. He was feeling powerful, all right. He handled Starsky the bill and mirror again, then got up to retrieve his paper bag.

Starsky made sure his back was turned before he blew the rest of the dope onto the floor. God knows, if l did as much as he just did. I’d probably OD. This is wild enough.

Townsend returned to the bed, pulling a roll of duct tape from the bag. “You’re going to love this, man. Nothing like feeling you want to jump out of your skin, but not be able to. You want me to touch you now, don’t you.” It was not a question. Starsky felt no need to answer. Even the knowledge that he was being observed couldn’t break through the cocaine fever. He held out his hands before him in a posture of submission. Townsend grasped his wrists and pulled them behind his back. He wrapped them together with several tight courses of tape. A moment later he’d done the same with Starsky’s ankles. Then he stepped back to admire his dark captive. His eyes glittered with mounting excitement in the dimly lit room.

The dealer advanced on him again, enjoying the wide blue eyes staring up with trepidation. “You’re a little nervous, aren’t you David? Relax.” He kissed him roughly, then pushed up on Starsky’s chin, holding it in place as he drew a piece of tape across his mouth. It was really hard not to be afraid, looking at this man. Starsky couldn’t help but recall the body he’d viewed at the theater.

Hutch, buddy, I would really love to see your face, hear your voice right now. I’m feelin’ so weird an’ out of control. An’ now this. Please God, let this be over with soon.

His eyes opened even wider as Townsend unbuckled his belt and pulled it out of his pants loops. It was narrow but thick black leather and made a smart crack as the dealer doubled it and smacked it across his palm.

~~~

Hutch had forced himself to sit motionlessly as Starsky slithered out of his clothes. The come-hither half smile on his face never cracked, not even when Townsend slapped him. The deep blue of his eyes had turned smoky, nearly violet, his pupils huge as he’d ingested the drug. He was an utter mystery, a naked stranger in Starsky’s skin.

Now he looked even more exotic bound and gagged on the bed, drugged and frightened. It was impossible not to respond; Hutch felt his crotch tighten painfully under his jeans. Goddamnit, Starsky’s in danger and you’re thinking about screwing him, you asshole. This psycho is about to whip him. Oh geez, Starsk l don’t know how I’m gonna watch this.

Waco must have been wondering too, for he stood behind Hutch’s chair and placed both hands on his shoulders, massaging them. Ostensibly it was comforting, but it was a warning as well. Hutch swallowed, his mouth unbearably dry. “How far do we let this thing go? He’s gonna beat the shit out of him.”

“We’re not going to let him, Hutch. But if we jump in too soon, we’ll have made Starsky suffer through all this for nothing. Try to hang on.” Waco patted his blond hair gently. “As soon as we see assault we’ve nailed him.”

It’s gonna hurt, no way out of it. Starsky, forgive me; Waco’s right. Despite his resolve, the first crack of the belt across Starsky’s buttocks had him half out of the chair. Only Waco’s restraining hands held him in place.

“It’s loud and scary, but it really doesn’t hurt that much. He’s okay.”

After a few minutes of Townsend’s abuse he didn’t look okay. It was breaking Hutch’s heart to see tears begin to course down his partner’s face. The humiliation he must be enduring, knowing we’re filming this, it must be killing him. His round ass and backs of his thighs were showing off vivid red stripes.

That was apparently the response Townsend was waiting for. He set the belt aside and brutally squeezed the lacerated flesh, then turned Starsky over. “You look gorgeous, David. So sweet and juicy. Too good to use up in a quickie. I’m going to savor you for a while.” Without warning he bit into Starsky’s neck. Hutch could see blood, hear Starsky’s groan despite the gag. Dark blue eyes went nearly black with terror.

Waco released his shoulders but held onto Hutch’s arm as he rose. “One more minute…” Townsend descended towards Starsky’s chest, his mouth bloody. His teeth fastened on a nipple. “Now!”

The door splintered before their force as Waco shouted, “Police! You’re under arrest.” He grabbed the dealer and tossed him across the room, away from Hutch. He’d clearly thought out this move in advance. Deprived of his prey, Hutch directed his attention to his partner. He took Starsky in his arms and peeled off the gag. It took a bit more fussing to cut the tape from his wrists and ankles. Starsky was shaking uncontrollably, his whole body slick with cold sweat.

“Geez, buddy! You guys get lost or somethin’? I thought I was gonna die!” He was panting to catch his breath now that the tape no longer impeded his breathing. Hutch finished freeing him and wrapped him gently in the worn bedspread. Starsky clutched his waist and buried his face in the front of Hutch’s shirt. Unwilling to let go himself, Hutch sat beside him on the bed, hugging him back fiercely.

Waco had cuffed the assailant and read him his Miranda rights in the meantime. The man glared over at Starsky, face twisted viciously. “I knew we should have gone for that ride!”

Hutch felt a renewed tremor pass through his friend. It enraged him, but holding onto Starsky was more important than getting up to hit the creep. “Where to, the Savoy?” he growled. He derived no small satisfaction from watching Townsend’s face pale as Waco propelled him out the door. Several uniformed cops waited there to take him into custody.

Business concluded, Waco joined them on the bed. “You okay, Starsk?” He gently probed an eyelid to examine the pupil, then lifted a corner of the sheet to inspect the deep bites on his neck and chest. They were no longer bleeding as profusely but had mingled with his sweat enough to appear quite gory. “We’re gonna get you to a hospital.”

“Don’t want to,” came a muffled reply from the dark head nestled onto his partner. “Wanna go home an’ take a shower.” Hutch looked up helplessly. That was his instinct too, to get Starsky the hell away from there and safely home with him.

“Of course you do,” Waco soothed. “You will, buddy. But you need a tetanus shot and some antibiotics first. And, I hate to say it, but we need some ER tests and photos to substantiate the assault charges. Your job’s not over yet tonight. Besides, that was a hefty line you did. Wouldn’t hurt for them to observe you for a little while.”

Bitter words checked before he uttered them. Hutch nodded in reluctant accord. The Fed was correct, but that didn’t make it any easier. “Can I take him?”

“You bet. Go on, get out of here. I’ll call you after I’m done at the station.”

“Don’t I get any say in this?” Starsky demanded, his face flushed.

“Course you do, curly. You get to decide if you’re gonna put your clothes back on or go wrapped in a bedsheet.” He paused. “The evidence guys’ll be coming to vacuum up that dope on the floor pretty soon. I’ll hand the rest over to Narcotics to test. We’ve got him holding, distributing, and God knows what’s in the car, plus aggravated assault.”

He ruffled the wet dark curls matted against Hutch. “Thanks to those nasty bites you took we’ve got probable cause to match the prints and bite marks here with the Savoy and a dozen other scenes. With any luck, he’ll be booked for Gibson’s murder by this afternoon. You did real good, Starsk.”

~~~

It was nearly three before the ER released him. Starsky was unusually quiet, but his eyes were almost normal. He’d pulled into a shell for the duration of the hospital stay. Hutch eyed him worriedly while driving to his partner’s apartment. It was impossible to tell if he was mad, upset, scared, or simply exhausted. He just kept staring out the window.

Once they arrived and climbed the stairs to the front door, Starsky turned away before opening it. “I really need to get some sleep, Hutch.”

At first, he didn’t comprehend, then the blood drained from his face. Starsky was sending him away. Didn’t even want him inside. The intensity of the pain in his chest shocked him. He could barely nod, afraid to try to speak. “Okay.”

“G’night, Hutch. See ya tomorrow.” Starsky unlocked the door as his partner descended the stairs.

Still in a state of bewilderment. Hutch sat in the LTD for several minutes. What did I do? Does he think we waited too long? Was he just disgusted by this guy touching him? Oh God, what do I do now? I love him. I need him. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself. Cut it out. This shouldn’t be about you now. What’s he feeling? Is he scared? Angry? He was aloof at the hospital, but I thought he was just hiding.

