The Devil Dances at Night

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A serial killer is out to seek revenge for the death of his brother, and Hutch is his target. It’s a race against time. Will Starsky find Hutch before he dies at the hands of The Devil?

 

Author’s Note: This was my first gen story and the first story I posted online. I pulled it several years ago, because it really needed a lot of help. With some gentle encouragement from dear friends, I finally took the time to make some much needed changes. A big thank you to Keri for helping me clean this up. I don’t know what I’d do without her. 🙂

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The alarm beckoned to the snoring figure lost under a mound of rumpled sheets. Rolling over from a deep slumber, Hutch blindly slapped in the direction of the annoying sound until he silenced it. He grumbled under his breath, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and padded to the bathroom for his usual shower and shave. He continued his ritual in the kitchen, making his customary energy drink concoction of soy milk, wheat germ, vitamins, and fresh fruit. Determined to get the last three strawberries into the small blender pitcher, he poked at the resisting fruit with a knife, until they relented and disappeared into the puddle of milk hovering at the top. With a quick slap of the lid, and a push of the pulsate button, the overfilled mixture erupted like a volcano all over the counter and wall. Hutch loudly voiced his displeasure at his own carelessness while wiping at the sticky mess with a mound of paper towels. The liquid trickled down the wall to the outlet where the blender was plugged in, sending sparks flying amid a puff of gray smoke. Grabbing at the plug, a light surge of electricity jolted him as he pulled it from the outlet. Hutch jumped back, uttering obscenities, while shaking his hand in the air at the painful sensation. A quick glance at his watch forced him to abandon his cleaning efforts. Sucking the tip of his still tingling thumb, he grabbed a granola bar and bounded out the door. It was his turn to drive, and he didn’t want to be late picking up his partner. He had told Starsky to be ready by 7:30, so they could get to the station early and start on their backlogged paperwork.  Dobey would be arriving around nine, and he didn’t want to hear the lecture about what they had been doing with all of their “free” time. Their caseload had been particularly grueling this past week, but that was still no excuse as far as their captain was concerned.

The warmth of the morning sun greeted Hutch as he trotted toward his car. He briefly glanced up at the intrusive light, shielding his eyes with the back of his hand. It was going to be a hot one. His battered LTD seemed to groan in agreement at the early morning hour as he opened the door and slid behind the wheel. He pushed the key in and turned the ignition. A loud clicking sound replaced the normal sputtering cough of the car’s engine. “Now what?” he grumbled aloud. Trying the ignition again, he got the same clicking sound.  He retreated from the defiant vessel, slamming the door with disgust, headed back to his apartment, and called Starsky.

“Yeah, what?”

Hutch turned his back to the kitchen, trying to ignore the plopping sound of the milk dripping from the counter onto the floor. “It’s me, Starsk. My car won’t start. Must be the damn battery. All I get is a clicking sound.”

“Hutch, when are you going to give that piece of junk up? It costs you more in repairs than a new car would.”

Hutch interrupted the familiar spiel. “Yeah, I know, I know. Look, what time can you be here? If we don’t get caught up on that paperwork, we’ll never get any peace today.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Starsky pulled up in front of Venice Place, he found his partner sulking on the front steps, thumb in his mouth, a trickle of sweat running down his temple. “Awww…is the wittle boy having a bad morning?” he teased from the driver’s side window. His attempt at brightening Hutch’s mood failed miserably.

“Yeah, and if you don’t watch it, I’m going to throw a temper tantrum,” Hutch snapped, stomping toward the Torino.

Starsky frowned at his partner’s lackadaisical sense of humor. “What’s wrong with you? It’s not like your car hasn’t broken down before.”

“Oh, nothing other than my breakfast ended up on the kitchen wall this morning, and I damn near electrocuted myself trying to clean it up.” Still sucking on his thumb, Hutch climbed into the passenger’s side and slammed the door. “You don’t realize how badly that hurt.”

“Ouch. That is a rough start.” Starsky cringed, offered a smile of compassion, and patted at Hutch’s thigh. “Look, I’ll give Merle a call today. Maybe he can run a battery over while we’re working and get it going for you.”

“Yeah, well tell him to leave off the angel fur and zebra stripes, if he doesn’t mind,” Hutch replied.

Starsky’s lips curled in a wry smile. “So, ya want cheetah print instead?”

“Very funny, Starsky,” Hutch muttered around the thumb in his mouth.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was pushing eight when Starsky pulled into his usual parking spot at Metro. The two men headed to the squad room and plopped down at their desks, sighing in unison at the pile of paperwork mounded before them.

“We better get cracking,” Hutch grabbed a pencil and several file folders. He shoved another stack of papers across the desk toward Starsky. “Dobey will be here in an hour.”

Starsky held his hand up, stopping the mountain of work coming in his direction. “Not before my morning coffee. I didn’t get to stop for donuts, thanks to that heap of yours, so the least you can do is let me grab a cup of coffee. Want some?”

“Yeah, but make it quick.”

Starsky promptly retrieved two cups of coffee and brought them back to their desks.

The two men settled into their work, the rapid ping of typewriter keys indicating their devotion to the tasks at hand. After forty-five minutes, they were finally making some headway.

Hutch whipped a paper from his typewriter and laid it neatly on his desk. “I’m finally done with that one. I’m glad the rest of the reports won’t be this tedious.” The corners of his mouth turned in a slight smile, as he scribbled his signature in ink at the bottom.

Starsky looked up and grinned. “Well, I’m glad to see your mood is improving.” His eyes were drawn to the shiny object in Hutch’s hand. “Hey, that’s my favorite pen,” he yelled. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that.” Reaching over his desk, he grabbed at the stolen object, but his outstretched fingers found Hutch’s half full cup of coffee instead. The Styrofoam cup toppled over, spilling its contents over the surface of his partner’s completed report. Starsky watched in horror as the black liquid seeped into the paper. “Uh, Hutch, I’m sorry. I… uh…didn’t mean to do that.”

Hutch glared across the desk, mouth agape, eyes narrowing, as the liquid continued to leech onto every typewritten letter. Standing up, he quietly and calmly pushed his chair away, took the few steps to the desk across from his, and pulled the paper from his partner’s typewriter. He held it close to Starsky’s face and ripped it in two, before laying it on the desk. With a gentle tap on the ruined report and a sarcastic smile, Hutch returned to his desk and sat down.

“That wasn’t a very nice thing to do, Hutch,” Starsky said, pouting.

“Not one word, Starsky.” Hutch jutted his finger in Starsky’s direction. “Not one word.”

Dobey barreled in the door, interrupting the ensuing spat. “Starsky, Hutchinson, I need to see you in my office.”  He brushed by the two men, entered his office, and closed the door.

Starsky stood up, chin tucked close to his chest, and started toward Dobey’s office. “I’m sorry.” The hurt in his voice was unmistakable.

Dragging his hand down the length of his face, Hutch mumbled under his breath, “Damn.” He gently grabbed Starsky by the forearm. “Starsk, wait. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have….”

The door to Captain Dobey’s office swung open. “Are you two coming?”

Starsky pulled away. “No, you shouldn’t have,” he called over his shoulder toward Hutch, nose turned in the air in obvious disdain as he passed through the office door.

“Shouldn’t have what?” Dobey asked, dark eyes darting between the two men.

“Uh, it’s nothing, Captain,” Hutch replied quickly. “You wanted to see us?”

Dobey paused, casting a doubtful look Hutch’s way before continuing. “It looks like a new drug trafficking ring has worked its way up the coast to an old warehouse down by the docks off of Alaveda. Owens and Garcia responded to a call there and found one of the forklift operators hanging from a grappling hook. They seem to think he was getting in too deep and wanted out. Someone was afraid he’d squeal, so they took care of him. Needless to say, it wasn’t a pretty sight. I want you two to get down there and nose around. See if you can get a lead on who the head guy is. Also, see if you can get a listing of the shipments coming in and going out. This could be the source all of the west side dealers are getting their supply from.”

Starsky responded with a quick salute. “Will do, Cap.”

Dobey turned his attention to Hutch. “Oh, and Hutchinson, remember Lucian Deleon?”

“Deleon, Lucian Deleon.” Hutch tilted his head back, briefly closing his eyes. “Oh, yeah. He’s the creep I busted and testified against for pushing his candy on the kids in his neighborhood. Drugged them up. Raped three of them. One ended up dying. He was found not guilty by reason of insanity. Kinda hard to forget him. That guy had the darkest eyes, like they had no color, and a full head of silver hair. Odd for someone that young.”

“Yeah, he was a real wacko,” Starsky agreed. “Too bad he didn’t rot in solitary for the rest of his life for what he did to those kids. Didn’t they send him off to Camarillo for treatment?”

“That’s where he ended up, but his stay was cut short.” Dobey tapped a report on his desk. “He died of cardiac arrest three nights ago. The DA wants me to launch an investigation into his death.”

“Cardiac arrest?” Hutch replied. “Really? He was only twenty-six years old. How?”

“They were treating him with a series of electroshock therapy sessions, because his behavior had gotten so out of control,” Dobey explained. “The autopsy showed he had an underlying heart condition. They had no idea. He went into full cardiac arrest and died within minutes of his last session.”

“I can’t say that I feel sorry for the guy.” Starsky shrugged his shoulders and glanced toward Hutch. “If it weren’t for your testimony getting him off the streets, there would have been more victims.”

