Sting In The Tail

Starsky swung the car around the corner of Rose Avenue and Lincoln Boulevard, heading into noonday traffic. He muttered under his breath, heaping abuse on Amboy’s head for everything that had happened in the last day.

Hutch rolled sideways onto his tender butt cheek. It was almost two hours since he had been stung by that bee. He shifted position, balancing precariously on his other cheek. “Hey, slow down. My backside really hurts. All this rolling around is making it worse.”

Being hauled down to the fifth District Precinct by Lieutenant Hughes meant that Hutch had been unable to tend to the wound. And he had to suffer the indignity of fidgeting every time he had been forced to sit down.

More than once, some wiseass had asked, “Got ants in your pants, boy?” and then the snickering had started. It seemed that his misfortune was the topic of the day for the station bound cops.

“I just thought we might as well get back to headquarters as soon as possible. Dobey ain’t going to be happy that we got ourselves arrested on Amboy’s property,” said Starsky, stating the obvious. “Boy, is he gonna be surprised when we tell him that Squire Fox was at Amboy’s.”

“Can’t we go to my place? We’re on Lincoln, we can stop at Venice Place first. I want to get out of these clothes. Deal with this stinger.” Hutch grabbed the dashboard when Starsky executed another spin of the steering wheel. “Starsk!”

Starsky grinned. “You said you wanted to go home. I needed to make this turn for your place.” He stared straight ahead, but was making no attempt to hide his mirth at Hutch’s predicament.

“Yes I did. But I would like to get there in one piece. I’m uncomfortable enough. My ass smarts.” He scowled at Starsky. “You are really enjoying my pain, aren’t you?”

Starsky laughed. “Oh, come on, Hutch. You’ve got to admit, it is funny. We go on a stakeout, and you get stung in the butt.”

“It’s hilarious, buddy,” said Hutch indignantly. “More importantly, Dobey is going to have our badges for this. He told us to keep well away. I don’t want the embarrassment of having a stinger in my ass when he kicks me off the force.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. Dobey’s gonna make a lot of noise, and he might burst a blood vessel or two. But we’re good cops…” Starsky left the sentence hanging, and pulled up to the curb outside Venice Place.

“Talking about Dobey.” Hutch grabbed the radio mike. “Zebra three to dispatch.”

“Dispatch, go ahead, Zebra three.”

“Cassie, log us off the streets for the next hour.” Hutch put down the mike and carefully clambered out of the car, wincing every time a pain shot through his buttock.

Starsky jumped out of the drivers side, and ran around the hood, reaching the carved front door before Hutch. He opened the door and bowed graciously. “After you, sir.” He snickered.

Ignoring the silly grin on Starsky’s face, Hutch nodded and stepped through the doorway. A sharp slap hit him squarely on his stung cheek. “Oww,” he yelped. “Starsky, that’s not nice. You are so childish.” He limped up the steps, using both hands to protect his rear from further attack.

Starsky jostled past him, and took the stairs two at once, laughing. “Race you.” Arriving at Hutch’s apartment door first, Starsky felt above the lintel for the key. Sliding his fingers along the wood, he found the key, and unlocked the door.

Hutch reached the landing where Starsky standing. “You go first this time,” he said.

Starsky flashed a jubilant smile. “Spoilsport.” He walked into the living room.

“Self-preservation, buddy. That’s all.” Hutch grimaced, rubbing his behind for the umpteenth time.

Starsky flung himself on to the couch. “What’s the plan?” he asked, stretching full length and resting his arms along the back.

“The plan is that I need to get this stinger out,” said Hutch impatiently. How many times did he have to say the same thing? “It could be in my butt, or stuck in the material of my pants. If it’s in my flesh, it’s probably burrowed it’s way to China by now.” Hutch abandoned his shoes by the piano, and went into the bathroom. Starsky was bugging the hell out of him with his obvious enjoyment of the whole situation.

“I’ll suck it out for you,” said Starsky quickly.

Hutch spun around. “What? Did you say what I thought you said?” He tried to look Starsky in the eye to see if he was putting him on, but Starsky picked that exact time to drop his head.

Pretending to pick something off of his tee shirt sleeve, Starsky repeated, “I’ll suck it out for you.”

Hutch was astonished, and said the first thing that came into his head. “That’s snake bites, stupid. And you are not supposed to suck them out, that’s a myth.”

Starsky jumped up and glared at him. “Don’t call me stupid. I’m just trying to help.”

