Tap Dancin’ For All He’s Worth

8.8K

Chambers makes the new dance instructor Ramon an offer that Starsky can’t refuse.  He and Hutch will have to deal with the fallout.

 

Won the 2010 Ollie Awards for Best Long Story and Best Slash Story.

Most updated version here: http://kuonji14.livejournal.com/25393.html

---

Four o’ clock.

End of shift, and thank god for that.  With the ‘soiree’ on tonight, Starsky wasn’t sure his feet wouldn’t fall off before the end of this case.

It was fun, though, getting out on the dance floor and showing his moves.  Boy, had Dobey been surprised when Starsky told him he could do ballroom.  Hell, he’d done ballet for one semester back in high school.  Kristy Aarden had turned out to have a boyfriend already, but Cathy, Joan, and Marsella had found his pirouette sexy, so it’d been no loss at all.

Plus, it’d done wonders for his sense of balance and muscle endurance.  It’d given him that edge he’d needed when he tried out for football the following spring.

“I will miss you, Ramon.  Until tonight, of course.”

Starsky smiled, and ‘Ramon’ purred deep in his throat as he kissed his dance partner’s hand.  “Until next time,” he agreed, the smile on his face genuine.  Diedre was a fine ol’ gal.  He’d had fun flirting with her the last couple of days.

She was single; her husband had passed away five years ago.  And for all she liked to play, Starsky didn’t sense that she was looking for a real romance.  So, not a target.

He’d been watching pretty-boy Carl Starger and sweet-faced Marsha Stearns work the room for the last two days.  Hutch had been under since Friday.  They had a pretty good idea how the extortions went down, if that was indeed what was happening.  Rich visiting Oklahomans weren’t murdered for no reason.

Starsky had been dropping hints that he wanted to join, but he hadn’t gotten a bite yet.  He needed a mark that Carl Starger couldn’t appeal to.  Make himself useful so he could get an in.

Apparently, not today.

Starsky slung his (Ramon’s) black jacket over his shoulder and checked his watch.  He was meeting Hutch on the Adamson bridge in fifteen.  If he were lucky, Sam’s hot dog stand would be open today.  He was starving for a dog with the works.

“Ramon.”

Starsky raised inquiring eyebrows at his ‘boss’ Ginger’s financer and manager.  His name was Chambers, and a more sleek and stuffed man Starsky had rarely seen.  Past even odds he was involved with this thing.  But how much involved?

“A moment please.”  Chambers gestured towards the room marked Private.

“What is it?” Starsky asked, keeping the broody tone of his cover even as his heart jumped with excitement.  He’d never been in that room and not for lack of trying.

Marsha came out just as he reached the doorway.  She shoved past him, obviously deliberately, and shot him a look of pure hatred before storming off.

“Don’t worry about her,” Chambers smoothly assured.  “Come inside.  I have something to discuss with you.”

Shrugging it off, Starsky did so.

The private room, beyond a short hallway annex, was a comfortably appointed office, moderately large and full of classy wood and art on the walls.  There were two doors, one on either side of the room.  A respectable sideboard was laid out behind the desk, and Chambers went to this now.  “Scotch?” he offered, having been there when Ginger toasted Ramon’s addition to the employee list.

Starsky grunted a thanks and took the glass but didn’t drink.

“Have a seat.”  Chambers gestured at the couch along one side of the room, taking his own seat behind the desk.  Starsky sat carefully.  Starsky tensed as the door opposite the one they’d entered from clicked open and shut.  Starger came in and leaned against the inside.  He kept his mouth shut and waited.

Sure enough, Chambers spoke first: “Ms. Evans tells me that her new ‘naughty boy’ is looking for some fast cash.”

Starsky shifted, putting on his eager face.  This was it.  “I could use some money, yes.”

“Hm.”  Chambers’s expression turned speculative.  “I’ve noticed that you and Mr. McCabe are rather close for having just been introduced today.  Isn’t that right?”

Starsky stiffened.

He’d been in enough situations, though, to know better than to outright deny a question like that.  Chambers could just be fishing.  He didn’t want to show more of his hand than they knew already.  He tried to think carefully if he had given himself away somehow.  Was it the look he’d given Hutch when he’d seen the way Starger was acting with Mrs. Dodsman yesterday?  Or had someone recognized them coming or going?

Marsha.  That look she’d given him outside.  The look she’d give a cop they were about to burn?

They’re extortionists, Starsky reminded himself.  Not murderers.

They killed Tustin, another part of his mind supplied in sardonic reply.

“What do you mean?” he asked, rumbling his voice in the way that helped to scare off scum on the street.  It was a fitting response for the fiery Ramon to make, to an out-of-the-blue question like that.  If he’d been made, he also wanted to show he wasn’t going easy.

Chambers turned a quick smile on him.  “Oh, now, none of that.”  He didn’t look particularly angry, or even unsettled.  Starsky told himself to relax.  If he jumped to conclusions now, he’d be caught for sure.  Play along and things might work out.

Chambers moved forward on his seat, giving the impression of intimacy.  “I made a few very interesting phone calls today to Austin, Texas,” he said conversationally.

Again, tension spiked in Starsky’s gut.  Had Hutch’s fake background not checked out right?  But Chambers continued with, “Our Mr. McCabe is quite the gentleman back home.  Married.  One daughter.  Belongs to the country club.  He’s on the community board, you know.  And friends with the mayor.  A respectable man, on all accounts.”  He paused.  “But we know better, don’t we?”

Starsky decided to smirk companionably.  The conversation was obviously going into a different vein.  There was nothing like being undercover for exercising his blood pressure.  Sometimes conversations just went to weird places, and you had to roll with it.  “Every man needs his freedom,” he said.

“Ah, yes.  Freedom which comes at a price, though.”

Starsky shrugged casually, feeling more comfortable now.  “As long as he can afford it, no?”  Tell me allll about it, low-life.  He wasn’t sure how far Hutch had gotten with Marsha.  Apparently, far enough to get their attention.

Chambers smiled.  “Exactly.  I think we understand each other then?”

Starsky hesitated, both Ramon and the detective still a little wary.  “McCabe will pay you money?” he asked, trying not to sound leading, but wanting the confirmation.

“Oh, yes.  I believe he will.”

“He will pay you money because he is a gentleman?”

Chambers laughed, the sound of amusement sharply grating in his otherwise polished form.  “You are a perceptive man, Ramon.  Yes, indeed.  Mr. McCabe, if he wishes to remain a gentleman, will pay very well indeed.”

Yes!

Starsky pretended to consider.  “And you want me to help?”  He waited for Chambers to nod.  “What will be my…”  He hesitated, giving the appearance of fumbling for the American slang.  “My ‘cut’?”

Chambers gave him a level look, obviously expecting this.  “I think ten thousand is fair.”

Ten thousand!  Either he was offering Starsky a big cut for his first time out (not likely), or he was really planning to take ‘McCabe’ to the cleaners!  Just what the hell had Hutch told Marsha anyway?

“What do you need from me?”

“Why, nothing special.  Just continue on as you have, and when the time is right, we would like you to take, shall we say, some documentary evidence of our Texan friend.”

“Documentary…?”

“Tape record him, idiot,” cut in Starger with a sneer.  This time, however, Starsky hadn’t been feigning confusion over the word.  He didn’t understand why they’d have him do the recording.  Was it a way to spread around the crime, confuse the case?  Shoot, criminals these days had all sorts of ideas.

“Show me,” Starsky said, keeping cool and telling himself he had an opportunity here.  He wanted to get as much information now as he could, in case things went bad later.

Chambers nodded.  He unlocked a cabinet — Starsky noted the location — and pulled out a microphone and an ingeniously small tape recorder.  Starsky whistled low, not needing to feign his admiration.  Wish BCPD had some of these babies.

Possession of recording equipment wasn’t evidence of extortion, of course, but it would support the case.

“We will give you a set of these.  You only need to set it up in your home and remember to activate it at the… appropriate time.”

“In my home?” Starsky repeated, surprised.

Chambers and Starger shared a look, somewhere between sneering and disbelieving.  “Or some other suitable location, of course.”

Wait a minute.  That almost sounded like…  “What am I recording, exactly?” he asked.  He didn’t like for Ramon — a smooth-talking petty criminal who’d escaped to the States when things got hot — to appear weak, but if there was ever a time he needed some clarification, this was it.

Starger snorted.  “Jesus, are all fags as stupid as you are?”

“I’m not–” Starsky started to protest automatically.  He clamped his mouth shut, thinking furiously.  He didn’t want to overreact before he knew the facts.

“We’re all open-minded fellows here, aren’t we, Carl?” Chambers soothed.  “Unlike McCabe’s dear friends and neighbors,” he added pointedly.  Starger scowled but didn’t say anymore.

Starsky nodded as well.  This was why the expectation of a massive payoff, of course.  An out of state affair with a pretty girl might be laughed away over time.  However, a respected family man and multi-corporation business owner like McCabe could never be outed as a homosexual.  It would destroy him.

Still, that didn’t explain the misconception.

“Why do you think…?”  He trailed off carefully.

Chambers looked condescending.  “Please don’t insult our intelligence, Ramon.  We know what you’ve been up to.”

Starger added derisively, “You think we’re blind?  You queers have been eyeing each other since you started yesterday.”

Starsky kicked himself mentally.  This was exactly why he and Hutch shouldn’t go under as people who weren’t supposed to know each other.  Thankfully, Chambers and Starger had misinterpreted the signals they’d been sending each other across the dance floor.  Talk about lucky breaks.

Starsky had never thought it could be a relief to be fingered as a queer.

“Speaking of which, you and your… friend need to stay out of public areas.  Now that we are safeguarding Mr. McCabe’s secret, we certainly can’t allow any casual park-goer to compromise him — and our plans, now can we?”

Park-goer?  The only time Starsky had been in a park recently was…

For a moment, Starsky went cold.  Yesterday afternoon, he and Hutch had been at the park downtown for a meet-and-update with Dobey.  If Chambers knew about that…

But Chambers couldn’t know that, or Starsky would probably be dead by now.  No, the way he’d said it, it was as if he’d seen Ramon and McCabe doing something questionable together.

And then it fell into place.

Dobey had been an hour late.  Hutch, not having a radio, hadn’t known about the holdup so had arrived on time, and Starsky had met him there.  They’d both still been in costume.  To while away the time, Starsky had decided to teach his partner to tango for real, because although Hutch wasn’t quite as hopeless as his undercover persona, he was certainly a close second.

Starsky remembered pressing close into the dance and giving instructions in Hutch’s ear.  He had shoved Hutch’s hips into position with his hands, handling his partner’s body with their customary familiarity.  He remembered Hutch laughing at him for something, and himself yanking his partner into an exaggerated dip in revenge.  Hutch had followed by pulling them both to the ground in a wrestling hold.  They’d finally wound up on a bench together, somewhat breathless, faces close as lovers as they whispered about the case.

If someone had seen that from afar, not knowing what they actually were…

“We were careless,” he said aloud, mentally rearranging pieces of Ramon Diega’s profile on the fly: Swaggering homosexual.  Probably not terribly well-closeted if he was macking on men in the park.  Maybe why he was run out of Argentina to begin with.  Liked blonds, or didn’t mind them at least.  Romantic?  Naw.  He knew a golden goose when he saw one and was perfectly willing to sleep his way to riches.  Had he and McCabe…?  No, not yet.  McCabe was still making eyes at Marsha.

Damn.  Marsha!  He had to talk to Hutch.  Their covers weren’t worth a bad penny if Chambers and his fellows figured out the real reason the lanky Texan and the new dance instructor were so tight.

“Indeed you were.  If you want to continue working here, you will have to learn to guard the discretion of our special guests.”

Starsky nodded.  “My lips are sealed.  But maybe ten thousand is not enough?” he added, realizing, as he wrote in pieces of the new Ramon’s history, that he would never give up his shot at snagging a millionaire for a paltry ten thou.

Chambers laughed, seeming to appreciate his gumption.  “How about forty percent of what we get from him.”

“At least fifty.  I am doing all the work.  You are just renting me equipment.”

“Why, you little–!”

“Will you do it instead?” Starsky challenged Starger coolly.  “Too bad McCabe likes a real man with warm blood in his veins.”  He thrust his groin aggressively at the other man, getting into his role and enjoying Starger’s look of apoplexy.

Chambers staved off Starger’s outburst with a raised hand.  “Forty percent,” he repeated, in a tone of finality.  “If you do well, I can see you dancing at Ms. Evans’s for a long time to come.”  Meaning, Starsky was in.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

***

“Where the hell have you been?”

Hutch, glasses tucked in a pocket and hair fluffing out from the breeze over the bridge, started in on him before his feet even hit pavement.  Starsky climbed out of his car and went first to Sam.  “Double of everything,” he ordered, slapping a bill on the stand.  He turned to Hutch.  “We hafta talk.”

***

“All right,” Dobey said, rubbing his face with his large hands.  “All right,” he repeated, apparently talking to himself.  After a few moments, he dropped his hands.  “All right,” he said a third time.  “This is good.”

“Good?!”  Starsky exchanged a look with Hutch, who had exclaimed his same sentiments in perfect synchronicity.

“How is this a good thing?  I was almost in with Marsha.  This throws a whole wrench in the works.”

Dobey shook his head.  “This way, we get the inside info.”

“You know we can’t convict on that.  We need someone to take the money.  What do you want me to do, arrest Starsky?”

“No, that’s fine.  Starsky, you just make sure someone else gets the payoff, and that we can tie that person in to the rest of the ring.”

Starsky shrugged uneasily.  “Sure.  I can do that.  But Cap’n…  What do we do about the tape?  I mean, there’s no extortion without something to extort with.  Hutch and me… Ramon and McCabe have to…  You know.  Together.”

Dobey’s swarthy face colored up admirably.  “I’m sure you boys can figure that out.  Anyway,” he said, waving one hand, “this is far safer than if Hutchinson had gone with Marsha.”

Hutch made a face like he’d sucked a lemon.  “Safer, yeah.”  He heaved a sigh and looked to Starsky.  “All right, partner, you heard the Captain.”  They stood to go.

“By the way,” Dobey interjected, “Marianne Tustin, Teddy Tustin’s sister, was at the morgue earlier today while you two were under.  Talk to her.  She might know something we don’t.”  He handed Starsky a card with an address and phone number jotted on it.

“Will do, Captain.”