“I just wish we could’ve got him sooner,” Hutch commented. “I hear those electroshock therapy sessions are really controversial, though. Camarillo’s practices have been brought up in the news a few times.”

“And I’m sure they’ll be brought up again, now.” Dobey placed the folder on a pile at the corner of his desk. “I just wanted to pass that along. That’s about all I have. Oh, one more thing. I hope you two can get on some of that paperwork yet today. It’s really starting to pile up.”

Hutch straightened in his chair. “Well, I already had-”

“We’re right on it, Cap,” Starsky interrupted. He grabbed Hutch by the arm and quickly ushered him from the office.

Hutch stopped at his desk to clean up the coffee mess, while Starsky made a quick call to Merle.

Starsky hung up the phone, never looking up, his attention focused on a piece of tape he was using in an attempt to repair his report. “Merle said he would have you going by this afternoon.”

“Thanks.” Hutch tossed his soggy report in the trash.  “I, uh, really am sorry I did that, Starsk.”

Starsky heard the plop of the coffee-laden report landing in the trash can. “Yeah, well, it’s okay. After making such a mess of your report, I can see why you got so angry.”

Hutch leaned over his desk and squeezed Starsky’s hand. “Truce?”

“Truce, partner.” Starsky beamed.

They left the station and headed for the docks, unaware of the silver-haired man watching them from the front seat of a cream colored sedan.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As they neared their destination near the waterfront, a huddle of people standing near a large tree caught Hutch’s attention. A sobbing elderly lady had her face buried in her hands.

Hutch motioned at the disturbance.  “Hey, Starsk, pull over. Something’s going on.”

Pulling the Torino next to the curb, the two men darted from the car toward the frantic woman.

Tears streamed down the woman’s face, as she pleaded to the bystanders. “Can’t someone help me? I can’t wait that long to get him help.”

Sensing dire trouble, Hutch pulled out his badge and presented it to the lady. “Ma’am, we’re police officers. Can we be of help? Is someone hurt or sick?”

The woman breathed a sigh of relief and dashed toward Starsky and Hutch, hands clasped tightly in front of her. “Oh, thank God, officers. You have to help me. Please, help me!”

Starsky stepped next to the woman and gently took her by the arm. “Okay, calm down. We’ll help you, but you have to tell us what’s wrong first.”

“It’s Mr. Diddums! He needs his medication for his seizures,” she cried desperately. “He has to eat first, and it’s past his breakfast time. The fire department said they couldn’t get here for two more hours. That’s too long! That’s way too long!”

Hutch tried to make sense of the situation. “Mr. Diddums, you say? Where is he? Is he unconscious?”

The howl of a cat bellowed from the tree above them.

The woman pointed a trembling finger upward. “No, he’s up there.”

Hutch darted Starsky a quick glance and fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Mr. Diddums is your cat?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “And he’s been up there for thirty minutes already.”

“Ma’am, the fire department is better equipped to handle situations like this,” Starsky explained. “I’m sure Mr. Diddums will be just fine until….”

“Oh, no! No, he won’t! Please, help him!” The woman gave Starsky a dirty look and turned to Hutch, batting her gray eyelashes. “You’ll help him, won’t you? Please? You look like such a nice young man.” She scowled at Starsky again.

Hutch blushed and gave the woman a soft smile. “Well, I can try.” He shrugged his shoulders at Starsky. “Starsk, the tree isn’t so big. I’m sure I can climb up and bring Diddums down safely.”

“It’s Mr. Diddums,” the woman corrected sharply. “He won’t answer to anything else.”

Starsky stifled a chuckle and stepped aside. With a wave of his hand and a curt bow, he motioned Hutch toward the tree. “Go ahead, Mighty Mouse, save the day.”

Hutch mumbled something under his breath as he stepped by Starsky and began his ascent up the tree. The branches were brittle and dry in the aging elm, but he managed to secure a good footing with each step upward. He followed the cat’s cries until he found the large, bushy feline perched on a narrow branch, taking a bath. It hissed a warning to the hand reaching out to rescue it. “It’s okay, Mr. Diddums. I’m just here to help you. Your mama is worried about you,” Hutch coaxed in a high pitched voice. The cat swiped at his hand, claws exposed, narrowly missing him. “C’mon, Mr. Diddums. I’m not going to hurt you.” A bird chirping nearby distracted the cat long enough for Hutch to grab it by the scruff of the neck. He tucked it inside his jacket and hurried to get the struggling beast down to the ground. As he neared the bottom branch, the cat managed to free its face long enough to sink its teeth into Hutch’s finger. He reacted to the unexpected assault with a sudden shift of his weight, causing the branch to snap under his foot, sending him tumbling. He dropped the cat, and instinctively grappled for the nearest thing to latch onto. His right hand slipped along the bark and caught on the head of a protruding nail left from an old sign, ripping his palm open. Landing with a thud on the ground, Hutch immediately pulled his hand to his chest, as the blood streamed down his forearm.

The elderly lady was already scooping up the uninjured Mr. Diddums in her arms. Without so much as a thank you, she was on her merry way. “That’s mama’s special little man. It’s time for your tuna.” She cradled the cat like a newborn infant as she waltzed away.

“You’re welcome!” Hutch called out sarcastically.

“Hutch? Hutch?” Starsky was immediately at Hutch’s side. “How bad is it? You okay? What happened? Let me see.”

Hutch grimaced in pain. “Yeah, I’m okay. I caught my hand on a nail when the branch broke. Damn cat bit the hell out of me.” He held up his left index finger for Starsky to see.

Starsky took his jacket off and tightly wrapped it around Hutch’s hand. “It’s not your finger I’m worried about. Come on. We gotta get you to the hospital and get that stitched up.” He carefully helped Hutch to his feet, supporting him at the elbow and waist.

“C’mon Starsk. It’s just a cut. I’m fine, really.” Hutch hated the thought of spending the rest of his already miserable day in the ER.

“It’s more than just a cut. That’s gonna take several stitches, and you’re probably gonna need a tetanus shot, too.” Starsky wiggled his eyebrows. “Besides, we might get to meet a pretty nurse or two,” he prodded with a bump of his elbow into Hutch’s shoulder.

Hutch rolled his eyes. “With the way my luck is going today, she’ll probably look like a defensive end for the Pittsburgh Steelers and have the bedside manner of one.”

“We won’t know ‘til we get there, now will we?” Starsky helped Hutch through the lingering crowd and into the Torino.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The ER was a bustle of hurried nurses and doctors attending to a variety of ailments. Starsky wrapped his arm protectively around Hutch, guiding his somewhat pale-looking friend to a nearby chair.

After nearly an hour and a half of paperwork and waiting, they were led into a room by an attractive brunette with green eyes and a pearly white smile.

“Someone will be with you shortly,” she stated. She glanced over her shoulder at Hutch, batting her long lashes as she left the room.

“See, Hutch? This could get interestin’.” Starsky enthusiastically rubbed his hands together. “Maybe this day won’t be a total wash.”

A faint smile appeared on Hutch’s face.

“Is that a smile I see?” Starsky teased, thumbs tugging at the corners of Hutch’s mouth.

Hutch’s smile spread wider. “Mmm…maybe.”

A few minutes later the door opened and a heavy-set woman with thick glasses, and enough facial hair to question the woman’s gender, stormed in. Pushing her glasses up the brim of her freckled nose, she sized up her patient with a stern frown. “I guess you’re Hutchinson,” she barked, as she glanced down at his hand. “According to your chart, it seems you’ve been here a few times before. You should think about a new profession, you know. Well, you know the drill. We’ll have you stitched up in no time. Probably gonna need some pain pills. Might make you groggy, though, so don’t be driving.” She slapped the metal chart closed. “Looks like you’re due for a tetanus shot, too. You’ll have to drop your pants for that.”

Hutch’s eyes grew wide, mouth gaping open.

The nurse placed her hand under Hutch’s chin and snapped his mouth shut. “Don’t worry, Blondie,” she said. “I’ve seen it all. Your backside isn’t any different than the other ones I’ve seen come through here today.

Starsky wouldn’t dare make eye contact with the eyes burning a hole in him from across the room. He was staring down at the floor, giggle still audible around the hand cupped over his mouth. “I’ll be right out here, Hutch,” he snickered, thumbing toward the door. “I need to give Dobey a call and let him know what’s going on.”

An hour passed, and Hutch emerged from the treatment room, right hand bandaged from fingertip to wrist. He awkwardly slipped his jacket on and brushed by the chair where Starsky was waiting, never glancing his way.

“So, how’d it go?” Starsky asked with a grin.

Walking stiffly, Hutch replied. “Let’s just get out of here, okay?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Starsky maneuvered the Torino through the crowded hospital parking lot, never taking notice of the occupied cream colored sedan parked nearby. “Well, look on the bright side, Hutch. We did get the rest of the day off.” He felt a pang of hunger rumble through his stomach. “Whattya say we head by Huggy’s for a bite to eat? I’m starving.”

“Yeah, I guess I am kinda hungry,” Hutch said, rubbing his hand across his midsection. “Sounds good.”

The lunch rush was in full swing at the Pits. With only one empty table in the place, the two men quickly strolled over and sat down.

Huggy noticed them right away and made his way to their table. “Well, well, well, looked what the cat dragged in.”

Starsky burst out laughing at the unintended joke but quickly wiped the smile from his face when he found Hutch glaring at him across the table.

Huggy’s eyebrows darted upward, his gaze bouncing between the two men. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “Uh…okay, then.”  He pointed at Hutch’s hand. “What happened to you, Hutch?”