Hutch took a step back. “Hey, sorry. You kinda threw me there.” Starsky’s anger had surprised him even more than Starsky’s offer. “Of course you are not stupid. And thank you for the offer, but I think I can manage.”

“Just wanted to help,” said Starsky sulking. He turned his back on Hutch and muttered, “Been a long time since you let me touch your bare butt.”

Hutch just caught the words. “Aw, Starsk. We said we weren’t going to do that any more. It’s too risky.” He started to take a step.

Starsky held up his hand. “Don’t come any closer. Just go deal with that stinger.” He flopped onto the couch, and closed his eyes.

Sighing, Hutch walked into the bathroom. He pushed the door closed, and slipped off his pants and shorts. Twisting and turning, he tried to see the offending red lump. He could reach it, but there was no way he could tell if the stinger was still in there or not. “Damn.” The door opened behind him.

“Need some help?” Starsky peeked around the edge, staring appreciatively at Hutch’s behind.

Hutch blushed under the blatant scrutiny. “Starsky!” He stood up straight, facing his partner. He remembered too late that he was naked from the waist down, and now Starsky had an eyeful of his penis. Oh God, could this day get any worse? Now he was flashing his limpness. Why had he turned around? Hutch wasn’t sure whether to cover himself with his hands, or just get it over with, standing there with everything on display. He chose the latter.

“Babe, do you know what you doing to me?” Starsky opened the door wider and walked in to the bathroom, stopping just inside.

Hutch took a step back, almost falling into the bathtub. He smiled sheepishly. Panic bubbled in his stomach. Starsky was behaving like a sexual predator, and Hutch felt like his young prey. This was the first time that being naked in front of his partner had made him feel uncomfortable. He didn’t like the vulnerability that welled up inside him.

Starsky laughed. “If you could just see your face. Am I that scary?”

Regaining his balance, Hutch said, “I…I…just…” He stopped speaking because he really didn’t know what he wanted to say. He was behaving like a virgin who’d never been touched before. This was Starsky, for heaven’s sake. Pull yourself together, Hutchinson.

“Hutch, just bend over and let me get that goddamn stinger out for you,” ordered Starsky. “That’s all I’m gonna do, I swear.” He grabbed Hutch by the shoulders, twisting him around until he faced the wall behind the bathtub. “Bend over.”

Feeling silly, Hutch bent over. All he could think about was how unprotected he felt, with his backside exposed to his partner. Images flashed through his mind of the last time he and Starsky were in this position. Shaking his head, he tried to dispel the memory of that drunken night.

“Tell me what to do.” Starsky traced a circle on Hutch’s left butt cheek.

Hutch shuddered. “Uhh?” Jeezus, Starsk. Don’t do that, it…

Starsky sighed, and said slowly, “tell me what to do. You said I don’t suck it out, so what do I do?”

“Oh, you…clean the area first.” Hutch flinched when Starsky skimmed a cold washcloth over his throbbing ass.

“Then what?” Starsky mopped up the drops of water from Hutch’s legs.

“What the?” Hutch jumped when he felt a quick nip on his right buttock. He span around. “Starsky, you promised. Now get out,” he snarled. Please, Starsk, just do as I ask, for once. The temptation that Starsky was offering was tearing him apart.

Starsky had the decency to look apologetic. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t resist that peachy fuzz.” He half smiled. “Now what do I do? I swear, no more messing around.”

Hutch searched Starsky’s face. He looked sincere enough, and he really didn’t have any choice. “Scratch the stinger out with your nails, or something. Don’t squeeze it with the tweezers.”

Starsky reached for the tweezers that Hutch used to pluck his nose hairs but stopped with his hand in the air.

“That just releases more venom, but I think most of it must be inside me by now. Lucky I’m not allergic to bee stings.”

“I’ll use the other end of the tweezers to scratch at it. You know my nails are really short.” Starsky squatted down behind Hutch.

Hutch could feel Starsky’s warm breath on his crack. He gritted his teeth when Starsky scraped at his skin. “Ahh, not so hard.” He tensed his buttock, trying to absorb some of the pain.

“Got it.” Starsky poked his finger under Hutch’s nose.

Pulling his head back so that he could focus on Starsky’s finger, Hutch saw a tiny black bit on the fingertip. “Thanks.” He picked up the discarded cloth from the sink and ran it under the cold water. When he couldn’t stand the chill on his hand any longer, he squeezed out the excess liquid and pressed the cloth on to his tender butt cheek.

