You Can Take the Boy Out of Brookyln

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Vanessa Hutchinson’s sudden reappearance into her ex-husband’s life unsettles Hutch and Starsky in more ways than they can anticipate. She shows up just as both men are on the cusp of facing some deep truths about their long-term partnership and where it might be heading.

Vanessa’s late night arrival rocks Hutch emotionally and immediately propels Starsky into protective mode, since he is wary and skeptical of her reasons for seeking Hutch’s attention. Compounding Vanessa’s troubles: a doubly unforgiving Starsky, who–fresh out of a disastrous personal relationship himself–is more hostile toward her than ever before. Suspicious about why she is back, Starsky is unprepared for the real motives behind her attempts to insinuate herself back into Hutch’s life.

When Vanessa’s desperate bid to involve Starsky personally into her secret and dangerous activities plunges them both into a lethal nightmare, Starsky will be forced to revisit ghosts from a part of his life he thought he’d left behind.

 

Written for the S&H 2014 Big Bang: S&H Present Tense.

Art by Anachron.

A Hutchinson for Murder One Reboot.

Heartfelt thanks to Flamingo who doggedly put on her editor hat to beat this story into submission. I set her free in my overgrown forest and she tamed it into a garden. Any thorny plants remaining are mine.

I am fortunate that Anachron created the front piece for my story. I joked with her that the story might not ever be read, since it’s impossible to look away from her illustration.

Lastly, I need to thank my good pal and co-conspirator, Brooke. Without her support (jabbing me in the ribs to keep writing) I would never create any stories. If all writers had a Brooke there would be an avalanche of new S and H material for us to read! Thanks Brooke.

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Prologue

April 2014

Los Angeles

Before he felt the pain, Starsky remembered the sounds.

They filled his head as soon as he opened his eyes. Sounds he’d not only heard but also felt as they crashed into him. So real were his memories of those sounds that, as he woke, he felt sure he was still hearing them.

He’d heard a scream, a shrill scream that ripped through his pounding head. Before that, pleading shrieks had echoed so clearly, he struggled even now to twist toward them.

Then he remembered the other sounds.

The ones that came just before the avalanche of pain. One deep and thick, a sickening thud of metal on bone and flesh, all squelch and crunch and guttural grunt. The distinctive acoustics of blunt force injury. Cruel and brutal.

Other noises had come just before the savage blow that knocked him out. They were just as violent, but tidier and compact, short sharp, whipping cracks. Like bullets released in rapid succession. His ears were still ringing from the resonance of that blast of gunfire.

Struggling to make sense of time and place, he turned his head to the side, and then quickly shut his eyes. He wasn’t ready for the heart-stopping shock of what was next to him.

If this was a dream, a nightmare, then his pain shouldn’t be so real, the sounds too would have faded. When he opened his eyes again, reality would shape up differently.

He sucked in a lungful of air and took another look, opening his eyes and squinting hard.

The reality was worse than any nightmare. It was lying beside him, just as it had been the first time he’d looked. A pair of wide-opened eyes, glassy and still, stared right at him.

A woman’s eyes that were still beautiful even in death.

Chapter One

Three Days Earlier

Starsky wondered what the hell was going on? He fixed his gaze on the wall behind the head of his bed. That wall had seen a lot of action go down on this bed and more so of late. Also of late, he’d been spending an inordinate amount of time focusing on that wall while he tried to force his body to do the job it was designed to do. The job it should have the decency to do when he was sharing his bed with a woman as sensual and willing as the one beneath him. In the shadowed light, he appraised her body and face objectively. She really was quite stunning — she had it all — everything he found sexually appealing in a female, and she was obligingly wrapping every bit of that appeal around him as they lay tangled on the bed. Petite and yet well rounded in all the places that mattered, her sensual appearance was coupled with a healthy appetite for vigorous sex.

Squeezing his eyes closed then quickly reopening them, Starsky half expected that instead of the dancing night shadows he and his lover made, he’d see an emblazoned WTF glaring at him.

WTF exactly….

Well, the bedroom wall would just have to wait for an answer. He sure as hell didn’t have one. In fact, he didn’t have a lot of things lately, and the answer to that particular question was just one of them. Right now, he was sadly lacking in what it took to give his writhing lover what she was crying out for. Her throaty moans of “Give it to me now, Dave,” were doing nothing to inspire his less-than-hard cock.

Since when did David Starsky suffer from soft-cock syndrome? That just didn’t happen to him. His sexual repertoire had always been varied and plentiful but never had a soft cock been part of it. He couldn’t recall it ever being an issue. Not until the last two months, anyway. Since then, his slow-to-warm-up symbol of manhood — in spite of the company of a procession of beguiling women — was becoming an alarming habit.

Maybe that was why he was trying harder to stay with this woman a little longer than just a couple of dates. Explore the potential they might have together.

Yeah, sure. He could almost hear the bed head creaking with laughter along with the wall at that shoddy piece of self-denial.

Okay — so he had nothing but the shallowest intentions toward this woman — sexy, nimble and hot blooded as she might be.

If he was honest, he was using her as a distraction like all the other women he had bedded in recent weeks. To pull him away from the self-indulgent fantasies he could no longer resist, and the hopes he feared would forever be unrealized.

Another purr beneath him and a forceful scratch from her long set of nails spurred him into action. Her smooth hand closed beseechingly on his semi-erect cock. He jumped at her touch. Suddenly, he needed to finish this lukewarm session before it turned stone cold.

If he wanted to perform for his lover, he’d have to do what he’d done several times before. Shifting his inner focus, he let his imagination take over, giving in to the sensual images in his head. Closing his eyes to shut out the distraction of feminine flesh and silky thighs, his mind took him to a different place, the same bed, the same physical setting, but with a different body. The body that electrified his senses, driving the blood to his cock and pitching his lust to a fever point. Within moments, he felt the reassuring heat in his groin; his breath hitched as the fantasy dragged him toward orgasm.

Growling now with fresh hot need, he reached too roughly to roll the pliant body over, urging her quickly to her knees. Forcefully, he dragged her rounded ass toward him. He had the grace to look at the bed head and wall where his own damning jury of self-recrimination perched from its vantage point. Watching him, condemning him, while he conjured up the glorious feast in his mind. A long-limbed golden body, hard and muscled, smooth and damp with sweat and pre-come, pushed against his groin, inviting him, insisting he plunge deeper and harder into its tight warm flesh. Then, with the fantasy exploding in his head, he was finally able to give the woman beneath him what she’d been asking for. Her escalating cries and soft laughter told him he was finally fulfilling her needs as well as his own.

Later, spent and drained, he rolled his sweat-slicked body off hers, collapsing heavily beside her. He lay panting, the cries from her exuberant orgasm ringing in his ears. Half-listening to her talk, already beginning to doze, he jolted when she ran her nails through his damp chest hair, giving him a sex-glazed smile.

“Oh my God, Dave,” she said, panting. “You sent me over the edge three times! That’s a personal best for me!”

‘Personal Best.’ Jesus. What is this? A competition?

What was she rating here? Him? His performance? His caliber as a lover, a stud?

Alarming images of his sexual exploits being plastered all over her Facebook page filled his head.

Shit.

He could almost see her post, a graphic depiction on her Facebook wall, maybe with a liberal dash of winking emoticons flashing beside the entry, peppered with anagrams and tawdry comments.

“Spent another night with the cop I’ve been seeing… OMG, he might be slow to warm up but once his engine heated up he sure went the distance and sent me flying.”

Wanting to groan at the thought of his bedroom prowess (or lack thereof) becoming social media fodder, he summoned up his best crooked smile and ran his finger lazily around her still-tight nipple. He could feel his body starting to fade with the aftermath of the marathon. “Glad to be of service, Ma’am.”

The first pull of post-coital pleasure tugged at him, a sense of floating somnolence as he lay where he had fallen across the bed, imagining another scene where he settled down beside the long hard form of his equally spent lover.

His flickering eyes tracked to the wall again. If the woman beside him weren’t so wide-awake and watching him intently, he would have given the wall the finger. Let it know that he still had the famous Starsky endurance, even if he needed to be kick-started by his secret lust-filled fantasies.

She leaned in close, nuzzling him. She wanted more.