“He had a little run in with a tree, but he’s alright now,” Starsky answered for him. “He had a real cutie stitch him up over at the hospital, though. What was her name, Hutch? Hairy-et? He might even ask her out, if he can get her to shave off her mustache.”

Hutch’s eyes narrowed, his face twisting in a smirk. “You’re a real comedian you know that, Starsk? You missed your calling in life.”

Starsky leaned over the table toward Huggy, pretending Hutch wasn’t in earshot. “Bad mood today,” he whispered, motioning toward his friend.

“Uh-huh, I see.” Huggy smiled at the injured man. “Well, maybe two of Huggy Bear’s lunchtime specials will take care of that. Triple decker BLTs and fries with my special seasoning.”

“Sounds good, huh, Hutch?” Starsky licked his lips. “And a couple of cold ones if you don’t mind, Huggy. Cap let us have the rest of the day off. After the day Hutch has had, I think he could use it.”

Hutch shook his head. “No beer for me, Hug. With the way my hand is starting to throb, I’m going to have to take a pain pill soon. I don’t think the two would go together. Last thing I want is to end up in the hands of that nurse at the ER again. She was ruthless with that needle.” He shifted uneasily in his chair.

When Huggy returned with their order, he sat down, a serious look on his face. “Hey, sorry to bring bad news with your grub. Just had a call from a friend of mine. You two heard of a guy that goes by the nickname, The Devil?”

“Yeah, suspected serial killer from the San Diego area,” Starsky replied. “He has a penchant for prostitutes and classical music. Tortures and murders his victims, then he leaves the bodies in readily accessible areas with a small transistor radio playing classical music, along with his calling card that simply says The Devil Dances at Night.”

“I think last count was six,” Hutch added.  “He always seems to be one step ahead of the SDPD.”

Huggy nodded. “That’d be the dude. Looks like he’s on your turf, now, though. The word is he’s hell-bent on wastin’ someone, and it ain’t no prostitute. He’s in Bay City to avenge the death of his brother.” He looked over at his waitress, Diane, who seemed to be getting more flustered by the minute trying to keep up with her tables. “Well, as you can see, my customers are callin’ me, so if you two gents don’t mind, I’ll get back to the business at hand.”

“Okay, Huggy. Thanks for the tip and the food.” Starsky picked up his sandwich, taking a hearty bite. “I wonder who this guy could be?” he questioned around a mouthful of food. “It’s very unusual for a serial killer to step outside the comfort of their MO.”

“Yeah, his brother must have been really special to him. I don’t envy the guy responsible.” Hutch attempted to pick up his oversized sandwich, a feat clearly needing two hands.

“Ain’t that the truth?” Starsky reached over and cut Hutch’s sandwich into four manageable pieces. “I’ll put some feelers out first thing in the morning. Right now, we need to hurry up and get you home so you can take one of your pills and get some shut-eye. Once the rest of the numbness in your hand starts wearing off, you’ll probably be seeing stars.”

Picking up the neatly cut triangle, Hutch sighed in exasperation as the bacon slipped from the corner of the bread, leaving him holding a meatless sandwich. He pushed the plate away in frustration. “Yeah, I see a few already.

They finished their lunch and headed back to the Torino.

“Hey, you want me to come back to your place for a while and keep ya company?” Starsky opened the car door for his friend before getting behind the wheel. “I really don’t like the idea of leaving you alone.”

Grimacing in pain, Hutch propped his elbow on the car door, holding his hand in an elevated position. “Thanks Starsk, but if you don’t mind, just drop me off. I wouldn’t be much company anyway, the way my hand is throbbing. I think I’ll take a pain pill, watch a little of the game on TV, and turn in early.”

“Sure, buddy.” Starsky reached over and gave Hutch’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t you sleep in in the morning, and I’ll pick you up later? I’ll go in a little early, see what I can dig up on this Devil guy, and re-do that report of yours I messed up. I’ll have it done in no time. It’ll take you too long. You’re not as fast as I am as a lefty.”

“Ha-ha.” Hutch feigned a smile and adjusted the bandage on his hand. “I think I’m gonna take you up on that offer. Pick me up at ten?”

“Ten it is,” Starsky replied.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hutch quickly scanned his car as Starsky pulled up in front of Venice Place. “Well, it looks like Merle has been here.” He groaned at the pair of pink fuzzy dice dangling from the rear view mirror.

Starsky waggled a finger in Hutch’s direction. “Ah, but it could have been worse, ya know.”

“I just hope he got it fixed.” Hutch hopped out of the Torino and slid behind the wheel of his car. He clumsily reached his left hand around the column, fumbled with the key, and managed to turn the ignition. The engine roared to life. “Well, at least something went right.” Turning the motor off, he gave Starsky the thumbs up sign, and headed toward the steps of his apartment.

“You sure you’ll be all right?” Starsky called out.

“I’m fine, thanks.” Hutch appreciated the concern. “You can call me later, if you want.”

“I’m gonna do that.”

“Okay, talk to you later.” Hutch waved away his friend, unaware of the silver-haired gentleman lurking in the narrow alley across the street.

With only the awkward use of his left hand, Hutch retrieved his apartment key from above the doorway, managing to drop it twice, before finally opening the door. He removed his gun and holster, tossed them onto the chair, along with his jacket, and sauntered to the kitchen. The strawberry, wheat germ, soy milk mess had now dried to a mixture that resembled concrete. The pain in his hand thwarted any ideas he had on tackling the task of chiseling the disaster from the wall of his kitchen. Instead, he took a pain pill, plopped on the couch, and turned on the TV. The game roared to life on the screen. With only four and a half minutes left to play, the score was tied, and his team had the ball.

“All right,” Hutch cheered aloud. “Now, this is what I needed.”

An excited newscaster suddenly commandeered the screen, the game disappearing just as the quarterback passed the ball to the wide receiver waiting in the end zone. “We interrupt this program to bring you the latest on a chicken truck that has overturned on the San Bernardino freeway. Chickens are running everywhere. Please, be advised to steer clear of this area. We take you now to Randy James with more on this egg-citing story. ”

Hutch angrily slapped at the power button and threw his hands up in defeat. I give up. It’s as if the Devil himself has followed in my footsteps today.

Leaning his head back against the sofa, he could feel the pain killer taking effect. The throbbing in his hand was gradually easing down, but now he was so drowsy he could barely hold his eyes open. Rising from the couch, he steadied himself on a nearby chair, and pressed his hand to his eyes to staunch the flecks of white swimming before them. He wobbled toward his bed and rolled onto the mattress, fully clothed, just as the phone rang. Grappling for the receiver, he dropped it on his chest, before he managed to get it to his ear.  “Hello, Starsky.”

“Awww, you knew it was me. How’s the wounded warrior doin’?”

Hutch watched the ceiling spin above him. “Well, I don’t feel a thing, now, but this medication is really knocking me for a loop. I’m getting ready to hit it. I’ve gotta sleep this off.”

“Okay, buddy, but if you need me, you know the number. I’ll be right there. See ya tomorrow at ten. I’ll tell Dobey you’ll be a little late.”

“‘Kay. Oh, and Starsk? Thanks for putting up with me today,” Hutch apologized. “I mean that.”

“Don’t mention it. You know I love ya, anyway.”  

Hutch hung up the phone and dozed off almost immediately. The drug took him into a deep slumber, leaving him unaware of anything going on around him for several hours, before it finally started to lose its grip on him. He never knew when the stranger retrieved the key from above his doorway, quietly opened the door, and slipped into his apartment. As the silver-haired man stood over his bed, Hutch’s cop instinct nudged him awake, trumping the drug’s lingering effect.  His eyes darted open, and for a moment, everything was fuzzy. As the dimly lit room slowly came into focus, he saw the outline of a man standing over him. He attempted to lunge from his bed, but the sudden grip of a hand clenching his neck stopped him. He fiercely fought for air as the grip tightened around his throat. With his right hand virtually useless, he swung out with his left, landing a solid punch to the man’s stomach. The intruder’s hold on him loosened, allowing Hutch the chance to dash for the chair where he had tossed his gun. Still dizzy from the after effects of the medication, he knocked the chair over as he blindly groped for his Magnum in the darkness. He finally found the leather holster and attempted to remove his weapon. The awkwardness of using his left hand slowed his lightning fast draw. Before he could shoot, an intense pain erupted from the back of his head and everything went black. Hutch fell to the floor, a trickle of blood running down the back of his neck onto the carpet.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The eerie figure stood over the unconscious detective, a bone-chilling grin appearing across his face. “Soon, we shall dance, Detective Hutchinson.” The man calmly walked back over to Hutch’s bed and laid a business card on top of the pillow. Strolling to the stereo in the living room, the man switched the radio on and fumbled with the tuner until the soft beat of Pachelbel’s Canon in D filled the room. He picked up the unconscious man and left as quietly as he came.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Starsky was at Metro bright and early the next morning. Wanting to make up for yesterday’s coffee disaster, he worked diligently on getting Hutch’s report retyped before he had to be at Venice Place at ten.

Dobey came into the squad room. “How’s Hutchinson doing?”

“I talked to him last night,” Starsky answered. “The medication was really making him drowsy, but I think at that point he was feeling no pain. His hand was hurtin’ him pretty bad before that. He’s going to be a little late this morning. I told him I’d pick him up at ten.”