***

“You got it set up?”

“Hold on.”  Starsky adjusted the microphone.  “Yeah, I think so.”  He pushed the trigger.  “Say something.”

“What?  Already?”

“What’s the matter, lover boy?  Ain’t cha ready for some hot, greasy action?”

Snickering as Hutch spluttered, Starsky stopped the device.  He pulled out the tape and popped it into his stereo.  Rewound it.  Pushed play.

“Say something.”  “What?  Already?” came his and Hutch’s voices, slightly tinny but clear.  Damn.  From five feet away and behind a table lamp.

“Well, it works mighty fine,” he concluded.  “Think we can confiscate these for the department?”

Hutch chuckled, apparently back on an even keel again.  “Where would all the romance go, if we had guns as big as the bad guys’?”

Starsky snorted as he took the tape back out.  “The romance died a long time ago.  Nobody has a bigger gun than you.”  As soon as he said it, he looked up at Hutch, and they shared a wince.  He was used to making fun of Hutch’s weapon.  Now it sounded like a bad come-on.

“Okay,” he said, having replaced the tape into the recorder.  “Ready?”

“Wait wait wait.”  Starsky stopped, finger hovering over the trigger.  “Why can’t I be just a little more… I don’t know.  In charge.  I just don’t think it’s in character.”

“I gotta be dominating,” Starsky explained again, carefully.  “It’s more embarrassing that way.  McCabe has got to fork it over if the big bad cowboy is caught screaming for Ramon to stick it up his ass.”

Hutch’s face, not having the advantage of Dobey’s dark complexion, went bright red.  “But, but he’s going to pay up anyway.  Why do we have to make it so…”  He waved a hand, articulation leaving him behind.

Starsky sighed.  “C’mon, Hutch, we’ve rewritten the script twice already.  We think about it any more and it’ll come out fake.”

“Why don’t we just do this later?  We’ve got to go to that party tonight, anyway.  It’d make sense if we did it after that.  You know, Ramon can take me home and… have his way with me then.”

Hutch looked so desperate that Starsky relented, rolling his eyes as he agreed.  “Yeah, okay.”

***

Starsky was rolling his eyes again later, trying very hard not to notice Hutch lurching around the dance floor with some poor gray-haired madam.  He concentrated on keeping an eye on the other members of the dance hall, while also doing his ‘job’ — picking up the single ladies, chatting to ease any awkwardness, making sure no one was left out.

He was regaling a small group with stories about ‘his’ childhood in Argentina, when the door opened, admitting a slim brunette in a red dress.  Starsky whistled softly to himself.  She cut a fine figure, and she fairly radiated class.  And money.

Starger was going to be on her faster than hyenas on a carcass.

“Excuse me,” he said to his audience, and made his way around the dancers to the newcomer.  “Whom does Ramon have the pleasure of greeting?” he asked in his most extravagant voice, bowing slightly and taking the woman’s hand in his own.

She allowed him to just touch his lips to the back of her hand before drawing it away.  “I am Millicent Forbes,” she replied.  “I’m here on vacation,” she added, unfreezing slightly with a smile.

“Would Ms. Forbes like a dance?”  Starsky poured on the charm.  He didn’t much relish Starger getting his hands on another innocent specimen.  Besides, if he wanted to stay in on the game, he had to appear to be able to pick up another mark with ease.  If the thing with McCabe wound up having to fall through, he would need a backup plan for Ramon the Hustler.

Millicent Forbes On Vacation seemed like a lady who could take it.

She stared at him for a few moments with a disturbingly sharp gaze.  Then she held out her hand again.  “All right,” she acquiesced regally.  “Let’s see your rumba, Mr. Ramon.”

As they headed out to the center of the dance floor, Starsky did his customary once-over of the room.  He saw that Hutch had finally granted mercy to his dance partner and was now by the refreshment tables, sipping at a flute of champagne, one booted toe tapping to the music.

Hutch caught sight of him, with the brunette on his arm, and he gave him a look.  Starsky pretended not to notice, not wanting to draw attention to them, only to realize that in their new roles as would-be male lovers, it wouldn’t be strange at all for them to make furtive eye contact every now and again throughout the night.

He felt a headache coming on.

Looking around again, Starsky realized something was off.  Before he could figure it out, his dance partner was tugging impatiently at his arm.

“Are we going to dance or stand here all night?” she asked.

“I am so very sorry.”  Starsky quickly positioned them, counted off the ready beats in his head, and firmly stepped out.  He stumbled as Millicent failed to keep up.  “My fault entirely,” he reassured her, picking up the beat again.

She danced well, cleanly and with good poise. He realized that she wasn’t clumsy, just distracted.  Starsky followed her rapt stare across the room, seeing Starger lead Mrs. Dodsman into the private room.  He frowned.  That couldn’t be good.  But it was none of Ms. Forbes’s concern.  “Come, let’s rrrrrumba!” he purred into her ear.  She seemed to come to herself and stepped briskly back into the dance.

As they criss-crossed their way through the dance floor, Starsky noticed Hutch propositioning Mr. and Mrs. Berg’s daughter, a pretty redhead in a simple black dress.  They’d decided that McCabe was an opportunist.  A supposedly married man, he’d been actively wooing Marsha at the same time as allowing himself to be pursued by Ramon.  No reason he shouldn’t chase a little more tail on the side.

Starsky mentally snapped his fingers.  That was it.  The source of the off feeling.

Marsha wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

Casually swinging Ms. Forbes around, Starsky took another hard look around at the crowd.  Nope, definitely no Marsha.  He recalled her furious expression from earlier.  Had she left the soiree in protest at Ramon’s inclusion?  Or had she been ordered to stay away from McCabe?  In any case, she was definitely not the one calling the shots.  The only question was, was Chambers at the top or was he carrying out orders from someone else?

As if on cue, a drum roll started up, and Ginger Evans appeared on the staircase. Starsky joined in the scattered applause as she swept down in a flowing peach outfit.  Bubbling with good cheer, the former movie star didn’t look like a criminal mastermind, but Starsky had seen stranger things.

Eventually, the music started up again, and she cajoled her guests to dance.  In her extravagant way, she made a point of greeting all the guests.  It wouldn’t be difficult for her to wheedle out bits of personal information and mark targets as she went.

Hutch, possibly thinking the same thing, swept Ginger up into the dance she had earlier promised McCabe.  Starsky could see his partner plying their hostess with gushing conversation and, no doubt, a few questions of his own.

Knowing McCabe’s infamous klutziness, Starsky led Ms. Forbes carefully out of Hutch’s collision course.  He didn’t exactly need for Ramon and McCabe to get more friendly right now.  They were going to be spending enough quality time together tonight.  Starsky just hoped it would be worth it — the piece they needed to crack this case.

He wondered where Marianne Tustin had gone to.  He and Hutch had called her twice and even swung by her hotel this afternoon.  She either wasn’t answering or had skipped out for the day.  Starsky didn’t like it.  Why would she take off at a time like this?

“You must have some prominent members of society as guests here, with Ginger Evans being the proprietor.”

Starsky almost missed his companion’s comment.  “Even important people need somewhere to relax,” he replied easily.  “You must understand that, of course.”  He gave her rich dress and pearls a once-over.

“Oh, I’m not that important,” she scoffed.  Everything belongs to my husband, naturally.  I just help him to spend it.”

Something about that statement pricked Starsky’s cop instincts.  It was a strange choice of words.

“Your husband makes much money for you to spend?”

“Just two old factories.  I don’t know.  He doesn’t pay much attention to me, and I return the favor.”  She pressed slightly closer to him than the dance really required.

Either this lady was out looking for an affair, or else she was setting herself up in the worst way.  Starsky told himself it was probably his imagination.  Maybe she was throwing herself at him.  Hey, he was a desirable guy.  It could be her way to get her neglectful husband’s attention.

Then why mention her husband’s money?

“You are from out of state?”

“Yes.”

“I have never been out of California.  Tell me about your home.”

“Oh, you don’t want to hear about me.  Tell me more about your dance hall.  Who else has been here?  Anyone special you danced with or saw?”

Interesting.

“There was an important man a while ago,” he said, tossing it off casually as he spun her out.  “From Oklahoma, I think.”

He felt her stiffen when he received her back from the turn.

“He stopped coming last week.  I don’t know why.”

“What was his name?”

“Tustin.”

She mis-stepped, a small mistake that she recovered quickly from, but it was enough.  Starsky stopped, gripped her firmly, and led her, protesting, off the dance floor.  Checking around for witnesses, he lowered his head to hers.  “Marianne Tustin?” he asked, though it wasn’t a question at all.  Now that he got a good look at her, it was easy to tell the resemblance.

He’d only ever seen her brother dead on a slab, but the high widow’s peak and long aristocratic nose were the same.

Her eyes went wide, but she controlled herself admirably a moment later.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Starsky groaned quietly.  “Ms. Tustin, my name is Detective David Starsky.  I’m–

“You’re on my brother’s case!” she exclaimed, her voice thankfully covered by the music and voices around them.  She looked immediately contrite.  “Let’s get something to drink,” she suggested quickly.  “We’re being too conspicuous.”

Starsky had to admit to the wisdom of that.  He followed her in snagging a drink, though he only pretended to sip from it.  He needed to keep a clear head.  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?  I’m investigating my brother’s murder.”

“That’s my job, Ms. Tustin.”

“Ms. Forbes, please.”

Starsky glared until she folded.

“She’s one of my girlfriends from back home, all right?  I already talked to her and her husband.  Her family will vouch for her being on vacation in California, if anyone asks.”

Starsky shook his head.  “No, you need to get out of here.  You’re compromising our cover.”

“There’s more than one of you here?”  She narrowed her eyes and looked around the room.  “Your partner’s here, too,” she concluded.

Jesus.  “Ms. Forbes,” he hissed.

“You and your partner have been on the case for almost a week and haven’t found anything out.  This despite the fact that your captain tells me you’re the best team he has.  I can’t expect you to solve the case by yourselves, can I?”  Her eyes flashed.  “Just to be clear, don’t think you can stop me from doing what I want.”

“Hey Ramon, who’s the lovely lady?”

Starsky relaxed slightly, recognizing his partner’s voice, if not the peculiarly annoying accent.  Hutch must have sensed something wrong and come to offer backup.  Starsky turned and presented his charge: “Allow me to introduce Ms. Millicent Forbes.”  He gave Hutch a cautioning look as he said, “Ms. Forbes, this is Charlie McCabe of Texas.”

Hutch, glued to his cover, didn’t allow any hesitation to enter his voice.  “Well, I’ll be!  You’re just the darn perdiest thing in here, Ms. Forbes.  Don’t think I don’t know it.”

Ms. Tustin seemed nonplussed — and a little suspicious.  “Charmed,” she said shortly, holding out her hand for Hutch to press his lips to.

“I couldn’t help but notice you came in alone, miss.  Don’t suppose you’d mind some company?  I’ve been dancing here for two weeks and I ain’t met a gal as fine as you yet.”

Starsky resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  Ms. Tustin seemed to be taken in, not so much by Hutch’s bumbling cowboy act as the fact that he’d claimed to have been here in the time period when her brother was killed.

“Well, I suppose I could use someone to talk to,” she said, and gasped when Hutch took no time in whisking her onto the dance floor — and hopefully out of harm’s way.

The rest of the night passed without incident: Mrs. Dodsman came out of the private room on the verge of tears.  Starger came out all smirks and smiles.  Hutch somehow charmed Ms. Tustin into leaving with him halfway through the night.  And Marsha stayed absent.  Some fishy goings-on, but nothing concrete.

Starsky was already pretty antsy when Ginger let Ramon go at ten o’ clock.  Most of the guests were gone, leaving Starger to chaperone those remaining.  Starsky thought about insisting on staying, in case she and Starger and Chambers were planning on a private ‘soiree’.  But he figured if she were dismissing him, he wouldn’t have been welcome anyway.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Starsky headed home.

***

Hutch was waiting for him.  Starsky saw the light on and didn’t even bother to get out his key, just knocked on his own door until it opened for him.  Starsky looked at his partner enviously.  Hutch, obviously planning on staying the night, had changed into a comfortable knit shirt and pajama pants.  He smelled of Starsky’s soap and shampoo.  He looked clean and energized.

“Hey, partner.  Any trouble?”

“Naw.”  Starsky limped inside and collapsed on the couch in his crumpled dancing outfit.  He pulled off his shoes with a scowl and massaged his aching feet.  “Nothing much going on that I can get into.  Hey, what do you think about Ginger Evans?”

Hutch shrugged.  “I don’t think she’s part of it.”

Starsky knew that Hutch hadn’t entirely been faking his star-struck attitude around Ginger.  He’d known her filmography before becoming McCabe.  Starsky trusted his partner’s instincts, though — and his own.  “Yeah, me neither.”

That left Chambers for the head.  And Starsky had an in with him now.  They could get this case zipped up by the weekend, as long as nothing gummed up the works.  Nothing, or no one.

“How’s Marianne Tustin?” he inquired.

Hutch snorted.  “Madder’n a wet cat,” he drawled in McCabe’s slightly nasal tones.

“Took her to Dobey’s?”

“Yeah.  The Captain wasn’t too happy either.  I told him I had to get back to do a thing with you.  Left the two of them alone together.”

Starsky chuckled, imagining that scene.  He sobered, catching the rest of what Hutch had said.  “A thing?” he said.

Hutch raised his eyebrows.  “I’m all yours, Ramon.”

‘Ramon’ groaned.  He’d almost forgotten about that little job.  “Let me get cleaned up, first,” he grumbled.

Hutch frowned.  He’d probably been hoping to get it out of the way as soon as possible.  Starsky could understand that, but no way was he doing this with a day of sweat and Ramon’s dirty laundry sticking to him.  “Sure.  I’ll watch some TV or something.”

What he did was cook Starsky some eggs.

Starsky smelled the tantalizing aroma as soon as he stepped out of his bedroom, now freshly showered and dressed comfortably in his own pajamas.  “I think I love you, Hutch!”  He took the plate (proffered playfully flat on a palm like some fancy maître d’) and started digging in.

Hutch smirked.  “I hope that’s not the best line you’ve got.  I’d hate to think McCabe’s that easy.”

Starsky laughed in surprise.  Hutch seemed to have relaxed into the situation.  That was good.  Starsky couldn’t concentrate if his partner stayed uptight.  It was going to be awkward as it was.  They couldn’t kid themselves about that.  But at least if they both kept an open attitude, they could look back on this with humor.