“Was that night really so bad?” Starsky sat on the side of the tub, shuffling his feet.

Still holding the cloth on his ass, Hutch turned. His stomach churned at the hurt on Starsky’s face. “No. God, no. Not at all.” Hutch recalled their conversation the next day. “But we agreed it couldn’t happen again. Didn’t we?”

Starsky dropped his chin to his chest. “Yes, we did. But, today, when you rubbed your butt, that delectable ass sticking out.” He licked his lips. “You looked so sexy. So ripe, and ready for plucking. I damn near took you there and then.”

Hutch swallowed, trying to ignore the stirring in his groin. He was suddenly very conscious that he wasn’t wearing any pants and looked around for something to cover his modesty. Although his pants and shorts were on the floor in the corner of the bathroom, he saw a small towel on the rack by the sink.

“It was good, though. So good.” Starsky smiled, stroking his groin. “Don’t you remember how good it felt, Hutch?”

Mesmerized by the slow movement of Starsky’s hand, Hutch caught his breath. Thoughts of Starsky, drunk and happy, slowly stripping off his clothes, and then Hutch’s, crowded his mind. Whose idea had it been to play strip poker?

They had been drunk, bored with the usual games of chess, cribbage, go fish, Texas hold em, and Monopoly. Strip poker had been mentioned. Starsky designated himself as dealer, and, subsequently, claimed it his right to divest both himself and Hutch of every piece of clothing lost to the turn of a card.

It all seemed like such a good idea at the time. Somehow, during the evening, they had ended up in bed, making love.

“Hutch, you’re going to poke my eye out in a minute,” said Starsky.

“Huh?” At the sound of Starsky’s voice, Hutch stared at his partner.

Starsky’s eyes were riveted to Hutch’s groin.

He followed Starsky’s gaze, shocked to see his cock erect. He had been so lost in his memories that he hadn’t felt his traitorous body reveal his innermost desires. “Sorry.” He reached for the towel to cover himself. He had to stop this from going any further. It would complicate their lives too much. He had to be strong enough for both of them.

“Don’t.” Starsky grabbed Hutch’s wrist. “You look gorgeous.”

Hutch snorted, and shook his head. “No, I don’t. I look ridiculous standing here in a tee shirt and socks, with a cold washcloth on my red ass, and a raging hard on.” He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry. He’d never encountered this level of emotional turmoil. Everything in the past paled in comparison to the black hole he was facing.

“Don’t fight it, Hutch. You want this as much as I do.” Starsky stood up, clamping his fingers around Hutch’s other wrist. “Why can’t we have it all? No one needs to know.” He leaned forward and kissed Hutch hard on the lips.

Hutch dropped the washcloth, and pushed his tongue into Starsky’s mouth, exploring every inch of the warm cavern. Hutch closed his eyes, tasting the vestiges of the coffee Starsky had drunk at the fifth precinct.

Starsky forced Hutch’s tongue aside with his own, to gain access to Hutch’s mouth.

The battle for tongue supremacy began. Both men were used to being the dominant lover, and each wanted to invade the other’s mouth.

Starsky squeezed Hutch’s buttocks with both hands.

Hutch yelped, but didn’t move away. The pain of Starsky kneading Hutch’s ass mingled with the pleasure of Starsky grinding his erect penis into Hutch’s groin. The lines between right and wrong blurred, and Hutch’s final barricade crumbled.

Starsky was right, Hutch wanted this intimacy far more than he cared to admit. He had lost count of the times he had lain in bed–alone–reliving that evening. He could still remember Starsky’s musky smell, the alien feeling of running his hands over hairy flesh, and the surprise of his own arousal. Something had felt so right about their lovemaking.

Hutch had been with a male before–once–during his college days. Another drunken, boring evening that had lead to other things. But that had seemed wrong, sordid. With Starsky, everything had been different.

“Hutch. Hey, Hutch. You okay?” Starsky murmured in his ear.

Hutch opened his eyes. Of course he was okay. He was kissing the man he had loved for the past five years. But his inner voice was saying he shouldn’t be touching him at all, not like a lover. “Starsk, let me go.” He pushed against Starsky’s shoulders suddenly desperate to be away from temptation.

“If you say so.” Starsky released Hutch and backed away, looking confused. “Sorry, I guess I read the signals wrong. Won’t happen again.” He turned and stomped out of the bathroom.