His eye caught something next to him on the seat. Starsky’s bag of antibiotics. He forgot it. He needs them. It would make perfect sense for me to go up and hand it to him. Nothing pushy about that. Gripping his courage with one hand, the bag with the other, he proceeded back up the stairs.

~~~

Why did I do that? Starsky paced urgently in his kitchen, beer in hand. I didn’t want him to go like that. He flipped off the bottle top and took a long pull. He just left, didn’t say a fucking word. Didn’t ask about it or nothin’. Maybe he was relieved to get away from me. He forced himself to replay the scene again, reviewing each movement, every word. Did I hurt him? Is that why he just left?

Starsky never had been good at lying to himself. Too costly. I did it to hurt him. I was mad at Townsend, at Waco, at everybody. An’ I took it out on him because he was closest an’ I thought I could get away with it. Figured he would fight me over it. He swallowed another gulp guiltily. I didn’t expect him to just leave. Ah shit, I really fucked up.

He sat, abruptly frightened. A clear image of Hutch’s beautiful features contorted in rage returned. He really wanted to kill Townsend. Lucky thing Waco was there. But then he covered me and held me like a sick kid. Stayed with me at the hospital. No wonder he left without a word. Oh geez, I really insulted him. An’ for what? Doin’ what we’d planned all week? What the fuck did I expect? He warned me it was gonna be rough. They both did. But I was real tough, right? Wouldn’t bother me.

A tentative knock on the door ended his reverie. Goddamnit, it’s Waco, checking on us, an’ I ain’t in no mood to deal with his shit. The knock recurred, louder. Guess he ain’t gonna give up. He musta seen the light on from the street. Starsky went over to the door without opening it. “What? Can’tcha tell I’m trying to sleep? Call me in the morning.”

“You left your pills in the car.” Hutch’s voice was clear, but low. “Sorry.”

Starsky flung the door open to see the bag dropped on the sill, his partner retreating down the stairs again. “Hutch! Wait!” That halted his forward motion, but he didn’t turn around. Starsky swallowed hard. “I thought you were Waco. Didn’t mean to yell. You, uh, wanna beer?”

For an endless moment, Starsky thought he didn’t hear. Then he half turned on the staircase. “Thought you wanted to go to sleep.” His face was ravaged.

“Aw shit! C’mere, willya?” Hutch turned all the way and stared but made no reply. Remorse was now laced with panic. “C’mon Hutch. I was just being a fuckin’ asshole. You shoulda let Townsend screw me.”

That cracked through whatever held his partner motionless on the stairs. Hutch bounded up the rest and grasped Starsky’s biceps in a painful grip. “Don’t you ever say that! You think I enjoyed that? You think I wanted to just stand there and let him hurt you like that?”

“Hey, I…”

“Do you really think I don’t know how hard that was for you?” Hutch released his arms and covered his eyes, head bowed. He began to turn away, but Starsky reached for his face. It was wet beneath his palm.

“Aw c’mon, babe. I’m sorry.” His arms circled Hutch’s waist. “Don’t.”

The hug was passionately returned. “I’m sorry too, Starsk. Believe me…”

“Ssshh. Let’s go inside.” He managed to pick up the bag and propel them through the door, closing it behind them. Then they were holding each other again. What a fuckin’ jerk I am! Almost made him go away. Hutch pulled him closer. Recriminations were over.

Hutch’s mouth against his was desperate, hungry, as if he feared Starsky would change his mind.

It was beyond anything Starsky could remember; no one had ever driven him to this immediate, reckless state of pure sexual craving before. Then Hutch eased up and broke for air, groaning with mounting desire. His mouth continued to tantalize, circling an ear hiding beneath dark curls, sliding down the uninjured side of his throat. “Want you, babe. I want you so bad. Please…”

“I’m right here, blondie. It’s okay.” He tousled Hutch’s locks, reveling in their long silken strands. All his residual petty fears vanished in Hutch’s fierce embrace. This was his partner, his beloved brother in arms. There was no place on earth he could be safer. He sighed, relaxing further, soaking up the captivating sensations his lover offered so freely. We’re both gonna be so damn horny, hope we make it to the bed.

“Let’s get out of the hallway,” he murmured. Hutch let out a tiny, breathless laugh against his check, then kissed him again, deep and wet. His hands massaged and stroked unceasingly. One slid down to Starsky’s ass and gave a tentative squeeze. A loud ouch escaped before Starsky could stifle it.

“Oh geez babe. I’m sorry. I forgot.” Hutch’s kisses and caresses became more meltingly tender. He led Starsky, arm around his waist, to the bathroom.

“Wha—?”

“You wanted a bath, remember?” Hutch nuzzled the back of his neck as he whispered. “Well, I want to give you one. Let me get this stuff offa you.” Those restless hands lifted and tugged, smoothed and tickled his underarm hair. Starsky writhed defenselessly before the onslaught. Then it became necessary to just let his partner hold him close as his shirt hit the floor. It was so utterly perfect.

Hutch inserted the plug and flipped on the faucet, then resumed the task of disrobing his partner. Starsky scuffed off his sneakers and pulled his socks off with his toes, then leaned against Hutch as he opened his belt and jeans. His elegant fingers slid along Starsky’s skin, pulling jeans and briefs down all at once.

It was a blessed relief to be free of his clothes. His buttocks and thighs were still flushed and tender. Then Hutch did the most astonishing thing; kneeling behind his lover, he softly kissed and licked every stripe. Starsky moaned with surprised delight, his fingers twining back into long flaxen hair. “I… I guess I won’t need the tub at this rate,” he got out, trembling.

Hutch pressed his face against one smooth rounded cheek. “Want you so much. Want to make you feel so special. Like no one else. Love you, buddy.” He reached over to turn off the faucet. “In you go, babe. Nice and cool.” As Starsky slipped into the waiting water and slid down, he knew with utter certainty there could never be another lover for him. Hutch discarded his holstered gun and shirt, knelt by the side of the tub and began his soapy ministrations with long loving passes from head to toe.

“I don’t think I’ve felt like this since I was a little kid,” he murmured, entranced as Hutch thoroughly bathed him. “I wanted the bath because he made me feel dirty an’ used. I guess you knew that. But now I feel scrubbed clean, inside an’ out. Like I’m some polished jewel in a museum or somethin’.”

“You are. Beautiful and precious.” Hutch leaned forward and found his lips again. His caresses built in fervor. Starsky clung to him, then slowly they rose together. Hutch grabbed a towel and proceeded to make his partner feel even more treasured as he carefully dried him from head to foot.

“Y’know, you could spoil me if you’re not careful. I might get to expect this every night.” Starsky pressed his lips into the satiny hollow of Hutch’s wide collarbone. “We gotta take turns.” His hands roamed freely over the bare chest, so unlike his own, loving it. “You feel delicious to me.”

“I’m not done yet, babe. Come with me.” Hutch steered him into the bedroom and urged him face down onto the bed. “Hold on a second.”

He speculated briefly as Hutch clunked around in the kitchen. Then his partner returned holding a small bottle of olive oil. He started slightly, then grinned at his new lover with perfect trust. “I’m gonna smell like a salad.”

Undeterred, Hutch poured a little onto Starsky’s back and began kneading his broad shoulders. “Fuss, fuss, fuss. You’ll be edible. Tomorrow I’ll get you some scented oil, something earthy and spicy and clean, not too sweet or clingy. Like you.” He worked skillfully, seeking out areas of tension and soothing soreness away. Starsky gave himself over to this rare indulgence without further comment. His theatrically loud moans said it all.

Hutch was teutonically precise. Not one inch of Starsky’s skin was to escape his slippery massage. He worked down across the back, his touch soothing at the buttocks and thighs. Starsky was in heaven. Even his calves and the soles of his feet were treated to a thorough rubdown. He rolled over on command without a second thought.

The character of the massage changed after Hutch finished his arms and legs. Expectancy built between them. A small dollop of oil glistened in the dark crinkly hair between Starsky’s nipples. Hutch avoided the one bandaged in the hospital and focused on its undamaged mate. The drawn-out strokes subtly shifted to caresses. His handling took on a more heated urgency. Starsky quickly rediscovered how easily Hutch could arouse him this way.

He pulled his partner down to reciprocate. It was odd for a bedmate to weigh more than him, but he gave it little thought. The contrast between the delicate texture of the blond’s skin and the strength in his muscular chest was totally enticing. He moaned happily as their mouths came together again. Hutch was painstaking at that too. No one else had ever kissed him as if every fiber of his being had to be tasted and absorbed through his tongue.

“I was wrong; you are a good kisser,” Hutch whispered against his check.

“So’re you. You’re making me so damn hot! Feels like my skin’s gonna go snap, crackle, and pop any minute.”

“Don’t tell me you’re hungry, Starsk.” Hutch laughed into his mouth.

“Only for you, babe.” His hips rotated spontaneously without his awareness. Hutch gripped one, then fingered in toward his groin. Starsky groaned a little louder and writhed beneath him. The exquisite sensations rippling through his nerve endings made it impossible to stay still. He reached for his partner’s erection in frantic self-defense and encircled it with a sweaty palm.

Hutch made a sound somewhere between a purr and a growl and shivered. It was the first time a man had ever touched his genitals. He was mildly surprised; he’d assumed he’d have to woo Starsky a while longer before his inhibitions could be overcome. That had not disturbed him; all that mattered was that his best friend respond to him sexually. The rest would come in time.

It appeared that time was now. Starsky was practically in a delirium; nothing was more important than his lover, his touch, his gratification. He gently pulled on the thick rigid cock, then with more assurance as Hutch got more vocal.

“Wait, Starsk,” he ground out. “Can’t lose it yet. Wait…” He drew away from the tantalizing pleasure being offered. “Wanta suck you off… make it real good, babe. Please?” He slid down the length of his wiry partner until his face nestled in tight black pubic curls.

“No fair,” Starsky grumbled. “I wanna get my hands on your milky ass. Turn around, damnit!” He yanked with enough force on a blond tress to get his point across. Hutch hurriedly complied.

They lay side by side in a 69, touching intimately all the secret places neither had viewed so closely before on another man. Part of Starsky was astonished at his own abandon. The other part simply accepted that this was Hutch; anything that pleased him was right and beautiful. Words like queer or perversion no longer had meaning in this context. Besides, Hutch was flawless in his sight. Like the ancient statues in museums. A strange sense of déjà vu hit, but he shrugged it off. Now was no time to analyze his reactions.

He concentrated on the finely chiseled uncut penis he held. He’d known since showers at the Academy that Hutch was uncircumcised, but this was way up close and personal. Curiosity drove him to gently finger the foreskin, then probe with his tongue tip under it. It quivered madly in response, while at the other end. Hutch groaned as if in pain. “I’m gonna get you for that, babe.”

True to his word, the blond went down on the smooth wine-colored head he was fondling. His mouth was wondrously warm and inventive. It was Starsky’s turn to thrash about, still hanging onto Hutch. Then he lowered his own mouth again and tried desperately to get in sync with his partner. After a few false starts they fell into a rhythm of mutual stimulation. It was hard to stay there; it took a lot of effort to stay focused. But the result was of such intensity it was well worth it.

Rapturous sensations arced between them like electricity between two poles. Giving and getting quivering bolts of it enthralled them both. Starsky could feel his partner readying to come even as he desperately tried to hold on a few moments more. Then neither man could wait any longer. Hutch jerked up once, twice, then cried out as a stream of semen jetted out into Starsky’s mouth. A split second later Starsky let himself go with a sob of relief.

Ragged panting was all either was capable of for some minutes. Then Hutch turned around to face his partner. Starsky joyously snuggled against him, ignoring their sticky perspiration. A beatific grin illuminated his tired features. Hutch brushed aside a few stray curls, then kissed his temple. “It’s almost dawn.”

“Unbelievable,” Starsky sighed in total contentment. “I’d be starving if I wasn’t so beat.”

“Food again, Starsk? I’ll take you out for bacon and eggs, the works. If we ever wake up, that is.” Hutch cuddled his lover in the crook of one arm, the other hand threading indolently through his thick mop of curls.

“If we try to sleep too long, I imagine Waco will show up. Wonder what’s been happening.”

“What’s been happening is that you and I have been making love. I don’t really want to think about anything else right now.” Hutch leaned his forehead against his counterpart’s. “I just wanta tell you, I never felt like this with anyone in my life. Not Vanessa, or Abby, or Gillian. Nobody. I love you, David Michael.”

Starsky nuzzled into the palm in his hair. “I was kinda hopin’ you’d say that, babe. “That’s how I feel. Funny, I always knew I loved you more than anyone else in my life. I just never let myself think about sex before now. What a lot of time we wasted!” His eyes drifted shut momentarily, then opened again. “It’s gonna be hard to pretend in front of the Captain and all that nothin’s different.”

“I know. Worries me a little too. But we’ll figure it out. Go to sleep, babe.” Hutch’s lips lingered against Starsky’s, then slid to his cheek. In that position they both quieted into a deep sleep.

~~~

Hutch was the first to awaken. He lay quietly for several minutes, acclimating himself to his surroundings. Starsky snoozed peacefully by his side, as he had for the past three days. But this time it was different. We’re truly lovers now. It’s not a one-night stand or an aberration. We’ve loved each other completely. He studied the planes of his partner’s face in repose. He was classically beautiful. Like a Greek god, he thought in wonder. Why didn’t I ever see that before? An unfamiliar image crept into the outer edges of his awareness, then vanished before he could examine it.

He shook his head then glanced around for a clock. It was nearly two. We really musta been beat. And poor Starsky’s probably still getting that damn coke out of his system. Amazing that Waco isn’t pounding on the door yet.

He was easily as familiar with Starsky’s kitchen as his own and started the coffeemaker brewing. Knowing his partner, the aroma would wake him pretty soon. He hunted up a spare towel and headed for the bathroom, rubbing his stubble bemusedly. A good hot shower came before anything else.

Later, as he was shaving, voices from the living room told him he’d made it in the nick of time. Waco must have just arrived. He sighed with some exasperation. It would have been so perfect if he and Starsky could have just had the day off together. Not that it was Waco’s fault; he actually felt grateful that the Fed had, in some way, pushed them together. Still… He was being selfish, of course. Waco had been after this guy for over a year. He was entitled to come over and crow about it. Hutch turned off the sink water and wrapped the towel around his waist.

One glance at pale, set features on the big man in the living room made it clear he hadn’t come to crow about anything. Starsky wasn’t looking too happy either. Hutch eyed them both warily. “What is it?”