He scraped the last bit of scrambled egg onto his fork and finished it off with a satisfied groan.  Eggs always made him remember the shooting at Giovanni’s.  Made him think about what could’ve happened that night but didn’t.  Made him think what could be threatening them now but wasn’t, because he was here and eating eggs with Hutch at home.

“All right, partner.  Ready?”

Hutch nodded, looking only a little reluctant.  “Ready.”

Starsky pushed himself up from the table with decisive slaps of his palms.  Hutch, taking his lead, followed him to the couch where they plopped down next to each other.  Starsky cleared his throat.  They weren’t going to get more comfortable than this.

He put his finger over the trigger for the recorder.  “Okay?”

“Wait.”

“Now, what?”

“Let’s, uh, let’s get in the scene first.”  Hutch fidgeted, then closed his eyes.  Starsky sat back readily, prepared to admire his partner’s work.

His friend’s features softened about the jaw, hardened around the eyes, expression turning slightly oafish.  His posture relaxed in the shoulders, stiffened down the spine.  Starsky could almost see the boots and hat and hair gel sliding on.  Hutch cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, he was Charlie Honey McCabe from Austin, Texas.

“I didn’t think you were coming.  It got so late.”

“I would not miss this, Charlie.”  Starsky didn’t bother going for the preparation that Hutch did.  He liked to just jump right into the role and live it.

Hutch smiled, though he kept his eyes closed.  He seemed to appreciate Starsky’s Ramon more than he had let on.  “Well, as long as you make it worth the wait.”

“I am always worth the wait.”

Hutch opened his eyes now.  He caught Starsky’s eye and nodded once.

Starsky clicked on the recorder.

“I’ll just bet you are,” Hutch continued.  You just show me what I’ve been missing.  I’ve been waiting all night for this.”

Starsky was supposed to start right in making some amorous-sounding noises at this point, but the sight of his partner’s open-necked shirt inspired him to say, instead, “Mm, I like a man with a strong chest.”

“Sweet Jesus.”  Hutch rolled his eyes.  But he’d said the words in a breathy kind of way, so that was okay.

“You like my hands on you like this?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, don’t stop.”

“And here?”

“Yeeees.”

“How about… here.”

“Ahg…!”

Starsky was curious how many different kinds of moans Hutch could squeeze out.  He wondered if Hutch was this vocal with the ladies.  If he were, it’d be no wonder they were all over him.  Nothing like hearing how much your lover appreciated you.  “You are a sensitive man.  I like it.”

“Ohhh…!  I tell you, I like that.  You’re good to me, you are.”  Hutch had put one hand over his eyes now, and the part of his neck Starsky could see was coloring up.  Grinning, Starsky upped the ante.

“Too many clothes…  Yes, this is better.”

“You too.”

“Not me.  First, I will make you feel, how do you say… heaven.”

“Mmmmm.  Say it however you like, baby.”  Hutch had both his hands over his eyes, now, leaving only his mouth uncovered so his voice would carry clearly.  Starsky decided to go easy on him for the moment.

“No woman holds you like this.  Not even your wife, no?”

Hutch looked up at that.  He nodded.  It was about time to remind themselves of the purpose of this.  “Let’s not talk about my wife.  She doesn’t belong here.  You just, ahhh, keep doing that, you hear?”

Starsky had to hand it to him.  Hutch was hitching his breath rhythmically, as if Ramon were grinding into him, slow and hard.  Starsky could feel a blush creep up his own face.

“Uh!” Hutch gasped.

“Mmm.  Dance with me.”

“Yeaaaah.  Ah, god.”

“Show me how much you want me.”

“You can see it.”

“Show me.”

Hutch speared Starsky with a dusky look.  “Get those clothes off first.”

Starsky’s hand went to his shirt before he thought.

Shit, when Hutch used that commanding voice, he just automatically went with it.  Embarrassed, he pretended to be scratching his chest.  Hutch’s eyes on his, crinkled in triumph, showed he hadn’t been fooled.

Oh yeah?  Two could play that game.

“No.”

“No?”

“Beg.”

Hutch’s glare could peel paint.  “If you think I’m in the habit of begging for anything, you have the wrong man.”

“Do I?  I think I have the right man.”

Hutch groaned.  His face said it wasn’t the good kind of groan, but the audio was fine for what they needed.

Starsky smirked.  “This is… wrong.  Wicked.  Eeevil.  We must stop, no?”

Hutch groaned even louder.  He had his head hanging in his hands again, but this time Starsky could see his white teeth laughing.  “Don’t you dare!”

“No.  Never.”  Starsky stood up abruptly, startling his partner.  Starsky never did like going by script.

Hutch didn’t betray anything with his voice, but he stared in trepidation as Starsky rearranged himself so one knee was on the couch seat, one foot on the floor, and his arms braced against the back.  He made sure to catch Hutch’s eye before pushing once, sharp, against the back of the couch.

Hutch’s eyes went round.

Starsky grunted again, and made sure the couch rocked a little, making a creaking noise that, going by their earlier test, the microphone would surely pick up.  “You want me, yes?  So bad.  So much.”

Hutch sighed loudly and made scrunched frowny faces at him, but he went along with it, timing his huffs of breath and soft moans with Starsky’s physical efforts.

After a while, Starsky felt a grin spread across his face.  It was awfully goofy what they were doing.  It was like some radio show porno.

He was getting that sweet buzz of adrenaline, when they were undercover and everything was going exactly right.  It might be just the two of them now, but the bad guys were going to listen to this.  They might as well be listening right now.  One mistake could finish them, but that wasn’t going to happen, he knew.  He and Hutch were clicking.  They were riding high on the edge.

From the expression on Hutch’s face, he could tell that Hutch was feelin’ it too.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Hutch was saying.  “Want ya…  Want ya bad.”

And suddenly, Starsky could see it.  Straddling his blond partner, his hands up inside Hutch’s shirt.  Hutch’s pants pulled down around his pale thighs.  Starsky would be humping his groin, covering his partner, watching him toss his head, those blond locks sticking to his forehead with sweat.

“You know how to do it.  Give it to me so good.”

Yeah, he could see it.  Could see how beautiful it’d be, Hutch’s long, pale neck tensed up, those pretty eyes dark with desire, his lips all wet, his hips undulating, trying to meet Starsky’s.  Strong and angry.  Groaning in frustration as Starsky took what he wanted from him.  Made him crazy.  Wiped that worry-wart frown right off of his partner’s face.  Leaned right down and forced his mouth open and…

“Ahhh!!  I’m coming, I’m… coming.  Ah, don’t stop, don’t stop.  Jesus god…!”

Starsky jerked out of his daydream.  He jumped back from the couch, feeling his heart going a mile a minute, his palms tacky with sweat.

He remembered to groan for the benefit of the microphone, before he fumbled towards the recorder and, after one miss, clicked it off.

Job done, his first reflex was to turn to his partner, for backup, for explanations.  Hutch, what the hell was that?

Hutch was staring back at him, looking no better than he felt.  His entire jaw was clenched up and his eyes were wide as saucers.  Even his hair was standing up in places.  He looked like the smallest tap would break him wide open.

Swallowing hard, Starsky dared to move his gaze down off of his partner’s face.  He had to squeeze his eyes shut right after.  God.  Hutch was hard.  “You, uh,”  Starsky had to cough before finishing, “You can have the bathroom.”

Gasping, Hutch was off like a shot.  Starsky leaped into action a moment later.  Getting to his room and slamming the door shut, he wasn’t even fully on the bed before he’d yanked his pants down and was stropping himself madly.

He imagined Hutch next door, standing over the sink, maybe — or leaning against the wall? — his pants down.  Hunched over like he’d been punched, yeah.  His big hands working.  Making those goddamn noises, but trying to be quiet so Starsky wouldn’t hear.

Was he thinking about Starsky, too?

Starsky opened his eyes.  He saw himself reflected on the mirrored ceiling, sprawled open, half naked, just the way Hutch would be imagining him…?

Ahhhhhhh!

He came so hard he saw stars.

***

When Starsky woke up, he wasn’t at first sure where he was.  He finally realized he was lying sideways across his bed, his feet hanging on the floor.  He had his hands down his pants still, everything gross and dry, sticky in places.  His stomach, bared where his shirt had rucked up, caught the cool air, and he shivered.

He pushed himself upright.

Starsky squinted at his alarm clock.  Twenty minutes.  He hadn’t conked out like that after an orgasm in a long time.

As he rearranged himself, he became aware of furtive noises outside that told him his partner was also among the conscious.  He considered going out there and having a talk, though he hadn’t the faintest notion what they would say to each other.

The noises paused, then started again.  Starsky’s entire body stiffened when he heard the front door unlocking.  Hutch was leaving?

He should let him go.  Save both of them the awkwardness.  Later, they’d look back on this and laugh.  Right?

Yeah.

Starsky was out in the living room before he’d fully registered his own intentions.

Hutch, indeed dressed and carrying his duffle bag, had just stepped outside, his hand closed on the outer doorknob.  He startled and stared back at Starsky.

Starsky didn’t move towards him, but he moistened his mouth and said, “Hey.”

Hutch hesitated, stared at his feet, at the stairs outside, at the couch.  Then he came back in and closed the door softly.  “Hey,” he returned, finally meeting Starsky’s eyes.

Starsky felt a wave of relief wash through him.  “You can stay,” he offered, glad that he sounded sincere and actually felt it, too.  His house had always been open to Hutch, and it still was.

He saw Hutch open his mouth, some automatic denial no doubt ready.  But then he paused and seemed to think for a moment.  When he spoke again, he sounded confident.  Also sincere.  “No, I think I’ll head home.”

Starsky nodded.  This felt okay.  Normal.

“Hey,” Hutch said.

“Yeah?”

“I, uh, checked the tape.  It’s fine.”  Starsky looked at his stereo, where a pair of headphones was still plugged in.  The tape itself, he realized, was laid squarely in the middle of the coffee table.  A sheet of memo paper was weighted under it.

With a few quick strides, Starsky was picking up the note.  Checked the tape.  It’s good, was all it said.  Somehow, that made Starsky smile.

The note said, almost word for word, what Hutch had just told him.  They were still honest with each other.  He looked up at his partner, his chest swelling with an emotion he didn’t want to examine right now.

“I’ll hand it to Chambers and his cronies just before shift.  Are you coming in tomorrow?”

“You think they’ll make their move so soon?”

Starsky considered.  “They got Mrs. Dodsman the day after we saw Starger take her out.”

“You’re right.  I’ll come ready, then.”  Hutch smiled faintly and ducked his head, the way he did when he had a joke that was bound to be funny only to himself.  “If I don’t show up, everybody’d think McCabe dumped you as soon as he got what he wanted.  I wouldn’t want Ramon to pine.”

Starsky laughed.  “McCabe’s an arrogant SOB, ain’t he?”

Hutch’s tone was matter-of-fact, but he was grinning down at his shoes.  “Well, when ya got it, boy, flaunt it.”

Starsky pretended to boot him out the door.

***

Chambers’s face was stony.  “This is unusable.”

“What?!”  His toes were still curling just thinking about it.  How could they have made it any more obvious what they were (not) doing on that tape?

Starger looked contemptuous, the look of a professional saddled with a thorough rookie.  “You didn’t use his name or refer to anything personal the entire time.  Someone who recognizes his voice might be a little shocked, but he could explain that away easy.  Hell, how do we know you didn’t just rent a porno and tape it instead of doing the job?”

“I did the job!” Starsky exclaimed, caught afire by this fresh unfairness.  He pointed at the tape.  “You hear me working him harder than he has ever taken it!”  The sheer ridiculousness of his own statement helped to cool him down.  How often did a guy find himself defending his manliness by insisting that he’d made it with another man last night?

“You have one more chance,” Chambers informed him.  “If you can’t handle it, Marsha’s back in, and you’re back to teaching the tango.”

“I can handle it.”  Marsha, have Hutch?  The flash of possessiveness that shot through him was as powerful as it was unsettling.

“Good, now get out there and see if McCabe comes back today.  You’d better hope he’s not the love-em-and-leave-em sort.”

Hutch’s joke from last night came to him: Everybody’d think McCabe dumped you as soon as he got what he wanted.

Of course, Hutch wasn’t like that.  And for the good of their case, McCabe had better not be either.

Leaving the office, Starsky sidled quickly behind the record player and pretended to peruse the albums there while he considered their next step.  Once Hutch showed up, he’d have to tell him about the tape.  Then they would both have to fill some dead time before they could have another go at it.

His stomach flipped over at the thought of repeating last night’s performance.  Terrifyingly enough, he realized that it wasn’t exactly an unpleasant feeling.

“Trouble with the cowboy?”

Starsky snapped his gaze up at the slick and venomous voice.

Marsha was dressed in a silky blue number, her hair let down to waft around her shoulders.  It all accentuated her trim figure, but her nasty expression completely ruined the sweet image she’d been presenting so far.  She dangled a cigarette from one hand.

“No trouble,” he replied.  “We are, as you say, a house on fire.”

Marsha snorted in an unlady-like manner.  “That’s not what Carl told me.  You’re a regular amateur, aren’t you?”

“At least, I am not the old model.”

Marsha took an extended puff of her cigarette.  “You should be thankful I warmed him up for you.”

“He didn’t need warming up last night.”  Starsky leaned in close, as if to share a secret.  “He told me, all the time he was dancing with you, he was wanting me.”

Where had that come from?  But Starsky didn’t question it.  He was in the role and speaking through it.

And Ramon had hit his mark, all right.  Marsha looked incensed, her skill as seductress evidently sullied.  “Listen, you two-bit hustler, who do you think you are?  You’re green as grass, and don’t think A.C. doesn’t know it.  The only reason you’re on point for this–“

“Is because I have what you don’t,” Starsky cut in smugly.  He smoothed his moustache ostentatiously.

“You just keep kidding yourself, wanna-be.”

“I don’t kid.”

Marsha seemed momentarily taken aback by the smolder in ‘Ramon’s’ voice, but she rallied quickly.  “Didn’t you wonder why I haven’t been around?  He wouldn’t have looked twice at you if I had.”

Starsky grinned.  He was enjoying himself, fighting with a woman over Hutch.  Who woulda thunk?  This felt fun.  Normal.  “He would have looked twice, bebe.  He wonders, ‘What in the hell did I see in that old shrew?'”