Hutchinson, you idiot. Tell him the truth. Tell yourself the truth. Hutch ran after him and grabbed his arm, spinning Starsky to face him. “No, Starsky. You didn’t read the signals wrong. You’re right. I do want it, want you. Right now.” I just couldn’t admit how much.

“Hutch,” yelled Starsky in surprise as Hutch pushed him backward onto the couch. He lay on his back, panting, waiting.

Hutch looked down at Starsky as if he was seeing him for the first time. The wide, watchful blue eyes, full of hope but caught off-guard and wary. The tousled mass of curls that Hutch always wanted to sink his fingers into. Oh, the things he wanted to do to this delicious man.

“Don’t move.” His heart pounding, Hutch pulled his tee shirt over his head. Throwing the clothing to the floor, he stood naked and proud, in front of Starsky. The passion that he had tried to suppress had replaced his discomfort. “You next.”

“Oh, Hutch,” said Starsky softly. “You are so beautiful. All long, and lean, and golden. I’ve dreamed about your body since that night.” He attempted to sit up, but Hutch snagged his ankles and pulled him flat again.

“I said, don’t move. I want you naked, and I’m going to enjoy undressing you.” Hutch tugged at the laces on Starsky’s left sneaker. Very gently, he pulled the shoe off and threw it over his shoulder. He slowly peeled off Starsky’s sock, lightly caressing his ankle, and stroking the soft skin on the top of his foot. Starsky giggled. The sock joined the sneaker on the floor, and Hutch gently kissed the tip of each toe. He lifted his head and smiled at Starsky. Still maintaining eye contact, he removed Starsky’s right sneaker and sock, lavishing the same, unhurried attention to his right foot.

Starsky rested his head on the arm of the couch and purred. His right foot kicked a little when Hutch stroked just below his middle toe.

Hutch laughed. “Ticklish bit, huh?” He ran his fingertips along the top of both feet. “I thought you didn’t like your feet being touched?”

Starsky opened his eyes. “Never had them touched like this before. Most women tickle underneath the foot. That’s annoying.” He smiled. “This is nice.”

“Well, buddy, much as I would like to spend all day on your cute feet, we haven’t got the time.”

Starsky grimaced. “Yeah. We are supposed to be working, and really should get back to Metro soon.”

Choosing to ignore Starsky’s comment, Hutch clambered over the arm of the couch and crouched between Starsky’s legs. “I want these jeans off, now.” He unbuckled the belt, and yanked at the button and zipper.

“Hey! Careful. These are my favorite pair,” said Starsky. “You’re gonna rip them.”

“They’re my favorite pair, too. All tight, and worn in the right places. You don’t hide anything in these. Leaves nothing to a guy’s imagination.” Hutch stared at Starsky’s groin. His cock was straining against his shorts, the bulge framed by the opened zipper of his jeans. Hutch stroked the package tenderly.

How many times had he peeked at that luscious lump in those tight fitting jeans that Starsky liked to wear? Every pair was the same, tight and worn in the right places. He’d been so ashamed of his lust when it became obvious that what happened between them was firmly in the past. At least, for Starsky, it had appeared to be.

Starsky moaned. “God. Oh, God. Hutch. Yes.” He arched his pelvis toward Hutch’s fingers. “Don’t stop,” he begged when Hutch stopped stroking.

Hutch climbed over Starsky’s left leg and sat on the edge of the couch. He gradually eased the tight denim over the toned hips and buttocks of his very masculine partner. He had been amused by Starsky’s participation in the strip poker game, had been astonished when they made love. And now, he was humbled that Starsky was giving himself once more–not to any man–but to him, Kenneth Hutchinson.

Wiggling under Hutch’s hands, Starsky was kicking his way out of his jeans. Obviously Hutch wasn’t moving fast enough for him.

“What are you doing, Starsk?”

“What does it look like? If we wait for you to stop day-dreaming, we’ll never get anywhere, blondie.” Starsky shrugged the tight jeans down his legs.

Hutch sat, gaping at the muscular thighs pistoning up and down. The skin covering Starsky’s legs kept changing shape, from bulging to smooth. He licked his lips.

Starsky shifted under Hutch. He twisted his torso, and grabbed Hutch’s upper arms. With a quick lunge, the couch beneath Hutch’s ass disappeared.

“Oww.” Hutch landed on the floor, on his back, with a thud. “What the hell, Starsky.” Bolts of pain shot up his back from his forgotten bee sting.