He would have told her he had no more to give, but he fell asleep before he heard her sigh in disappointment.

~~~

The sounds and light coming from the closed bathroom door penetrated his sleep. It took him a few moments to come back to the present. His hand brushed through a wet spot beside him and that, with the scent of perfume and fresh sex, reminded him that he had company — company who was still in his bathroom.

Why the hell couldn’t women just roll over and go to sleep like men did? This constant need to get up, shower, and preen before slipping back into bed annoyed him tonight more than it normally would.

She came out of the bathroom and crawled in beside him. Her smooth legs wrapped around his heavily haired ones in a sinuous twist. The warm water vapors still wafted around her. As she leaned over to stroke his chest, her bare breasts lightly brushed his shoulder. “Hey, you’re awake. Good. I was hoping you hadn’t crashed for the night.”

“Only half awake,” he corrected, knowing it to be a lie. If anything he felt so tense that he had considered taking a cigarette out onto his beachside balcony and blowing out the left over frustration in his lungs. “Heard you in the shower. I guess it woke me up.”

“You could have come in and joined me. I was lonely in there — but now you’re awake; we can snuggle.” The purr of her silky voice was an irritant in his ear.

A thick sweep of golden blonde hair was in his face as she molded herself to his side, her lips brushing against his stubbled cheek. He pulled back enough to communicate his disinterest. He could sense that she felt it.

He conjured up some explanation to ease the bite of his rejection. “Sorry — I’m wiped. Need to get up early in the morning.”

“Oh?” Her disappointment was heavy in that one word, and he felt his guilt rise. Still, he couldn’t feign something that wasn’t inside him.

Undeterred, she reached over and pulled his hand against her face, threading their fingers together. “I was hoping we could just lie here for a while — and talk.”

“Look — ah — look Cla — ah – honey -”

For one panicked moment, he could not remember her name, and almost slipped by calling her the name he’d been trying hard to forget for weeks now. With her face half hidden in the curtain of her hair, he couldn’t be sure she had caught his stumble with her name. Frantically, he sifted his mind for a clue to spark his memory. The names of women who had shared his bed over the past month or more since Clare had exited his life, came to mind. However, none matched the face in front of him.

Shit, this is bad.

What kind of a bastard was he? He couldn’t even think of her name, and he had just screwed her? And then to make it worse, he had come close to calling her the name of his last lover.

All at once, the bed seemed too small, her proximity too close, and his own his nakedness too intimate. Rolling to the side, he swung his legs over the bed and leaned down to retrieve his jeans from the floor.

“Dave, what’s wrong?”

“Nothin’s wrong…” and then it came to him, “Lydia.” He added her named smoothly, hoping she hadn’t picked up on his earlier lapse.

The recall of her name occurred at the same time that he realized he was already over her. Already over himself, and this repeated situation of casual sexual interludes. “I told you, I’m beat, and I need to get some sleep. Let’s just — ”

He levered himself into his snug jeans commando style and headed for the bathroom, acutely aware of her eyes following him as he fled.

Using the john and splashing his face with water, he took a little time to collect himself before going back into the bedroom, wishing that he didn’t have to face a needy woman. The flashing light on his cell phone caught his attention as he walked back to the bed. Absently, he checked the missed call.

It was Hutch’s number and he’d rung twice in quick succession about twenty minutes earlier.

Lydia watched him frowning at the cell phone. “It rang before when you were asleep.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” He tried to keep his tone neutral, but he heard the irritation in his voice.

“Why would I wake you?”

“Because I’m a cop, for Christ sake, and cops get called.”

“You let the calls go other times — I’ve seen you. You can always call back. What’s the big deal?”

“It was my partner.” He said it as if that was all she needed to know. The flitting of quick resentment across her face displeased him more than her not waking him.

“I know that,” she said. Short, emphatic. “I recognized his ringtone. Hell, I should know it by now,” she said with a scowl that he didn’t miss. “That’s why I didn’t wake you. It’s just a social call anyway.”

“What the hell do you mean by that? You knew it was Hutch, and you left it? Hutch doesn’t call at two a.m. for no damn reason at all.” Part of him knew he was being unreasonable but the condemnation was there anyway.

Hitting the callback, he listened to Hutch’s cell ring, and then turned away from Lydia when he heard Hutch’s quiet voice. “Starsk?” The way Hutch said his name already had him worried.

“Hey, what’s up? I just saw you called about twenty minutes ago. Is everything okay?” Even as he said it, he knew it was a stupid question. Of course it wasn’t, he’d already heard it in the tentative nuance of his name.

“You’re — you’ve got company?” Hutch’s flat response was filled with disappointment, and Starsky could hear the need creeping down the phone.

“It doesn’t matter. Is everything okay with you?” he repeated.

“Starsky…. I shouldn’t have called you this late. I rang before I realized the time and remembered you were seeing someone tonight — I’m sorry.”

“You sound terrible,” Starsky said, brushing off Hutch’s apology, more worried about the way his friend sounded and what was behind the call. “You sick? You want me to come over?”

“No — no, not sick. I’m fine. No — ” Hutch paused, took a breath. “I’m not fine. Shit. Look, it’s okay — really. Go back to bed. We’ll talk in the morning. I shouldn’t have woken you. You know me. I have this reflex habit of calling you whenever -” His voice trailed off.

“You didn’t wake me, okay? Now help me out here, because I can hear something’s not right. Tell me now or I’ll come anyway.”

Hutch paused, and then finally blurted, “It’s Van.”

“Van? Your Vanessa?” The mention of Hutch’s unlikeable ex-wife was something Starsky hadn’t expected.

“Yeah — my Vanessa, if you want to call her that.”

“You know there’s a lot of things I could call Vanessa, but I’m just tryin’ to cut to the chase here, partner. Is she — she — okay?” The level of quiet distress in Hutch’s voice continued to concern Starsky.

“She’s okay. Well, at least she is now. I’m the fuck-up when it comes to her.” Hutch sounded desolate.

Starsky reached for his shirt and scanned the room for his Adidas. Noting the time on his wristwatch, he pinned the cell phone between chin and shoulder as he shrugged into the shirt and pushed his foot into the shoe. “I’m comin’ now. Should be able to get there in a few minutes at this time of night.” Since he’d moved to the beaches close to Hutch’s Venice apartment, it made situations like this so much easier for them both. Neither of them missed the races across town through traffic to get to the other’s place if there was some pressing need to get there fast. Uncertain why exactly, Starsky only knew that Hutch’s sad tone immediately qualified this as one of those times. He couldn’t stand to hear his partner sound so low, and the need to get to him as soon as he could was strong.

“I — I — ” If Hutch was about to protest, his intention fell away with a relieved sigh. “That’d be good, Starsk. I feel like, well — I just want to see you.” He finished, whatever else he might have said left unspoken.

“Hey, Hutch?”

“Yes?”

“Whatever it is we’ll work it out, okay?”

“Where Vanessa is involved, I don’t think I’ll ever get it worked out,” Hutch said helplessly.

Hutch’s dejection had Starsky ramming his phone into his front jeans pocket and cursing his partner’s ex-wife. He turned to meet an accusatory glare from Lydia.

“You just got through telling me that you were tired and needed sleep,” she said with a touch of snipe. “And now you’re getting dressed?” She was sitting up, the sheets pulled up to her breasts as though now that she was pissed with him, she was no longer going to allow him to see them.

“I’m sorry, but I need to go.”

“You mean to tell me you’re leaving? Leaving me here?” She seemed astounded. Starsky couldn’t be sure whether she was genuinely surprised by the fact, or incredulous that he would go.

“Lydia, you heard most of that conversation so you must realize I’m worried about Hutch. Something’s happened, and I want to go check on him.” He was a little brusque, but he was annoyed with her dumb act when he knew she had heard what he’d said to Hutch.

“But it’s the middle of the night! And we — we-” she blustered a little before trying to make him see reason. “Why the hell would you need to go over there now when he’s just upset? Can’t you leave it till tomorrow?”

There was little point in trying to explain it to her — his and Hutch’s connection — and he found he had no interest in doing so. He shouldn’t have to explain it to her. He rarely attempted to explain it to anyone.

“You can stay here; spend the rest of the night. If you’d lock the door behind you, that’d be great. There’s fresh milk in the fridge for coffee.” He strapped on his holster, grabbed his jacket and wallet, and bounced his keys in his hand. Mentally he was already out the door and on his way.

Lydia had different ideas. “You’re seriously going to walk out on me in the middle of the night?” Now she was angry.

“Honey, I’ve already given you all I had in me for tonight.” And anything else we had is well and truly over.

She didn’t need to hear that last thought, so he pulled back from hurting her with it. He kept that locked inside the hardened center of him where he stored all his bitter resentment. She didn’t deserve to get the backlash of his recent pain.

“You’re treating me as if all we had between us was sex.” There was anger and hurt in her voice. He knew he was coming across like a heel, but she was pushing his buttons.

Midway into shrugging on his jacket, Starsky stopped and sighed. “Lydia, don’t complicate this. We’ve seen each other what — two, three times — ”

“Three weeks. We’ve been seeing each other for three weeks.” She said it as though the time represented some sort of attainment.

“Look. I’ve said I’m sorry. We’ve had a good time. Can’t we just leave it at that? I’ve really got to go. Hutch is waiting…” Starsky felt impatient. He should already be on his way.

“Of course…” She sat back in the bed, defeated but not surprised. Her face had a petulant look.

“What the hell does that mean?” He felt immediately defensive.

“Your tone changes completely when he calls. It’s no bother to go running over there in the middle of the night. But you can’t take the time to do the right thing in our relationship.” She spat the words at him.

She had breached his level of tolerance as soon as she made a judgment call on his loyalty to Hutch. “That’s it. I’m outta here. Either stay or go. Don’t matter to me. But let’s get one thing straight. We don’t have a ‘relationship’. We have sex. You wanted it; so did I. And it was nice. But now I’ve got other priorities. Don’t make this into somethin’ more.”

Her slap cracked him hard across the cheek. The shock fueled his anger, and he pulled back in surprise. Turning, he started to leave.

She railed at him. “You selfish, self-centered prick! I’m over your haughty hard cop act. You think I enjoyed sleeping with someone who looked bored most of the time, and has trouble getting it up?”

At the bedroom door, Starsky stopped and walked back. Without a word, he picked up her clothes, shoes, and bag. Striding to the bathroom, he flung everything inside the door. “Get up. Get dressed. Get out.” She had gone too far; if he didn’t leave soon, he would say more to her than he should.

Snatching the sheet from the bed, she twisted it around her nakedness and stormed into the bathroom.

She was out of the bathroom quickly, dressed in record time, yet he was still impatient as he waited at the apartment door.

She walked right up to him, so close he could see the fire in her eyes. “Go — run off to your partner. I hope he wants you, because you sure as hell don’t deserve me.”

He let her sweep away with a blaze of hurt and resentment lingering in her wake, and wasted no time in using the fire escape stairs to descend to the apartment block’s garage. With quick strides, he crossed the garage floor toward his motorcycle with Lydia’s last words in his head.

She was right, of course. He didn’t deserve her. He couldn’t disagree with that. But it was the first part of her sentence that stuck in his head. In fact, it had been stuck in his head for a long time now.

The part about hoping that Hutch wanted him.