Marsha stamped out her cigarette in a nearby ashtray.  “Oh, you like to think so, don’t you?” she snapped.  “Let me tell you, rookie, men never mean what they say, especially when they’re getting you in bed.  If I were you–“

“Marsha.  What are you doing here?  Didn’t you take a ‘sick day’?”

Both of them turned to see Chambers, a heavy look of disapproval on his face.  Marsha scowled back at him.  “Well, I guess I got better.  Look, if Romeo here does his job, McCabe won’t come after me anyway.  And you can’t make me keep missing work.  I’ve got rent to pay too, you know.”

Chambers’ lips pursed.  “You get your pay for sick leave.”

“I don’t mean the salary that Old Lady Evans gives out,” Marsha spat.  She shot a look at Starsky.  “This is unfair, and you know it.  I spent all weekend working that idiot.  I’m the one who got his info.  I’m the one who got him comfortable here.  And now I’m out in the cold?  I deserve something out of this.”

Starsky bristled inwardly.  Of course Marsha didn’t want Hutch for himself.  She just wanted a piece of the fat pie.  He’d known that at the outset, but to see these people discussing other human lives (including his partner) like so many interchangeable commodities… it made his blood boil.

Chambers seemed to consider.  “All right.  You pick up the payoff with Louis.  You’ll get the usual for that.”

Marsha shook her head.  “I’ll take that, sure, but I deserve at least a few percent for my groundwork.”

Starsky snorted out loud at that, and she glared at him.

“What’s the matter, sissy boy?  Allergies?”

“Yes.  I am allergic to bitches.”

Chambers held up a calming hand.  “Five hundred, plus a share for the pickup.  I am being very generous, Marsha.”

She crossed her arms and shot Starsky another glare before agreeing, “Deal.”

“And now, you stay out of this dance hall until I give the all-clear.  Until we get the goods, I don’t want any interference.  Ramon.”

“Yes?” Starsky was quick to answer.

“Don’t let us down.”

“But of course.”

Just at that moment, of all the darn luck, the front door opened, and who should saunter through the door but Charlie McCabe.  He was decked out today in an almost garishly ornamented black shirt, dark trousers, and a white vest.  He looked kind of like a fancied up Holstein.

Biting back a laugh, Starsky thought, Ramon’s hot for that?  Stranger things had happened, indeed.

“Get a move-on, lover boy,” Marsha sneered at him.

“Marsha,” Chambers reprimanded.

“Yeah, yeah.”  She tossed her hair and left by the back way.

“Ramon.”

“Yes, yes,” he said, in a deliberate imitation.  Chambers frowned at him but, with a glance at the ‘Texan’, slipped quietly back into the offices.

Great.  Starsky squared his shoulders.  Now he just had to bed that crazy cowboy, and they’d be home free.

***

“Mr. McCabe.”

“Ramon.  G’mornin’.  Is Ginger coming in today?”

Starsky handed him a glass of watered gin and tonic from the bar.  He was careful to brush Hutch’s hand as he did so, but not in too obvious a manner.  They had to be delicate.  They were pretending to be lovers who were pretending to be strangers.  Sheesh.

Starsky looked for any clues of discomfort from his friend after the scene from last night, but Hutch looked easy and immersed in his cover.

“No, I’m afraid not.  However, she will have another soiree tomorrow night.  Will you attend?”

“Well, sure!  Does a coyote have whiskers?”

Starsky took a quick look around, then said, in a lower voice, “No move today.  I’ll tell you about it after shift.”

Hutch’s expression didn’t even waver.  “That’s sure nice to know,” he replied at a normal volume.  He downed his drink.  “Well, if Ginger’s not here…”  He trailed off, his eyes turning a little hard behind those silly spectacles.

Starsky followed his partner’s gaze.  He groaned.

Ms. Tustin had come back.  This time in a more casual number — an elegant grey top and black slacks — she had apparently lost no time in introducing herself to Starger.  They were conversing cheerfully in a corner.

There wasn’t any real way to get her away from there without causing more suspicion.  They would have to leave her alone.  Hutch caught his eye.  He couldn’t go now.  He’d have to stay and help watch her.

“If Ginger’s not here, I’ll just have to find somebody else to dance with, I guess.”  He wandered off, McCabe’s bounce in his step.

Starsky looked around.  Good thing Hutch was here to keep an eye out, because he had been scheduled for an appointment with–

“May I have this dance?”  There she was, right on time.

“Of course, Diedre!”

“Ramon.  I’ve been looking forward to our lesson all day.”

Starsky laughed and leaned in close.  “You have been practicing very hard, I know.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I saw you dancing in my dreams.”

Diedre giggled in delight, and Starsky smiled inwardly.  He still had it.

***

“What do you mean, we have to do it over?”

“Just what I said.”  Starsky heaved a sigh and signaled the turn into the Metro lot.

Marianne Tustin had stayed for an hour before leaving on her own accord.  She hadn’t tried to contact them, and she hadn’t done more than talk with Starger.  Starger seemed interested, but hopefully it was too soon to be making a move.  They would have to have a talk with her tonight, after checking in with Dobey.

Hutch had waited to leave the dance hall with Starsky, since they were supposed to be (pretending not to be) dating.  Or fucking.  Whatever.  Starsky was too mixed up to think about that angle right now.  “Chambers said the tape was unusable, because we couldn’t tell it was McCabe on there.”

“What are you talking about?  It was…  We were…”

“We didn’t use names.”

Hutch had one hand over his jaw, and he was frowning, probably trying to remember.

“Chambers and I listened to that thing from beginning to end, and he was right.  It could’ve been anyone.”

“This is insane.”  Hutch’s hand moved up to massage his forehead.  Starsky found it unexpectedly fascinating, watching the fine bones and muscles in Hutch’s large hands bunch and move.

Starsky exited the car and slammed the door slightly harder than necessary.

Dobey was a good captain.  The best.  If they both said this was over the line for them, he wouldn’t force them to cross it.  Captains like that were one in a million, Starsky knew.  He didn’t want to take advantage.  Not when it counted.

The thing was, partners like Hutch were even more rare.

What had happened last night…  Starsky wasn’t sure if he could have stood to face Hutch the next day if he’d been anyone else.  The truth of the matter was, it would never even have happened with anyone else, and Starsky knew why.  He knew that Hutch knew, too.

It was all a matter of letting themselves know it together, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he was apprehensive as all get out about opening that door.

If last night had been it, they might have been able to ignore this for a good while longer.  Possibly forever.  But this whole ‘once more with feeling’ gig wouldn’t jive with that.

He felt with utter certainty that if they did this, it would lead them somewhere new.  They had no map to this place.  It might be Tahiti, with sunny beaches and round-the-clock margaritas.  It might be someplace rainy and horrible with slick rocks and giant killer crabs.

What it all came down to was this: Starsky couldn’t handle losing Hutch.

If they did this, he could either lose his friend entirely, or gain something… else.  The biggest double or nothing bet he’d ever make in his life.

And god help him, Starsky thought he wanted to make that bet.  Did Hutch?

“You wanta quit?” he asked quietly.

Hutch considered him over the roof of Starsky’s car.  “No, of course not.”

“All right, then.”

That seemed to settle something for the both of them.  They were committed, so now it just came down to the two of them solving a problem.

Partners.

***

“What are you doing here?”

Marianne Tustin sat primly beside Dobey’s desk.  She glared at Starsky and Hutch as they came in, but Starsky had been given the evil eye by way hungrier sharks than she.

He snagged the remaining chair and spun it around backwards before dropping into it.  Hutch leaned against the window, automatically taking a flanking position.  Starsky gave Ms. Tustin a stern, searching look until she answered: “Captain Dobey invited me to join in the debriefing on the progress regarding my brother’s murder.”

From Dobey’s expression, ‘invited’ probably wasn’t the word he would have used.  As important as her brother had been, Ms. Tustin probably had a little pull here, and Starsky had no doubt at all she was using what leverage she could.

Dobey cleared his throat, breaking up his and Ms. Tustin’s stare-fest.  “Hutchinson, were you approached?”

Hutch looked to Starsky first before answering.  “No, Captain.  Apparently, our ‘evidence’ wasn’t sufficient.  Chambers wants Ramon to engineer a do-over before he’ll make a move.”

“What?”  Even Dobey seemed taken aback.  Starsky glanced at Marianne Tustin, who had furrowed her brow in confusion.  He was intensely glad that the high-mannered lady didn’t know what they were talking about.

Dobey frowned at the pair of them.  “So, will you?”  Starsky stiffened, knowing that he was tacitly implying that they could say no.

Hutch’s gaze didn’t leave Starsky’s eyes as he replied for them both, “We were thinking tonight.”

Starsky nodded slightly in acknowledgement.

Dobey, hearing it as a statement, rolled his round shoulders back.  “All right then.  Update me tomorrow afternoon.”

Starsky held up one finger, looking Marianne’s way.  “Captain, I really don’t think Ms. Tustin needs to be involved any further.  We have her statement.”

“It’s too late,” she spoke up.  “Someone phoned my friends back home this morning, asking about Millicent Forbes.  They must have been convinced, because Carl couldn’t keep away from me today.  He’s taking me to dinner tonight, and I’m going to another of Ginger’s parties with him tomorrow.”

Starger evidently moved faster than Marsha did.  That, or Ms. Tustin had been encouraging him a bit too much.

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Ms. Tustin,” he said, trying to sound diplomatic.

She stared levelly at him, and he remembered how she’d looked at Ginger’s last night — icy and implacable.  “Just answer me one question: Have you arrested my brother’s killer?”

That was a losing battle, right there.  Hutch jumped in ahead of Starsky to throw himself on the sword.  Loyal to the last, his Hutch.  “Ms. Tustin, we don’t quite know who the killer is yet.”

“Exactly.”

Starsky shared a look with Hutch and Dobey.  They were stuck.

***

The ride back to his place was silent.  Hutch followed him in, and he looked slowly around Starsky’s living room, as if he’d never seen it before.  Finally, his gaze settled on the lamp where they’d set the microphone.

“Maybe we should get changed first,” he suggested.  He was using his extra-calm on-an-operation voice.

Starsky shifted, suddenly uncomfortable in his own home.  “Sure.  You first.”  He grimaced at that, but Hutch didn’t seem to think it strange to change separately, even though they must’ve seen each other naked dozens of times by now.  “Uh, you can have some sweats.  You know where.”  He gestured toward the bedroom.

Hutch seemed to take a long time.  When he reappeared, Starsky sucked in a breath in surprise.

Instead of the comfortable sleepwear he’d figured on, Hutch had snitched one of Starsky’s dress shirts — a midnight blue silk one that was just a bit tight on Starsky and fell in nice folds over Hutch’s slightly narrower shoulders.  He’d kept McCabe’s dark cowboy jeans but taken off his boots and socks.

“Hi,” he said, catching Starsky’s eye for just a moment.

“You– You look…”  Starsky choked back the word ‘fantastic’, not sure how Hutch would take it.

He seemed to understand what Starsky had meant, because he colored up and scuttled for the kitchen.  “Are you hungry?”

“Uh, not really.”  Starsky kicked himself.  Now Hutch would have nothing to do but fret while Starsky got changed himself.  “On second thought, some eggs might be good.”

“Coming right up,” Hutch said, with way more enthusiasm than the action should warrant.

Starsky escaped down the hall to his bedroom, already mentally filtering through his closet.  He’d decided on a black shirt by the time he reached his room, but he couldn’t decide between his tightest jeans or the ones that were a darker blue.

He knew in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t important what he wore.  But Hutch had on that shirt, and Starsky…

“What are you doing?  Glaciers melt faster than you move.”

The closeness of his partner’s voice made Starsky jump.  He turned toward his doorway, shirt still unbuttoned and the lighter blue jeans in his hand.  “What?”  He felt awfully exposed in his briefs.

Hutch, seeming to have just noticed the awkwardness of the situation, nevertheless made no move to leave.  That would only serve to highlight their discomfort.  “Eggs are getting cold,” he said, crossing his arms.

Starsky saw his partner’s jaw set in stubborn defiance.  The familiar expression grounded him.  He stepped into his pants as nonchalantly as he could.  “I’m coming,” he said, then winced again.  Was everything he said tonight going to sound wrong?

Maybe the goof did some good, though, because Hutch smiled, and he seemed more relaxed.

Starsky forwent a belt and left the top three buttons of his shirt undone, just like he normally would’ve if he’d been alone — or alone with Hutch.

When he finished, he saw that Hutch had an analyzing sort of face on.  He looked Starsky up and down, real slow.  Starsky didn’t say anything.  He thought maybe he should be doing the same, but he knew every inch of his partner already.  He didn’t think lookin’ would make any difference now.

“Will ya respect me in the mornin’?” he quipped.  The mood was starting to get uncomfortably heavy for him.

“Will you?”  Hutch’s voice was uncommonly serious.  His light blue eyes were intense.  Starsky was struck speechless for a moment.  “Because I’ve thought about it, and I don’t think there’s anything that can happen that would change how I feel about you.”

The statement hadn’t been sappy or even reassuring.  Hutch had stated it as fact.  So of course it was the easiest thing in the world to answer, “Me, too.”

They shared another look, acknowledging the truth of that.

He moved toward the doorway.  Hutch continued to stare at him, motionless, probably unintentionally but very effectively blocking him inside.  Starsky’s stomach flipped.  Hutch’s eyes widened a fraction.  He held Starsky’s gaze for a second before he backed away, allowing him to exit.

Starsky snapped off the light behind him.

The living room seemed abnormally bright after the intimacy of the bedroom.  Starsky ignored the pretence of the eggs entirely.  He went straight to the couch where the trigger for the tape recorder was.  Hutch, making no comment, seated himself in an armchair against the wall — across the room from him.

They were equally far from the microphone.  It shouldn’t sound unnatural.

“You need to get ready?” Starsky asked, but this time Hutch shook his head.

“Okay.”  Starsky put his finger over the trigger, held Hutch’s gaze for a few seconds, and depressed the button.

“That was one mighty fine apology!” McCabe’s exuberant voice filled the room like the crack of a starting pistol.  “You should be late more often.”

“Mmm, maybe I should.  How is my ranchero?”

Hutch smothered a surprised laugh.

The moment of levity conversely made Starsky’s blood burn.  They weren’t working off a script this time.  This was completely on the fly.  There was an edge to that that made it sharper, more real.