His bottom totally naked, Starsky sat astride Hutch’s midriff. Clutching the hem of his tee shirt, he pulled it over his head and dropped it onto the couch.

Hutch swallowed. He lay, watching the spectacle that was Starsky. The hard, rippling abdominal muscles, his well defined obliques, curved, prominent pectorals, and smaller anterior muscles. All perfectly formed. A perfect body, not an ounce of fat in sight. All covered with olive skin, and luscious dark fuzz. “Starsk,” he squeaked.

Starsky put his finger to Hutch’s lips. “Shush. You had your chance. Time ran out. Now it’s my turn.”

Hutch tried to buck Starsky off his hips, but he couldn’t find the space to put his feet on the floor and get enough purchase to move Starsky. Damn his long legs. Starsky had somehow gotten him wedged between the couch, coffee table and the chair. Hutch couldn’t move very much in any direction. How the hell had Starsky managed to maneuver him into this tight space? Hutch stretched his legs, finding the only gap available–a small channel between the couch and the chair.

“Stay still, Hutch.” Starsky laughed. “You’re like a little worm squirming around.” He rolled Hutch’s nipples between the finger and thumb of each hand.

Hutch gasped when the act of both nipples being tweaked simultaneously sent tingles down his stomach to his groin. His erection hardened again. It brushed against Starsky’s butt. Bolts of electricity shot through his body, and he moaned, quivering with lust.

“Hey, is little Kenny feeling neglected?” Starsky grinned. “Feels like he’s knocking on my back door.”

Hutch blushed, and almost choked when he tried to laugh. It wasn’t easy laughing in this position–flat on his back–and with almost the full weight of a hundred and sixty five pound man sitting on his stomach.

Letting go of Hutch’s very sensitive nipples, Starsky clambered around ungracefully on Hutch’s torso, the tight space hindering his movement.

Hutch grunted. “What are you trying to do now? Trample me to death?” He quickly turned his head to one side as Starsky’s foot whipped too close to his face.

When Starsky stopped, he was facing Hutch’s feet. He gripped Hutch’s cock in his hand, pumping slowly. Wiggling backward, Starsky sat on Hutch’s chest, and lowered his head. Very gently, he kissed the top of Hutch’s penis, teasing the slit with his tongue, keeping up the steady rhythm with his hand at the same time.

Hutch stared at Starsky’s butt. The perfect roundness of each cheek, the fine covering of dark hair, the tight anus. Hutch remembered just how tight it had been all those months earlier.

Starsky quickened his hand movements. Up and down, faster and faster.

Hutch bucked again. “God. Oh, God.” He thrust his hips, mirroring Starsky’s hand action. Reality started to disappear. Hutch’s world suddenly got smaller. “Starsk,” he moaned. His partner was fast becoming the very center of his universe.

Starsky stopped abruptly, putting his hands on Hutch’s hips to prevent further movement from the chest down. With his feet clamped over Hutch’s upper arms, he lowered himself down until his warm mouth engulfed Hutch’s erection.

Hutch managed to move his arms enough to grasp Starsky’s fleshy buttocks. He squeezed tightly when Starsky stuck his tongue in to his cock slit, digging his nails into the flesh.

Starsky nipped Hutch’s cock just below the head. And immediately licked the same spot he had just bitten with slow flicks of his tongue.

The sharp pain mingled with the ensuing pleasure. “St…st…arskkk, ahhh…” Every flick of Starsky’s tongue found yet another highly sensitive spot on Hutch’s pulsating member. Hutch was flying higher and higher, further away from the real world, closer to the promised land. He was no longer sure if the noises he was making were in his head or coming out of his mouth. Stars appeared before his eyes, all the colors of the rainbow distorting his vision.

Starsky moved one hand from Hutch’s hip to his balls, gently cupping and caressing them. Squeezing just hard enough to make Hutch purr. He tickled Hutch’s scrotum with his fingertips, his mouth accommodating more of Hutch’s penis.

“Yes, ahhh. Noooo.” Starsky’s sucking pushed Hutch closer to the edge. He grabbed Starsky at the hips, shuddering, desperately trying not to come. He wanted this to last longer, forever, if he had his way.

Starsky obviously had other ideas. Simultaneously, he massaged Hutch’s balls, flicked his tongue rapidly around the delicate skin underneath the head, and sucked harder on Hutch’s penis. His rhythm increased with every movement.