“His left hand still works, doesn’t it?” Dobey questioned gruffly. “I still expect the rest of that paperwork to get finished, you know.” He tapped his finger on the face of his watch. “No later than ten.”

“I’ll make sure it gets done,” Starsky assured. “I’m getting ready to give him a call. Hey, Cap, one more thing. Huggy got a tip about that serial killer from San Diego. Goes by the name The Devil.”

“What about him? The bodies are really stacking up down there,” Dobey said. “The SDPD can’t seem to get a break in the case.”

“Yeah, well it may be us looking for a break in the case. Huggy heard that he’s in town to avenge his brother’s death,” Starsky replied.

“That’s not what I need to hear, Starsky.” Dobey pointed at the door. “So, what are you doing sitting here pushing a pencil? Get out there and see what you and that partner of yours can find out.”

Starsky reached for the phone. “I’ll call Hutch right now.”

“Let me know if you get any leads.” Dobey headed for his office.

The phone to Hutch’s apartment rang several times, but there was no answer. Starsky dismissed any worry, thinking his partner was probably still sleeping off the pain medication. He decided to head over there and drag the big lummox out of bed himself. He tossed his jacket over his shoulder and started for the door, but his phone rang, sending him trotting back to his desk. He hoped it was Hutch who had just missed his call. “Detective Starsky,” he answered.

“It’s Huggy.”

“Hey, Hug, what’s up?” Starsky was surprised to hear from his late sleeping friend so early in the morning.

“I got a little more info on that Devil guy.”

“Really? Shoot.”  Starsky grabbed a pen and paper.

“Seems the dude he’s looking to take out is a cop. I got the info from a reliable source, so you may wanna pass the word there at the station. The creep’s brother that died has a first name of Lucian. That’s all I know.”

An uneasiness settled in Starsky, his mind going back to the previous day’s conversation in Dobey’s office. “Thanks, Hug.” He hung up the phone and tried Hutch’s apartment again, but there was still no answer. Rapping on the door of Dobey’s office, he was summoned in.

Dobey tucked a pencil behind his ear and looked up from the task he was attending to. “You haven’t left yet? What’s up?”

“Cap, you know that guy, Lucian Deleon, you were talking about yesterday?” Starsky asked.

“Yeah, what about him?” Dobey replied.

“Does he have a brother?” Starsky nervously bit at his lip, unexplained apprehension dreading his captain’s reply.

Dobey shifted through the pile of folders on his desk. “Let me look. I still have the autopsy report.” He thumbed through the pages in the file. “Let’s see, next of kin. Yeah, he has a brother they notified with the results, Devilin Deleon.”

“Devilin?” The implicating name sent chills through Starsky, his face draining of color. He needed to make sure Hutch was okay, now. “Cap, I don’t have time to explain. I need to check on Hutch. Can you run that name through and see what comes up?

“Sure, Starsky.” Dobey was already picking up the phone. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Torino screeched to a halt in front of Venice Place. Hutch’s car was still in the same spot. He’s just sleeping in. He’s just sleeping in. Starsky bolted up the stairs and opened the unlocked door. “Hutch?” he called out in the empty apartment. “Hutch!” There was no reply. The lull of classical music drifted from the stereo. There were signs of a struggle. The familiar leather holster was lying on the floor, Hutch’s Magnum next to it. Starsky knelt down and touched a large dark spot on the carpet, tainting his fingertips red. “Oh, God, no.” His voice was choked with emotion, as he drew his Beretta and quickly scanned the apartment for any other signs of the intruder or his partner. Approaching Hutch’s bed, a small business card perched neatly on the crease of the pillow caught his eye. Starsky leaned over and read the words embossed in red. His knees buckled, as the words on the card screamed at him: The Devil Dances at Night.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Starsky tried to process the scene before him, momentarily pushing his emotions aside in order to call the crime team in. Every second was of the essence in finding Hutch. The fact that Devilin didn’t kill Hutch on the spot left him with hope that there was still time to find him alive. He wouldn’t allow himself to think about what might happen in the meantime, given the man’s reputation.

The crime team searched every inch of the apartment, finding little evidence. They lifted a few fingerprints, but nothing looked promising. The card left on Hutch’s pillow was clean.

Dobey arrived and offered his reassurance. “Starsky, everyone is going to do their best to find out what happened to Hutch. I’ll start checking with the police departments around San Diego, Devilin’s home turf, and see if there’s any pattern to where he took his other vict… the others. Now, that we have a name to go with the crimes, we may get lucky. ”

Starsky forced down the bile rising in his throat, numb to everything around him. “I knew I shouldn’t have left him last night. I knew it.” He slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. One of the crime scene technicians placed a bloodied jacket in a plastic bag. It was the jacket he had wrapped around Hutch’s injured hand. He couldn’t even defend himself. Tchaikovsky’s music filled the room. He suddenly felt the need to get out of there, the atmosphere of the room suffocating him. “I’m going to Huggy’s. Let me know what you find out.”

“I will,” Dobey replied. “Hang in there, Starsky. We’re gonna find him.”

“I hope your right, Cap.” Starsky bolted from the room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hutch slowly came to. The immense pain in the back of his head, pulsating to his eyes, was matched only by the throbbing in the palm of his hand. He tried to move, but the tips of his toes were barely touching the ground. Painfully turning to look up, he saw that his hands had been shackled together with manacles. The heavy chain was hanging on a hook suspended from the ceiling. He could feel the warm blood from his freshly stitched hand saturating the gauze around his palm and fingers, running down his arm, and soaking the sleeve of his shirt, the pressure of being suspended by his wrists forcing his wound open again. He attempted to focus on his surroundings. One bare light bulb hung from the ceiling lined with wooden beams. There were no windows, just concrete walls and a dirt floor. The only furniture was a hand-made table and one rickety chair. His prison was small, musty, and dimly lit. The sound of a key turning in the lock startled him. A tall, distinguished-looking man dressed in a three-piece suit, entered the room. His silver hair spilled over the collar of his starched, white shirt. As the man stepped under the light, Hutch took notice of his captor’s eyes. They had no obvious color. They were black, cold, and unforgiving.

The man casually sauntered over and placed a bag on the table. He pulled out a small transistor radio and tuned it to a classical radio station.  “Ah, it’s good to see you awake, Detective Hutchinson. I was worried for a moment that I may have hit you a little too hard.”

“Who are you?” Hutch demanded.

“Yes, of course. We haven’t been properly introduced.” He stood before Hutch with his feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped behind his back. “My name is Devilin, Devilin Deleon or, The Devil, for short. You may have heard of me?”

The look on Hutch’s face answered the man’s question. He began to struggle, stretching the length of his body to gain a better foothold on the ground beneath him. He twisted his wrists within the thick metal of the manacles, his efforts increasing the stream of blood running from his hand.

“Struggle all you want, Detective. It will do you no good.” Devilin began to circle around Hutch, his gait slow and even. Momentarily closing his eyes, he waved his hands in the air in tune to the music humming from the radio, mimicking the movements of an orchestra conductor. “Ah, Mozart Symphony Number 25, a masterpiece. As you probably know, a cop isn’t who I normally prefer to dance with, but you’re special. I’m sure you recall my brother, Lucian Deleon. The one you are responsible for sending to that horrid mental institution. He’s dead because of you.”

“I had nothing to do with his death,” Hutch stated firmly. “He died of a heart attack.”

“Yes, but you arrested him, you testified against him, and then they sent him to that hellhole.” Devilin stopped in front of Hutch again. “They used electroshock therapy on him over and over, like he was some sort of animal, until his heart gave out.”

“He was a sick man, Devilin! He raped three children and murdered one of them for God’s sake!” Images of the sickening crime scene flashed through Hutch’s mind, a young boy, drugged and naked, eyes glazed with death. “Lucian got what he deserved,” he spouted angrily, without giving thought to the repercussions of his words.

“Are you saying my kid brother deserved to die?” Devilin clenched his fists at his sides, nostrils flaring. He stepped forward and delivered a blow directly to Hutch’s ribcage, the force of the impact evident by the sickening thud.

Hutch gasped for breath as the air was forced from his lungs. He swung helplessly back and forth, head lolling forward as the pain consumed his strength.

Devilin cleared his throat and calmly strolled to the table and removed another item, a metal collar with a small, protruding box on it. Returning to the center of the room, he stopped the swaying body, grasped Hutch’s jaw within his hand, and snapped his captive’s head upright.

Hutch tried to pull free from the vice-like grip on his face, refusing to look into the dark eyes piercing him, but Devilin only squeezed harder. “You’re just as twisted as your brother was. Sick bastard.”

Devilin laughed. “You talk a tough game, Detective, for someone in such a vulnerable position.” He roughly jerked Hutch’s face. “Look at me!” he demanded. “A good friend of mine specializes in, should I say, this exquisite jewelry. I had him make this just for you.” He held up the collar for Hutch to see, turning it slowly so the metal gleamed in the light. “Although it won’t go too well with your plaid shirt, it will give those baby blues of yours an electrifying look.”

Hutch tried to comprehend what Devilin was implying. “What are you talking about?”

Devilin relinquished his hold and slipped the collar around Hutch’s neck, securing it with a small, but stout, padlock.

Hutch heard the snap of the lock. The uncomfortably snug fit of the collar around his neck choked his airway, instilling an overwhelming panic in him. “What the hell is that? Get it off of me you son of a bitch!” He twisted his head back and forth in an attempt to loosen the constricting device.