“Get dressed, babe. I’m gonna take a quick shower and shave. Waco will explain things.” Starsky darted off. “I’ll put some clean underwear and socks out for you, okay? They’ll be on the bed,” he called back.

“What things?” Hutch had already centered in on Waco.

“Let’s get some coffee and I’ll tell you while you’re getting dressed.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly. Dark circles under them stood out in marked contrast to his auburn complexion. Hutch poured two cups and showed Waco the milk and sugar, who passed. He followed Hutch into the bedroom, swallowed a large gulp, and set the cup on the dresser as Hutch self-consciously donned the T-shirt and briefs Starsky left for him. “Townsend’s out on bail.”

Hutch opened his mouth to spew invective, then thought the better of it. There was no point in killing the messenger, and Waco looked as if he could use a break. “How?”

“The charges as of nine this morning were possession of nearly a pound of uncut cocaine, distribution, solicitation of prostitution, and aggravated assault. The DA couldn’t see his way clear to suspicion of murder without the lab work back. It seemed like enough, anyway. The judge set bail at a hundred thou. Sounded cool to everybody. Where was he gonna get that kind of money?” He sighed. “The sonofabitch had bail in less than an hour. We had no choice but to let him out.”

“So where did he get that kind of money? Bail bondsmen aren’t likely to front that much paper on an itinerant dealer.”

“Right. He makes one phone call, waits half an hour, then bingo! A very fancy gray suit attorney shows up. Cash, all up front. Out the door.” He took another swallow of steaming black coffee. “Dobey says that firm specializes in high powered upper echelons. Never knew them to concern themselves with a street person before. Our guy’s a little hotter than we thought.”

Hutch dragged his jeans up and sat on the bed to finish pulling on socks and shoes. “So he might disappear before we can pick him up again for Murder One, huh? You want us to keep him under surveillance until then?”

“No. I want Starsky to get to a safe house. You go along to keep an eye on him. Dobey already has people assigned to keep tabs on Townsend.”

For a long moment Hutch just stared. “Why? You don’t think he’d be crazy enough to…oh. Yeah well, he is crazy, but you don’t really think he’d…”

“I think he could. I also think, and Dobey agrees, that he may have enough clout to hire somebody to clean up after him. As far as he knows, without Starsky there’s really only the possession charge that’ll stick. He could plea bargain that down since it looks like a first offense. He has no idea the FBI is involved with a multiple murder investigation.”

“But he knows we suspect him of Gibson’s death.”

“Which also hinges on the bites matching the ones on Starsky. Oh sure, we could go forward just with ER pictures and the camera stuff, but it looks a lot more circumstantial without a live body testifying. He can claim the shots were doctored after the fact and pinned on a dead officer.”

“The camera…”

“You can’t see Starsky’s face that well; he’s gagged, remember?” Waco paused to drink more coffee. “I’m not trying to be paranoid, but the guy is certifiable. It doesn’t hurt to be a little extra careful until he’s picked up again and charged with homicide.”

Starsky entered, hair dripping from the shower. “We got time to eat?” he inquired plaintively. “I’ve been starving for hours.”

“You’ve been asleep for hours,” Hutch reminded him.

“Now kids, don’t fight. I think you’ll be safe grabbing a burger at Huggy’s. Besides, I’d be interested to see if he can find out just how well Townsend is connected. So, get your shit together and let’s roll.”

~~~

By four, the team was downing a very late breakfast at the Pits. Huggy had been merciful and came up with Starsky’s promised bacon and eggs despite the hour. He even threw in a few flapjacks upon hearing that his favorite cops would be invisible for a few days.

“As far as Townsend goes, all I can tell you is that he’s notable for his lack of serious connections. I know you guys are thinking he’s a big-time dealer an’ all, but nobody on the street thinks so. The dealers say he’s a buyer, not a seller.” Huggy pointed his finger for emphasis. “Impression they gave me is that this dude has dough just coming out of his ears. Doesn’t haggle; comes with a reputation for playing straight. If he’s well connected, it’s only in the sense that he knows who’s good to deal with.”

Waco digested this. “Well, that puts us back to square one. So where does he get his money? Any ideas, man?”

Huggy shrugged. “He don’t work for it. Don’t look like he steals it. An’ he ain’t dealing, at least not here. Don’t flaunt it like it’s a big deal, either. If I had to guess. I’d say he was born with it.”

“Then perhaps the attorney who bailed him out might have a clue if that’s the case. He got paid somehow,” Hutch suggested.

Starsky shook his head. “He ain’t gonna tell the cops a thing like that.”

“But his firm might tell a fellow attorney in passing,” Waco mused.

“Who? The DA can’t do that. It would violate privileged information rules.”

“I could,” Waco replied slowly. “You guys know the FBI encourages their people to get their JD. I’m not licensed to practice in California, but I can be a visiting colleague from DC easily enough. It’ll get my foot in the door. If I actually find out something, nobody’s likely to blow the whistle on themselves and disclose what they told me.”

“I know you want him real bad, but you’re pushin’ it,” Starsky warned. “They could make us drop charges if they found out you lied to them and used their background information in the course of the investigation.”

Waco smiled. “Only on the state level for the charges he got bailed out on. The multiple murder raps will go to Federal Court, once we’ve got the data confirmed.”

“You lawyers…” Hutch shook his head. “That’s cute, but Starsky’s right. You’re taking a risk, and for what? Does it really matter where his money’s from if we’re gonna bust him for murder within the next 24 hours? We’ll find out soon enough in court.”

“Unless we lose him, Hutch. I’m scared he’ll disappear on me. If he does, the money will be my only lead to find him before he kills again.”

~~~

The safe house was a small Hollywood bungalow. Its neighborhood was quiet and clean, heavily shaded with palms. A lot of aspiring musicians and actors inhabited the area, a set Zebra Three had little dealings with. It was a pleasant change, Hutch reflected. Fate had given him exactly what he’d wished for upon awakening; a day or two of enforced solitude with his newfound old love.

Waco took off shortly afterwards, leaving them to settle in. Starsky tossed his suitcase in a corner, then plopped onto the sofa in front of the TV in the living room. Hutch put away the groceries they’d stopped for and broke into a six-pack. He joined his partner on the couch and silently offered him a swallow. Starsky smiled shyly and took a long pull, then handed it back. Hutch eased closer and hooked his arm across the back of the sofa. The smaller man slid into his arms. The fervent kiss that followed was a mutual idea. They opened to each other freely, tasting and teasing until their breath was gone.

“I wanted to do that when I woke up,” Starsky murmured against his lips when they finally broke for air. “Just to make sure it was all real. But you were in the shower, an’ then Waco came.”

“Thought you were hungry, Starsk.” Hutch grinned back tenderly.

Serious indigo eyes met his without hesitation. “I am, babe. I wanna feel your body next to me an’ know I can touch you any way I like. I can’t get over how much I want you. This happening to us now after all these years doesn’t make any sense to me, but the thought of it not happening again scares me shitless.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Hutch whispered as he nuzzled a delicately curved, covered ear. “I told you last night, I love you. That no one has ever made me feel like you do. I meant it, babe. Me and thee. Always.” His words were punctuated by audacious licks and nibbles down Starsky’s sleek throat. One large hand crept under his T-shirt and carded through the soft down on his sturdy belly and chest. The other explored the crotch of Starsky’s jeans, pressing against the growing fullness below.

A low half growl rewarded his efforts. “I wanna go back to bed with you, Hutch. Right now.” Emphasizing his words, Starsky caught his partner’s hands and held them still. He waited for a response.

“Ready when you are, babe.” Hutch stood up, his hands still clasped with Starsky’s. His lover rose beside him. Without another word they made their way to the bedroom.

But when they got there, Starsky brushed Hutch’s hands away, not letting him touch himself or his partner. “I wanna do you this time. I wanna strip you, kiss you, tongue you all over, suck you off, make you come like you never did it before.” He licked his full lips in invitation, vivid eyes shining with lusty delight.

Hutch sank onto the bed, suddenly weak with arousal. His awed expression must have given Starsky his answer, for hot, eager hands began opening his garments. He lifted his arms and hips at the requisite moments, allowing his lover full access, but otherwise remained motionless. Every article was smoothed off his skin as part of a caress, even his shoes and socks, while his lover whispered breathless endearments. Finally, as Starsky gently urged him back onto the pillows, he found his voice. “Do anything you want, babe. Anything. There’s nothing I don’t want from you.”

In the midst of tossing his own clothes off, Starsky froze and met his eyes. “You’re sure ’bout that? I mean, there’s no rush. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t. I trust you.” He smiled up at his friend’s anxious face. “I’ll tell you if I don’t like it. Honest.” A light blush crept up his neck, fascinating his partner. “I bought some KY jelly at the grocery store. It’s over there…” He pointed to a tube on the bedside table.

Starsky nodded slowly, finished disrobing, then joined Hutch on the bed. His arms tenderly enfolded his partner. “Yeah, I want to screw you real bad. I’ve been trying not to think about your smooth pink buns all day. But you don’t need to prove anything, y’know. I already know you love me.”

“So shut up and fuck me, Starsk. I want you to.” He turned in his lover’s embrace and nibbled teasingly at that full lower lip. “C’mon, Tiger. Do me like you said.”

Starsky needed no further tempting. He fell on his blond lover greedily with heated hands and mouth. Hutch forced himself to lie still under the fiery onslaught, but his limbs trembled with the effort. Exquisite sensations coursed wildly through him with every touch. Low moans kept escaping his lips.

Starsky’s dusky curls bobbed back and forth as he roved down the lean, sleek body beneath him. He carefully tongued each pale rose nipple, then rolled one with delicate fingertips as he sucked at the other. One knee nestled between Hutch’s inner thighs, exerting upward pressure on his balls. His softly downed belly brushed against Hutch’s engorged upright cock.

Now it was impossible to remain unmoving. Hutch thrashed under his partner, his hands gripping Starsky’s bronze shoulders. “Please, babe…”

Deep blue eyes peered at him laughingly. “What?” Starsky separated his powerfully muscled thighs further with a stroking hand that drew patterns along the tender flesh. “Blond all over,” he murmured to himself. “All rosy and gold…so hard and delicate at the same time.” His tongue explored Hutch’s navel. “I love your body, honeyman. Always knew you were beautiful…” Hutch held his breath when the dark head shifted further down to his flaxen pubic hair. “You smell good to me. So sweet an’ fine.”

His hands roamed back up to Hutch’s nipples as he took the firm shaft into his mouth. His teeth grazed the flushed head gently, then his tongue tip swirled around it, retracting the foreskin, going deeper and deeper. Hutch panted helplessly, his hips coming off the bed as he thrust down Starsky’s throat. He caught a handful of glossy curls and tried to hold that teasing head still but his partner pushed his hand away.

“Easy, blondie. Leave me some hair. I’m gonna make it good for you, I swear it.” He raised Hutch’s legs onto his shoulders, opening him up further and gripped the thrusting cock with his left hand. Then he very deliberately moistened two fingers of his right hand in Hutch’s mouth. “Suck’em, babe. Taste’em. I’m gonna put them in you.”

Hutch was becoming reckless with need. “No more cockteasing, Starsk. I want you real bad. Do it, Tiger.”