~~~

The heated exchange with Lydia cut into him. He wasn’t proud of how he had been with her, but guiltily, he also knew his mind was already elsewhere — worrying about Hutch. Donning his motorcycle helmet and unlocking the chain, he threw his leg astride his silver 2012 Ducati road bike. Cranking the bike up and controlling the throttle released some of his tension. By the time the motorcycle roared up the main beach road, he could feel the knot that had been inside him since his call to Hutch unravel just a little, the speed and air on his face calming him.

He’d purchased the Ducati at the same time he’d found his apartment in Santa Monica. The guy selling the older 70’s apartment had the Ducati in the garage when Starsky went to scout out the parking facilities for his prized red 2011 Mustang. He fell in love with the motorcycle at the same time he fell in love with the ocean-side apartment. Starsky liked to call the bike the ‘Silver Beast’. Hutch liked to call it the ‘Silver Death Threat’ and was never happy with Starsky opening up the engine on the open roads. Modes and styles of transport was a constant bone of contention between them. Hutch had an aversion to riding anything that didn’t include a full metal frame and seat belts.

At two-thirty a.m. he had the road to himself and made short work of getting to Venice Place. Parking his bike alongside Hutch’s latest junkyard car — yet another amorphous beige/brown/tan/rust Ford ensemble from the turn of the twenty-first century — Starsky held his helmet under his arm and headed to the door.

Leaning against the buzzer, Starsky pushed his flattened curls off his forehead. What had Hutch so agitated? Why was Vanessa coming back into his life after all this time?

When he heard the soft click of the electronics, he pushed open the door and took the stairs two at a time. He wasn’t surprised to find Hutch’s door ajar. Waiting for Starsky’s arrival.

Hutch was sitting bathed in the half-light of a table lamp. The muted glow picked out the metallic in his hair, a different spectrum from the pure white blondness that the natural light of day brought out. In the subdued light, his close beard and moustache (more like a heavy five o’clock shadow than beard) looked darker than its usual dirty blond, creating a contrast with the halo of lightness around his head.

Hutch had been wearing the short beard for over a month now, but Starsky was still getting adjusted to the closely trimmed goatee and moustache. It was so shortly cropped that Starsky had taken to taunting him about simply having forgotten to shave. Despite his ribbing however, Starsky liked the layering the darker facial hair gave to Hutch’s character. It provided just enough disparity with the dramatic white blondness to save Hutch from classic masculine beauty. Not that it was ever Hutch’s intention to avoid this; Starsky knew his partner was largely unaffected by his own physical beauty. However, the facial hair lent him just enough of a grittier edge to distract the beholder from what would otherwise be faultlessly, breathtaking good looks.

He looked up when Starsky walked in, and despite the warm pleasure on his face at seeing his friend, Starsky didn’t miss the deep groove of his vertical forehead frown line — a sure sign that Hutch was in a deep funk. There was a nearly finished bottle of Corona in his hand and three empties lined up on the table. Two wine glasses and an empty bottle littered the table as well, one of them tainted with a lipstick smudge. It didn’t take much to figure out who’d been sharing a drink with Hutch. The social symbolism of the shared wine suggested a degree of civility at least to Hutch’s ex-wife’s visit.

Scanning the familiar living areas of the apartment, Starsky could see nothing out of the ordinary — no signs of a fight or a physical tantrum.

Unlike the exterior of Venice Place, which still retained many features of its original architectural charm, the apartments had been modernized to a certain extent. However, the polished wood floors, plush rugs, plastered walls, and country kitchen all helped keep it casual and relaxed like Hutch preferred. It was just the right balance of homey and modern, masculine and comfortable. Whenever Starsky walked into the small apartment, he thought instantly of “home” in the true sense of the word.

“Beer in the fridge,” Hutch said without getting up. It was as good an opening as any, given the drawn look on his face.

“Bit late for beer,” Starsky said, “but what the hell?”

He tossed the helmet on a chair and shed his leather jacket before walking toward the small kitchen. Enough street light illuminated Hutch’s small, semi-covered terrace that he could see everything seemed as it should be out there also. No broken pots or upturned planters. Hutch’s pride and joy, his beloved plants, seemed to be all intact.

Starsky knew he was thinking the worst, his less than charitable opinion of Vanessa coming into play — imagining her having gone on a rampage, smashing pot plants at random and hurling them dangerously at Hutch’s head.

Returning with two fresh beers, he levered off his bottle cap and threw the opener on the table. Sinking heavily onto the far end of the couch, Starsky took a closer assessment of his partner. “So, I’m here.”

“So, you are. What did you leave behind to get here?” Hutch’s smile was soft and Starsky heard the two separate messages in his few words. The relief that Starsky was now at his side and the guilt he felt at having needed him there.

“Nothing of note. She’s gone now.” It was the truth, not said purely to lessen Hutch’s guilt. “I didn’t leave a good impression. She called me haughty and hard.” Starsky considered his own words before taking a long slug of frosty beer and then another straight after.

“You’ve been excelling at leaving that sort of impression for a while now. Too long. Haughty and hard isn’t your normal way, Starsk.” Hutch frowned with worry. “You need to look at what that’s about, buddy.”

“Maybe. Perhaps.” Starsky thought about it as he drank more beer and made an attempt at self-derogatory humor. “Not sure about the ‘hard’ bit though. I can tell you, Hutch, I was anything but earlier tonight. It’s getting more and more difficult for me to come to the party for these self-absorbed bitches.”

Hutch winced at the caustic note in Starsky’s voice, and looked at him. “‘Self-absorbed bitches?’ You sure it isn’t the other way around? You’ve been pretty self-absorbed yourself for a while now.” He bumped his foot against Starsky’s calf. “You ever thought, Starsky, that screwing a string of women could have something to do with why you can’t get a hard-on at command? Maybe your dick is just plain worn out, partner. What number was this one?”

“Number? Shit, I don’t know. I could barely remember her damn name. Don’t matter anyway. She’s gone. Pissed off that I left her when she wanted some deep and meaningful afterglow chat. Jesus — women.”

Another swallow of the beer and he poked Hutch’s leg with his foot. “Now — enough about my sexual conquests, what about you, buddy?”

Hutch snorted into his beer and shook his head “Sexual conquests? More like sexual minefield. The rate you’re going, you’ll have screwed every woman in a twenty-mile radius of Santa Monica by next month, and every one will be an unmitigated disaster. Don’t you think it’s time you take yourself off the one-night-stand circuit, and look at why you’re doing what you’re doing to yourself and every woman you meet?”

“Hey, I’m thirty-six-years old, for Chris’ sake, and in the sexual prime of my life. Why shouldn’t I play wild for a while?” Starsky had heard this same spiel from Hutch several times over the past couple of weeks. It was getting harder to deflect Hutch’s penetrative comments and his constant fault finding with his wayward behavior.

“I’m glad you used the word ‘wild’.” Hutch said with a stern face and a jabbing index finger. “By the time you’re thirty-seven you’ll have either killed yourself with too much fucking, smash and burn on that two-wheeled silver death machine, or smoke yourself to death with those daily packs of cigarettes you think I don’t know you suck behind my back.”

Starsky pushed Hutch’s wagging digit aside. “Oh, come on, Hutchinson, that’s rich. You talking to me about gratuitous sex? And your problems with the Ducati are just your hang-ups about motorcycles. I’m no more likely to die on it than speeding in my car and you know it. And who are you to talk about lapsing into smoking? I can remember plenty of times I’ve been on your case for falling back into the nicotine habit.”

Hutch sagged back on the couch and looked defeated. “Very sporadically and you know that. You’ve been hard on the cigarettes for weeks and weeks now. It’s not like you’re just having a smoke here and there with a coffee. I can already hear it in your breath when we run up the stairs — and the other day when you tried to chase that loser down the alley near – ”

“Hutch!” Starsky interjected, cutting off his tirade. “Seriously. Forget worrying about the smoking, will ya? It’ll pass.”

“It’s not just the heavy smoking, Starsky. I don’t like watching you grind yourself down over another bitter experience with a woman, so you can prove to yourself that all women are like Clare. Hurting them doesn’t change what she did to you–”

“No.” Starsky cut in firmly again. “We are not making this about Clare.” Starsky was determined not to let Hutch turn this into another therapy session. “Not now. Not now, okay?” It came out with a desperate edge; he hated hearing the weakness in his voice. “Besides, it’s not just because of Clare,” he admitted. “I’m just in a bad space at the moment.”

“Then why don’t you share some of that space with me? Don’t you think it would be better than what you’re doing to yourself?” Hutch rationalized gently.

Starsky felt uneasy. These sorts of introspective conversations with Hutch were becoming too dangerous for him. Hutch was edging closer, every time, to the issues that Starsky knew were at the root of his recent emotional turmoil, and it was becoming more difficult to hide the truth from his insightful partner.

“Listen, you think I rode over here at nearly three a.m. to hear you lecture me about my aberrant lifestyle? Hell, I could’ve just waited ‘til morning for that. You’d start on me as soon as you climbed into the front seat — as you usually do every morning,” he snapped, hoping to deter Hutch.

“Starsky–”

“Look, shelve it, will ya?” Starsky yelled and quickly modulated his voice. “Hutch, I don’t want to talk about all of that same shit again. I’m not here because of me. Or damned Clare. I’m here, buddy, because you called me, remember?”