Devilin stepped away and produced a small, black rectangular box from his coat pocket. It had a solitary red button on it. “Care to dance, Detective?” He smiled and firmly pressed the button.

A surge of electric current pulsated through Hutch’s body. Suddenly aware of every nerve ending under his skin, he screamed in agony, throwing his head back, body arching and twisting, trying to escape the torment. His blood seemed to boil, as a white hot heat coursed through his veins. The smell of the singed skin around the collar permeated his senses. He couldn’t think, couldn’t fight. He now knew how it felt to be burned alive, only the mercy of death wasn’t claiming him.

Devilin finally released the button. “Ah…beautiful!” Walking over to the twitching body, he grabbed a handful of hair and jerked Hutch’s head back. “I hope your heart is better than my brother’s was,” he seethed. “We shall dance again, soon.”

Hutch’s chest heaved as he fought for breath, perspiration saturating his clothes. Prickles of pain still flowed in waves across his skin. His mind and eyes were clouded in a bright light, flickering as his body shook uncontrollably. Saliva trickled from the corners of his mouth. “Oh, God, help me, Starsk.”

“God can’t help you, and neither can that partner of yours, Hutchinson,” Devilin hissed in his ear. He returned the little box to his pocket, smugly adjusted his suit jacket, and left the room.

As the music of violins pounded in Hutch’s ears, his head dropped forward and darkness enveloped him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Starsky arrived at the Pits just as Diane was unlocking the door for the early crowd. He found Huggy behind the bar, shining beer glasses.

“Starsky, my man, you’re here early,” Huggy said. “Where’s that blond sidekick of yours?”

“Hug, you gotta help me,” Starsky pleaded. “He got him. He took Hutch!”

Huggy flashed his palms in Starsky’s direction. “Whoa, who got Hutch?”

Starsky drew his hands down the length of his face and nervously paced the length of the bar. “Devilin Deleon, The Devil, the one you told us was in town. It was Hutch that he was after. He must have taken him from his apartment sometime last night.”

Reaching across the bar, Huggy stopped his pacing friend. “Slow down, Starsky. How do you know it was him?”

“He left his calling card, The Devil Dances at Night….” Starsky’s voice trailed off as he repeated the chilling words on the card.

“Wait, did Hutch kill his brother?”

“No, but it was Hutch that made the arrest and testified in the case. Lucian Deleon was sent to Camarillo for treatment. He died of a heart attack after a series of electroshock therapy sessions. This guy blames Hutch for his brother being sent there.” Starsky grabbed Huggy by the lapels of his jacket. “He’s gonna kill him, Hug, if he hasn’t already. And to think what Devilin might do to him before he…” He wouldn’t finish his sentence, refusing to let the words spill from his mouth. “Look, just see what you can find out, please.”

Huggy plucked Starsky’s hands from his jacket and squeezed his friend’s shoulders. “Consider it done.”

As Starsky was turning to leave, he looked back toward Huggy. “Please hurry, Hug. Hutch doesn’t have much time.”

Huggy was picking up the phone. “I’ll do my best.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Captain Dobey contacted the SDPD and updated them on the latest findings in the case against The Devil. They were grateful to finally have a name to associate with the ruthless serial killer. A quick background check revealed very little information on Devilin Deleon. Dobey was hanging up the phone just as Starsky barreled into his office.

“Anything, Cap?” Starsky asked.

“Not much. Devilin Deleon vacated his apartment the day after Lucian died. No forwarding address or phone number,” Dobey replied. “The SDPD is still running his name through, so we may find out more later.”

Starsky took a deep breath and leaned on Dobey’s desk for support, his face drawn and pale.

“Let me grab you a cup of coffee,” Dobey offered compassionately. “Sit down for a moment. I’ve got every available man working on this. Something will turn up.”

Starsky’s posture straightened, and he took a deep breath. “No, Cap. I’ve got to do something to find him. I won’t stop until I get Hutch back. Devilin’s going to pay for what he’s done. I’m going to hit the streets again. Call me, if you hear anything else.” He started toward the office door.

“I will. Be careful out there, Starsky,” Dobey replied.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hutch slowly stirred. A moan escaped him as he fought to remain within the safety of his dreams, but the pain wracking his body pulled him from his slumber. There was a cool sensation pressing against his back. As his eyes fluttered open, the ceiling slowly came into focus. No longer suspended by his arms, he found himself lying on his back on the dirt floor. The heavy chain of the manacles was draped across his stomach. His wrists were still shackled, but he was thankful they were shackled in the front, allowing him some movement of his hands. His bandaged hand was caked with dirt and dried blood, but there were no signs of additional bleeding. The music was gone. As he turned his head to look around, he was given a painful reminder of the collar around his neck. His body jerked upright to a sitting position in reaction to the burns left by the sensors of the unforgiving contraption, his bruised ribs immediately groaning at their cramped sitting position. His skin tingled uncomfortably from head to toe, a painful memento of the power of the metal around his neck. Hutch desperately tugged at the lock on the back of the collar and the small box attached to it, but his efforts were futile. A stab of pain shot through his head. He pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, his raw and swollen wrists stinging as the manacles shifted on his forearms. There was absolutely nothing on him that didn’t hurt. A key turned in the lock, sending chills up his spine. Too weak for confrontation, he sat still on the dirt floor, watching the door with uncertainty.

Devilin entered, carrying a cup of water and a sandwich. He strolled passed Hutch and placed them on the table in the corner. “Breakfast time!”

“What are you going to do now, poison me?” Hutch flinched when he spoke and immediately tugged at the painful collar.

“Now, now, Detective, no need to be sarcastic. I don’t intend on poisoning you, or starving you, for that matter. That wouldn’t be as fun.” Devilin tapped the pocket on his coat, smiled, and left the room.

I’ve got to get out of here. God, Starsk, please find me. Hutch slowly crawled to his feet and made his way to the table. Exhausted and out of breath, he nearly fell into the chair. He hated to appease Devilin by eating, but he knew he had to keep his strength up if he was going to get out of this alive. Besides, his mouth was painstakingly dry, and he welcomed the idea of a cool drink. The heavy chain raked against the edge of the table as he reached for the water. Pressing the cup to his lips, he attempted to take a drink. He gritted his teeth as the act of swallowing pushed the raw skin on his neck against the heinous metal collar. Fiercely grabbing again at the device, the cup tumbled from his hand onto the floor, spilling its precious contents into the dirt. Hutch angrily shoved the sandwich from the table, certain that eating would prove even more difficult. Completely drained, he staggered to the corner of the room, collapsed onto the floor, and drifted off once again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As the morning sun crawled higher into the sky, Starsky headed out of the front doors of Metro. He didn’t know where he was going, but he couldn’t sit still and do nothing.

News had traveled fast that one of Bay City’s detectives was missing. A small group of reporters had gathered on the steps of the police station, and these people wanted answers.

“Hey, I know him,” one of the reporters shouted proudly, as he darted toward Starsky, microphone in hand. “That’s Hutchinson’s partner, Detective Starky.” He brazenly approached Starsky. “Detective Starky, I hear your partner is missing. We have few details on the case. Can you tell us what’s going on?”

“No comment.” Starsky tried to push past the group.

The reporter was relentless and stepped in front of Starsky, blocking his path. “But Detective Starky, you must know something. The people of Bay City have a right to know.”

“I said, NO COMMENT!” Starsky shouted, pushing the man from his path, nearly tossing him down the stairs.

Catching his balance, the reporter turned away with a huff, motioning for his crew to follow. “C’mon fellas. There’s no story here. Probably just some cop off on a paid vacation at taxpayers’ expense.”

Starsky heard the snide remark and turned with a vengeance to the reporter, as the cameras rolled. He grabbed the man by the front of his cheap polyester jacket and shook him violently. “Let me tell you something! That cop just happens to be not only my partner, but my best friend! I love him like a brother! Don’t you dare downplay the seriousness of his disappearance! Now, you get the hell out of my sight, and if I catch you back here again you’ll find that microphone in a place the sun doesn’t shine!”

The shaken reporter quickly retreated and left with his crew.

Driving aimlessly through the streets, Starsky hustled every snitch he knew, but no one seemed to know anything. Hours passed, and he still had nothing to go on. Dobey stayed in contact throughout the day and evening, but his luck hadn’t been any better. As midnight approached, he reluctantly went back to his apartment, on his captain’s advice, for a few hours of sleep. Falling asleep behind the wheel of his car and wrecking wasn’t an option. He had to stay sharp if he was going to track down Devilin Deleon. Tossing and turning in his bed, he found he couldn’t keep his eyes closed, though. He lay there, wracking his brain, trying to think of anyone, anything, he may have overlooked in his search for Hutch.  There was nothing. Unable to stay there any longer, he left his apartment as dawn broke and began his search again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Good morning, Detective Hutchinson! Rise and shine! I have good news!” Devilin barged into the cellar, waving a newspaper.

Hutch was jolted awake by the sound of Devilin’s voice. He jerked upright and scurried to the corner of the room, back to the wall. Pain and stiffness had settled in his body overnight, the discomfort evident on his face. He tugged at the collar as he forced his words out. “What do you want?”

Devilin threw the paper on the ground beside Hutch. “You made the morning paper! It says one of Bay City’s finest is missing. They even mention me as a person of interest in the case,” he boasted. “They interviewed a Detective Starsky. Even has a picture of the two of you. That’s your partner, isn’t it? It says here that he loves you like a brother. I didn’t realize you two were so close. Loves you like a brother, huh? It must be nice to have someone as close as a brother to care about you like that.”