“You’re incredible, all turned on and sizzling like this. Hold on, babe. Slow down now…” Hutch bit his knuckles as his partner fingered the tight bud of muscle, then eased into it up to one joint. His other hand never ceased stroking Hutch’s throbbing cock.

The sensation was so fathomless, Hutch thought he might faint from it. It was the unique sense of being opened, of being filled, beyond pleasure/pain, that enthralled him so. No one had ever demanded so much from the core of his being.

Starsky pulled back, alarmed by the intense guttural sound from his friend’s heaving chest. “You okay, babe? I don’t wanna hurt you…”

“For God’s sake, don’t stop! Please?” Hutch gripped his arms and practically dragged him up over him. His eyes were frenzied, wanton. He was still jerking feverishly in Starsky’s hand, red hot steel to the touch.

His partner was equally ablaze, impassioned by the sight of his voluptuous writhing. Starsky nearly took him at his word to thrust heedlessly into him. At the last minute he slowed, coating his cock with the KY jelly. He spread some around and into his lover with gentle fingers, eliciting more deep groans. At last he positioned himself at the tight puckered entrance.

He focused totally on Hutch, his love strengthened by his friend’s willingness. Still, it was difficult to control his entry. Time seemed to slow; perspiration dripped off his face and neck. Hutch exerted an equal discipline, holding himself open, welcoming his lover. He adored the absorbed concentration on Starsky’s face. The piercing pain, such as it was, was meaningless to him compared to the rapt expression of his partner. Then Starsky was all the way in, reaching a place inside that caught fire. Satisfaction at pleasing his lover gave way to bursts of sheer bliss as Hutch rocked to increase that contact.

Starsky waited, his cock aching, until Hutch initiated the action. Waves of euphoria engulfed them both. Together they climbed higher with each slow deep thrust, unable to break eye contact, unwilling to let go. Somehow, his hand kept stroking Hutch’s gorgeous rod in time to their rhythm. Sobs and gasps accompanied the bed creaking. The slap of flesh upon flesh. They jointly picked up the pace, matching each other’s urgent demands for completion. For a time it seemed as though they would both teeter on the edge indefinitely.

It could not be sustained forever. Hutch’s white seed sprayed his belly, his forceful spasms dragging Starsky with him. They plummeted off the precipice together, still clutching each other, crying out in harmony.

Starsky lay collapsed on his lover, unable to do more than pant for some time. Hutch was utterly content to have him there, still blown away by the dizzying heights they’d reached. Neither felt inclined to talk about it. Finally, Starsky recovered sufficiently to get up for another beer. He returned with two and silently handed one to his partner. Hutch sighed in gratitude and downed several large gulps thirstily. Starsky crawled back alongside him, pulling at his. It was sweetly familiar, like sitting beside each other after playing ball or running, yet more so. They exchanged companionable smiles and hugs as they drank, slowly drifting off.

~~~

The telephone’s unfamiliar ring went unheeded for some time. Gradually, Hutch returned to consciousness enough to realize what it was. He groaned, rising as Starsky stirred next to him. “I’ll get it. Must be Waco.”

But the voice on the other end was not the FBI man’s. “Sgt. Hutchinson? Do you remember me from my magazine shop? Agent Waco asked me to call you. He wants you to meet him here as quickly as you can. He has some new information about the Gibson case. Please come alone, he said.” The line went dead in Hutch’s hand before he had time to formulate a question.

Starsky was awake too, rubbing his eyes. “What was that?”

“A message from Waco. He told this porn shop guy to call and have me meet him. Says he has some news.” Hutch thumped about in the dark, picking up his clothes. “Wonder what time it is.”

“Nearly ten.” Starsky turned on the bedside light and began to dress too. “Do we have time for coffee? These weird hours are getting to me.”

Hutch hesitated. “The guy said Waco told him to have me meet him alone, Starsk. Maybe…”

“Bullshit! This is my case too, y’know!” His partner exploded. “I’m not an invalid for crissakes. What’s the big deal here?”

“Starsk…”

“You think if Townsend’s out to get me, I’m gonna be safer sitting here by myself?”

The same thought had occurred to Hutch. “Calm down, already. Look, I’m just telling you what he said. Stop yelling. We can call Waco on the way and check to see if he wants you out of sight or something.”

Mollified, Starsky resumed dressing. “Okay. I’ll wait in the car if he says. But there better be a damn good reason to. Homicide cops ain’t supposed to hide out in safe houses, y’know?”

Hutch winced involuntarily as he sat on the bed to pull on his socks. A pair of arms encircled him and warm lips tickled the back of his neck. “Sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to holler at you. Your butt okay?”

For answer. Hutch leaned back into his partner’s embrace. “Mmmm. You could kiss and make it better.”

Starsky’s laughter and light breath fanned his ear. “I just might do that later. But for now you’ll have to be content with one at this end.” He pressed Hutch back down into the bed and brushed his lips across his eyelids, down his check, connecting finally with his eager mouth. Hutch gave himself up to the kiss with a sigh’, luxuriating in his lover’s touch.

Both parted reluctantly. “Playtime’s over,” Hutch murmured. “Let’s get this shit over with.”

~~~

It took several attempts to reach Waco with the police band radio. Hutch was driving the LTD; he and Waco had both insisted that Starsky leave the Torino at home. They were nearing the porn shop strip when he finally returned their call.

“What’s up, guys?” He sounded groggy.

“You tell us.” Starsky replied. “What’s goin’ on at the porn shop, an’ why’d ya want Hutch to meet you there alone?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He was thoroughly awake now. “Where are you?”

“On our way to meet you, or so we thought. You sayin’ you didn’t ask the owner to call us and have us join you there?”

“No way, Starsk. Is anyone following you?”

Hutch had already checked the mirrors and shook his head. “Should we pull over?”

Waco thought furiously. “I’ll meet you there; don’t go in until backup arrives. I’m not sure what’s going on. Even money says you don’t want to find out alone.”

~~~

The shop was ominously closed, considering that it was supposed to be open until midnight. Hutch peered through the blackened front door but could see nothing. It was locked. There were no open display windows to look through. Starsky prowled around back, gun drawn. Apart from an unnerving alley cat poking through the garbage, nothing stirred. He tried the back door; this one swung open without difficulty. He hesitated, aware that his silhouette would be framed by the streetlight for anyone inside to see.

Discretion was the better part of valor. If there was somebody inside, they might as well stay put until backup arrived. He motioned at the corner for Hutch to join him. It wasn’t a long wait. Two black and whites pulled up, sirens quiet. They dashed over to brief them.

A split second later Starsky had cause to congratulate himself on his caution. They were standing at the police cars when a small but potent blast went off, demolishing the storefront. The noise was deafening; the outrush nearly knocked them off their feet. Shards of brick and glass sailed through the vibrating air.

“Holy shit.” He exchanged a glance of dismay with his partner. “You were supposed to be inside, babe.”

One team staked out the blasted open front door, while Zebra Three cautiously picked their way through the debris via the back.

“What are they looking for in there?” One cop wanted to know. “This ain’t exactly safe. The structure may not be sound now.”

“A dead body.” Waco’s voice boomed through the doorway as all turned in his direction. His eyes were blazing, color unnaturally pale. “The store owner’s bound to be here somewhere. Find it.” To Zebra Three, he spoke lower, though no less heatedly. “I just got a call from Dobey. A prowler was reported down by the safe house. He got real nervous when he couldn’t reach you there and damn near took my head off.” He took a breath, calming himself. “Needless to say, he was pleased when I told him you weren’t there. A black and white unit found the back door broken into. Looks like your instincts have served you well tonight, guys.”

Starsky’s response was the opposite. “Damnit! If I’d been there, I coulda busted him. Shit!”

Hutch and Waco’s eyes met in brief amusement over Starsky’s head. Then Hutch sobered. “So our perp knew where the safe house was, who we were, who you were, used the owner to get me out of the way, and planned to kill me and Starsky separately. This is no good. How…”

“Over here!” One of the uniformed cops called from the entrance to the cellar. They all converged to the spot as a flashlight illuminated a corpse lying at the foot of the stairs.

“He was another witness that could identify Townsend. You may be pissed you weren’t there, Starsk, but I’m not.” Waco sighed. “Let’s hope he left something we can use at this scene.”

Dobey pulled up and joined them in the front of the store as the coroner, lab and bomb teams descended. “How soon can we bust this sonofabitch? I want to bring him in now.” He thumped his fist on the counter.

Waco’s voice was soft. “Be my guest. Captain. We should have a lab make by eight in the morning. You wanna try for suspicion of murder, go for it. Your people tailing him do know where he is, I take it?”

Zebra Three quietly backed away, giving the two men privacy. It took no crystal ball to guess the answer to Waco’s question. One look at Dobey’s face was enough.

“What now?” Starsky whispered. “You think he’ll try to skip town, or stay an’ try to get us again? This is all new behavior for him. He’s gotta be scared.”

Hutch shrugged. “He’s been made and he knows it. If he runs it’s an admission of guilt. I think if he was gonna run, he would’ve done so already. He’s made his choice.”

“He didn’t know about the FBI involvement earlier. He may have thought it was only about me an’ Gibson. But if he knew to use Waco’s name with us, he must at least guess that it goes beyond that now. I mean, the guy’s not stupid. Crazy, sure.”

“I wonder how he found all that out,” Hutch mused.

A somber Waco rejoined them. “You can buy a lot of information with several million dollars. Huggy Bear was right. Townsend’s loaded. Big inheritance from a Texas oil family about three years ago. Maybe he always had a taste for murder, but then he got the means to support all his nasty little habits.”

“Well, that’s good news, right? I mean, ’cause he needs his lifeline to his money. If he skips, we freeze it all on him an’ he’d have to dig ditches or somethin’.” Starsky looked up hopefully at Waco towering over him. “You find that out from the law firm?”

“Nope. FBI background check finally came through, based on the fingerprints he gave at the time of arrest. Townsend is his real name, though he’s probably used others elsewhere. He was busted for assaulting a guy in Las Vegas five years ago, right after he got back from the army. Got a slap on the wrist; it was no big deal at the time. No other arrests.”

Waco paused. “He must know what’s coming down now. Trying to kill as many witnesses as possible is just a way to slow things so he can get himself and his money out of the country. I’d be willing to bet that drug lord mouthpiece law firm would be real happy to set him up elsewhere for a fee. Plus, without witnesses, we’ll have forensic evidence only. The kind of thing high priced defense attorneys love to tear apart.”

Hutch snapped his fingers. “What about that other guy? The one that wouldn’t let you in? Maybe he’d be a little less hostile if he hears what happened to Gibson.”

“Rusty Stevens. He doesn’t hang out too far from here.” Waco nodded. “We can give it a try. Nobody else has come forward from anywhere. All we have are him and us.”

Stevens’ last known address was a rooming house that made the St. Francis look upper class. No one was even staffing the desk in what passed for a lobby. Waco already knew what room he rented, so they simply lifted the spare key behind the desk and headed up the stairs. By unspoken agreement, no one bothered to knock. Stevens could complain if he felt inclined, but probably wouldn’t. Waco turned the key and opened the door.

Indeed, he would not complain. Hutch groaned. Starsky slapped the wall. “Well, at least he can’t slam the door in my face this time,” was Waco’s only response. The face of the youth on the floor was gray, his body cold. He had been dead for hours.