Hutch looked contrite and backed off. “I know that. Still I can’t help being worried about you, and what you’re doing to yourself. I promise to shut up about it from here on in — or try to at least.” He reached out and patted Starsky’s thigh affectionately. “I’m glad you’re here. Did I tell you that yet?” He smiled fondly at Starsky.

That was all it took for Starsky to lose his anger. “You sounded like hell on the phone. I didn’t like the idea of leavin’ ya’ alone.” Now that the spotlight was off him, he could relax again. He felt sorry for lashing out at his friend.

Hutch rubbed at his temples, letting his long lean body slide down further on the couch. “I’m glad because I didn’t feel like being alone…”

“So let’s have it. Vanessa paid you a late night visit? Well, at least she seemed to have spared trying to make you wear creeping ivy and a pot of fertilizer on your head. I seem to remember another time when — ” Starsky brought himself up short and peered at Hutch’s profile, his mouth tightening. “Wait just a moment. What the fuck is that?”

In the soft light falling across Hutch’s cheek, Starsky saw raised red skin and the dotted line of dried blood that ran into his beard. Even beneath his facial hair, the vivid scratch was hard to miss. Starsky leaned across the couch and gently grasped Hutch’s chin, turning it even more toward the light.

Hutch pushed Starsky’s probing hands away, and jammed his beer bottle in his mouth.

Starsky sat back, his eyes narrowed. “This where you tell me you cut yourself shavin’ again? Not that you do all that much shavin’ these days,” Starsky said, the accusation made softer by his touch on Hutch’s jaw.

“It’s nothing,” Hutch muttered as he ducked his head.

“Oh, it’s somethin’ alright. It tells me a lot. So I see she’s still wearin’ those long talons she loves to flash around, particularly in your direction.”

Hutch looked down at his lap, the defeated hopelessness on his face so characteristic of how Starsky so often saw him in the early years of their friendship, when Hutch was still married to Vanessa. Starsky had always been shocked by how that woman could affect his strong partner, as though her very presence demeaned and disempowered him.

Starsky took a moment to collect two more beers before returning to the couch, this time perching opposite his friend. Touching Hutch lightly on the knee, he finally got him to look up. “So what’s goin’ on, buddy? What went down with you and her tonight that’s got you so upset?”

Hutch accepted the fresh beer and frowned at the cold bottle. “She just walked back into my life, Starsk. Just like that. Knocked on my door at around ten and walked right in. No phone call, no email — not that she’d even know my contact details — just showed up in person. Said she’d just arrived on the late evening flight from New York. Caught a taxi straight here from the airport. God. She was just standing there. Standing there looking like she always looked. I tell you, it just rocked me.” He fingered the deep scratch unconsciously.

Starsky was worried by the confusion and self-doubt creeping into Hutch’s face. “So she just arrives here for no apparent reason, after what — it must be five years since the marriage ended, isn’t it?” Even to him, Starsky’s blunt question sounded too pragmatic — but any attempts at sensitivity regarding Vanessa were impossible for him. For Hutch’s sake, he’d have to tone down his natural antipathy toward the ex Mrs. Hutchinson.

“Actually, she tells me it’s been four years, six months, and twelve days. How do you like that? She had it down to the exact day.” Hutch looked thoughtful.

It failed to impress Starsky, but he merely shrugged. Hardly like Vanessa to have been counting the days since she lost her loved one — since she was the one who single-handedly destroyed the marriage. She’d severed her commitment to Hutch, rejecting her young cop husband for, it seemed to Starsky, all the wrong reasons. The memory of what Hutch went through in those first weeks after she’d left him could still make Starsky’s blood boil.

So, no, he didn’t believe for a moment that Vanessa had come back in some love-frosted sentimental moment to re-unite with her one true love.

Clearly Vanessa had other motives.

Trying to keep his bias out of the equation, he prompted his friend to continue. “And so? Is there a reason she sought you out? After all, how did she know you were living here now?”

“Van’s a smart girl. She might not have had my phone number or email, but she found out where I was living.” He looked around his small homey apartment and smiled ruefully. “I don’t think she was too impressed with my humble abode — probably even a notch down from the canal cottage that she also despised.”

“Hey whata’ you talkin’ about — Venice Beach is damn prime real estate now, and you happen to live in just about the trendiest street. Gentrified zones add a lot of worth to property, and this street is a prime example of it. Does she know how much real estate goes for around here these days? Jeez, you’re a veritable property tycoon, Hutch.”

“Starsk — I rent, remember?” Hutch rolled his eyes, but Starsky was pleased his comments brought a small smile. “I’m not the one who went out on a limb for a mortgage. Anyway it’s hardly what Vanessa is used to, and this small apartment is too bohemian for her standards.”

“So what? Who cares what she thinks? That’s her problem, not yours. It’s not as though your station in life has changed so much in the past five years that you can afford to live in Beverly Hills. What did she expect on a sergeant’s income? A penthouse?”

“Oh, I think she expected that I might have finally relented and cashed in some of my trust fund and be living the high life. Maybe she thought I’d have grown out of playing the role of struggling street cop with my scruffy longhaired sidekick. Mind you, she hardly seemed surprised when I told her I was still partnered with you.” Hutch paused and looked at Starsky directly. “In fact, I got the feeling she expected it.”

“Hey, mind your mouth there. I might be a little longhaired for a GQ cover shot, but I ain’t scruffy. You’re the one with the facial hair confusion, not me.”

“Facial hair confusion, Starsky?” Hutch shook his head. “Where did you coin that term from?”

” ‘S like ya’ can’t quite decide whether to grow a beard or not. I’m clean-shaven and smooth. You, on the other hand, look like you’ve just misplaced your razor every morning. Also, for your information, these jeans are fresh on yesterday, and that motorcycle jacket over there is one hundred percent Italian leather — made in Milan. That’s the fashion capital of the world, in case you don’t know.” Starsky followed his comments up with a kick to Hutch’s leg.

Hutch snorted into his bottleneck, and Starsky was pleased to see that he seemed more relaxed. “Oh, you mean the jacket that you picked up for a song at the local Saturday market from Lou Pattini’s cousin. The one who runs the pizza stand at the markets and is always peddling other merchandise because his pizzas don’t sell. And, he probably got it off eBay before that…” He smirked and then stopped. “God, Starsky. I just had a thought… Wait ‘til Van finds out you tear around on a motorcycle as well as a revved up hot rod….”

“You think she’ll finally see what she’s failed to appreciate about me? That I’m so much more than she ever pegged me for? Fast, furious, and classy?”

“Ahhh…” Hutch pretended to take the time to think. “No.”

“No?”

“Maybe fast and furious — but you can forget the classy bit.”

The comic relief lasted only a second before the lightness left Hutch’s face. “I don’t know what she wants from me, Starsk. Two hours she was here. The first hour it was — well, it was good. Good enough, I guess. We talked, shared some wine, and found some common ground to explore. Managed not to argue or bite at each other — oh, for at least that first hour.” Once more, he reached up to touch his jaw and throat, the vivid scratch a personification of her presence. “Then, by the end, we were back to how we always were.”

Like she always was, Starsky thought. Back to being the cold-hearted bitch with a sharp temper and flying hands. Once again he reserved comment, and waited for Hutch to go on. He knew there was more. Something had caused the distress he heard in his partner’s voice on the phone.

“She says I never loved her,” Hutch said softly. “Never understood her. Never tried to see her perspective, how she felt being married to a man who chose a profession that put his life on the line every day. Never thought about what it would do to her if I died. Said I’d dragged her out to California, away from everything she loved and valued, and tried to force her to adopt my chosen lifestyle, my dreams. That I simply pushed her needs to the side in pursuit of my own. I was brash, she said, full of myself, selfish — and too young to appreciate how destructive it was to our marriage.”

He stood and walked toward the kitchen, then turned and came back. “For the first time tonight — with the distance of all the pain and anger we went through behind us — I thought about what she said, Starsky. I heard what she said, like I hadn’t heard it five years ago, or hadn’t wanted to hear it then. And, even though she’s still resentful about it and angry toward me for doing it to her — I started to hear what she was saying.”

The pain was back in his face, the lightness of their shared banter already losing out to guilt. Hutch allowed guilt to get the upper hand with him too often, so Starsky knew what was coming.

“Hutch,” Starsky said when Hutch seemed to finally wind down. “You’ve been through all this with her before. It’s the same agenda, the same accusations. Vanessa’s lifestyle choices against yours. She left of her own accord. She made the decision to leave you so she could get all those things she so desperately thought she had to have to make her life complete. None of this is new for you. Her unexpected visit has just taken you off guard.”

“But it is new, Starsky. It’s new, because now I think maybe I was too immature, too hell-bent on my cop career to see what I was asking her to give up. I always thought she was the selfish one. Maybe…. Maybe it was me. Could be that she’s right.”

“Right about what? You were right about following your dreams to be a cop. Don’t you get the chance to make yourself happy and complete in your own way?”

“Starsky…”

“No — just shut up, will ya’? You think I don’t know what you went through with her? You think your ex-wife is justified in the way she treated you because you created a new life for the two of you? If your plans for life didn’t match hers then the time to do something about it was before she put your ring on her finger. She chose to marry you, and then, when it didn’t go her way, she ditched you.” Starsky could feel his cold resentment rising as he remembered how Vanessa destroyed Hutch’s confidence. “Didn’t just ditch you, buddy — she damn near annihilated you. Now, one late-night visit makes you believe it was your fault her life didn’t turn out how she planned. That’s bullshit!”

“You always saw the worst in her,” Hutch said despondently.

Vanessa Hutchinson’s worst, in Starsky’s estimation, was how she dismantled her husband. That was the thing he could not forget. “And you were always blinded by the best in her. You still are.”

“What does that mean?” Hutch asked, defensively.