Hutch felt a new surge of fear consume him, and it had nothing to do with the collar around his neck.

Devilin continued, “He must be awfully worried about you, if he loves you like a brother. Don’t you think? Maybe we should have him pay you a visit.”

“You leave Starsky out of this!” Hutch tried to sound strong, but his voice was weak and raspy.

“Now, Detective, really, I’m sure he’d be glad to see you. Does he like to dance, too? I’ll just go make the arrangements.” Devilin turned to walk away.

With the little strength he had left, Hutch lunged toward Devilin, intent on wrapping the heavy manacle chain around the man’s neck and snapping it in two. He would not let anything happen to Starsky.

Devilin calmly turned around, the little black box already in his hand. With a smug grin, he pushed the red button.

Hutch immediately dropped to his knees, grasping at the source of torment around his neck, his tortured cries reverberating in the small room as the current surged through him again. Toppling over, his body writhed and thrashed on the dirt floor. “Please, stop!” he screamed through clenched teeth.

Releasing the button, Devilin walked over to Hutch and knelt down. “That was stupid. You forget who has the upper hand here, Detective.”

Tears streamed down Hutch’s face, as he fought to draw in oxygen through blue lips and a bloodied nose. Drawing his knees to his chest, he attempted to staunch the violent shaking wracking his body. The fingers of his left hand dug into the skin around the tortuous collar, trying to break the contact, the gauze around his right, bright with blood once again.

Devilin brushed the back of his hand across the wetness of Hutch’s cheek. “You do dance exquisitely, though.”

“Go to H-Hell,” Hutch whispered.

Devilin leaned in closer. “We’re already there, Detective.”  With a gingerly pat on Hutch’s arm, he stood up and strolled toward the door. “I’ll be back, soon.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

With every avenue exhausted, Starsky returned to Metro to find Dobey waiting for him in the squad room.

“Starsky, I just tried to contact you. The SDPD called. This isn’t much, but they found out that Lucian Deleon has a sister, too. Name’s Lilith Donovan. She lives about thirty minutes from here.” Dobey held out a piece of paper. “Here’s the address. Maybe she’ll have something to go on.”

Starsky anxiously grabbed the piece of paper, desperate for any lead. “Thanks, Cap.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hutch crawled to the newspaper lying in the dirt. There was a picture under the headlines of Starsky and him, smiling, arms around each other’s shoulders. He reached out with his bandaged hand and stroked the surface of the photo, blood staining the gray ink. “I’m so sorry, Starsk.” He curled into a fetal position, losing his grip on consciousness again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Weaving in and out of traffic, Starsky floored the Torino, as he headed for Lilith Donovan’s house. His mind funneled back to the events of yesterday-how he had degraded Hutch’s car again, the spilt coffee and ruined report, the nurse at the ER, leaving him alone last night-the guilt relentlessly nagged at his conscience. Hutch, I’ll make it up to you. I promise. If I find you… when I find you, I promise.

The Donovan’s home looked nothing like a home that belonged to the sister of a serial killer and a child rapist. Neatly trimmed bushes lined the front of the cozy, wood-framed house. A swing hung from the tree in the front yard. It was all enclosed by the traditional white picket fence lined with an array of colorful flowers.

Starsky quickly approached and knocked on the door. A petite woman in her mid-forties opened the door to greet him.

“May I help you?” the woman asked meekly. The sun bounced off of her hair, highlighting the silver locks that pooled at her shoulders.

“Mrs. Donovan, I’m Detective Dave Starsky.” He showed the woman his badge.

“Oh, if this is about Lucian, I’m already aware of his death. I saw it in the paper. I want nothing to do with the funeral arrangements. They can bury him in a cardboard box for all I care after what he did to those children,” she replied harshly.

Starsky shook his head. “No, this is about your other brother, Devilin.”

“Oh.” The woman looked embarrassed. “Won’t you sit down?” She offered Starsky a seat across from her at a small wicker patio set on the front porch. “I haven’t seen Devilin for a few years,” she began. “I’ve heard he enjoys the company of certain…women.” She toyed with the gold cross dangling from the chain around her neck and leaned toward Starsky. “Whores, you know,” she whispered. “Ever since he got involved with them, he knew he wasn’t welcome here.”

“Mrs. Donovan, I have reason to believe that he might not only be responsible for the deaths of some of those women, but that he also kidnapped my partner,” Starsky explained.

Lilith pressed her hand to her lips. “Oh, I had no idea about any of that. I’m so sorry.”

“Devilin holds him responsible for Lucian’s death. If I don’t find him soon…” Starsky briefly looked away, gathering his composure, before he turned back to stare into the unusually dark eyes peering at him. “Please, Mrs. Donovan, do you have any idea where he may have gone?”

“Well, we  grew up in this area when we were kids. We were always very close. I was the big sister, you know, always watching after them, but then I lost touch with both of them over the years, with their choice of lifestyle and all.” She looked down despondently. “I don’t know if this can help you, but my mother and father had a cabin about twenty minutes from here. Devilin, especially, loved to go up there. When my parents met an untimely death, I couldn’t bear to go up there anymore. I don’t know if Devilin ever did.  You might want to check there. It’s in a secluded area off of Shawnee Canyon road, right before Red Cedar Lake. There’s a gravel road on the right that leads up to it.”

Starsky stood up and shook Lilith Donovan’s hand, grateful to finally have something to go on. “You’ve been a big help, Mrs. Donovan. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, Detective Starsky. I do hope you find Detective Hutchinson. God bless you.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Smiling broadly, Lilith brushed away the silver hair framing her dark eyes, as she watched Starsky leave her driveway. She returned inside her home and slammed the door with a smirk of satisfaction on her face. Jerking the cross from her neck with a quick snap of the chain, she tossed it in the trash and replaced it with another chain lying nearby. A pentagram charm dangled from the end. Hurrying to the telephone, she quickly dialed a number.

“Hi, Devilin. It’s Lilith. You were right. He was just here.”

“Yes, I told him where the cabin was. He’ll be there soon.”

“Anything for you, dear brother.”

She hung up the phone and sauntered to a small table against the wall. Lit candles surrounded a picture of her youngest brother, Lucian Deleon. A painting of Satan hung on the wall directly above the display. Kissing the tips of her fingers, she pressed them to the painting and bowed curtly. “My, Lord,” she greeted. She picked up the photo of her brother and ran her hand down the face of the man smiling back at her. “Soon, little brother, Detective Hutchinson will pay the ultimate price.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

An uneasy feeling settled in Starsky as he pulled from Lilith Donovan’s driveway. There was something unnerving about her, something about their conversation that wasn’t right, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it. There was no time to dissect the gut feeling nagging at him, though. He had to get to that cabin. Driving at breakneck speed, Starsky made it to the canyon road. As he approached Red Cedar Lake, he slowed his speed to a crawl, searching for the gravel road and was grateful to find it with little trouble. Pulling the Torino onto the grass, he got out and started walking. He didn’t want to alert Devilin he was there. Lilith Donovan’s conversation continued to replay in his mind as he edged along the narrow road. What was it about her?

The cabin was set back several hundred yards. A cream colored sedan was parked in clear view near the front, but there was no evidence of movement in or around the small dwelling.

Starsky approached cautiously, weapon drawn, using the larger trees as cover. He skirted the perimeter of the cabin, peeking into each window, but he saw no one and no sign of Hutch. His attention was drawn to a large oak near the corner of the property. A set of stairs next to it seemed to disappear into a hole in the ground. Easing his way over to it, he stood at the top of the stairs and looked down upon a large wooden door, possibly an entrance to a cellar. A cool breeze stirred, unusual given the heat of the day. Leaves whispered around his feet, beckoning him to follow their whirlwind path back down the gravel road. He started to step onto the first step leading to the door but paused. There was that feeling again. He suddenly heard Lilith Donovan’s last words to him as clearly as if she had been standing by his side. I do hope you find Detective Hutchinson. God bless you. That was it. He hadn’t told her Hutch’s name. She said she had no idea about his disappearance, yet she knew him by name. She sent him there, because she already knew Devilin was there. It was a trap, and he had just walked right into it. Before he could react, a presence stepped behind him and pointed a gun at his temple.

“Good morning, Detective Starsky. So glad you could make it.” Devilin snatched the gun from Starsky’s hand. “Lilith said you’d be paying me a visit.’

“I should’ve known better.” Starsky shook his head at his own carelessness.

“We’re a tight knit family, or should I say we were,” Devilin growled.

Holding his hands out to his sides, Starsky slowly turned around to face the person responsible for his partner’s disappearance. He drew in a sharp breath, unnerved by the cold, black eyes leering at him. “So, I’m here, Devilin. Where is he? Where’s Hutch?”

“He’s down there, waiting for you.” Devilin pointed at the cellar door.

Starsky turned back around to stare down the ominous set of steps.

Devilin pushed his boot into the small of Starsky’s back, sending the detective tumbling down the stairs.

With a sickening thud, Starsky landed against the heavy wooden door.  Fighting to stay conscious, he felt a stream of blood running down the side of his face. Devilin was kneeling over him, searching his pockets for his handcuffs and any additional weapons. A set of keys was tossed on his chest.

“What are you waiting for, Detective Starsky?” Devilin kept his gun trained on Starsky. “I’m sure your partner will be shocked to see you. Go ahead. Open the door.” He kicked Starsky in the leg. “I said open it!”