~~~

“Heroin overdose,” opined he coroner. “Still had the fucking needle in his arm. You guys gonna be looking for trouble all night or what? I got enough work to do.”

“So do we,” Starsky muttered. “Look, just make sure it was heroin. He coulda been a material witness. Maybe somebody gave him a little extra present with it.”

“Even if it comes back with strychnine, we’d have a hellova time proving Townsend did it unless somebody saw him give it to him,” Hutch reminded him. “Junkies OD all the damn time on rotten shit.”

The coroner nodded, not unsympathetically. “By the way, that other guy we brought in? Looks like a straight shot through the heart. No other marks on him.”

Waco walked away from the window he’d been staring out of. “Coroner’s right, guys. We’ve done enough for one night. Let’s go.”

Once outside the building, Starsky turned to his companions. “So, where to now? Can’t we see if we can locate Townsend? He has to be around…”

“He is.” Waco didn’t look happy. “Right where he said he would be, at the hotel. Dobey’s people say he hasn’t moved an inch all night.”

“What? I thought…”

“You thought he lost his tail? Wrong. Dobey’s pissed because it’s pretty obvious he’s brought in a professional to clean up after him. Maybe two. We need to get you two off the street now. He, or they, missed you both once tonight. You guys are our last real witnesses.”

“What about you?”

Waco smiled. “They don’t know where I’m staying. And that’s exactly where we’re going now.”

They followed Waco in the LTD, making sure via a rather circuitous route that they were not being followed. “Well, I’ll be damned.” They were back at their original hotel, a few blocks from the St. Francis. Waco laughed at their faces as they joined him at the curb. “So, you were keepin’ tabs on us the whole time.”

Waco’s suite was just above the street entrance. It was somewhat larger and more luxurious than the one they had sojourned in, but not greatly different. He’d been settled in for some time, from the looks of things.

“Make yourselves at home.” He pulled a trio of beers from a small refrigerator. “Your undercover clothes are still here. Might as well make use of them, since you won’t be going back to the safe house or either apartment for a while.”

Hutch gratefully washed the blast dust from his throat with a few swallows before speaking. “Why the elaborate plot? Why not just tell us to go there and get both of us blown up? We might well have, if we hadn’t called you to ask why Starsky was supposed to stay.”

“You’ve heard of ‘KISS’? Well, here’s a prime example of what happens when you get fancy. They probably figured they’d get you both if he did come, but also had a shot at him alone for insurance if he wasn’t allowed to leave the safe house. Stupid. It gave them away.”

Starsky pulled up the back of a chair and straddled it. “Now what? We just hide out? Townsend’s killers ain’t gonna just go away, are they? Even if an’ when he gets picked up in the morning for Murder One, they’ll still be out there. I say we try to set’em up an’ get this shit over with. If we catch’em an’ they finger him, we got another whole case.”

“Could be just one guy. He might have set the bomb timer to the door opening in the back, giving enough time for you to be deep inside when it went off. Killed the owner, then drove over to the safe house. Stevens has been dead awhile; he could’ve done that at any time.”

“I agree, but I think Starsky’s right too. Let’s not wait for someone else to pick the time and place.” Hutch set his empty bottle down and peered at the FBI agent.

Waco nodded. “Okay. How do you want to play this out?”

“Well for starters, let’s turn up the heat by bein’ the guys that bust Townsend in the morning. Besides, it’ll be fun.” Starsky grinned from ear to ear. “I wanna see his face when I put the cuffs on him. That should make him call his hotshot shady lawyers pronto. My guess is that they’ll be the ones to contact the hired gun an’ ask what went wrong. Think we could get a tap? We might even get a clue as to who sold the safe house out.”

“Almost impossible, unless we have a lot of evidence connecting the mouthpieces to a crime. But we could go visit them ourselves after busting Townsend, just to jerk their chains a little. Drop big hints about conspiracy to commit murder and generally make them miserable. That’s always fun too. Usually that gels them so paranoid they fuck up. If we’re really lucky, they’ll get so nervous one of them will meet with the hit man. Trouble is, it’ll be hard to make a clean bust until he makes another move after that. But at least we’ll know who he is.”

Hutch interjected a thought. “You didn’t, by any chance, have Townsend’s phone tapped, did you?”

Waco snorted. “Tried. Couldn’t get a judge to okay it fast enough. Sorry.”

The blond shrugged sympathetically. “Nobody expects you to do everything, you know. Okay, what else can we do to shake his tree?”

Starsky yawned thunderously, setting off a chain reaction in Waco and Hutch. A moment later all three started laughing. “Well, that sums it up for tonight, I think,” the agent replied, still laughing “Let’s sleep on it. I’ll get a room next door; you two stay here. We’ll do the bust first thing and take it from there.” He rose wearily. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and the bastard’ll commit suicide or something.”

“Fat chance,” Starsky offered. “He isn’t gonna give up that easy. Well, g’night.” Another theatrical yawn. “Thanks for the beer an’ all”

They had barely enough energy to share a shower after Waco left, clearing the smoke and debris from their hair, before falling over. By now they’d become accustomed to reaching for each other, cuddling close in the dark. Even the seriousness of their situation could not prevent a sweet sense of security from creeping through Starsky’s bones. Hutch was warm and smooth, his wet hair scented with herbal shampoo. His partner pressed a gentle kiss to the rough underside of his chin, then snuggled in for the night.

~~~

By early morning, anticipation flavored their coffee. Waco triumphantly displayed the arrest warrant issued after analysis had confirmed the similarity between Gibson’s bites and Starsky’s. The dental patterns also tentatively matched a case in New Orleans and one in DC. Hair and tissue samples were still pending, but the preliminary lab work looked promising. It was enough for the arrest.

They piled into Waco’s sedan and made their way to the small hotel Townsend had been in the night before. Waco pulled over and looked around for the stakeout crew, expecting to debrief them. “You guys see them?”

Zebra Three cased up and down the street, having no better luck. “You think he went somewhere an’ they tailed him?” Starsky quizzed. “We better call in an’ see what they reported.” A few minutes later he returned, face grim. They didn’t call in at all during the night. We better get in there an’ see what the deal is.”

Waco entered the front door, while Hutch chose the fire escape and Starsky the back exit. Gradually they converged upon the small second floor room that he’d last been seen in. The concierge was nowhere in sight. Waco knocked loudly, called out a warning, then moved to one side, gun drawn. Zebra Three took up similar positions.

Memory of the previous night’s events induced a healthy caution. Starsky tossed a hallway chair against the door rather than kick it. A moment later he had cause to be grateful for it. A small device was triggered by the opening door and black smoke poured into the hallway where they stood.

Waco waved them back, then crawled into the room, gun still ready, a handkerchief over his face. “Call for backup!” Starsky tried to follow him, but Hutch caught at his arm.

“He’s right, Starsk. Let’s get help.”

By the time he’d located a phone in an empty room and called it in, Waco had reemerged, coughing. “The concierge…he’s dead.”

Hutch cursed. “One less person that could identify him. Shit, he’s being incredibly thorough. This is scary. We better put an APB out on him and the stakeout crew right now. No telling what happened to them.”

Waco sat in a hall chair, still coughing lightly. “Wanna bet they’re dead too? He could have had his hired gun get rid of them and the concierge while he disappeared. Aw Christ, this is bad. I should have been more careful. I knew this bastard’s crazy. And now he’s scared, like a cornered rat.”

Starsky came up behind him and brushed his disheveled auburn hair in a rough caress. “Cut it out. You can’t be everywhere all the time, you know. These guys knew their job, knew what the story was. What were we supposed to do? Camp the National Guard outside? His lawyers woulda screamed it was harassment until we got a new warrant for him.”

“Starsky’s right. I didn’t think he was going to run either, for what it’s worth. He’s laid himself wide open to all these murder charges now.” Hutch paused. “We better check all the airports, trains, etc.”

The stairs creaked under his weight as Dobey’s voice preceded him upwards. “I’m on it; the calls have already gone out. Damnit, I knew we should have at least brought him in for questioning last night!”

“We’ve already been through that,” Starsky replied wearily. “We didn’t ’cause we couldn’t. Now we just gotta concentrate on finding him fast, before he splits the country. Any ideas where to look?” Waco pulled himself to his feet. “Sure bet we won’t find him standing here. Let’s go.”

~~~

Several hours of cruising the streets, hustling small time dealers, and checking at the few open gay bars uncovered nothing. The Savoy remained empty, still cordoned off with yellow police tape. Starsky had taken the wheel, secure in his knowledge of the city. With each defeat, Waco grew quieter. All three knew the odds of finding him still in town were getting smaller with each passing hour.

The silence was broken at midmorning by a call from Metro. The stakeout crew had been found. Hutch tossed up the red siren as Starsky worked his magic touch, even in an unfamiliar car. Within twenty minutes they were approaching the location specified; no one expected the news to be good.

It was not. The two seasoned plainclothes cops who had handled hundreds of stakeouts, were dead. They’d both been shot in the face at close range as they sat in their car, then driven away to be abandoned in a junkyard. There they might have remained undetected for days, had not mere chance intervened. Some kids crawling around in search of a late model door had been attracted by the newish looking car and gone over to investigate.

Crime lab and the coroner’s people were already on the scene. “We’ll try to get a match on the bullets with these guys, the hotel guy, and the shop owner. At least we’ll find out if the same gun’s involved,” the coroner promised. “What a fucking shame. I knew these guys.” He shook his head, then resumed his work.

Waco pressed his eyes into his palms, saying nothing. Starsky poked around, desperate for some sign of a lead. Hutch walked over sadly to the car Dobey was climbing out of. For some moments their hefty captain was likewise silent. Much as he wanted to explode, to blame someone for this additional tragedy, it was pointless. He stared blankly, thankful he did not have his superior’s task of informing the families involved.

“Anybody look in the trunk?” Starsky was persistent. “Can I use the key or do you need it for prints?” When no one answered, he looked in the ignition. “Anybody see the keys?”