“I think you know, Hutch,” Starsky said quietly. “She still as attractive as ever? As glamorous, stylish, and classy? She still got the moves to twist you up in knots?”

“You think I’m seduced by her appearance?” Hutch’s tone was challenging.

“You’re only human, buddy.”

“Starsky, if you were anyone else, I’d take you down for that comment.”

“Why? It’s a statement, not a judgment.” And yet Starsky knew in many ways it was just that, and he felt bad for needing to clarify something for himself.

“I didn’t sleep with her,” Hutch snapped, “if that’s what’s worrying you.”

Starsky looked down at his hands quickly, hoping that Hutch didn’t pick up the relief flickering across his face.

“Not talkin’ about that, Hutch. I’m talkin’ about seductive ways, not just in the sexual arena. She’s pulled you in again. One short visit and she’s got you doubtin’ yourself and carrying a heavy load of guilt. That’s her forte.”

“Well, I sure can’t make anything better for her now,” Hutch said, looking upset. “She’s sick, Starsk.”

The ‘Ah-Ha’ moment finally hit Starsky. So this was why he got the SOS from Hutch at two in the morning. “What are we talking about here?”

“She’s in LA for tests and possibly a procedure. They found some sort of breast lump. When she found out, her boyfriend left. Just didn’t want to deal with it.” Hutch was sitting down again and looking at Starsky like he was trying to measure his reaction.

Starsky chewed the inside of his mouth. He tried to say something safe. “That’s tough for her. Sounds like she’s well rid of the creep.”

“Sure, but it leaves her floundering. She seemed so scared. Alone.” There was wistful sympathy in his voice, and Starsky was again worried about how deeply Hutch was affected by what sounded like one of Vanessa’s performances.

“And that’s why she’s come to you? Because she lost her boyfriend?” Starsky asked, trying for neutrality but missing. “Are you supposed to suddenly become her support? Step into his shoes? Your commitment to her is over, Hutch.”

“I owe her something,” Hutch insisted. “I can offer her help when she needs it.”

Starsky suspected Hutch had not in fact made that offer, which is why he was wallowing in guilt now. Vanessa must have reached out, and Hutch couldn’t offer her what she really wanted.

“So, how did you deal with it? With what she was asking?” Starsky said, not even sure himself what it was Vanessa might have been asking for.

“Badly. She accused me of not caring before I even had a chance to figure out how I felt.” Hutch sighed wearily. “Then the discussion got ugly, and I didn’t get a chance to handle it at all.”

“Hutch,” Starsky said gently, exasperated for his partner. “She just can’t walk back into your life and lay all this need at your feet.”

“I feel — like I should do something, feel something at least. I only felt confused about it. Ken Hutchinson may be the prize bastard Vanessa always accused me of being.”

“Because you can’t solve her medical problem?”

“No. Because I can’t even pretend to care about helping her. She used to be my wife, for Christ’s sake! What sort of man does that make me?”

“It makes you a man who’s been so hurt, you can’t trust easily again. You need time to process all this.”

“Vanessa might not have that time, Starsky.”

“You don’t have the whole story yet. Now, come on. It’s late, you’re wiped, and so am I. Women have run us both ragged tonight, buddy.”

“Damn, Starsky, I shouldn’t have called and laid all this drama on you. It’s not as if it couldn’t have waited — I just felt — -”

“I know when you’re hurtin’, partner. Just like you’d know for me. That’s where Van’s so wrong. You care — you care a whole lot for anyone that matters to you. Don’t let her make you doubt that about yourself.” Starsky moved closer to him and reached out.

Hutch stood and clapped his hand on the Starsky’s shoulder. He gave a ghost of a smile. “I don’t think she’d consider my relationship with you as proof of my empathy. She’s always known you get that from me no matter what.” His voice was heavy with emotion.

“Yeah, well, the way she treated you at the end of your marriage forfeited her right to any empathy. You’re a kind and decent person, Hutch. Sometimes too kind and decent for your own good.” He grabbed Hutch’s hand where it rested on his shoulder and gripped it hard. “Now — I don’t wanta’ hear anymore about this tonight. We’ll solve the world’s problems tomorrow.” He looked quickly at his watch. “Make that later today. I’m crashin’ here. I’ll ride back home in the mornin’.” He gave Hutch a playful swat to his rear. “So move your ass away from my bed, and throw me that blanket. We’ve gotta’ be up in less than four hours.”

~~~

Starsky burrowed deeper beneath the blanket and groaned at the intrusion into his senses. Something was dragging him from sleep. It was far too early for that. Who the hell was knocking at the door at this time of the morning?

He’d only been asleep three hours — at least, that was what his watch told his bleary eyes. Turning over, he realized he was half-sprawled off the familiar confines of Hutch’s narrow, lumpy couch. The knocking was now insistent.

About to bellow for Hutch and make it his problem, he heard the distinctive sound of the shower. Hutch had beaten him, as usual, to the bathroom. The knocking was now his problem. Or, he could just ignore it.

“Go away, will ya’?” he said, as he fumbled around for his discarded jeans and pulled them on over his naked body. He stumbled toward the door. As he flipped the lock and turned the handle, he was gearing up to deliver a mouthful of abuse to whoever might be on the other side. And stopped dead. He stood face-to-face with a woman he had not seen in years. One he would rather have never seen again.

Vanessa.

Still half asleep, he was at a distinct disadvantage. He missed interpreting her initial expression, but he didn’t miss the glint of cold contempt she revealed in the first stunned second when they saw each other.

He stepped back.

Vanessa was as beautiful as ever. Impeccably dressed, her make-up appropriate for the morning, her long hair shiny, and her posture regal, she oozed class like a Royal and yet threw off sparks of sexuality like a sex siren. She had matured perfectly into her early thirties, like one of those expensive French wines that Hutch enjoyed blowing his salary on.

She spoke before he had a chance.

“David. What a surprise,” she said, but her cool tone told him his presence was anything but a surprise. “I didn’t pass any modified sport car as I walked in. Are you driving something more sedate these days?” Her eyes traced a path from his toes to the top of his head and then centered on his lower midriff.

“Hello, Vanessa.” His voice was husky with post-waking throatiness. He was disconcerted by her frank assessment as he stood, sleep tousled, at the door. “No — I still drive a car, but I rode over on my motorcycle.”

“Oh? You mean the big silver one down there outside the restaurant? Well — it fits your image, I guess. ” Her voice was languid as she took in his bare chest, disheveled hair, and unbuttoned jeans. Her eyes lingered a while below his waist, and she smiled tightly.

How did she do that, he wondered? Sound coquettish and malicious at the same time. Then, he wondered about where her eyes were focused and if he might be partly exposed with a half-mast zipper and no briefs. Surreptitiously, he swept his hand down to find he was decently covered.

“It’s been a while,” he said, hoping like hell she couldn’t sense his discomfort about his state of undress, but suspecting she was enjoying it.

“A while? Yes, it has. Years in fact, but things don’t seem to have changed much.” She looked toward the bedroom. “You’re here early — or should I say — late?” She glanced at the scattered beer bottles on the coffee table behind him, then at the blanket on the couch.

“I dropped in for a late beer,” he said simply and immediately resented that he felt the need to explain why he was at Hutch’s.

“And then stayed — as you always do. Like I said, not much has changed.” The venomous nuance was there and he didn’t like it.

He headed for Hutch’s small kitchen. He’d have to wait to use the john. Normally, he’d just barge in on Hutch when he was hogging the bathroom, but not with Vanessa there.

He sensed her behind him as she walked into the apartment as if she owned it. She laid her handbag down and followed him toward the kitchen, and he felt immediately trapped, as if she were closing in on him.

Starsky retreated behind the fridge door and pulled out a carton of juice. Splashing the liquid into a glass, he downed it in one long swig. Fortified, he turned to Vanessa. She leaned against one of the kitchen chairs as though ready for a photo shoot, her perfectly manicured hand resting under her chin, watching him with her big grey-green eyes.

“Hutch is in the shower,” he said unnecessarily, the sounds emanating from the bathroom clear evidence. “You want some coffee?”

“Um…depends. I prefer freshly ground beans.”

Even that irked him. “Nope, these are pre-ground. I’m putting some on for Hutch and me anyway.”

“For you and…Hutch.” She rolled the phrase around slowly while looking at the apartment, studying it. “Very domestic.”

That irked him even more. As he set the coffee to percolate, he was relieved to hear the bathroom door open.

Hutch walked out, towel around his waist, rubbing another one over his damp hair. “Bathroom’s all yours. Hope you’ve got the coffee ready for — ” His last words died on his tongue as he took in the sight of his ex-wife in the kitchen. “Vanessa?”

She tossed her hair lightly over her shoulder, and then rolled her wristwatch around her slim wrist. “Ken, good morning. We did say quarter to seven, didn’t we?” She lifted one arched eyebrow in question.

Immediately, Hutch looked contrite, his fair cheeks flaring with a flush of color. “Seven? Yeah. Yes — we did. Look, I’m sorry, but we, ahhh — we — I mean I – I overslept.”

Starsky winced at Hutch’s stutter, which only emerged under pressure or emotional distress.

“He didn’t oversleep. In fact, we barely had enough. We were up late,” Starsky said as he moved closer to Hutch to support him.

Vanessa looked pointedly at the beer bottles on the coffee table, and then once more at Starsky’s bare chest and ruffled hair. “So I gathered.”

Taking the opportunity to exit the scene, Starsky left the kitchen. “I just put the coffee on, Hutch. I — um — I’ll be in the bathroom.”

He brushed Hutch’s shoulder before he left and felt his tension. “You get any sleep?” He spoke quietly, but knew Vanessa was taking it all in.

“Some.” Hutch said. “You?”

“About three less hours than I wanted. Make me a coffee, will ya? I need it.” He left the two of them there, Hutch in his towel looking like he was with a woman he’d never met before, and Vanessa with an expression of mild disdain on her flawless features.