Struggling to his feet, Starsky brushed away the blood on his face and steadied himself. He leaned against the door for support and turned the key in the lock, anxious to find Hutch, fearful of seeing what Devilin may have done to him. As the door swung open, it took him a moment to focus on the surroundings. Then he saw him, or he thought it was him. “Hutch?” He barely recognized his partner. Ignoring his own pain, he rushed to his friend, hesitating as he reached for the still body on the floor, afraid of what he’d find. He reluctantly touched the lifeless hand and breathed a sigh of relief as he found warmth, dispelling his worst fear. “Thank, God.” Starsky kneeled and lifted Hutch’s head into his arms. He couldn’t believe what he saw, didn’t understand the burns around the steel contraption on Hutch’s neck. “Oh, God, Hutch, what did he do to you?” Starsky felt tears well up in his eyes as he pulled his partner closer to him. He heard a low moaning sound. “Hutch?  It’s me, Starsky. Can you hear me?”

“Starsk? Starsky?” Hutch whispered. “I’m sorry. I tried to stop him. I tried.” His shackled hand reached up to touch the blood trickling down Starsky’s face. “He hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Starsky tried to breathe around the knot choking his throat, as the trembling fingers touched his cheek. Even in pain, Hutch’s concern was still for him. Uncontrolled fury consumed him. He gently laid Hutch down and started toward Devilin, eyes ablaze. “You son of a bitch, I’m gonna kill you for what you’ve done to him!”

“Starsky, no!” Hutch made a feeble attempt to get to his knees and grab for Starsky. “You don’t understand!”

Devilin pushed the red button before Starsky even got near him.

Hutch dropped to his side, screaming, fingers digging at the collar. His horrific cries filled the small room.

Starsky immediately understood the purpose of the black box and ran back to Hutch, pulling him into his arms. Hutch’s body was contorted in an odd position, muscles rigid, eyes rolled back in his head, unresponsive to his touch. “For God’s sake, stop! You’re gonna kill him!” he screamed at Devilin.

Devilin released the button but kept the box in view of the two men.

Hutch tore at Starsky’s shirt, glazed eyes pleading, barely able to breathe. “It hurts…it hurts so much, Starsk. H-help me. Please, help me. Don’t let him….”

“Shhhh…” Starsky ran his hand down the length of Hutch’s back, gently rocking him. “I’m here, now. It’s okay. I won’t let him hurt you anymore.” He glared at Devilin. “What do you want from us? Tell me, dammit!”

“I want Detective Hutchinson to pay for what happened to my brother,” Devilin replied. “I want to see him dance, again and again.” He tapped his finger on the side of the little box.

Hutch’s grip slipped from Starsky’s shirt, eyes sliding closed.

“He’s gonna die, don’t you see that?’ Starsky shifted Hutch’s slack body within his arms.

“Ah, I won’t let that happen…not just yet, anyway.” Devilin’s eyes twinkled menacingly. “I want him to see you dance first, Detective Starsky. Do you like to dance? I truly hope so. I’m taking care of a little detail in the matter right now.” He lightly rubbed his fingers across his throat. “It should be ready, now, as a matter of fact, so I’ll be on my way. And, Detective Starsky, I wouldn’t try anything foolish, if I were you.” His thumb ominously circled the red button on the box. “Good day, gentleman.” He left the room, locking the door behind him.

Starsky swallowed hard, trying to grasp the gravity of the situation, not only for Hutch but for himself as well. He knew if Devilin got one of those collars on him, they were as good as dead. A plan came to mind. It was their only hope.

Turning his attention back to Hutch, he pushed a strand of matted blond hair from the closed eyes. “Hutch, listen to me, babe.” Starsky leaned close to Hutch’s ear, his voice soft and calming. “I need you to open your eyes for me and sit up.”

Hutch moaned, his face grimacing in pain, as he reflexively tugged at the collar around his neck.

Starsky tried to lift Hutch into a sitting position, while sill coaxing his friend back to consciousness. “C’mon, Hutch, come back to me. Listen to my voice. I’m going to try and disable the flow of current through that collar. We don’t have much time. I need you to sit up, so I can get a closer look.”

Eyes fluttering open, Hutch tried to comply, leaning against Starsky for support. “I’m trying.”

“That’s it, Hutch. You’re doing great.” Starsky tried to examine the collar, but Hutch was too close to him. “Can you lean forward just a little?” He pulled Hutch’s knees up. “Here, just rest your head on your knees. That way, I can look at the box on the back of the collar.”

Hutch propped his forearm across his knees, draping the chain across his thighs, and leaned his head forward, allowing Starsky access to the collar’s electrical components. He was slowly becoming more coherent, his voice raspy but audible. “I swear, St-Starsk, if he hits that button one more time, you can stuff an apple in my mouth and serve me alongside some cole slaw.”

Attempting a half-hearted chuckle, Starsky briefly closed his eyes, fighting the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. “Well, I’m gonna put a stop to it. When Devilin comes back, I’m going to rush him. He can push that button all he wants, but he won’t be able to hurt you anymore. I’m going to take that box and shove it down his Goddamn throat. Just hang in there. I’ll be as gentle as I can.” He began to examine the collar, cringing at the bloodied strands of hair from the cut on the back of Hutch’s head that were stuck to the surface of the metal. Carefully pulling the hair away, he lifted the lock away from the collar. It was small but stout, a key or wire cutters the only option in getting it off. The small box housing the brains of the device was made of a thick metal, unable to be bent or accessed with bare hands. Devilin seemed to take every precaution in making sure the collar stayed put and operational.

“Can you disable it, Starsk?” Hutch asked.

“I can’t see anywhere to access the wiring from the outside of the collar.” Starsky gave Hutch’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Look, I’m gonna have to run my finger around the inside of the collar to see if I can get ahold of any wiring there. It’s gonna hurt like hell, but I don’t see any other option.”

“It’s okay.” Hutch reached up and patted the back of Starsky’s hand.  “It can’t hurt any worse than that current running through me.”

“Let me know if you want me to stop.” Starsky bit into his lip, as he gently ran a finger between the collar and Hutch’s blistered skin, feeling for the wiring.

Hutch jerked and clenched his fist tightly, a sharp gasp escaping him.

Starsky immediately pulled his hand away. “I’m sorry, Hutch.”

“No, it’s okay.” Hutch took a deep breath. “Just hurry and do it, please.”

“Okay, I’ll hurry.” Starsky continued to feel along the perimeter of the collar. He felt a thin wire, nestled tightly in a narrow groove. He tried to pry it out, but it remained steadfast, his fingernail too thick to get under it. “I feel a wire, but it’s buried in a small groove.”

“Can you get ahold of it?” Hutch slowly turned his neck. “Is that any better?”

“No, I need something really thin and sharp to pry it out.” Starsky reached for his badge. “I have an idea.” He pulled the badge from its leather case and turned it over, revealing the pin used to hold it in place. Rocking the pin back and forth, he broke it from its mount on the back of the badge. “Perfect.” He leaned over Hutch’s shoulder, making sure his words were clear. “Okay, Hutch, I need you to hold really, really still for me, okay? I’m gonna use this pin to pry out the wire, and I don’t wanna stick you. I’m going to push against your neck with my finger to try and make a little gap for me to get the pin in there.  I’m sorry. I know this isn’t going to be pleasant for you.”

“It’s okay.” Hutch took a deep breath and held very still, hand clenched atop his knee. “I’m ready.”

Starsky carefully pushed his finger against Hutch’s neck, waiting a moment for the initial pain of his touch to pass before trying to get the pin in there, just in case Hutch would flinch.

Hutch stayed completely still, his only reaction to the pain was the white knuckled grip he had on his knee.

Easing the pin into the small gap made by his finger, Starsky carefully fished out the elusive wire. Finally able to grab it, he tugged at the plastic coated wire until it broke free from the small box. “There! I got it, Hutch.”

“Thank, God.” Hutch wiped at the bead of sweat trickling down the side of his face. “Is that it?”

“I’m still checking.” Starsky continued examining the collar. He felt Hutch’s body tense in response to his touch. “I’m so sorry,” he kept repeating, hating himself for every ounce of pain he was inflicting on his best friend. “There’s one more bundle of wires. It feels like they’re twisted, and running through tiny brackets mounted on the inside of the collar. These must be the sensors.”

“Yeah, and lots of them,” Hutch replied.

“Okay, I’m going to pull these out, and that should be it. There’s no coating on these wires, and they’re a little thicker, so this might hurt a little more,” Starsky warned gently. “You need a minute?”

“No, just do it.” Hutch shifted his body uneasily. “I’m ready.”

Starsky tugged at the wires, but they didn’t budge. He could see the thin metal strips digging into Hutch’s skin.

Hutch tensed. “Hurry, Starsk.”

Trying one more time, Starsky pulled at the wires. His finger slipped from under the collar, covered in Hutch’s blood, but the wires were still intact.

Hutch jolted upright, his hand tearing at the collar. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing a tear down his cheek, but he didn’t utter one word of complaint.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry, Hutch.” Starsky pressed his lips to the top of Hutch’s head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Hutch reached behind him and patted Starsky’s thigh. “It’s okay, really. It’s not your fault. Did you get it?”