“Ready for some lovin’, Ramon.”

They shared a look, check-marking one name off the list.  Now for the important one.

“Does Senor McCabe wish to schedule another lesson?”

“Shut up and get over here, you darn tease.”

“Patience, dulce.”  Hutch made a face, presumably at his Spanish.  Starsky had looked this stuff up, though!  This was definitely what an amorous Argentine feller called his girl.  Or, his guy, rather.  “Dulce de leche,” he crooned.  “My sweet honey Charlie.”

Starsky met Hutch’s eyes squarely.

That was checkmark number two.  Now it was freeform the rest of the way.

Hutch groaned.  He leaned back a little, and the image of Hutch, aroused and baring himself for his lover, assaulted Starsky’s imagination.  “What do you want tonight, Charlie?”

“This feels good right now.”

“Have you been thinking about me?”

“Yes.  All day, dagnabbit.”  Starsky swallowed.  He wondered if it were true.  Had Hutch been thinking about him?

“What do you think about?”

Hutch moaned again.  “You know what,” he said.  The inflection in his voice lit up pictures in Starsky’s head.

Starsky bit his lip, before remembering that he wanted to make noise.  He let out a groan for the microphone, but he didn’t need much acting for it.  He could feel himself spiraling out of control, and they had barely even started.

“Are you hard for me, lover?”

Hutch’s eyes were nothing but blue slits now.  “You know I am.”  He wasn’t lying, either.  Starsky could see the outline of Hutch’s hard-on right through his pants.  He may have been hard even before they’d started.  Starsky hadn’t had the nerve to check.

It should have been a disconcerting sight, frightening even — a big, aroused man in his home, looking at him like that with those bedroom eyes.

But it was Hutch.  That made all the difference.

Starsky realized that he hadn’t said anything in a while.  His throat had gone completely dry, and his mind had gone blank.  He scrambled for a nonexistent script.

Hutch was still watching him.  He licked his lips, and Starsky felt a jolt deep in his gut that made him groan.  “Ramon…”  The syllables caressed Starsky’s ear.  “You wanna fuck me, don’t you?”

“Oh, god.”  Starsky remembered only at the last second to clip the consonants into Ramon’s accent.  “Yes.”

“I want it, too.”

Starsky squeezed his eyes shut.  He couldn’t believe what Hutch was saying.  He almost couldn’t comprehend the words coming out of Hutch’s mouth, they were so foreign to him.  To them.  To the me and thee they had been for the last seven years.

And yet.

He could see it.  He could see himself working between Hutch’s long legs, burying himself in that hot, secret place.  He could see Hutch wanting it, grabbing his hair, urging him on, using his strength to pull Starsky close.  Starsky could almost feel Hutch under him, his partner’s smooth chest gliding under his, interrupted by the two hard, aroused nipples, his erection digging into Starsky’s stomach, that tight heat around his cock.

It was almost more than he could stand.  He wiped his neck, unsurprised to feel it glazed with sweat.  Hutch watched him, and his smile was feral, his teeth sharply white.  His right hand crept down and started stroking himself through his jeans.

“I will make it good for you, Charlie,” Starsky managed to choke out.

“Oh, I know you will.”  Hutch’s voice had dropped an octave.  His easy confidence staggered Starsky.  How could he say things like that?  Hutch had slouched down on the seat cushions.  He put his head back, arching his neck, and he spread his knees, as if he were offering himself.  “Make me fly, Ramon.”

The command in Hutch’s voice almost had Starsky leaping up to do just that, for real.  He clenched his fists against the urge, wishing he’d gone with the darker jeans after all.  The ones he had on were fit to cut off the circulation to vital parts of his anatomy.  He was breathing like a freight train, with Hutch sitting there looking so cool and smug!

This was ridiculous.  Starsky was a grown man, and one who’d been around the block plenty of times.  Gathering himself, he made his tone harder as he said, “Oh, I will, ranchero.”

Starsky sat back deliberately and started stroking his chest through the opening in his shirt.

Hutch stilled, looking startled, and Starsky felt a spike of triumph.  He slowed down, taking the time to visit the most sensitive parts.  He loved it when girls paid attention to him there.  He groaned with pleasure, only slightly exaggerated.  Hutch’s eyes on him burned with sweet fire.

“Turn over for me, lover.  Let me see you.”  He opened the last two buttons of his shirt and slid one hand up and down the new space, pleasuring himself.  The other hand, copying Hutch, went to his cock, fondling himself through the denim.  Hutch was staring as if hypnotized, his mouth hanging slightly open.  His hands were still stroking himself.

“One last thing, dulce.”  Starsky licked his lips and demanded, “Beg.”

There was no protest this time.  Hutch closed his eyes and turned his head to the side.  “Please.  Oh, please.”

“You want it.”

“Yes…  Yes.”

“You need it.”

“Yes!”

“You must have it.”

“Yes, god, yes.  Fuck me.  Fuck me, R-Ramon.  Now.”

Eyes squeezed tight, Hutch pulled down his zipper with one quick move and reached inside.  Starsky didn’t need to fake his labored breathing.  Hutch was touching himself, stroking, squeezing, using both hands.  It was a goddamned one-man porn show.  All for Starsky.  All for him.

“Take it, darling.  You take it so well.”

In his mind’s eye, Starsky was penetrating Hutch for the first time.  He was sinking into that spot of heaven.  He was licking that bead of sweat off of Hutch’s Adam’s apple.  He was pinning Hutch’s hands down, feeling his muscles work.  Hutch was moaning with swollen lips open, arching to impale himself more fully.  Giving himself to Starsky as completely as he could.

Was that what Hutch was thinking about?

Hutch shuddered and let a whimper escape.  “Don’t stop.  Don’t…”  Starsky was on fire.  He found his voice again, not for the microphone, but for Hutch.

“More,” he pressed, his voice hoarse.  “Beg me.”

“Ah god…”

“More!”

“Please…  I- I want it.  So bad, so bad.”

“What do you want, Charlie?”

“Please, fuck me.  Please.”

It seemed only a short amount of time before Hutch gasped, almost a sob.  He emitted one loud, choked-off groan, and Starsky forgot to breathe.

Hutch was really coming.  He’d curled up with his hands cupping his genitals, and he was convulsing in a perfectly recognizable rhythm.  He’d clenched his teeth, not allowing any sound to escape.  He wasn’t playing for the microphone.  This was real.

Starsky was so turned on, he thought he would die.

That was enough.  That was more than enough.  Starsky clicked off the recorder without taking his eyes off of his partner.  He saw Hutch still shuddering in the aftershocks.  His eyes were unfocused.  He nodded at Starsky and took a deep, shaky breath.

The next moment, Starsky was across the room and throwing himself on the armchair.  He hauled Hutch toward him by the shirtfront.  Hutch’s eyes widened, and he put his hands on Starsky’s shoulders.  “Starsky…!”

With Hutch’s weight forward, they overbalanced and fell onto the floor.  Starsky barely noticed.  The only thing he could think about was getting to Hutch, skin on skin.  It was like a fever had taken over his brain.

He shoved Hutch’s shirt up, baring him to the chest.  The two bottom buttons flew off, but Starsky didn’t care.  He couldn’t get enough.  His hands were flying over Hutch, skimming his skin.  He rooted his nose in Hutch’s neck, taking a deep breath of his partner’s scent.

He licked a stripe up Hutch’s neck, just like he had imagined, and Hutch moaned, deep and sinful.

Hutch’s body was warm, blazing hot.  He was hard where a woman’s would be soft, and wider, with longer, more muscular legs.  He felt familiar and utterly alien at the same time.  He felt amazing.

Working one hand down, Starsky unzipped his too-tight pants and finally freed himself.  He moaned at the release and thrust forward.  The first contact against Hutch’s bare stomach nearly undid him.  He might have screamed, he wasn’t sure.

Then he felt — god! — Hutch’s hand on his erection.  It squeezed for only a moment, then flinched away.  Starsky was too quick for it, however.  He clapped his own hand over Hutch’s and made sure it stayed right where it was.

“Ohhhh, god.”  He pushed into that warm living hand.  With his own, he guided Hutch into the rhythm that pleased him best.  He could hear Hutch’s heavy breathing.  He pried his eyes open and lifted his head to see Hutch staring up at him, mouth open and panting.  His cheeks were flushed, and he looked scared and exhilarated.  His hair stuck to his forehead exactly the way Starsky had pictured it– was it only last night?

Neither of them made any effort to speak.

Starsky had to screw his eyes shut again just before he came.  It was too much.  He thought his heart would explode, it was racing so fast.  There were fireworks behind his eyes.

The aftershocks lasted forever.  He couldn’t stop shaking, each new wave catching him just as he thought it was finally over.  He clung to Hutch through it, locking on to his slim hips and groaning into the crook of his neck — Starsky’s new favorite place to be, he decided.

Finally, Hutch shifted, and Starsky reluctantly allowed them both to sit up.  He slumped against the seat of the armchair, boneless, not even bothering to fix his clothes.

He was wiped.

His fingers discovered an anomaly in the carpet — one of the buttons that had been ripped off of Hutch’s shirt.  His own shirt, actually.  Finding this suddenly hilarious, he turned to Hutch to share the joke.

Hutch was smoothing down his clothes, his jeans and belt neatly done up and his shirt back on.  He held the bottom, where the buttons were missing, closed with one hand as he stammered, “I– I should head home.”

“What?  Wait!”  Shocked out of his post-orgasmic stupor, Starsky grabbed hold of Hutch’s arm, holding him in place.  Hutch didn’t get up, but he wouldn’t look at Starsky either, and he was tense all over.

Starsky couldn’t figure out what was wrong.  They’d been doing great, hadn’t they?  Starsky was still feeling the buzz.  “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.  N- Nothing’s the matter.  I just, I think I–“

Hutch glanced at him quickly, and Starsky sat back, pole-axed by what he’d glimpsed on Hutch’s face.

Shame.

Starsky felt a curl of anger start to smolder in his guts.  After all the stupid lectures his college-educated partner had given him about being tolerant and open-minded.  After all the ways his affectionate friend had taught Starsky to rely on him through the years.  After putting on that shirt tonight and saying all those things, making — that’s right — making Starsky want him so bad he couldn’t see straight…

Where did he get off being ashamed of what they’d just done?

“Starsk.”

The one word was like a dash of cold water.  Starsky hesitated, responding to the fear in that voice.  His will to protect this man overwhelmed everything else.

Then, like always, he could see it all, could see it from Hutch’s perspective.

His intensely proud and private partner had just been tape recorded begging his best friend of seven years to fuck him.  That did something to a man.  Even one as confident as Hutch was.  It sure couldn’t have helped that Starsky had practically attacked him right after.

“Aw, Hutch.”  Shifting closer, he took Hutch’s hand in his and squeezed tight.  “I–”  He ducked his head, realizing that what he was saying wasn’t a line to make Hutch feel better.  It was the bare truth: “I need ya.  Don’t go.”  When Hutch didn’t say anything, he added, “I swear, I couldn’t stand it if you walked out on me right now.  I think I’d fall apart.”

Hutch pulled away, and it was a long, scary moment before Starsky felt fingers run through his hair.  Starsky closed his eyes, savoring the feeling.  Then Hutch pulled him forward, gentle but insistent.  And then — why hadn’t they done this earlier? — Hutch had his face cradled in his hands, and he was kissing him.

Starsky welcomed him in, and he tasted hope and desire and love with a little uncertainty, and most of all, he tasted Hutch.

He made a sound.  He wasn’t sure himself what it meant but it made Hutch slide his hands down to his shoulders and pull back.

“Starsk,” he said, blue eyes looking deep into Starsky’s own.  “What are we doing?”

The question was calm.  Sincere.  Honest.

Starsky was just as honest with his reply: “The hell if I know.  But I think it’s good.  Yeah?”

Hutch’s smile spread slow, like sweet cream through coffee.  “Yeah.”

***

By mutual agreement, they cleaned up for bed separately.  When Starsky came out of the bathroom, he saw Hutch standing in the middle of the living room.  He had a set of sheets and a pillow in his arms, but he wasn’t moving to make up the couch.  He looked up at Starsky as he entered the room.

Starsky smiled, feeling as tentative as Hutch looked.  “Hey,” he said.  “C’mon.”

Looking relieved, Hutch dropped his armload and followed Starsky to the bedroom.

It was almost strange that they had never done this before.  Oh, they’d stayed over at each other’s places countless times.  They’d sometimes camped out on the floor together like teenagers.  But share a bed?  Starsky wondered why it’d never occurred to them.

There was a moment of tugging the covers back and forth and getting into positions where they weren’t jabbing each other’s more important bits.  They finally settled down, Starsky on his back, Hutch half on his side with one leg curled up under him.

It was comfy.  Just the way Starsky had never imagined it would be.  Just the way it would have to be between the two of them.

On the edge of sleep, Starsky glanced over at his partner.  Hutch was already away in dreamland, the rise and fall of his breast steady and soothing.  It was probably an illusion, but it seemed that the corners of his mouth were turned up just a little.  A warm bubble of affection filled Starsky right up.

Marsha could keep McCabe.  Hutch was his.

***

If Starsky had thought about it, he might have supposed that waking up with Hutch in his bed would be awkward.  There might have been a few cleared throats between them, a few shifty glances, before one of them made some excuse and fled to the bathroom.

Or maybe — because Starsky was a romantic at heart — he might have supposed that they would wake up together.  The sky would be just lightening up, and they’d just stare and memorize each other.  The way lovers did.  The morning sunlight would make Hutch look so good.  He was sure of it.

What was more likely — since Starsky was also a pragmatist — was, Hutch would wake up first.  He’d probably freak out for a while, but he wouldn’t abandon Starsky.  Never.  He’d work it all out in that amazing brain of his, and he’d be all ready to calm Starsky down from his own freakout when he woke up.  Maybe he would make Starsky breakfast.

As it turned out, Hutch did wake up first.

Starsky woke up an indeterminate amount of time later — with his dick in Hutch’s mouth.

“Oh, fuuuuu…!”

He instinctively tried to buck into that glorious heat, but Hutch (with amazing forethought, considering) had pinned him down securely by the thighs, leaving him flailing.

Scrabbling for a handhold to keep himself from flying into space, Starsky grabbed first a handful of sheets, then his own hair.  Realizing immediately the fallacy of this, he dug under the blankets and seized Hutch’s hair instead.