That finally got a tech’s attention. “Haven’t seen them, come to think of it. They’re not in the ignition, not on the ground, not in any of the locks…”

“Find a master and open the trunk,” Starsky suggested. It took a few minutes, but the tech returned with a toolkit and complied, curious now. As the trunk lid swung up, several items came into view. The missing keys, a large handgun, and one more corpse.

~~~

“Ya know. I’m getting real sick of finding dead bodies all over town,” Starsky complained over yet another Huggy burger special. “Seems like that’s all I’ve been doin’ for twenty-four hours.”

“Consider the alternative,” Hutch advised between bites. “Somebody could be whining about having to find you.”

“That’s not even funny. This guy’s giving me the creeps. You think he skipped town yet?”

Waco had been staring somberly at his food with little appetite thus far. “He should. But he’s gotten completely out of his own control. Snuffing his own hired gun like that… I think he’s still here.”

“Why do you suppose he did that? Didn’t wanna pay the guy or what?” Starsky continued.

The agent shook his head. “He has the hit man come over, kill the concierge, then plant the same type of bomb he used at the porn shop. Then he has the guy shoot the stakeout crew and follows him to the junkyard, supposedly to pick him up and pay him off? Instead, he decides to off the guy when his back’s turned and leaves him in the trunk with his own gun used in the murders. You have to hand it to Townsend; he’s leaving nobody behind.”

“And bold. It takes some guts to kill two cops and a hit man all in one night. I can’t believe he just literally stabbed him in the back like that.”

“He’s still trying to kill anybody who’s ever seen him? But that’s so fuckin’ nuts; it doesn’t make any difference now. We got his fingerprints, his mug photos, even his dental imprints. Why take the time to bother? Why not just get out?”

“Because he’s nuts,” Waco softly replied. “Because he’s convinced himself that if no one can personally identify him, no case can be made. He can afford plastic surgery. He can go anywhere in the world on a fake passport. He can disappear. Maybe he already has. But I bet he’ll take one last shot at us first, just to be sure.”

Hutch hesitated, then asked, “What about his lawyer? If he isn’t afraid to off his own hit man, why should a JD stop him? Maybe we better warn those guys what they’ve taken on as a client.”

“They can’t testify against him, though. He should know that. There’s no point to hittin’ on them. The hit man coulda blackmailed him, turned him over or whatever. That was different. No, I think the only threat he still has is us. If he knows we’re still alive. I mean, how does he know we weren’t blown up last night? Maybe the hit man told him we were offed already, so he figured he was done with the guy and could just go.”

Waco pondered this. “You’re right, Starsk. We’ve got to let him know he’s not finished yet. And quick, before he leaves. Let’s go visit his law firm and tell them we’re alive and ready to testify as soon as he’s caught. They might as well hear all the new charges straight from us. And, because we’re so nice, we’ll even do what Hutch suggested, warn them they might be next.”

~~~

“Now what?” Starsky groused. “They didn’t seem unduly impressed. What’s your read?”

“We won’t know unless he bites. Let’s figure how we’re going to set this up without being too obvious about it. If he’s gone, he’s gone. Nothing we can do about it now. But if he’s here…”

“How about heading over to my place? If we act like we think he’s blown town, what could be more natural? We have a beer or two, commiserate about losing the sonofabitch, then you guys head on home. My guess is that he’s maddest at me, for settin’ him up and gettin’ away. He oughta go for me first.”

Hutch opened his mouth, then shut it. It was only logical; Starsky was probably right. “So how do we make sure he doesn’t get you after we leave? Another stakeout crew? He might be wise to that.”

“We have some high-tech toys over at Bureau station headquarters that might come in handy. Let’s go take a look,” Waco suggested. “I think Starsky’s onto where we need to go. But we’ve got to make this foolproof. No chances. None.” He turned to Hutch. “And that means you as well. Starsky may be right about being Townsend’s main target, but let’s not forget he wants you out of the way too. No telling what he might try first.”

“What makes you so invincible? Why assume he doesn’t want to take you out? You know more about him than either of us put together. You busted him,” Hutch reminded him. “He knows your name too. You think he’s afraid to kill an FBI agent? I don’t.”

Waco sighed. “I don’t either. But I’ve got a much lower profile in the criminal community here than you two. He probably already knows where you live, where you hang out, etc. He was able to find your safe house in less than a day. I’m not as connected, not as easy to find yet. Oh, he will, given the opportunity. But why not do the easy stuff first, while you’re waiting to hear about the out-of-town guy? Besides, I can sidestep him by just disappearing without it seeming odd. Maybe I just left town. All I have to do is let his lawyers know they can contact me via the Bureau in DC. They’ll assume I returned on business. No, let’s concentrate on you two.”

It was a pleasant night to have a cookout and drink beer. Even the knowledge that they were targets didn’t prevent the team from utterly enjoying themselves. Waco was in top form, telling Hoover stories that left them clutching their sides. Starsky handled the steaks on the Hibachi from the balcony, their aroma wafting through the whole neighborhood. A neon sign could not have announced his presence louder. All three cars were parked in view of the street. There could be no doubt about their location tonight. Dinner was an orgy of grilled rare beef and corn-on-the-cob. Hutch had thrown together a salad, replete with peculiar vegetation from the organic food market. Waco made no comment and dug into it liberally. Starsky had learned long ago to bypass his partner’s forays into health food cuisine.

It would have been completely perfect, Starsky reflected, if Hutch were staying the night. But there was little excuse for them to be bunking together now, and the whole purpose of tonight was to make themselves seem vulnerable to Townsend. What Waco thought, if anything, about finding them together the other day here was left unspoken. Come to think of it, he hadn’t been as flirty recently. Perhaps that said enough.

Also unspoken was the genuine affection he knew both he and Hutch had developed for the big man. It wasn’t just professional respect, although that was surely part of it. They could have disliked him intensely and still respected him as a lawman. No, it was the way he had confronted them head on with their prejudices and fears, and had forced them to see themselves in a new light. Maybe that had been necessary for the job, but Starsky suspected he would have done it anyway. He grinned fondly at the auburn head bent over his ship’s model, inspecting it. Matchmaker, he concluded wryly. As bad as a Jewish mother. But where is the love of your life? Should I ask?

Curious, Starsky sidled over to where Waco sat, still engrossed in the detailing on the model. His hands were amazingly delicate and fingers precise for being so big. Hutch gave his partner a quizzical look but said nothing, contentedly digesting his meal.

Waco looked up from the model, his eyes aglow. “I used to do this with my Dad when I was a kid. Never kept it up after I got into my teens. When did you finish it?”

“Last year. It’s a hobby of mine. I started off with my Dad too. After he died, I guess I kept it up to kind of keep him around for me, y’know?”

Hutch was listening intently now. He knew how difficult Starsky’s childhood in New York had been; his world had crashed in on him after his father had been shot in the line of duty. But his partner had never alluded before to the connection between those dark years and his consummate skill with tiny spools of wire and bits of wood.

Waco’s hazel eyes softened further, staring into the distance. “It’s good that you have that always with you. I wish…”

“Yes?” Starsky gently prompted after a long pause.

“My Dad doesn’t speak to me anymore. He tells people I died in Vietnam. For him, I guess that’s the truth. That’s when I stopped being and thinking what he wanted for me.” He met Starsky’s eyes. “You have to be really careful now. Make your stands where you have to, but don’t go looking for them. More often than not, you lose.”

So much for fooling anybody. Starsky swallowed, moved by the kindness, the sadness in those eyes. On impulse he grasped the other man’s arm. “Y’know? You’re a damn good man, Waco. I’m gonna miss you when you go back to DC. Hope you got somebody back there that appreciates you.”

Sunshine broke out in the big man’s face. “I do. His name’s Nathan. He works at the Pentagon.” He reached for a back-pocket wallet and flipped it open. “I got this taken at Ocean City last summer. We don’t have good beach weather all year long like you guys.” Starsky inspected the photo with genuine pleasure; his wish for his new friend was a reality. Hutch came over to look too. His hand strayed to Waco’s shoulder. For a moment there was a shared comfortable silence between the three.

Conversation strayed to business matters as the evening drew to a close. Plans were finalized. They all knew it was nearly showtime again. If Townsend was still around.

~~~

Hutch reached for the key above the doorsill of his Venice apartment, where he always kept it. Starsky constantly reminded him it wasn’t exactly the safest habit for a cop to cultivate, but he’d stubbornly refused to change over the years. Now was certainly no time to start. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled to attention as he entered the darkened room and flicked on the light switch. Nothing. He surveyed the rest of the rooms, gun drawn, keeping his back to the walls. It was completely empty.

He knew he was being paranoid. The undercover cops camped out in a storefront across the street had already given him the all clear by radio. They’d staked the place out for several hours now. A similar crew had been deployed within sight of Starsky’s. No way could Townsend approach either of them without being seen. Neither Dobey nor Waco were taking any chances. No one was sitting out in the open where a crazed assassin could walk up to them this time. A potential killer would see nothing.

Calmer, he divested himself of his jacket and proceeded to water his plants. They’d been sorely neglected for the past four days. Had it only been four days since the case began? It felt like an eternity. Seismic changes had occurred in his life. Already he was missing Starsky. His rounds complete, he went to the bedroom for a robe.

The closet door swung open with a sharp crack that send him tumbling headlong into the bed. There was no point in reaching for his gun; the cold eyes staring triumphantly at him said so. So did the revolver in Townsend’s hand.

“So long, cop.”

“They’ll hear you, outside. They’ll see you leave and pick you up before you make the corner.” Hutch was breathless, breaking into a sweat.

“Who? You’re bluffing.” Townsend aimed the barrel.

“Take a look for yourself. There’s a stakeout crew across the street. You must’ve come in before they arrived and set up.”

Townsend pondered this. “When did they get here?”

“About two hours ago.” Hutch prayed it was the right answer.

“Turn around, hands behind you. Don’t move fast.”

He did as he was told. A moment later he felt the killer’s hand reaching into his back pocket. Townsend pulled out his handcuffs and locked them in place on his wrists. Then he removed Hutch’s gun from his shoulder holster.

“Stand up. We’ll take a look.”

They walked over to the front window, Townsend invisible behind Hutch. His gun prodded deep in his back. “Shit.” There was barely a hint of inflection in his assailant’s voice. “I guess I’ll have to do this in stages. All right, cop. You get a few more hours this way. Hope you enjoy them. We’re going for a ride. Your job is to convince your buddies over there not to follow us unless they want your head blown off.”

~~~

Starsky lay unsleeping on the living room couch, waiting for Waco’s return. The agent’s plan was to double back after apparently leaving, and camp out. They would take turns getting some rest. Only the stakeout crew knew this part of the plan; they had been briefed personally by Dobey. Whoever had sold out their safe house would have no opportunity this time.

Instead of a subtle rap against a windowpane, a loud pounding on the front door jolted him upright. “Starsk? Hurry up, it’s Waco.” He crossed the room and flung open the door at once. The agent grabbed him by the shoulder. “He’s got Hutch. No time to talk. Got your gun? We’re going.”

Despite the taller man’s long legs, Starsky was in the street and opening the Torino while Waco raced to catch up with him. “Where to?” was his only comment as they screeched off.

“Slow down. They’re heading south on the Santa Monica freeway. Hutch is okay. The stakeout guys saw him walk to his car with Townsend behind him. He told them not to follow. They switched cars after that to throw off any black and whites.”

“How the fuck did he get to my partner? What were these guys doin’? Jerkin’ off?”

“He had to have already been in the apartment, waiting. He could have been there all day.”

“Nobody ever checked?” Starsky was not appeased.

“If we thought a murder suspect on the run would hide out all day in a cop’s apartment, wouldn’t we have checked? Come on, Starsk. No one would expect that. He’s a fucking lunatic.”

“A really smart one too. Everything he’s set out to do, he’s pulled off so far.”

“Not entirely. I don’t think taking Hutch hostage was part of his plan. The presence of the stakeout crew kept him from blowing him away on the spot.”

“So how do we know Hutch is alive now? You said they switched cars…”

“The homing device in his belt buckle is working fine. An unmarked car saw them when they switched. Hutch was alive then. If he was going to kill him, he would have done it then and left him in the LTD, then took off in his own car. No, I think he’s going to try to contact us. Now calm down. We know where he is, what he’s driving. We’ll get him.”