“No,” Starsky replied with defeat.” It’s not budging. If I pull any harder, I’m afraid it’s going to cut really deep. If that wire hits an artery…” He stared at Hutch’s blood soaked hand. “We can’t risk that. The bad thing is, I don’t know if I’ve disabled it or not. ”

Hutch turned to face his friend. “I guess there’s only one way to find out. Starsky, you know you’re still going to have to rush him.”

“But, if I haven’t disabled it and he hits that button…” Starsky shook his head defiantly. “No, no I can’t see you go through that again. It could kill you.”

“Starsky, if he gets one of these collars on you, he’s going to kill us both. You know that.” Hutch looked Starsky sternly in the eye. “I’ll be fine. It’s our only hope.”

Starsky swallowed hard. He knew Hutch was right. “Okay,” he agreed with a reluctant nod. “But, I’m backing off if that thing still works.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Starsky was sitting on the ground with his arms around Hutch when the key turned in the lock. As Hutch tensed against him, he protectively tightened his embrace. “Shhhhh…it’s okay,” he whispered in Hutch’s ear. “I’m right here.”

Devilin opened the door and cautiously looked around before entering. He held the black box in one hand, a bag in the other. “Awww…how touching. I see you two have gotten reacquainted.”

“Yeah, we were just thinking about stepping out for tea.” Starsky’s eyes were transfixed on the box Devilin held.

Chuckling aloud, Devilin strolled to the table and set the bag down, while keeping his thumb on the ominous red button of the little black box. He pulled the transistor radio from the bag and turned it on, allowing the melancholy bellow of a bass violin to fill the room. He reached in again and pulled out a collar that matched the one Hutch was wearing. Motioning at Starsky, he ordered, “Step away from your partner, Detective Starsky.” He held the black box up higher as a warning. “Slowly.”

Starsky welcomed the chance to stand up, giving him a better shot at overpowering Devilin, but he didn’t relish the idea of leaving Hutch unguarded on the ground. He gently released his hold on his partner and moved about five feet away, far enough to get a run at Devilin, yet close enough to be there for Hutch if their plan went awry.

Devilin tossed the collar at Starsky’s feet, followed by a small padlock. “Put it on,” he demanded.

Starsky hesitated, his eyes darting from the collar, to the little black box, to Hutch.

“Don’t play games with me, Detective,” Devilin warned. “Put it on, now.” He rocked his thumb precariously back and forth on the tip of the button, as he taunted Hutch. “Unless you’d like to see your partner dance again.”

Hutch pushed himself away from Devilin as far as the wall allowed, eyes terror-stricken, hand grasping at the collar with a rigid grip.

“And from the look on your partner’s face, I don’t think he’s too keen on dancing again so soon.” Devilin stepped closer to Hutch. “It’s you or him. Your choice.”

For a split second, Starsky had second thoughts. He didn’t want to risk putting Hutch through that pain again, if his efforts to disable the collar had failed, but he also knew that if Devilin got that collar on him, it would certainly prove fatal for both of them. He had no other choice. Starsky charged at Devilin, eyes lit with fury, heart pounding with fear. He watched in horror as the red button disappeared inside the black box as Devilin made good on his threat. Drilling the full force of his body into Devilin’s chest, he expected to hear his partner’s screams behind him mingled with those of his startled adversary, but Hutch was quiet. The collar was disabled. Starsky ripped the black box from Devilin’s hand and threw it down, while pummeling the man with a flurry of punches that would take down a prized fighter.

Devilin had no time to react to the fury and intensity of the assault. In a matter of seconds, he was spread eagle on the ground, nearly unconscious, blood streaming from his mouth and broken nose.

Starsky searched Devilin’s pockets, finding a gun and two sets of keys. He hurried to Hutch and cupped his hand to his terrified partner’s face. “It’s all over, Hutch.”

Eyes squeezed shut, Hutch was braced against the concrete wall, tugging at the collar, chest heaving. “Please, no. Please, no,” he kept repeating.

“Hutch, open your eyes and look at me.” Starsky took the back of his hand and tucked it under Hutch’s chin, lifting it slowly. “C’mon, babe. Open those baby blues for me.”

Hutch slowly opened his eyes. He saw Devilin’s body on the ground and melted against Starsky’s chest. “Oh, thank, God.”

Starsky hugged Hutch tightly and then pulled him back to look into his eyes. “Look, we gotta get you out of here and to the hospital. I wanna get these off of you first, though. Give me your wrists.” He quickly used the keys to unlock the heavy manacles around Hutch’s wrists. “Now, the collar. It’s gonna hurt, but I’ll be as gentle as I can, ‘kay?”

“Just get it off of me, Starsk.” Hutch leaned over, allowing Starsky access to the lock at the back of the collar. As the constricting device was removed, he held onto Starsky’s thigh, fingers digging into the worn denim as he stifled a cry of pain. Blisters and raw skin streaked with blood encircled his entire neck.

Starsky tried not to react to the damage left by the collar, looking away as he encased Hutch’s trembling body within his arms. “I know. I know it hurts, Hutch. I’m so sorry. It’s okay now. You’ll never have to go through that again. ” He heaved the collar against the concrete wall, away from Hutch’s view. “C’mon, I’ll help you get outta here. We can lock Devilin in here until we can get some help.”

Leaning on Starsky, Hutch stood unsteadily to his feet and walked past the stunned and bleeding Devilin, toward the open doorway. He stopped before he got to the cellar door. “Wait.”

“Hutch, you okay?” Starsky poised his hand at the small of Hutch’s back, ready to catch his friend if he collapsed. “I can carry you, if you need me to.”

“No, I’m fine. Just give me a second.” Hutch’s posture straightened, and he took a deep breath. Walking toward the back of the cellar, he retrieved the transistor radio from the table and the collar and padlock intended for Starsky. He approached Devilin and dropped to his knees, placing the blaring radio next to the stirring man’s body. With less than graceful skill, Hutch snapped the collar around Devilin’s neck with his left hand.

Stirring into consciousness, Devilin grasped at the suffocating device around his neck.

Hutch picked up the little black box lying nearby and held it in front of Devilin’s face. “Do you like Beethoven, Devilin?” he seethed through clenched teeth. “Well, do you, you son of a bitch?”

Dark eyes grew wide with fear, as Devilin stared into Hutch’s eyes. “P-please, don’t,” he stammered, shaking his head.

“You do? Care to dance?” Hutch threatened in a cold, even tone, his thumb circling the red button.

Devilin’s heels pushed at the dirt under his feet as he tried to back away from Hutch. He pulled at the collar trying to allow space between it and his skin. “No, please!” he begged.

Hutch let his thumb hover over the button for a little while longer, before he smiled broadly and tossed the box aside, leaving Devilin unscathed. “Starsky, get me outta here.”

Starsky smiled proudly at Hutch’s decision. “I’m right here for you, babe. Let’s go.” He wrapped his arms around his beloved friend and led him from the cellar, leaving Devilin locked inside.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Pushing himself up in the hospital bed, Hutch greeted Starsky with a jovial smile. “Hey, Starsk!” I wondered when you were gonna show up.” His voice was still hoarse, but stronger than it had been in the previous days he had spent in the hospital. A thick bandage encircled his neck, somewhat hampering his movement. His right hand was bandaged up to the middle of his forearm. His left wrist was bandaged as well, accompanied by an IV protruding from the top of his hand.

“I got here as soon as I had my shower. How’s that partner of mine this morning?” Starsky tucked the covers around Hutch’s feet and fluffed the pillow under his head.

“Doing better. My tests came back. The ol’ ticker is fine.” Hutch cheerfully tapped a closed fist to his chest.

“Yeah, I know. I ran into the doctor out in the hallway.” Starsky leaned over and whispered behind his hand, “I think he’s gonna spring you soon. Whattya say I take you to Angelo’s? I know how you love their food. Beats Jell-O and chicken broth, huh?”

Hutch’s face dimmed. “Really? Releasing me, already?”

“Yeah, releasing you, as in you get to go home.” Starsky tried to clarify the meaning of his words. “As in no more liquid diet, no more needles and tests and…” He quit talking as a buxom blonde nurse strolled into the room, placed a breakfast tray on the portable table and rolled it toward her patient.  She carefully tucked a napkin around the top of Hutch’s hospital gown and pulled a chair next to the bed.

“Excuse me, sir,” she directed at Starsky.

Starsky stepped back, jaw on the ground, allowing the nurse to sit down.

The nurse removed the round plate cover from the tray, picked up a spoon, and offered a bite of Jell-O to Hutch. Her full breasts threatened to spill from the top of her low cut uniform as she leaned over the bed. “Hungry this morning, Mr. Hutchinson?”

“Ravished, Sherry,” Hutch replied with a broad grin, eagerly taking the offered food and the accommodating view. He leaned around the nurse and winked at Starsky. “Well, I am injured,” he explained pitifully, holding up both arms.

Cocking his head, Starsky perched his hands on his hips and darted Hutch a pathetic look. A familiar voice suddenly boomed from the doorway, causing him to duck and quickly move out of the way.

“Sherry, they sent me up here from the ER to cover your break. Guess they’re shorthanded,” the burly ER nurse proclaimed. “You run along. I’ll take over from here.” She approached her mortified patient. “Back, again, huh, Hutchinson?” Scratching at the mustache on her upper lip, she grabbed a spoonful of Jell-O and shoved it in Hutch’s direction. “Well, open up. I ain’t got all day. I still have to give you your sponge bath, you know.”

“Enjoy, partner,” Starsky called out smugly, ducking the plate cover heaved in his direction as he darted from the room.

THE END