Hutch hurtled over the precipice. “Starsky,” he shouted. His skull imploded, and it felt like every atom of his body was being scattered in space. He was no longer in Venice Place, he was riding the crest of his own special orgasmic wave. A wave created by Starsky. He entered a place where the beginning became the end, and the end became the beginning.

Hutch was vaguely aware of stirring on his boneless body. He groaned at the weight on his chest.

“Sorry, Hutch,” said Starsky.

The pressure lifted, and warmth covered Hutch’s right side. A strong arm snaked around his waist. Soft lips kissed his. Warm breath blew into his ear.

“How you doing?” asked a gentle voice.

Hutch half opened his eyes and smirked. “I’m doing just fine.” He turned his head, wondering how Starsky was lying beside him. There was hardly room for Hutch to move. He saw that the coffee table was almost up against the wall. He reached his hands behind Starsky’s neck and pulled him into a bear hug. “My turn to play your organ, my friend.”

“Hutch, you’re crushing me.” Starsky struggled. “We gotta move. It’s getting dark outside.”

“Aw, we can’t leave now. You haven’t come yet.” He tightened his grip on Starsky.

Starsky laughed. “I guess you ain’t noticed the sticky mess on your stomach.” He stood up and held out his hand. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up and face the music.”

Hutch took the outstretched hand. “Spoilsport,” he joked. He walked into the bathroom a few steps ahead of Starsky. Wetting a washrag, he threw it at Starsky.

Starsky caught it, and quickly wiped his cock clean. Throwing the dirty washcloth into the bathtub, he turned on the water faucets, filling the sink with water. Starsky washed his face, paying particular attention to his mouth and chin. He snagged a towel off of the rail and dried his face, hands and groin.

Hutch watched Starsky for a short while, then jumped into the bath tub and had a quick shower, reluctantly soaping away all traces of Starsky from his torso. All he wanted to do was drag Starsky to bed for a repeat performance. Hutch vowed that the next time he and Starsky made love, he would make sure it lasted all night. He looked at Starsky, feeling guilty. Stop it, Hutchinson. There might not be a next time.

“Hurry up, Hutch,” shouted Starsky from the living room.

“Won’t take a minute.” Hutch stepped out of the tub, quickly dried himself, and walked naked to the bedroom for some clean shorts.

Starsky whistled when Hutch streaked through the living room. “Put on some clothes, buddy, or we’ll never get out of this apartment,” he said, pulling on his pants.

“Would that be such a problem?” Hutch asked. Walking back in to the bathroom, he examined the seat of the pants he had discarded earlier. He decided to wear his guitar shirt again. It was his lucky shirt after all. He had his shirt tail tucked in his pants by the time he got to the living room.

Starsky stared at him. “I thought you wanted to come back here to change.”

Hutch grinned. “I did, but we got sidetracked.” He looked Starsky up and down, stopping on Starsky’s bulge. “And I only needed clean shorts, my pants are okay.”

Starsky glared at him. “Dobey is going to hit the roof. Waiting for us all this time won’t improve his mood any.”

“But it was worth it, partner,” he said, and ran out of the door.

Hutch was standing by the passenger side of the car by the time Starsky caught up with him. He flashed Starsky his best come-to-bed smile. “Don’t you agree?”

Starsky grinned back. “Yes. Now get in.” He slid into his seat, and started the car.

Hutch just managed to get in the car and shut the door before Starsky screeched away from the curb. Fun over, it was time to get back to business. “Right, what we got on Amboy so far?”

Starsky said, “Squire Fox, London Daily Dispatch article, which could…”

“Possibly be a shipment of stuff coming in from Southampton, England by cruise ship.” Hutch scratched his lower lip. “But where is the buy going to be?” Amboy’s little offer for their future kept haunting him like a bad memory. They had to shut his organization down.

“Do you think Mickey might be able to help us?” asked Starsky. He braked when the traffic in front of them slowed to a crawl.

Hutch looked at him. “I doubt it. She’s just a nobody to Amboy.” He fidgeted in his seat. “He’s hardly going to make her privy to his business plans.”

“Exactly,” said Starsky, “Amboy might talk freely in front of her. He won’t see her as a threat, just a silly little girl with a habit.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But we’d have to find her first.” Hutch reached for the radio mike. “Zebra three to dispatch.”

“Zebra three, this is dispatch. Captain Dobey has been trying to raise you guys.”

“Log us back in. Tell him we are on our way.”