~~~

When he returned five minutes later, the atmosphere was still strained. Vanessa, perched on the edge of the sofa, sipping at a glass of juice, gave him a tight smile when he snagged his discarded shirt from beneath the coffee table. Hutch was on the single chair opposite her. As he handed Starsky a steaming mug of coffee, he gave him an apologetic look.

Starsky gulped the too-hot coffee and busied himself with buttoning his crumpled shirt.

“Starsk,” Hutch said, “I’ll — um — I’ll be late to work this morning. Not sure how long I’ll be. Could you let Dobey know? I — ah — I need to take Van in for an appointment — a medical appointment.”

“That’s fine,” Starsky said. “I’ll let him know. I’ll have to go back to my place to get the Mustang.”

“Okay.” Hutch sounded strained. “Just give me five minutes to get dressed, Van, and then we’ll hit the road. What time did you say you had to be there?”

“By eight — but with traffic…” Her tight mouth softened, and she relaxed on the sofa. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure I’ll have to wait anyway. Don’t rush — I’ll catch up with David if he has a few minutes.”

Starsky hoped his expression didn’t show his distaste. He took another swallow of coffee and nodded at Hutch. “Go on — get yourself ready. I gotta finish this cup before I can hit the road.”

Vanessa waited until Hutch left the room before she turned to Starsky. “So, you and my husband are still just as close as ever?” She left the juice on the coffee table and sat forward again.

Starsky said in a measured tone, “Your ex-husband and I are still as close as ever.”

She gave the barest of smiles. “Oh sorry. You’re right of course. — My ex-husband. Old habits…”

“Been five years. Not such an old habit anymore.”

“Yes, time moves on, doesn’t it? So tell me, Dave. Are you still happy being a detective?”

Where is that coming from? “Me? I’m happy enough. We have our days — doesn’t everybody?”

“I know that it must be hard for you sometimes — well — with the sort of life you had back east.” She waited, suddenly looking flustered.

He said nothing. He wasn’t about to help her out. Where is she going with this?

Suddenly she changed tack, as though trying to backtrack. “I guess — well is it different from what you thought you might have done with your life?”

He gave up trying to work out what she was on about and shrugged. “Who knows? I went where life took me — Being a cop, it’s what I do, what I am.” He finished the last swig of his coffee. “What ‘bout you? What brings you back here? Kinda outta the blue to drop in like this, ain’t it?”

“Drop in?” She seemed affronted. Back to her prickly self. “You make it sound as though I need an invitation to visit Ken. I was here last night ‘til after one a.m., and arrived bright and early this morning to find you basking here like some big dark cat. I thought perhaps after all of these years your — um — mutual obsession with each other might have dimmed.”

He could see the jealousy in her face and knew they were treading on old ground. “Same ol’ Van,” Starsky said with a brittle laugh. “Circling for a fight.”

“Same David,” she said arching one beautifully shaped eyebrow. “Standing between me and my marriage.”

“Your marriage ended years ago,” he shot back, feeling the old hostility rise up. “Hutch has a whole new life now, so why come back?”

“That’s none of your business. It’s something between Ken and myself.”

“Anything that affects my partner is my business, lady.” He was almost pleased to see her pull back at the cold menace in his voice.

“I’d almost forgotten what a bastard you can be. You were always ready to show me your dark side.”

“When someone messes with our life, it brings out my threatening side.”

“Listen to you! Our life,” she said disdainfully. “You talk as though you’re a couple!”

For a second, her observation knocked Starsky off guard. He hadn’t even realized he’d referred to them in that context.

“What happens in Hutch’s life, impacts my life.” Starsky quickly recovered, bringing the focus back to Vanessa. “You still haven’t answered me, Vanessa. Why are you here?”

“You mean Ken hasn’t shared that with you? “She laughed lightly in disbelief. “You two who share everything?”

Starsky nodded. “He said you’re here for some kind of treatment.”

“And you don’t believe that, obviously.”

“I’m not Hutch,” he said. “I’m on a different playing field where you’re concerned.”

She shook her head. “Or maybe where I’m concerned you just jump to the wrong conclusions.”

He decided to be completely honest. “It’s true, I never trusted you, and I’m not likely to start now, especially since you sprang up outta nowhere. But I’m prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt. Why does Hutch have to take you for a medical appointment? I’m sure you’ve gone to plenty of them over the years without his help.”

She looked cornered. “Again — that’s between Ken and me.”

He laughed lightly, shaking his head as he shrugged into his leather jacket. “You haven’t changed. Still pushing Hutch in front of you instead of dealing with your own issues.”

Her eyes flashed angrily. “I came here to see Ken, but as usual, you’re standing between us. I came to LA to talk to him about some personal matters.”

He moved in a little closer to her, speaking quietly. “Hutch might be an easy target for all the misplaced guilt you’ve put on him, but there’s nothing wrong with how I see things. Think about that.”

“You think I care what you think, David? Seriously?” It was her turn to laugh.

“Probably not. That’s your main problem, Vanessa. The only thing you care about is yourself.”

“Starsky.” Hutch’s soft voice was suddenly behind him. He’d obviously heard at least some of the conversation.

Starsky turned and looked directly at him, seeing his silent plea to leave it alone.

Picking up his helmet and keys, he nodded, acknowledging Hutch’s unspoken request. “I’ll catch you at work, buddy. Good luck this morning, Van.” Starsky said it without making eye contact with her.

He wasn’t surprised that she didn’t honor him with a reply as he closed the door behind him.

~~~

It was nine o’clock when Starsky settled at his desk with a cup of departmental sludge masquerading as coffee. He had just commended himself for his streak of rare productivity with paper work. Clicking the keyboard with a flourish, he saved two outstanding reports that his captain had been harassing him for. Telling himself his admirable work ethic was worthy of reward, he leaned in closer to the computer screen.

Opening his browser, he skimmed images of chrome exhaust fittings for his Ducati. His silver baby deserved to sound a little throatier, and a new exhaust pipe would do wonders for the Silver Beast’s image. It couldn’t hurt his self-image either. He’d been off his game and needed something to pick him up.

A familiar voice outside his cubicle distracted him. He looked up to see Hutch through the glass partition, standing a few cubicles down, greeting another officer. Hutch didn’t linger but made his way to the work bay they shared.

Starsky pushed his chair back and put his feet up on the desk as Hutch entered the semi-private work area.

“So what’s this?” Hutch asked, one blond brow arched up. “Not even nine o’clock and you’re kicking back? I hope you’ve got some of those overdue reports finished.”

“I’m a lover, not a writer,” Starsky quipped.

Hutch groaned. “Bashing out case reports is hardly a literary pursuit. Besides, being a ‘lover’ is half your problem. If you used your bed for sleeping some of the time you might be more productive.”

“As a matter of fact, I’ve been applying myself diligently since I got here. My hands are cramped from typing and my eyes are strained from staring at the screen.” Starsky flexed his fingers and squinted.

“Yeah, sure. More like you’ve been surfing the net looking at new exhaust pipes for that silver death machine.” Hutch’s eyes dared him to deny it.

The guy knew him too well. Starsky took his legs off the desk, deciding evasion was the best move. “Hey, I thought you were gonna be later than this. You decide to bail on Vanessa?”

Hutch turned away. Starsky knew it was to hide his embarrassment and frustration. “No, I took her.” He paused, as though he was going to leave it at that. “She had an appointment at White Memorial in the Specialist Center.”

“You didn’t stay with her?” Starsky was surprised. He hadn’t expected to see Hutch for hours. Nothing happened fast in the medical system, even outpatient specialist appointments.

“She didn’t want me to,” Hutch said simply.

“So she comes all the way to LA, gets you to take her for a test, and that’s it?” Starsky couldn’t help but sound incredulous. “Hell, she could’ve just taken a cab.”

Hutch shrugged, obviously confused himself. “I know, I know. It doesn’t make sense, but she didn’t want to talk about it.” He poured some coffee. Starsky could see he was deep in thought.

Starsky hoped Vanessa’s foray back into their lives might be short-lived. “You think she’ll try to contact you again?” He tried to make the question casual.

“I really don’t know, Starsk. But she seemed damned tense when I dropped her off. Maybe she doesn’t want to discuss it until she knows something further.” Hutch walked to the desk. “Now, weren’t we going to check out leads on the Reynolds case? Samford runs an import business near the docks, doesn’t he?”

Sensing that Hutch wanted to veer away from Vanessa, Starsky changed tact. “Yep, that’s what Dobey said.” His gaze drifted to Captain Dobey’s glass-walled office. “Speaking of the Cap, he looks busy this morning. Think he’s opened that email we sent him?”

“That you sent him, Starsky. Keep me out of this.”

“Did you or did you not sit beside me when we ‘borrowed’ that PC downstairs?”

“Starsky, I didn’t even know what you were doing,” Hutch protested. “I was trying to find the roster before that dragon lady from Human Resources found us at her desk. How the hell was I supposed to know you were sending him a link to People’s Magazine’s freaking ‘Diets of the Stars’? God, the trash you fill your head with never ceases to amaze me.”

“Light entertainment. You should try it some time. Better than National Geographic issues from 1989. Anyway it was a link to the Kardashian’s Diet — ‘How Kim lost thirty pounds in fourteen days.’ With photos.”

“Between the drivel you read and the crap you eat, you’ll end up rotting your brain as well as your gut. And just as aside, it’s physically impossible to lose thirty pounds in two weeks.”

Better, Starsky thought. Back to their usual banter. Their own form of therapy. Far better than looking at Hutch’s worry lines when he talked about Vanessa.

“Ssshhh — here he is.” Starsky smiled congenially as Dobey entered the squad room and approached their cube. “Hey Cap’ — my other half is not as late as he thought he’d be, so we can head down to the docks now.”

“Hutch,” Dobey said, ignoring Starsky, “Starsky said you needed some personal time, something medical concerning a close relative? Hope everything’s okay.”

Hutch threw Starsky a quick look of gratitude. Starsky had tried to keep Vanessa’s name out of it when he covered for Hutch. “Thanks, Captain. I — well — we don’t know for sure yet.”

“Let me know if you need any more time.” He turned to Starsky, who was giving his captain an almost clinical appraisal, and scowled. “What are you gawking at?” Dobey’s broad dark face was creased in annoyance.

“Me? Oh sorry, Cap’n — I was just thinking that you’re lookin’ good. You been on some new diet we don’t know about?”

Dobey preened a little. “I’m just exercising moderation and control, Starsky. Something you might do as well. When I was your age, I could eat whatever I liked, like you do now. You’ll soon find out the party’s over where the body is concerned.”

“Cap’n,” Hutch said, “with all due respect, I don’t think Starsky’s body will ever know the party’s over.” Hutch poked Starsky’s stomach. Then he added for Starsky’s ears only, “Or any other pleasures of the body, for that matter.”

Starsky smacked Hutch’s hand away. “Sorry, Hutchinson. It’s the Starsky genes. Generations of pure bodily perfection. It means I can partake in many pleasures with little ill-effect.” He gave Hutch a special half smile to ram home the double meaning.

“Well, Starsky,” Dobey coughed, “your superior genes and — ah — other attributes aside — I suggest you get off your ass and start your working day. You two have been on Stamford’s tail for a week now with little to show for it.”

“All right, Cap’n. We hear you,” Starsky said. “But — um — have you thought that perhaps this moderation and control thing is making you moody. You know, I’ve been reading about those Kardas — ” The sudden warning on Hutch’s face shut him up. Hutch’s violent hand slice across his throat made sure of it.

“The only thing I’m controlling is the urge to give you both a double shift to make up for all the time you waste finding ways to irritate me, Starsky — the next time you decide to send me an anonymous email, cover your tracks a little better.”

“Huh?”

“Mrs. Simpson in HR didn’t take kindly to you two commandeering her PC. You’re lucky I talked her out of putting in an official complaint.” Dobey smirked. “And you call yourselves detectives…” He chuckled before entering his office.

“He nailed you, Starsk.” Hutch grinned at the look on Starsky’s face.

“Shut up, Blondie. He meant you, too.”

Hutch flicked his hand lightly at the side of his partner’s head. “Let’s hit the street. The morning’s half gone, and we’ve got work to do.”