He heard a surprised grunt.  “Watch it!”

Starsky ignored him.  He’d always liked Hutch’s hair, golden and fine.  He wondered if Hutch would let him rub his cock in it.

The unexpectedly dirty image pushed him over the edge.

“Shit!”  The muffled curse was accompanied by a few gagging noises.

“Hutch?”

His partner emerged from down under, frowning and wiping his lips.  “Who else, dummy?” he replied.

“You all right?”

Hutch ducked his head, looking both pleased and embarrassed.  “Yeah.”

Starsky was overcome by the need to touch this wonderful, wonderful man.  “Oh my god, Hutch!  I can’t believe you did that for me!”  He ran his hands over that beautiful chest.  “You feel so good!” he exclaimed, almost drunk with feeling.

Hutch’s voice went gruffer as he replied, “I’d feel a lot better if you’d move south a ways.”

So Starsky did.  It was clumsy and definitely weird, and he couldn’t quite get up the courage to actually put his mouth over it.  Hutch seemed to appreciate his efforts, regardless, if the sounds he was making were anything to go by.  God, what sounds!  Starsky could listen to them all day.

When it was all over, they lay exhausted and sprawled over the covers.  Starsky couldn’t help noticing how the sun came in and lit up Hutch’s hair.  Just the way he’d thought it would.  (If he’d ever thought about it.)  The amazing thing was, Hutch seemed equally fascinated by him.  Neither of them could keep from staring at each other.

So that wound up to be true, also.

Then Starsky had to cough and shift nervously and confess, “Uh, I don’t want to move, but I really need to pee.”  Hutch laughed and laughed.

Then Hutch made him pancakes.

***

Breakfast felt normal, for the most part.  There was the usual banter and light conversation.  When Starsky had finished the dishes, however, he turned around and saw Hutch’s eyes spring upward, looking kind of guilty.  Instantly, Starsky knew where Hutch’s eyes had been a moment before.

So he gave Hutch a look of his own.

And one thing led to another until they were back where they’d started that morning.  And not only geographically speaking.

The thing about Hutch was, he liked to work things out slow and careful.  He fancied himself the in-tel-lec-tu-al.  Sometimes, even if both of them got the same idea at the same time, Hutch would insist that they sit down and work it through before he would trust it.

He needed time to reason out his own hunches.  Needed to wrestle down his brain.  The good thing about that method was, his brain would stop putting up any fight afterwards.

That’s why with Bigfoot and ghosts and two-headed goats, Hutch was the original doubting Thomas, while with his own wacky food fads and nutty ideas, nothing short of a Times article plus a couple of documentaries could convince him otherwise.  Once he got his teeth into an idea, he was there to stay.  Dove right in, whole hog.  He wasn’t one for staying in the shallows, his Hutch.  Nope.

The point was, Hutch seemed to have gotten over the whole gay thing in a big way.

The point was, Ramon was late for work.

***

This time, Chambers was practically glowing.  The man looked like he had been the one having mind-blowing sex this morning.  A disturbing thought.  “Good work,” he said.

“It was not work at all,” Starsky replied, in mock-modesty.  “It was a pleasure.”  Something of the truth must have shown, because Chambers gave him a suspicious look.

“Don’t tell me you have feelings for him.”

Damn, he had to be more careful.  He let loose a big smile anyway.  “Of course I have feelings,” he said easily.  “One hundred thousand feelings for him.  Isn’t that right, Mr. Chambers?”  Chambers seemed satisfied with his answer.

“Bring him in here as soon as he comes in.”

“Yes, sir!”

***

McCabe arrived at ten sharp, bright-eyed and bearing a new fedora — black — with a red ribbon round it.  Hutch seemed to think McCabe a romantic.  Starsky wondered if ‘Hutch’ would have brought ‘Starsky’ a rose instead, as he had with Marsha.  He quickly dismissed the thought as too sappy.

Ramon took the offering with good humor, settling it atop his curls.  “How do I look?” he couldn’t help asking.

“Like the picture of a real cowboy.”

He could see from the curl of Hutch’s lips that he meant no such thing.  Starsky probably looked ridiculous.  But that only made him laugh.

Hutch’s smile in response lit up the whole damn room.  Starsky was hard put to wipe the enjoyment off his own face, but they were professionals, and they had a job to do.

“Charlie, we need to talk.  Privately.”  It was Starsky who took Hutch’s wrist, but it was Ramon who steered McCabe into the lion’s den.

Show time.

***

Hutch was in fine form today.  They both were.  They were pinging off of each other, competing, performing, showing off for each other fit to beat the band.  The extra zing from this morning was electrifying their every glance and gesture.

Starsky watched in genuine fascination as Hutch crumpled his slim cigar in one apparently overwrought fist.

“You weasly little–!”

Starsky held up his hands.  “I did nothing wrong,” he said, sounding as smarmy as he could — which was plenty, as Hutch must well know.  “I only gave you what you wanted.  And you wanted it badly, didn’t you, Charlie?”  He leered.

Hutch flung his cigar aside and advanced ominously on ‘Ramon’.

“Mr. McCabe.  Let’s behave like gentlemen about this.”

The sharp sound of a safety coming off filled the room.  Starsky held his breath as Hutch slowly turned around.  Benton was at the other door, and he had his revolver pointed straight at Hutch’s chest.  At least it was good for their case that they were threatening Hutch with a deadly weapon.

Small consolation.

Hutch ground his teeth together.  Starsky wasn’t sure how much of the tension radiating off of him was McCabe’s, and how much was his own.  He raised his arms.  “You wanted to talk, A.C.?” he said, in a faux-pleasant version of his Texan drawl.

Chambers nodded, and Benton put the piece away.  Starsky resumed his slouch against the wall, his nerves on high alert and his mind focused.  No more play.

Hutch didn’t bargain when Chambers asked for a hundred grand.  Starsky had told Dobey the score, and they had the funds.  Barely.  Anymore and they’d have had to beg the Feds.  This case was a little touchy all around.

He did bargain about the place and time, though, which was according to plan.  They needed to be someplace they knew, with plenty of backup.  Down on the pier was a good open spot.  Starsky approved.  They’d have plenty of vantage points and not much interference.

Starsky had to mentally scratch his head at one interesting detail Hutch mentioned.  What the…?  A freighter?

“I’ll meet you in front of it.  You bring that, and you’ll get your money,” Hutch said, jabbing his finger at the tape.  Starsky winced inwardly.  He hoped that little plastic box wouldn’t have to come up as evidence.  It would’ve been different if it’d truly been playacting, but thinking about all that raw realness on display for the judge made Starsky nervous.

He and Hutch were known for being good at undercover work.  No one could say any different.  There were plenty of guys in vice who did this sort of thing all the time, after all.  Well.  Not exactly this sort of thing.  Still, Starsky didn’t like to imagine how awkward it’d be standing in a suit and tie and listening to that in court.

Listening to the tape earlier with Chambers had been mortifying enough.  He didn’t know how Marsha and Carl did it.  Luckily, Chambers hadn’t batted an eye, except to get excited about the pile of money he thought he’d soon be seeing.

“And I’m only paying once, you hear me?  You don’t want to let me catch you coming after me for more.”  Chambers actually looked a little taken aback as Hutch got in his space, menacing him with every inch of his tall, lean frame (plus six inches of fedora).

The display Hutch was putting on perked Starsky right up.  Hell, anything was worth having this, wasn’t it?  And, he suddenly realized with a spot of glee, it’d be some show if he got to be there when Captain Dobey got his first earful of his and Hutch’s ‘performance’.  Man, they probably wouldn’t have to talk to the Captain for a week afterward.

Hutch turned on his booted heel and stalked towards the door, the one ‘Ramon’ was guarding.  Starsky slid out of the way slow, and he put on his obnoxious face — the one that told Hutch they were eating the double-meat pizza and watching the monster mash marathon because Hutch had no ride home.  It was the one Starsky used to wear after he got the girl and Hutch went without.  Yeah.

As an added touch, he removed his spanking new hat and swept it in a self-congratulatory bow.  Hutch paused with his hand on the doorknob and returned Starsky a good, long look, so intense that Starsky could almost feel his eyebrows smoking.  He had to remind himself to behave.  Like gentlemen, Chambers had said.  Oh, if he only knew.

“You come near me again,” Hutch leaned in to say, “and you’re a dead man.  Boy.“

Starsky shivered when ‘McCabe’ left, and he was okay with letting Chambers think it was from nerves.  He exchanged a satisfied look with Chambers and Benton.  Chambers gave him a nod.

A knock came from Benton’s door, just before the long-absent Marsha stalked in.

“We’ve got a problem,” she announced with no preamble.  She shot a look at Starsky.  “What’s he doing here?”

“Just finishing up business,” Chambers returned calmly.  “You and Louis need to be at Pier 17 tomorrow morning at nine to meet Mr. McCabe.”

“Sure, whatever.  Look, there’s something–  Can we trust him?” she interrupted herself, pointing her thumb at Starsky.

Chambers studied Starsky for a moment, and Starsky tried his best to look like an upstanding conman and extortionist.  “Ramon, why don’t you get back to work?”

Ah well, couldn’t win them all.  He made it a point to sneer good-naturedly at Marsha before stepping outside.

It wasn’t important anyhow.

By this time tomorrow, this case would be behind them.  Then he and Hutch could really see what they could get up to.

***

“I feel like I should be clapping here.”

Hutch pushed off the wall next to the elevator where he’d been waiting and paced him down towards Dobey’s office.  “Well, when ya got it, boy, flaunt it,” he said, sliding Starsky a glance that was purposely nonchalant.

“Yeah, yeah.”  Flaunting reminded him of something.  “The Mara Quatro, huh?  You own a shipping company too, now?”

Hutch swept his hat out in an extravagant bow, an imitation of Starsky’s earlier provoking move.  “Have to remind ’em I’m worth it, right?”  He reached over and snatched off the hat he’d given Starsky earlier, dropping his own on Starsky’s head as a replacement.

Starsky felt a flush of warmth at the gesture.  He wasn’t sure if Hutch was just being silly, or if it meant something.  Either way, he’d be damned if he were caught blushing in the middle of the precinct.

Tipping his hat back at a jaunty angle, he did a larger-than-life John Wayne strut down the hall, picking up a few amused glances from coworkers.  Encouraged, he then tried out a sideways tango, just to feel his body move in that spicy rhythm.

He could see from the corner of his eyes Hutch trying not to stare.

Arriba!  He’d have to teach Hutch to dance for real.

Starsky sobered when they reached the squad room.  “Did you see Benton’s piece?”  He’d only caught a glimpse of it.  Hutch had been closer.

“Yeah.”  A pause.  “357.”

The same caliber bullet that had killed Theodore Tustin.

Hutch sighed.  “We’ll have to tell Marianne.”

***

“Here it is, Captain.  At the end of Pier 17.  I told them I owned it.”

“What?” Dobey asked.

Starsky snorted.  “That’s what I said.”

Hutch shrugged like it was no big deal to pretend to own a several thousand ton freighter — one that might up and sail away before the payoff.

Dobey looked dubious but didn’t say anything.  He nodded crisply at Hutch.  “Give Ms. Tustin a call.  Make sure she’s out of this.  That Starger is trouble.  I want this op to go down clean.”

Hutch shot Starsky a glance before speaking.  “Captain, we found out something else today.”

“What?”

“Louis Benton, Chambers’ hired gun.  We think he’s the man who killed Tustin.  Teddy Tustin, that is.  And almost certainly on Chambers’ orders.”

“He’ll be at the meet,” Starsky put in.

“Okay.  That’s good.  Two birds with one stone.  Starsky,” he pointed, then stopped.  “Starsky, you can get rid of that getup.  You’re not undercover anymore.”

Starsky looked down at his snappy frilled shirt, black slacks, and dance shoes.  He took off the cowboy hat from his head, the only incongruous part of his outfit, and popped it over to Hutch.  “Hold onto that for me, huh?”  Hutch caught it neatly by the brim with one hand and waved it at him in acknowledgement.  To Dobey, he explained, “I ain’t got time to change.  I’m working Ginger’s party tonight.”

Dobey grunted.  “Guess that can’t be helped.  Tomorrow, you watch Benton.  And stay close to Hutchinson.”

As if that needed saying.

He and Hutch shared another look.  This time, it was Starsky who said, “Captain, shouldn’t we let Marianne know?”

“Whatever for?  I’ll make the team aware of what we’re dealing with.  Ms. Tustin had better stay home.  Hutchinson, you lay low for tonight.  And call–“

“On it, Captain.”  Hutch reached for the phone.

***

Starsky sighed as he stepped back into Ginger Evan’s dance hall — and the role of Ramon Diega.

It was risky, coming back, but it’d be even more suspicious if he skipped work the day before the payoff.  Besides, he had an extra mission tonight.  Ms. Tustin hadn’t been too happy about being warned off the case.  He needed to make sure she didn’t take matters into her own hands again.

And speak of the devil, Starsky tensed as he saw Starger already leading Marianne towards the private room.  He couldn’t possibly have bagged Ms. Tustin already.  That lady was way too high class to let him have her, even if it were for the sake of catching her brother’s killer.

Whatever it was, though, Starsky figured he’d better be in on it.  He put on a spurt of speed and caught the pair just as the door was closing behind them.  Starger gave him a mean look, but he was trapped in his charming persona, so he didn’t make a fuss.  Marianne raised an eyebrow at him, but Starsky just shrugged as he followed them in.  He wanted to give her an admonishing scowl, but it would’ve been out of place for Ramon, so he, too, had to let it slide.

“Ramon,” Chambers voiced his surprise.  He didn’t look happy to see him, but he didn’t order him away either.  “Very well.  By the door, please, gentlemen.  Ms. Forbes, please have a seat.”

Starsky and Starger flanked the door out to the dance hall.  Starger frowned at him, but he met the silent challenge with a cool look, and Starger broke the gaze first, clearly frustrated.  Starsky allowed himself a smirk of victory.

Chambers seated himself behind the desk and smiled almost pleasantly at Ms. Tustin.  Starsky felt his instincts clamoring a warning bell.  “Ms. Forbes,” Chambers said.  “I wonder what you’re doing so far from home.”

Ms. Tustin hesitated before answering, evidently catching the sense of danger in the room.  “I told you.  I’m here on vacation.”  She looked around at the chill atmosphere.  “If this is about the free lessons Carl’s given me, I can pay for them.”