“I don’t give a shit about that. What if he hurts Hutch?” Starsky’s eyes were wild.

Waco sighed. “Easy, Starsk. He wants us, remember? He’s going to call, make us go to him alone or some bullshit like that. But we’ll already be there. He doesn’t know about the homing device. We’ll insist on talking to Hutch. He knows that. We’ll make sure he has to show us Hutch before we agree to come in close. He wants to take us all out. He’ll wait until he thinks he can do that.” Silently the FBI agent prayed he was right.

~~~

Townsend said nothing as they cruised along the freeway. Hutch had to admit he was the iciest creature he’d ever met. An occasional black and white passed by at random, but he paid it no mind. No one was following them. He seemed to know where he was going, as if this were part of a backup plan. Even the presence of the other cops in front of Hutch’s apartment hadn’t panicked him. He drove smoothly, without undue haste or apparent concern.

For his part. Hutch had little to add. It didn’t take a genius IQ to figure out that the killer intended to use him to get to Starsky. He could count on his partner to do everything he could to make sure Hutch was safe when it was all over. What scared him was that very fact. Starsky could be reckless where he was concerned. He hoped that at least Waco would keep cool and careful. There was nothing else he could do. The handcuffs weren’t going anywhere, and Townsend had tightly clasped the seatbelt on him, in case he thought of trying to throw himself from the car.

They turned off the freeway some distance from downtown. The locale changed from city to suburb to exurb. Townsend continued turning without looking at directions. He must have planned this route in advance. At last they pulled into a vast industrial park complex; to the back of it were a small private airport hangar and runway.

“You know how to fly?” It was the first thing Hutch had said since getting in the car. “Why the hell didn’t you get out last night?”

Townsend turned to him with only the faintest of smiles. “I don’t like loose ends.”

Keep him talking, damnit. “You didn’t mind them before. You didn’t always kill your victims. Why start now?”

“So you do know about the rest.” The man’s features flattened again. “Who else knows? Your partner? The Fed? Who?” He parked the car deep within the open hangar and turned off the ignition.

Hutch swallowed. “What difference does it make? The entire police force, for all intents and purposes. The whole FBI. What, you think we don’t file reports? That if you kill us, everybody else forgets it all? You’ve been booked…” He was unprepared for the murderous change his words unleashed. Townsend’s fist smashed into the unprotected side of his face, then again, and again.

~~~

Waco stayed in constant contact with the Bureau tracking center. He referred to a map periodically and called for a direction change. After several turns, Starsky had a good idea where they were going, and said so. Buildings were getting sparser. On a hunch he aimed for the industrial park section along back roads. There were several complexes off the freeway, but they were all within close proximity to each other.

The tracking device confirmed his guess and put them several miles closer in a jump. Starsky thought furiously and guessed again. It would have to be a deserted one, with transportation, if possible. He steered directly towards the one that best fit the bill.

Once again, the tracker proved him right. Unless they were careful, Townsend might actually see them. Starsky killed his lights as they entered the complex, looking in all directions. The tracker now was indicating a stationary coordinate straight in the park. The Torino crept forward.

“What’s that?” Waco indicated a huge warehouse complex that seemed to be the location of the device.

“A shipping company. But right behind it…” The hangar came into view. “Eureka! Looks like it to me.”

“Pull over.”

“But…”

“He’s going to call, remember? What’s he going to do if he doesn’t get you?”

Starsky had no ready reply to that. “Let me at least get a little closer, okay? He’s got to be right in that building with the planes. We can get opposite it without his hearing or seeing us.”

“All right. Now, when he calls, you try to keep him on the line as long as you can, and I creep in closer. We kill the engine here and push it a ways.”

The call came patched through Metro nearly five minutes later. Starsky was ready to jump out of his skin; the radio seemed unnaturally loud in the still night air. Waco handed him the receiver and nodded.

“Starsky here.” He seemed strained and terse, even to himself. Waco pulled out his gun and checked his ammunition. A moment later he was slithering between buildings.

“Hello, David. Remember me?” Townsend was still smooth, cold, sure. The sound sent a chill through Starsky.

“Yeah, sure, I remember. I wanna talk to my partner right now, man. You got him safe, right?”

The voice chuckled. “He’s with me, David. You want him back? I’ll tell you where to find him, okay? That’s easy, isn’t it?”

Terror gripped Starsky’s guts in a wave of nausea. “Let me just talk to him now, Townsend. I ain’t going nowhere ’til I hear his voice.”

“Bullshit. You’ll do what you’re told. You’re going to get in your car and drive south on the Santa Monica freeway. Alone. I’ll call back and tell you what to do after that.”

“Not unless I hear him now,” Starsky persisted in a cold sweat.

For an endless minute Starsky thought he had lost the battle of wills. Then Hutch’s voice came across, raspy and breathless. “Starsk?”

“You okay, buddy?” He was finally able to draw a deep breath again.

“Yeah. Don’t…” His voice faded away as Townsend took the receiver back. “That’s it, David. Now, get moving.” The line went dead. Starsky took him at his word and threw himself from the car.

~~~

Hutch closed his eyes and rested his throbbing head back against the top of the desk. It felt twice its size; his left eye barely opened at all. The taste of blood was all over his teeth. He tried to lick his battered lips with limited success. Hope you understood, babe. Don’t be reckless. This bastard wants you personally because you got away.

Townsend had taken deliberate, savage pleasure in beating him nearly senseless. He’d stopped short of knocking the cop out, varying his blows, timing them to hurt as much as possible. Now he looked his captive over with rising excitement “I want him to have just enough time to get here before you die, pig. He’s going to watch you bleed to death and not be able to stop it. Then it’ll be his turn to go.”

Stall him. Starsky’s got to be close. “What makes you so sure he’ll come alone? He’s not stupid. What’s to prevent him from bringing the whole police force with him?”

“Doesn’t matter if he does. The more the merrier. I won’t be here. But my going away present will.” He patted a large suitcase next to the office desk Hutch lay spread-eagled upon. His long limbs hung over the sides and duct tape bound his wrists and ankles securely to its legs. “You really think I don’t know the phone call was probably traced?”

Hutch understood instantly. “So you were the demo man all along, not your hired gun. You just used him for some dirty work.”

Townsend snorted. “He didn’t have the brains of a cocker spaniel. Pathetic. Of course I did them. You would have known that if your background checks were worth anything. It was my specialty in the army.” He laughed again. “Among other things. You ever seen a woman blown up with a grenade up her? I got a really good education. A real sense of mission in life, you might say.”

He moved closer and pulled out a long slender knife. “I wish I had time to do you more personally, cop. But I do have to catch a plane before your friend arrives.” The knife edge slid between the buttons of his shirt, plucking them off, until his chest was exposed. “I’m going to cut your tits and cock off and leave them stuffed in your mouth. I just wish I could see his face when he finds you. I hope you’re still alive then. I really do. Tell him about the bomb. It won’t fucking matter. It’ll go off before either of you can get out the door.”

Hutch held his breath as the knife descended once more, circling his left nipple… Straining against the tape did nothing but widen Townsend’s grin. He swallowed hard, trying to prepare himself for the pain.

A sharp flick was all he felt before a hurricane force brushed past and tossed his assailant through the office’s glass partition. Waco. He drew a sobbing breath in relief. “Where’s Starsky?”

“Right here, babe. I’m here now.” Hutch turned in the direction of that frantic voice and tried to smile. It hurt too much to pull off, but Starsky gently kissed him for the effort.

“Lemme get this shit offa you. We gotta get outa here quick.”

So they knew about the bomb. Hutch sighed, grateful he didn’t have to speak. Townsend’s knife sliced through the tape easily. Brief moments later his partner had pulled him to a sitting position and began easing him off the desk. He stood, shaky but supported by powerful arms around his waist. “C’mon, babe. We gotta go.”

Waco dragged his prisoner along. “What time is the bomb set for?”

Townsend looked up and merely snarled, eyes black.

“Maybe we should just leave him in there until the bomb squad arrives an’ find out that way,” Starsky opined. “Betcha he could disarm it faster than they could too, if he was motivated.”

“I like the sentiment, but it’s not exactly FBI procedure, Starsky. Sorry.”

The smaller man would have shrugged had it not been for his precious burden. All that really mattered was Hutch, clasped tightly in his arms, warm and breathing.

Backup forces had begun to pull in, one behind the other. Dobey emerged from one to congratulate them as others took their prisoner into custody. Waco shooed everyone back from the hangar, calling for the bomb squad. It was unlikely anything could be done in time, but at least no one would get hurt.

The bomb went off fifteen minutes later with a thunderous boom that shook the ground. The building was nearly leveled as numerous planes caught fire and their fuel added to the spectacle. Its blaze was eerily beautiful; Zebra Three took in the sight as Starsky applied alcohol swabs to his partner’s cuts. They sat at a safe distance in the Torino, waiting for Waco to wrap up business. This time it was certainly over.

He emerged with the flames behind him casting weird shadows, smiling now at the sight of them. Arms wide, he caught them both in a bear hug and kissed their foreheads, one after another. The embrace was eagerly returned, as were the kisses.

~~~

“Are you sure you don’t want to get checked out at the hospital?” Waco tried once more as they dropped him off at his hotel.

Hutch waved his hand in the negative. He was too sore to shake his head or speak easily. Starsky added for him, “He’ll be okay. I’ve taken care of him in worse shape.” Both recalled a session in hell over Huggy’s old place, when Starsky had coaxed his partner through a vicious three-day heroin withdrawal. He’d been beaten far worse then too. Ben Forest’s goons had more time to work him over than Townsend had.

What felt critical to both of them was to get themselves alone somewhere safe. Waco sensed their mutual determination and capitulated. “Okay. But you’ll call me if you need anything at all.”

“You got it.” Starsky genuinely appreciated his concern, but was eager to get going. Hutch hadn’t ever lost consciousness, was easily coherent, and clearly wanted to go home. “See ya tomorrow. Dobey said we could do most of our paperwork then.”

Once underway, he turned to his partner. “My place or yours?” he asked softly.

“Yours.” His plants had been watered. There was no particular need to go back to his place. Besides, Hutch wanted to erase the last few hours and return to where they’d been after dinner. The rest was just as well forgotten for now.

That satisfied his partner too; Starsky steered the Torino along familiar routes in silence until they arrived. Eager hands helped Hutch up the stairs and onto the couch. “Let’s see. A good stiff drink, some leftover codeine, and an ice pack oughta fix you up in no time, babe. Just sit still.”

Hutch complied without comment as Starsky assembled his homemade first aid kit. Along with it came a cool washcloth to wipe away the remaining sweat and blood on his face. Hutch sighed. Starsky’s hands were so exact, so tender at their task that it moved him. His partner’s intense gaze never left his face, searching for any sign of pain. “S’okay, Starsk. Love you.”

“Love ya too, Hutch. Hold this a minute; I’m gonna turn down the bed.” He placed Hutch’s hand over the ice pack while rising.

True to his word, he reemerged seconds later and helped the larger man to stand. “You need to get some rest. C’mon, buddy.” He partly supported a still woozy Hutch to the bedroom and steered him over to the bedside. Hutch, meanwhile, tossed his bloodied shirt to the floor. Starsky eased him onto the bed, then proceeded to pull down the rest of his clothes once he lay back. “Hang tight here; I’ll get your drink.”