~~~

Starsky was halfway through his third taco when Hutch’s cell phone rang. They were sitting in a small café catching a quick lunch after spending a fruitless morning questioning staff and notable clients at Samford‘s import business.

Hutch looked at the phone and put down his partly eaten wrap.

Starsky noted his unease as he recognized Vanessa’s number. “You gonna’ answer that?”

“Sure — sure.”

He looked anything but sure, Starsky thought. Any mention of Vanessa seemed to transform Hutch into a completely different version of himself, a version Starsky hadn’t seen for years. An uncertain, tenuous, always second-guessing himself version of Hutch.

Hutch picked up the phone and walked a few feet away.

The call was brief. Within moments, he was back.

“Vanessa?” Starsky asked.

“Yes,” was all Hutch gave him back.

Starsky wondered at the power of a woman who could make Hutch looked so trampled emotionally after a sixty second phone call.

“So, how did it go with the medical thing?”

“She didn’t say. I don’t think it’s something she feels comfortable discussing over the phone.”

Starsky kept his skepticism to himself.

“Anyway,” Hutch said, “she wants to have dinner tonight. She wants to meet me at some restaurant.” He sounded almost detached as though he was still trying to make sense of the call himself.

“You okay with that?” Starsky asked carefully. He couldn’t read Hutch well on this, and it left him feeling that Hutch was withholding something from him.

Hutch shrugged. “I just don’t know what she wants from me. But — I’ll go. Of course.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Starsky, she’s in town for medical tests. I think I owe it to her to have dinner with her.”

“You seem to think you owe her lots of things, buddy. I think you owe it yourself not to let her drag you into something that’s gonna make you uncomfortable. You’ve been fine all morning. Then, as soon as you hear her voice, you look like you’re going to trial or somethin’.”

Hutch shook his head. “This is just left-over shit from my failed marriage. A lot of people go through this when things end badly.” He crunched up his unfinished sandwich in its wrapper and stood up. “You think I’m doing the wrong thing going out with her tonight, don’t you?” The way Hutch said it left Starsky thinking Hutch might want him to talk him out of the dinner date.