Free lessons?  What a smooth bastard.  Starsky turned to give Starger a look, but Starger was looking grim.  He jumped in before Chambers could say anymore.

“Shut up, you bitch,” he swore.  “You’ve been playing me for a fool all this time.  Well, not anymore.”

Marianne looked shocked.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do, Ms. Tustin.  We’re on to you, lady.”

Starsky groaned inwardly.  Of all the things that could go wrong at the last second!  He couldn’t let them hurt Marianne, but if he broke cover to get her out of here, they’d know something was up with ‘Ramon’.  If that happened, they’d never in a million years be dumb enough still to meet ‘McCabe’ at the pier tomorrow.

  Starsky could see the entire case crumbling around their ears, and he could just imagine what Ms. Tustin would have to say if they failed at the last minute to catch her brother’s killer.  Rock and a hard place, that’s where he was right now.  He wished he had his weapon.

The only good thing was, they didn’t seem to suspect ‘Ramon’.  At least, not yet.

“What are you saying?” Starsky inquired quickly, attempting to distract the bad guys a bit.  “She is a fake?”

“She sure is!” Starger said, glaring openly at Marianne now.  “She’s the sister of the guy Marsha was hustling a while ago.  She might even be working for the cops.  Can you believe it?”

Starsky worked to look surprised and angry instead of nervous.  “She is a… what do you say, a snitch?  I do not like snitches.”

“That’s right.”

Starsky assessed the situation quickly.  Starger, still furious, was nevertheless staying by the door.  Chambers was sitting back in his chair, seemingly willing for the moment to see how things played out.  Marianne hadn’t moved a muscle since things went south.

Taking a chance, Starsky advanced on Marianne with every bit of South American temper he could muster.  “Is that true?” he demanded.  “Are you working with the police?”

“No!  No, of course not.”  Marianne looked from him to the other two men in the room, obviously trying to figure out how best to act.

“I do not believe you.”  Starsky put his hands on the arms of Marianne’s chair, trapping her.  He saw her regain a bit of her own temper.  She glanced down, no doubt cognizant of the fact that a well-placed knee could leave him in a lot of pain.

Before she might decide to do just that, no matter that he was on her side, Starsky shoved her shoulders down against the chair and crowded in between her legs with his own.  Her eyes widened at the clear threat and she opened her mouth to protest.

“You dance with me and tell me lies,” Starsky growled.  “You lie to everyone here.  And you talk to the police?”

“No!  They don’t know anything.”  She looked genuinely frightened now.  Starsky didn’t like it, but he had to make it look good.  He seized her long, dark hair and yanked it so that her pale throat was exposed.  She put up her hands to defend herself and he let go her hair to grab her thin wrists instead.  He squeezed.

“You think you are very smart, no?  You think you fool everyone?  You talk to the captain of the police.  You talk to the detectives?”

Some of the fear faded from her eyes at the reminder of who he was.  She shook her head mutely.

“Maybe the police tell you things.  Things like, they will protect you.  You will not be hurt.  They make you promises they cannot keep.”

He leaned in.  “Ramon does not give empty promises,” he said, just loudly enough for the men behind him to hear as well.  He saw the understanding in her face.  David Starsky wouldn’t hurt her, but Ramon Diega could make sure she took a long nap that she would never wake up from.  Somebody had done it to her brother.  Somebody could do it to her.

“You can tell the police what Ramon tells you, chica.  Pah!  Do you think they will help you?”  If she were smart, she’d run straight to Dobey after this for protection.  He couldn’t help her here.  He saw her lip tremble, but she met his gaze squarely.  She had guts, he had to give her that.

“Get out of my sight.”  He yanked her to her feet and all but shoved her out the door, the one away from Starger.  Needing no extra incentive, she hurried away.  Starsky waited, tensed, for Chambers to stop her.  He let out a relieved breath when the order didn’t come.

“That was… very effective, Ramon,” Chambers said.

Starsky scowled.  “I hate the police.  And I hate stupid bitches.”  He picked up a handy ornament from Chambers’ desk and hurled it at the wall.  It smashed with a satisfying tinkle.  He hoped it’d been something expensive.

“Please control yourself,” Chambers admonished him, but Starsky could hear a note of respect in his tone.  A man like Chambers, who did his work from behind desks and tape recorders, probably didn’t see violence too often.

Starsky made a show of grumbling before leaning himself against the door he’d sent Marianne out of, blocking that route in case Starger wanted to make an issue of it.

“Do you think she’ll talk to the police?” Chambers asked Starger.

“She doesn’t have anything to tell them.  I didn’t get far enough with her.  And after that…”  Starger threw a glance at Starsky.  “I don’t think she’s coming back.”

“She had better not!” Starsky interjected, the wish fervent and completely true.

“Hm.  Perhaps.  It would certainly be a little trouble to get rid of her.”

“Do you want me to go after her?” Starsky offered.  He’d love to get an extra murder charge on Chambers, and if he could leave for the night, all the better.

Chambers shook his head.  “You had better get back to work.  The both of you.  Ms. Evans will be wondering where you are.”

***

Hutch was waiting for him again when he got home.  He opened Starsky’s door in dark blue jeans and a button-down white shirt.  Starsky realized he had seen him wear these clothes on one of their double dates before.  The image of Hutch laughing, with a wine glass in his hand, appeared in his mental eye, flustering him.

“Hey, lemme in,” he said, a little brusque.

It was just a shirt.  Hutch had worn the same shirt when they busted Bellevue last week, come to think of it.  It didn’t mean anything.

“Where the hell were you?”

Starsky rolled his eyes.  Hutch seemed to be asking him that a lot lately.  He pushed past his partner.

“Where do you think?  Down at Ginger’s,” he replied.  In addition to being embarrassed, he’d been feeling surly after the brief adrenaline spike of earlier was over.  Dancing the night away with a succession of old biddies had been an emotional letdown, especially since Diedre hadn’t been there tonight to lighten the mood.  He started to strip off Ramon’s clothes on the way to his bedroom.

He noticed Hutch glance away as soon as the bowtie came undone, a trace of a smile hovering shyly on his lips.  His own mood lifted slightly, and he put a strut in his walk as he went down the short hallway.

“You know what I mean.  It’s past 10 o’ clock,” Hutch said, his voice much gentler now.

Starsky made sure to be facing the doorway as he starting unbuttoning his shirt.  “Marianne was there.”

Hutch’s mesmerized gaze snapped into sharp focus.  “Did she cause any trouble?”

“Not exactly, but Chambers did.”

“What?”

Starsky was surprised how much he liked the tone of protectiveness in Hutch’s voice.  He had to contain a shiver as he skimmed off his shirt and took off his belt.  “She got made.  Good thing Chambers let ‘Ramon’ start playing with the big boys.”

“What did you do?”  Hutch was in the doorway, alertness in every inch of his body.

Starsky shook his head, trying to project comfort.  He grabbed a pair of sweat pants to put on.  “Roughed her up a little.  Said some mean things and sent her packing.  Chambers was impressed, I think.”

“How is she?”

“Marianne was a real trooper.  I have to hand it to her, she kept her head.  Went along with everything and bolted as soon as it was safe.”

“Good.  Maybe that’ll teach her to behave.”

“Right.”  Starsky dropped the last piece of his cover (his moustache) on the dresser, and turned to his lover.  Lover.  The word still gave him goosebumps.  “Now how about we stop thinking about the case, huh?”

Hutch’s face softened again.  The frown stitched across his forehead smoothed out.  “Oh, babe,” he breathed.

The endearment, while rare, wasn’t new, but the context made it mean something it never had before.  Starsky aborted his move to take Hutch into his arms.  They stared at each other, aware of the enormity of what they were doing.  This was no role play.  After this morning, they no longer even had the excuse of ‘experimentation’.  This was deliberate.

This was the rest of their lives, if Starsky had anything to say about it.

Hutch broke the tableau when he licked his lips.

Starsky reached out to follow the moist path with his fingertip.  He continued into a caress of Hutch’s face.  Slowly, he mapped out his partner’s cheeks, chin, nose, and forehead.  He stroked the dip of his temples and brushed out his eyebrows, ending with his fingers curled lightly over Hutch’s throat.  He felt him swallow.

Hutch’s eyes never left his.

Slow but firm hands closed on Starsky’s hips.  They lay there for a while, then slid back and up, under Starsky’s shirt.  The topography of Starsky’s back was patiently, meticulously discovered.  He’d never had someone count his vertebrae before.

Starsky shivered.  The hands stilled.

He slid his own hand from where it’d been measuring Hutch’s pulse, around to the back of Hutch’s neck.  He used the new leverage to encourage Hutch forward, leaning, himself, to meet Hutch’s lips halfway.

Hutch made a soft sound, and Starsky moaned, remembering that sound from this morning.  It was one of the sounds that Hutch had not used on The Tape.  It was too soft, too low for the microphone to catch reliably.  It stuck in Hutch’s throat and vibrated out like it was only the tip of a sound that Hutch had swallowed.  Starsky had first heard it just like this, shivering through Hutch’s mouth to his own and filling him up with that same quiver.

Starsky moved both hands to grip Hutch’s hair, combing through it obsessively even as he felt Hutch’s fingers digging into his ribs.  His hips surged forward of their own accord, and hardness met answering hardness.

Starsky groaned and wrenched away.

“Starsk…!”

He had to avoid Hutch’s eyes.  If he looked into those wide-blown baby blues, he was sure to explode.  He lay his forehead on his partner’s shoulder.  They were both heaving like they’d run twenty miles together.  “God,” he whispered.  “Hutch.  We need a bed.”

Lucky for them, one wasn’t far away.  They landed in a tangle.

“I– I made something for dinner…” Hutch said distractedly, even as he explored Starsky’s ass.  His hands pulled the cotton of Starsky’s pants tight in the front, causing him to moan.

“Will it keep?” Starsky gasped out.  He rolled Hutch on top of him, trapping his lover’s hands under his own body.  Hutch didn’t seem to mind, just changed his choice of weapon to his mouth.

“Stew,” Hutch mumbled around a thorough exploration of Starsky’s sternum.

Starsky moaned sharply.  “Good,” he said, meaning more than the stew.  He rolled them again, and Hutch amiably went along, then used his newly freed hands to shove Starsky’s pants down around his thighs.  Starsky assisted by kicking them off, then rolled them a final time to straddle Hutch’s legs.  He started enthusiastically divesting his lover of his jeans and that fine shirt.

He fumbled for a moment, then chuckled, realizing the buttons were on the wrong side.  He didn’t bother to explain when Hutch gave him a questioning look, and pretty soon Hutch didn’t care about anything at all except Starsky’s hand on him.

“Ohhhh, Starsk.”

Starsky never thought he’d say it, but Hutch had the most beautiful erection.  It was tall and lean and it reddened up amazingly.  It quivered with energy when Starsky touched it.  It felt like sheer silk, and Hutch, normally so reserved and composed, could never seem to stop writhing and vocalizing as long as Starsky’s tongue was in contact with it.  It made Starsky feel like a god.

“Give it…  Give it to me,” Hutch said, his voice at least an octave deeper than usual.  Starsky knew that it could sink even more, the sexy registers like poured honey.  He speculated that if he could just get Hutch hot and bothered enough, his voice would sink into the subsonic level.

He envied that, just a little.  Starsky tended to go shrill when he got excited, making him self-conscious.  When he was younger, he’d worked hard at being a good lover to compensate.  Now that he was plenty proud of his prowess, it didn’t bother him anymore.  He only hoped that his skills bled over well into sex with another man.

“I’ve got ya, Hutch.  I’ve got ya.”

They’d always had each other’s backs.  Now they had all the rest.

Hutch grabbed his arms and pulled him down to kiss some more.  Starsky certainly didn’t mind.  Hutch was a mighty good kisser.  He knew how to lead a guy around, changing techniques, yet deepening the kiss all the time, like fucking with their mouths.

Starsky was breathless when Hutch finally turned him loose.  He thrust hard against his partner, so aroused he almost missed Hutch’s soft murmur.

“What?”

“This night, it’s just us.”

“Huh?”  And then Starsky got it.

No tape recorders.  No evidence-gathering.  No case.  No one and nothing depending on their every move.  Nobody watching.

“Just us,” he agreed and put his mouth to better use.

***

Starsky shifted surreptitiously, resisting the urge to peek around the shipping crates he was concealed behind.  He checked his watch.  Marsha was due any minute now.

He fingered his upper lip.  He was kind of sorry to get rid of the moustache.  Maybe he could try growing a real one.  Wonder what Hutch’d have to say about that?

Starsky’s focus snapped back and his entire body stood to attention when he heard a car coming up.  He could hear Hutch, in McCabe’s heeled boots, stop his pacing a few feet away.  Starsky risked a glance through some fishing nets and saw a metallic green and white sedan pull up next to his partner.

Two people stepped out.

“Marsha?”  The surprise in Hutch’s voice was beautiful.  Not overdone, but heart-wrenching.  Starsky felt his heart swell.  His partner was fantastic.

“Hi, Charlie, honey.”

“You’re part of this, too?”  He scrunched the envelope in his hand, as if he really were shocked.

“Don’t take it so hard, Charlie.  Now be a good boy and give me the money.”

Hutch backed away a step.  He seemed to collect himself, and his voice firmed.  “Tell me something.  If we had… been together, would you have taped me too?  Extorted me for money?”  Hutch looked wounded.  Betrayed.  If Starsky didn’t know better, he’d have believed the poor guy.

God, what a fine partner he had.

Marsha sighed.  “It’s nothing personal, Mr. McCabe.  Now hand it over.”

Hutch’s expression turned angry.  “Answer me.  Would you have done it?”

Marsha sighed.  She gestured behind her, and Benton moved up to aim his revolver at Hutch.  Bulletproof vest or no, it made Starsky twitch.  Twice in two days.

Marsha’s voice went hard.  “Hand it over, Mr. McCabe, unless you want your wife and all your fancy friends at the country club to receive some surprise pieces of express mail.”

Showing every nuance of reluctance, Hutch handed over the money.  He watched in seeming impatience as she counted it.  Finally, apparently in a more magnanimous mood, now that she had the cash in hand, she patted Hutch’s face almost affectionately.

“Sweetie, if it makes you feel better, sleeping with you would have been no chore.”  She handed Hutch the tape.