By the time he returned. Hutch’s blackened eyes had already drooped shut. Starsky crept next to the bedside table and put the glass down, then turned out the light and retreated towards the door.

“Where are you going?” His words were slightly slurred but Hutch’s eyes had shot open again.

“Out to the couch. You need to sleep, babe. It’s okay.” Starsky smiled at him reassuringly from the doorway.

“No way.” He started to raise his head, but a sudden sharp pain made him desist, wincing. This brought his partner back to his side in a split second. “Not without you, Starsk.” His eyes closed again. “Want you next to me.”

“All right, babe. Anything you say,” Starsky whispered in distress. He threw his own clothing into a heap on the floor and crawled beside his lover with no further argument. Hutch rolled slowly to his less injured side, then reached blindly until the familiar texture of his partner’s body met his own. Starsky deposited a soft kiss to his forehead and held the ice pack there once more. “Now go to sleep. Nobody’s gonna hurt you. I gotcha right here.”

Soft deep breathing a few moments later confirmed the rightness of his choice. Starsky continued to hold the ice until it was nearly all melted. He would have cheerfully held it in place until either Christmas came or his arm fell off, just for the joy of seeing Hutch safe and snoring beside him.

~~~

Hutch groped restlessly across the bed, half asleep. Something was wrong. Something was missing. Fear crept along his nerves, waking him further, though not completely. He moaned in need, still searching.

Then a hand and a familiar voice put it right. “Easy, babe. I’m here.” He opened his eyes and a wan smile emerged. Starsky stood over the bed, smoothing his hair back from his brow. It was okay again. He sighed happily. His lover was clad only in jeans and made an appealing sight to wake to.

“You think you want to try some coffee? I made pancake batter, but I was waiting to see what you felt like eating. Something soft and mushy, I thought.”

“How ’bout something long and hard?” Hutch purred.

Starsky chuckled and shook his head. “If you could see what your face looks like, you’d know how ridiculous you sound. I wouldn’t even try a line like that. I guess that means you’re feeling better, though. Stay put; I’ll get your coffee.”

Curiosity coupled with a need to urinate caused him to disregard his partner’s instructions. He took his time sitting on the bedside, but when nothing disastrous happened, he propelled himself to the bathroom. His left eye and jaw certainly ached, but he suspected they looked worse than they felt. The mirror confirmed it; he really did look like a train wreck. Nonetheless, nothing was broken and everything moved okay. The worst of the throbbing was over and the swelling had gone down during the night. He raised the lid and took aim at the bowl.

Starsky entered behind him, exasperated. “I thought I told ya to stay put. Suppose you got dizzy and fell?”

Hutch was too pleased with being alive and whole to take his partner’s reprimand to heart. After finishing his task, he turned and drew Starsky into a hug. “I didn’t thank you last night, partner,” he murmured into a softly covered ear. “You did real good, you know.”

A quiet sob caught him by surprise. He leaned back to see what was wrong. Sure enough, the smaller man had faintest suspicion of moisture in those brilliant eyes. He was touched; this was a level of intimacy that Starsky had not easily demonstrated to him before.

His perusal made his partner blush furiously and avert his gaze, eyes blinking. Hutch pulled him back against his bare body, his lips grazing soft dark curls. “God, I love you, Starsk. I love you so much.”

Starsky seemed incapable of verbal response. He hugged back tightly for some minutes, refusing to lift his head. When he finally did, he was back under control, eyes shining. “Love ya too, blondie.” A familiar grin split his face. “Ya wanta stand here all day or eat breakfast?”

“You have a one-track mind,” his partner griped teasingly. “Okay, you win.” His lips brushed against Starsky’s. “Just don’t forget what I want for dessert.”

The pancakes were a good idea, he had to admit, as he sat back, sipping his coffee. Slathered with syrup and butter, they were wonderfully mushy and easy to chew. Starsky was pleased with his appetite and finally convinced that he really was much better.

“Want the bathroom first? I’ll take care of the kitchen.” He rose to begin cleaning when Hutch snagged him about the waist and trapped him between both arms.

“Not until I’ve had my dessert.” Starsky caught his breath as the blond’s tongue curled into his exposed navel and gently laved. A fine tremor informed his lover that he was on the right track. Hutch allowed his tongue to slide down further, following the dark hair line to just above the button of the low-slung jeans.

Starsky’s hands came to rest on his shoulders, caressing and massaging. A soft groan escaped him when his partner unsnapped the blue denim barrier between them and carefully tugged the zipper down. Just this much action was making his cock ache and extend. Hutch caressed it with his good cheek, nuzzling, then licking. He could feel Starsky’s legs sway.

“Let’s lay down before we wind up on the kitchen floor,” his dark lover murmured. He could find no fault with that notion. Rising, he took Starsky by the hand and led him back to bed.

Starsky was aroused now, but still fearful of hurting him, he knew. True, he didn’t feel much like trying to suck his partner’s thick cock, but he was quite willing to explore other options. They tumbled together into the bed, with Hutch winding up underneath. His own need was obvious and immediate. Starsky concentrated on that, fondling his erection and nibbling his nipples eagerly. “Just what kind of dessert did you have in mind, blondie?” he urged.

Hutch sighed, almost unable to speak. His spiraling arousal made it difficult to do more than breathe. “I… I’m not sure. Anything…. don’t stop.”

“Anything?” Starsky had a devilish glint in his eye that ordinarily would have alarmed him. Now, he frankly didn’t care. Anything his partner wanted to do was fine with him. He spread his legs wide.

But to his surprise, Starsky gently closed them again and straddled him instead. “My turn, buddy,” he murmured lovingly. “Blonds don’t get all the fun.” He watched with bemusement as Starsky capped his aching penis with KY jelly. The delicate touch was driving him mad, but he wasn’t sure what his lover was up to. Then Starsky rose up over him and, still holding him, slowly lowered his gorgeous ass down onto his cock. Puzzlement gave way to astonishment as he felt his tip slide deep into Starsky’s tight hot interior. Both men groaned with the contact.

“My God, Starsk!” Hutch bit his lip to keep from coming on the spot. It was incredible…seeing his lover impale himself on him. Starsky kept working his way down in silence, determinedly opening to him. He knew it had to hurt, but Starsky showed no sign of changing his mind. He grimaced once or twice, but didn’t pause until Hutch’s entire length was buried deep inside him. Only then did he stop to catch his breath, sweat glistening off his face and shoulders.

Hutch dared not move. Starsky had to be painfully adjusting to his presence. Never had his lover’s deep blue eyes looked so mysterious to him. Then, braver than he could imagine, Starsky began rocking and bearing down onto him. “Easy, babe. Slow… Gotta hold on for you.” Hutch managed to grind out in staccato pants. He gripped his partner’s penis and caressed it back to full tumescence. The dance between them began as he started to arch and thrust up in time to his partner’s pattern.

Starsky was flushed and shaking, so intent was he. Hutch kept the rhythm of stimulation going with one hand, then reached up to tease a nipple with the other. That had blown Starsky away before; perhaps it would again.

It did. His lover cried out hoarsely as he came, a sound Hutch had never heard him make. So intense, it sent a chill through him. Then his own sensations won out. His stifled yell filled the room as he surrendered to them.

They lay in a crumpled heap, heaving, for some time. Starsky eventually rolled to one side and nestled in Hutch’s waiting arms. “That scratch your itch, buddy?” he wanted to know.

Hutch choked back a laugh. “Careful. Don’t crack me up. My ribs are still sore.”

“You looked pretty recovered a minute ago.” A dark head with a knowing grin and flashing eyes popped into view next to his.

That was before you wasted me again.” Hutch took a deep breath, luxuriating in the utter perfection of it all. “What possessed you to do that?”

A shadow of concern crossed dark features. “Did’ja mind? I kinda assumed you wouldn’t, but…”

“Of course not! I told you; anything, babe. I’m just curious, that’s all. You really surprised me.” Hutch’s fingers threaded playfully through the thick locks presented to him. “That was fabulous.”

Starsky’s grin reemerged with a shade of tenderness to it. “You thought I was too scared to do it?”

“Now, Starsk…”

“Well, I was,” he interrupted. “Scared, I mean. So I had to, to get it outa the way. Y’know? Isn’t that why you did it too?”

Hutch thoughtfully considered his partner’s words. “Maybe, in part. I just wanted to get as close as I could to you. To let nothing get between us. Is that what you mean?”

“Yeah. You know.” Starsky nuzzled his neck contentedly. “Now I know there’s nothing we can’t do for each other. I’m not as liberated as you are, y’know? I had to find out for myself.”

“Dummy. You should’ve asked me. I could’ve told you there was nothing we couldn’t do.”

~~~

A towering shadow leaned over the desk where Zebra Three polished off the last of the paperwork involved in Townsend’s arrest. They looked up simultaneously at Waco’s sweet grin and returned it.

“Want some bad coffee? It’s only left over from this morning.” Starsky poured a cup and proffered it to the FBI agent. “Thanks for taking care of most of this pile. It sure made today a lot easier.”

“No problem. A lot of it was an attempt to satisfy my own curiosity. I really wanted to find out why he killed Gibson. Not that I expected him to tell me. It was a relief when word came back from his hometown.”

“Yeah. So, the kid was from Texas too, an’ knew his family? Think he tried to blackmail him?”

“Seems like it. Of course, we’ll never know for sure, unless Townsend confesses.” Waco brushed back a thick auburn cowlick. “But we’ve got a motive to go with the physical evidence now. Makes it a little harder for his lawyers to dance around.”

“Think they’ll try an insanity plea?” Hutch inquired. “He really is crazy, after all.”

The agent shook his head. “I don’t think he’ll let them, tell you the truth. No, he’s going to play it out to the last detail. Just as well. I’d rather have him behind bars than in some supposed psychiatric facility.”

“You can say that again,” Starsky opined. “Our experiences with psych units have definitely been less than positive.”

Waco chuckled. “That sounds like a story or two I should hear. Think you can stand company over a real dinner? Not to disparage the Pits, but I’m pretty sick of hamburgers.”

“You bet! I know just the place. It’s a little unusual, but the food is excellent. They make a sausage and cream cheese burrito you wouldn’t believe…”

Hutch groaned.

~~~

Several days later, the trio entered LA International, making their good-byes. It was not permanent; Waco would certainly be around to testify. But at least for now he was free to go home. There would be other assignments for them to pick up. Life would go on.

For Zebra Three it had changed forever. Loving each other was one part of it; somehow, they would have to learn how to tell their friends and families, deal with co-workers, not get fired. Waco promised to bring his lover the next time he came to California for the trial. They would not be left all on their own. They had backup.

“So, you gonna get a medal for catching this creep, or what?” Starsky demanded playfully as they hauled his luggage to the airline ticket area. “They did notice, didn’t they?” The bags were tagged and stored for passage to the belly of the plane.

“You could say that.” Waco grimaced as he collected the boarding pass and tags. “Seems they think I have a talent for weird shit now. Thanks to this, I got assigned to the goddamn booby prize of the entire fucking FBI.” They accompanied him over to the departure gate.

“That sounds serious. It got a name?”

“The X files.”