Starsky tensed for action as Hutch secured the tape in his vest pocket.  Hutch’s next words were spoken in his normal voice, without McCabe’s southern twang: “I won’t have the pleasure, Marsha Stearns.  Seeing as I’m placing you under arrest for extortion and accessory to murder.”

“What?”  She turned around, only halfway towards the car.

A whistle blew from Dobey’s direction, and suddenly the place was surrounded by uniforms.

Marsha’s face registered shock.  “You’re a cop?!”  She whirled around, wild-eyed as she realized there was no place to run to.  Benton pointed his gun first at one man then another, clearly shaken.

“Drop it,” Starsky growled, leaping out of his hiding place, his own piece trained on the armed stooge.

“You!” Marsha gasped, recognizing Starsky.  “We were set up!  I told Chambers not to trust you!”

Starsky shrugged.  “What can I say.  You were right.”  He couldn’t help but shimmy his hips a bit as he approached.  He whirled the now unarmed Benton around against the car and put him safely in cuffs.  Hutch did the honors for Marsha himself.

She looked dazed through the reading of her rights.

Hutch removed his hat when he was done, and he bent slightly down to meet her eyes.  “I’m sorry, honey.”  Starsky wasn’t sure if he were mocking her or actually pulling his gallant white knight routine.  Marsha obviously thought the former, as she came alive and started screaming like a banshee.

“How can you be a cop?  That’s… that’s misrepresentation!  That’s entrapment!  You’re nothing but a liar!  A phoney!  That stupid ‘aw, shucks’ cowboy routine.  Let me tell you, I never liked it.  I thought you were the stupidest mark I’d ever seen!”

Hutch stood and backed away, the corners of his mouth definitely twitching now.  Starsky grinned outright at the irony.  “Let it all out, sweetheart,” he told her.  “It’ll do you good.”

Dobey strode up, and they sobered immediately at the frown thundering over his face.  “What’s the matter, Captain?” Hutch asked.

“It’s Tustin.  She never called back after you tried to check in with her this morning, and we haven’t been able to find her anywhere.”

“Oh, god.”  Starsky glared at Marsha, the euphoria of the moment crashing down into horror.  “Where is she?”  After the trouble last night, he should have been more vigilant.  He should’ve made sure they were done with her, instead of letting himself get distracted, getting caught up in the bust.  If Marianne were hurt…

“How should I know?”  Her voice trembled a bit.  Conwoman she may be, but the surprises and disappointments of the last few days were evidently catching up to her.

Starsky turned to his partner.  “Go ahead.”

“What?” Marsha exclaimed.

Hutch grabbed her handcuffed arms and started towing her towards the edge of the pier.  “A little seawater might jog your memory,” he said in his best grim, bad cop voice.

“Hey!” Dobey protested, but he sounded half-hearted at best.

“Wait a minute!  You can’t throw me in there!  I’ll drown!”

Hutch pulled her along until, with a quick wrench of his wrists, she was teetering half-off the edge on her high-heeled dancing shoes.  “Help!” she screeched.  “You crazy cop!  What do you think you’re doing?”

“Where’s Marianne Tustin?” Starsky questioned her again.

“Tell us, Marsha, or it won’t go easy for you,” Hutch added, bouncing her frazzled attention between the two of them.

“I don’t know!”

“Where is she?” Starsky pressed.

“I told you, I don’t–”  She shrieked as Hutch swung her out over the water, only to yank her back at the last second.

“Detectives!” Dobey yelled.  Starsky knew they only had a few seconds before Dobey would have to restrain them for real.

“Chambers!  A.C. and Carl took her to his place.  I swear!  She’s there!”

“Good girl.”  Hutch reeled her back in and flung her at one of the uniforms.  “Let’s go.”

Starsky was already running for one of the black and whites.

***

Starsky sped down the highway, wishing he had his baby under him.  They hadn’t wanted to risk the Torino, in case it could be recognized as Ramon’s car.  The patrol car they were riding was fast but not fast enough.  And too conspicuous.  Even with the sirens off half a mile from the place. Starsky couldn’t be sure Chambers wouldn’t know they were coming.

They got the address for Chambers’ place on the way there.  Hutch’s voice was clipped and taut with worry on the wireless.  Two cars would meet them there, but they were still closest.  They were still Marianne’s best chance.

It was a mansion — surprise surprise — with one of those huge turnarounds out front.  A powder-blue four-door was parked just inside the low outer wall, engine idling, the trunk popped open.  Starger was dragging a struggling Marianne by her tied hands towards the car.  They both looked up at Starsky blazing down the road, Marianne with eyes wide and startled, Starger with narrowed aggression.

Starger shoved Marianne hard and, after tumbling her into the trunk, slammed it closed.  Starsky’s heart spiked when they heard her scream.  Starger jumped into the passenger side seat with the car already moving forward, Chambers in the driver’s seat.

“No!”

Starsky swerved to cut off the other car’s escape route, but it scraped by them and sped away.

“Starsky!” Hutch yelled unnecessarily.

Starsky slammed the car into gear, the narrow street getting in his way.  He leaped the car forward, using the mansion’s turnaround to get back out onto the road.  Hutch had his window open and was aiming, but not firing.  With Marianne in the trunk, they couldn’t risk a hit.

They were more than a couple of blocks behind already.  It’d be easy to lose them downtown.  Hutch was back on the radio, updating their position.  They shared a quick, tight look.  Where the hell was their backup?

Starsky slammed the heel of his hand on the steering wheel, cursing as a truck inadvertently cut them off.  He waved the other vehicle away furiously and threw his car around it as soon as he could.  The powder blue sedan was racing away.

They weren’t going to make it.

He imagined Marianne, dead and dumped in a ditch somewhere, that annoying alabaster face frozen forever.  No, just… no.  Not after all this work, not after busting their asses on this case.  They couldn’t just watch an innocent woman get taken away, a week after her own brother was killed.

Suddenly, a car blasted out of an alley ahead of their target.  There was a screech as the two cars missed colliding with each other by a hair.  Chambers’ vehicle swerved to the left, into a construction zone.  It jounced across some girders laid out on the ground and smashed nose first into a pile of gravel.

The other car, a brown four-door, scraped the brick wall on the right, raising sparks.  It just missed a fire hydrant but wasn’t so lucky with the light pole farther down.  It slammed into it at an angle, coming to a stop with a grinding noise.

At that precise moment, their backup (finally!) screeched onto the scene from the opposite direction, stopping next to Chambers et. al.

Starsky and Hutch gaped at each other.  After watching Chambers and Starger dragged out and cuffed in short order, Hutch caught his eye and shrugged philosophically.  He reached for the radio again, this time calling in for an ambulance.  Shrugging in reply, Starsky pulled them to a stop next to the now-ignored brown car to check for damages and injuries.

“Hey, you all right?” Starsky asked as he approached on foot.  He didn’t see any blood or noticeable major injuries through the open windows, which was a good sign.  These guys were heroes in his book, albeit unintentional ones.

There were three men inside.  The one in the back, a skinny guy with a big nose, looked conscious but woozy, almost certainly concussed.  The two guys in the front looked okay, just shocked.

“We’re fine,” the driver said, exchanging a look with his companions.

Starsk grinned in relief.  “It’s okay.  I’m a cop.  You’ve helped us–  Hey, whoa!”  Starsky caught a flash of a weapon.  Even as he reached for his own sidearm, he was bowled over by the passenger side door slamming into his midsection.  “Oof!  What the hell?”  He saw Hutch punch out the driver, then tackle the guy scrambling out of the back seat.

Figuring his partner had things under control here, Starsky rolled to his feet and took off after the runner, a big Black guy with questionable taste in fashion.  He didn’t know these guys from Adam, but anyone who ran at the word ‘cop’ had to have something hinky going on with him.

“Stop, police!” he yelled, not really expecting the guy to listen, but hoping the yell would help clear the street of passersby so he could draw his weapon safely.

He swore as people turned their heads and stared instead of getting down.  He poured on the speed but the perp had freaky long legs and was clearly desperate to get away.  Finally, huffing in frustration, Starsky slowed down just enough to wrench one of his blue adidas off.  Taking aim, he flung it as hard as he could.

It didn’t take the guy down, but it tripped him up enough that Starsky was able to chase down the last few yards and knock him over in a flying tackle.  They rolled once, the guy screaming bloody murder, and then with a lurch, the guy struggled out of his grasp again–

–and pitched right into an open garbage bin.  “Oh, terrific,” Starsky groused, as he picked himself up and reached in his back pocket for his cuffs.  “C’mere,” he snapped at the dazed perp.

By the time Starsky got back to the intersection (with both shoes on again), he was more than grateful to shove the guy at one of the uniforms.  The smell was enough to knock out everyone within ten feet.  He wasn’t even sure he wanted his cuffs back.  “Who are these guys?” he complained to the universe in general.

“Robbery’s been looking for them,” came the unexpectedly prompt answer.  Hutch was tucking his cuffs back into his cowboy boots, having nabbed his two guys and turned them over already.  Starsky grinned.  Hutch looked like one of those Old West sheriffs, having just chased down a couple of outlaws.  “They knocked over a supermarket two days ago.”

“No kidding?”  Starsky turned to survey the curious trio.  “Of all the coinkidinks…”

“We would’ve been fine if you hadn’t’ve panicked!” one of the perps was yelling at another one.

“How was I supposed to know?  I thought they were after us!”

The much aggrieved and aromatic man that Starsky had brought in was shaking his head.  “Taken in by a cowboy and a dope with funny shoes.  What the hell is the world coming to?”

Starsky prodded him in the shoulder.  “You, shaddup.”  Suddenly, he remembered what had brought them here in the first place.  “Hey, where’s Marianne?  Is she okay?”

“Right over there.”  Starsky followed Hutch’s gesture to an ambulance.  Marianne Tustin was seated in the back, a blanket around her.  She looked a little scuffed but not too much worse for wear.  “Had a doozy of a scare and picked up a lot of bruises.  Not concussed, though.  Was a little shocky coming out of the trunk, but the EMs say she’ll be all right.”

Starsky made his way over.  She turned and saw him, her face lighting up with recognition.

“Detective Starsky!”  She grabbed him and pulled him in with a grip on his jacket.  Starsky couldn’t help but contract her elation.  He put his arms around her shoulders.

“What’s shakin’, Marianne?  Still like police work?”

“Oh god, no!  I’ll leave that to you and your partner.”

Starsky grinned.  All the bad guys were caught.  The damsel was saved.  Even a group of extras were in the joint.  Not to mention, he’d been reminded again that his partner was the best goddamn thing that had ever happened to him.

The case couldn’t have ended more perfectly.

He laughed joyously as Marianne’s lips met his.

***

“So.”

Starsky left off his whistling.  Hutch had been pretty quiet the whole trip home, probably beat from all the action they’d seen today.  Himself, he was feeling energized.  Marsha Stearns had made a full statement, including the details of Teddy Tustin’s murder.  He and Hutch had seen Marianne into a cab to the airport half an hour ago, not exactly happy, of course, but satisfied.

Dobey had been in such a fine mood, he’d given them the whole weekend and Monday off.  It was like some Fairytale in Crimeland, happily ever after.

He pulled up to Hutch’s apartment with an extra flourish.  “So?” he prompted, cutting the engine and jangling the keys cheerfully.

“So.  You and Marianne.”

“What?”  He turned quizzical eyes on his partner.

Hutch turned a frustrated expression on him.  “You kissed her today, Starsk.  In front of everybody.  What am I supposed to think?”

“That was…”  It’d been for fun, was all.  Her euphoria at being alive.  His relief at a case closed well.  Romance had been the farthest thing from either of their minds.  “Aw, Hutch, it ain’t like that.”

“What was it like, then?”

“She was just, you know, glad it was all over.  Hell, she probably would have kissed you if you’d got there first.”

Hutch looked back out the window, clearly unconvinced.

Starsky thought for only a moment before he decided to go with his gut, as usual.  He sidled a little closer to the other side of the car. “‘Sides.  Why would I be interested in her when I’ve got a gorgeous blond right here?”

Hutch’s mouth, seen from profile, didn’t even twitch.  “Yeah?” he said, a note of challenge roughening his voice.

“Yeah.”  He threw a little bit of Ramon’s purr into his voice.  “This blond of mine, nobody holds a candle to him.”

“Him, huh?”  Hutch still spoke to the window.

“You better believe it.  He has a body like you wouldn’t believe.  Long legs, bee-yoo-tiful eyes, nice muscled ass — and a big, red cock like a flagpole.”

“Starsky!”  Hutch gave him a quick glance at that.  Shock was coloring up the blond blintz like a red paintbrush.

“And that’s just the outside,” Starsky continued.  “My blond, he’s got a heart as golden as his hair.  Give the shirt off his back if you asked for it.  Smart, too.  Would do anything for me, but he won’t ever say it.  He’s annoying and crazy and I want to strangle him sometimes, but other times…”

Hutch was staring at him as if hypnotized.  Starsky faltered before continuing, in a softer voice.  “Other times, I just wanta squeeze the daylights out of him and never, ever let go.  He’s all I’ll ever need, you know?  I…  I don’t think I could go on without him.  Just him.  Nobody else.  I swear my heart on it.”

“Aw, Starsk.”

Starsky cleared his throat.  That had gotten more serious than he’d intended.  “You know what else?”

“What?”  Poor Hutch, just one big gooey pat of melted butter.  Still expecting sweet nothings.  Well, Starsky was done with those.

“My blond,” he growled.  “He’s got a spot right inside his elbow… makes him scream if you lick it just right.”

“Starsky!”

“Oh yeah, and don’t get me started about the side of his knees.  He’s so sensitive, he practically comes if you suck him there.  Soft, slow sucks, sort of staggered, like.  And a quick bite every now and then for variety.”

“Stop that.  Geez, we’re on a public street.”

“You know what?” Starsky pressed, unrelenting.  “I’ll bet I could make you come with just my mouth.  And I mean, by just talking at you, like this.  Oh wait…”  Starsky pretended to consider.  “I’ve already done that, haven’t I?”

Hutch’s face was flushed, almost fevered.  It was a good look for him.  “You– You’re so arrogant, you think you can do anything.”

Coiling himself, Starsky lunged across the bench seat and trapped Hutch up against the window.

Starsky felt his partner shudder, and he grinned as he growled into Hutch’s ear, “When ya got it, flaunt it, boy.”

END