Starsky sighed and gave up on his own lunch, wiping his face with the napkin. “I don’t buy this whole mysterious illness. I think she has some other agenda. Go to dinner, if only to get to the bottom of it. Just be careful, Hutch. That’s all I’m sayin’. Vanessa left you on the emotional scrap heap once before — don’t give her the chance to do it again.”

~~~

 Back at Metro, Hutch turned to Starsky as the elevator opened on their floor, and they headed for the squad room. Starsky was watching him in a way that told him he was reading the uneasiness Hutch was feeling at the thought of dealing with Vanessa at dinner. Since the phone call, Hutch could feel his anxiety levels rising steadily, and by the time they arrived back at Metro he was already regretting agreeing to meet with his ex-wife that night.

Sure enough Starsky let him know.

“That organic wrap you ate for lunch have bad sprouts in it or is there somethin’ else chewin’ your gut?”

Hutch cursed his own transparency when it came to his partner.

“No — it’s this damn case that’s got me uptight. We’re getting nowhere with it. If we don’t turn up something soon, Dobey’s going to be riding our backs.”

It was immediately obvious to Hutch that he hadn’t fooled Starsky. “Yeah — you’re right, Hutch, the case is at a standstill. I’m gonna research the other import businesses Samford deals with on the West Coast. It’s a one-man job and until we get somethin’ else to go on, there ain’t anywhere else we can go on the case so — ” he took Hutch’s arm to reinforce his suggestion. “Why don’t you take off early? Get ready for your dinner date.”

Hutch found himself over-thinking what Starsky meant by that simple comment. “Get ready? How the hell do I get ready?” Hutch bristled. “You mean relax, don’t you? You mean I seem uptight?”

“Jeez, don’t get all defensive. You seem pretty wound up about it so I just thought — ” Starsky suddenly stopped short and muttered, “Shit!”

Hutch glanced up and saw what had caused his partner to stop in his tracks.

Two uniformed female officers stood by the water fountain. They were talking quietly together and laughing as they filled their water bottles.

“What the fuck is she doin’ on this floor?” Starsky ground out in a low breath as he came to a halt.

Hutch stopped with him. Following Starsky’s glare, he tensed. Hutch stood in front of Starsky, blocking his view. “Just walk on by, Starsk. Just walk by and ignore her.”

The look on Starsky’s face suggested he had no intention of doing any such thing.

The shorter of the two officers looked up as she stepped away from the cooler, her expression suddenly wary. Small boned and youthful, she had auburn hair that was pulled away from her face.

Hutch thought again how pretty Clare was, almost angelic. Such deceptive looks for what lay beneath.

Her eyes narrowed as she whispered something to the other officer. Apparently, Clare had seen them, too. She stared at Starsky unflinchingly

“What are you doing here?” Starsky hissed beneath his breath, moving closer to her. Hutch looked up and down the corridor quickly.

“We both work in this precinct, David,” she said decisively. “Deal with it.”

As Starsky closed the distance to Clare, her partner did the same. Hutch had no option but to flank Starsky’s side.

“I don’t want to deal with it, Clare! Or you, for that matter,” Starsky said angrily. “You need to stay out of my face!”

Hutch quickly stepped between them before things escalated. “Starsky, let it go. Come on…” He gripped Starsky’s arm and tried to pull him towards the squad room.

Starsky wrenched away and moved even closer to Clare. “You think this is a game? You wanna rub my nose in the fact that we work in the same building? You wanna twist the knife a little more?”

The other female officer, whose nametag read “Houghton,” pushed herself between Starsky and Clare. “Back off, Starsky. Not everything’s about you.”

Starsky only then seemed to become aware of her. “Keep out of this, Houghton. Clare made damn sure that nothing was about me, didn’t ya’, Clare? How’s Lieutenant Carlson anyway?”

Before Starsky and Clare could escalate the argument, Hutch moved close to his partner, gripped Starsky’s forearm, and pulled him away. “Starsk. Enough.”

There were now other officers watching them. A few had slowed in their activities to see the drama. Then, as though he finally realized how public the setting was, Starsky seemed to get control of his anger. He nodded at Hutch.

Hutch nudged him in the direction of the squad room; Starsky gave Clare one last withering look and walked away.

Clare watched him go before turning back to Hutch. “I don’t need this attitude from him — or you, either. I know what you think of me. It’s written all over your face.”

Hutch lowered his voice as he confronted her out of Starsky’s earshot. “What else do you expect after you cheated on my partner with Carlson? I suggest you stay away from this squad room. Coming up here provokes him. All of this is still way too fresh, and pushing yourself into his domain is just asking for trouble. No one wants a public showdown right outside the squad room.”

“I’ll go where I please! Here in this building or anywhere else. David and I are finished; he’s just got to face reality.”

Hutch laughed bitterly. “He faced reality when he walked into your apartment to find you screwing Carlson. That was the day after you told him you wanted the two of you to be ‘exclusive.'”

Hutch could still see the shocked bewilderment on Starsky’s face when he showed up on Hutch’s doorstep late that night. Over the days and weeks that followed, Starsky’s hurt had not diminished, but was simply buried beneath bitterness.

Clare squirmed as Hutch crowded her against the water cooler. Houghton looked surprised. Hutch supposed there weren’t many people who got both sides of the story. Clare and Carlson had made a show of emotional commitment, and Clare had downplayed her relationship with Starsky. Only Hutch knew how deeply the act of deceit had cut into him.

“I fell for someone else,” she said defensively. “I didn’t plan it. It happens.”

Hutch’s mouth closed in a hard line. He couldn’t trust himself not to say what he shouldn’t say to another officer. “Stay off this floor. Even if my partner can eventually cope with you, I object to seeing your face.” He turned and stalked away before he lost control.

If they weren’t in such a public place, Hutch would’ve let loose with his real opinion of Clare and how deeply she had hurt his friend. However, it was neither the time nor the place, and it would do Starsky no real good. The damage was done, and Hutch was still trying to pick up the pieces for Starsky, because Starsky sure as hell didn’t seem to want to try.

He didn’t look back to see if she had left as he entered the squad room.

Starsky was waiting for him when he walked back in. “You didn’t have to do that, ya know?”

“Yes, I did,” Hutch said as he settled in their shared workstation and started looking through files. He was still bristling, and didn’t want Starsky to know how much Clare had gotten under his skin, too.

“Not your issue,” Starsky said quietly. “Not your fight.”

Hutch stopped sorting through the files and looked at him. “It’s my issue every day you remain in self-destruct mode, the way you have been since you found her with Carlson. You keep going at her like that in public, and she’s going to bring you up on charges. It would be so easy for her to ruin you over this if — for you to ruin yourself — ”

Starsky sagged boneless on his desk chair. “You’re right, Hutch. I should be over her. I don’t even know why it’s still so hard to do that. It’s just — I’ve got all this anger and I just don’t know what to do with it.”

“Oh, you’re doing something with it, partner. You’re turning it against yourself. Killing yourself slowly by degrees. And the worst of it, buddy, is that I can’t seem to help you stop. I can’t help you realize you’re worth more than that. Far more. You deserve to find the commitment I know you’re really looking for.”

Starsky looked at him closely, so closely that Hutch was certain Starsky could see all the mixed emotions he was trying so hard to keep hidden. Emotions that had more to do with Starsky than just worry about his recent behavior. Much more.

If Starsky read anything else on Hutch’s face he didn’t let on. “I sure can pick ‘em, can’t I?” he said lightly.

Hutch relaxed. Lately, he was showing too much of something he was sure Starsky wasn’t ready to see.

“Hey,” Hutch said with a small smile, “make that ‘we’. You think I have a better track record? Consider the current dilemma I face with Van…and all those that came after her.”

In spite of his anger over Clare, Starsky grinned. “That’s damn right. To hell with women. Fuck ‘em all.”

“Yeah,” Hutch said, deciding it was time they talked about this, “you’ve been trying your best to do that ever since Clare.”

“Smart ass. Always the smart ass, Hutchinson.”

“You going to deny it? You’ve been going through women like water. From where I’m sitting, it doesn’t seem that it’s helped much.”

Starsky looked away from his partner. “It hasn’t. And I tell you, Hutch, I’m serious when I say I’m done with it.” He said the next few words with more effort. “I’m done with their — their lies.”

Hutch’s response was softer, but his tone serious. “They don’t all lie, Starsky. Doing the same to them isn’t going to make the hurt Clare gave you any less painful.”

“Maybe not.” Starsky looked around the squad room and was relieved to see the other detectives engaged in their own tasks.

Hutch lowered his voice. “All I’m saying is, let it go. Let her go. For your own good. Okay?”

Starsky rubbed his face. “Okay. I got it. I hear ya’.”

“So? No more one night stands? At least for this week?” Hutch’s request had an edge of severity that he knew showed how concerned he felt.

Starsky looked up as if surprised by the seriousness of Hutch’s tone. “Okay, I promise to have a few quiet nights in. Just for you, partner. Happy now?”

“Happy.”

Starsky leaned in close and lowered his voice to the quietest of growls. “But that don’t mean I still don’t wanna’ rip Carlson’s face off if I get half the chance.”

Hutch understood, but he was still concerned. He squeezed Starsky’s arm, and answered in his own low tone. “That’s why you’ve got me. To make sure you don’t. I don’t want you to make a rash move that will leave me minus one partner. You run faster than me, so I need you. Alright?” Hutch was already logging on to his desktop and pulling together some hard copy files.

“Is that the only reason you don’t want to lose me? ‘Cos I put a sprint on your marathon?” Starsky pulled a face, looking wounded.

“Well that — and a few other reasons.” Hutch kept a straight face as he went back to the screen. “Now, let’s get started on this backlog of paperwork or I’m going to be late for dinner with the ex. And — I sure as hell don’t fancy anymore run-ins with pissed off women today.”

~~~

Starsky had been home for around two hours. After a hot shower, a flick through his home emails, and a quick tidying up of his neglected apartment, he was starting to mellow out. Following Hutch’s advice wasn’t such a bad idea. It actually felt good to have a night at home by himself with nothing more to contemplate than a cold beer, some left over pizza, and whether to chill out to some music or watch a DVD. In fact, he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d spent an evening alone, or just with Hutch, lazing back on his sofa. Without being out on some rushed date, after work drinks, and then inevitably — a lackluster experience in the bedroom.

It seemed forever, too, since the anger that gripped him had receded. Lately, he’d been pushing everyone away with his short temper, frayed nerves, and irritable moods.

Except, of course, Hutch.

Hutch was the buoy he swam to, the rope he clung to, the ledge he balanced on. But even more than that, Hutch was the force that stopped him from drowning, from falling, from tipping over the edge.

So even after he raged and acted out, slept around, drank too much, rode his Ducati too fast, and floored the crap out of his Mustang — Hutch was standing to the side waiting for him to get over it. Hutch remained undaunted and seeming unable to be used up no matter how much Starsky needed to take from him.

He carried his beer onto the balcony and breathed in the salty tang of the ocean, and wondered how Hutch was faring with Vanessa. He hoped for both their sakes he could get to the bottom of her problem, help her however he thought he could, so she could move her on with her own life. Hutch sure didn’t need her dragging him down.

His concern for Hutch aside, this was the first time in weeks that he’d felt his tension ease. And he admitted to himself that the grayness smothering him was not all about Clare. In reality, his pride was bruised more than his heart.

The truth was, he didn’t want Clare. And he didn’t want any of the women he had been involved with since Clare. The truth was, he wasn’t even sure that he wanted any long-term commitment to a woman at all.

Yet, he wanted something. Something elusive and just beyond reach. Something…too frightening to face. He didn’t want to look too closely at the deep want inside him.

He remembered last night’s unsatisfactory sex with Lydia, his unresponsive cock and his half-hearted performance. What the fuck was wrong with him? When he was with women, they did not satisfy him; when he was by himself, he had sullen moods. But he never — no, never, felt anything was wrong when he was with Hutch.

Something indescribable was radiating in the distance when the two of them were together. Lately, it had felt like it was coming closer. At times, like today, he felt it might be already upon them.

But at those times, he felt himself pulling back. Not yet. He wasn’t ready. Or was he? Was Hutch?

The source was getting too close to hold back. If he weren’t on guard, it would ambush him. This intangible and exciting something was not far away.

Perhaps it was time to prepare for it.

He was getting too tired of changing his linen every morning anyway.

~~~

It was an upscale restaurant. The fact that Vanessa had chosen it was no surprise to Hutch. It was, after all, Van — as a junior cop he’d had to stretch his beer and pretzel pay to meet her champagne and caviar tastes. Why now, when he’d made Detective Sergeant, a position of some worth, would she expect anything less of him when out on a ‘date’?

Determined to enjoy the ambience and the food, he gazed at the impressive wine list.

He’d picked her up from her hotel and had driven them to the downtown restaurant where she’d made their dinner reservation.

Glamorous as always, Vanessa was poured into a silky slip of a silver dress with matching accessories, her long hair coiled at the nape of her neck. Hutch still had an objective eye for her flawless presentation and had complimented her when he’d seated her in the car. He regretted it two minutes later when she made a derogatory remark about his car. Good manners had been ingrained in him since childhood. Vanessa had a similar upbringing; she’d been born into money, but had a tendency for sharp-tongued judgments, reminding Hutch that class could not buy manners.

He let it pass. Her opinions had ceased to matter to him a long time ago. Or so he hoped.

They were climbing out of the car outside the restaurant, the valet taking the keys from Hutch, when she tried to repair her earlier comments. “Umm — Ken, you know that I was only joking about your car before?”

He took her elbow as they walked toward the entrance, but didn’t answer.

She went on. “I just don’t know why you need to be so — so contrary — driving around in something so — so trashy. It’s like your apartment. It looks like — ”

“Van,” he cut in as he took her arm more roughly than he intended and escorted her toward the restaurant. “Quit while you’re ahead, okay?” He knew she could hear the anger in his tone.

She had the grace to color as they entered the foyer and waited to be escorted to their table.

Neither of them spoke as they waited and the silence stretched to the point that Hutch wanted to turn on his heel and walk out the doors he had just entered.

He looked in at the plush interior of the main dining area. What was he doing here? He wondered if Starsky would be true to his word and spend the evening by himself. He had to resist the urge to send him a text. He was saved by the arrival of the Maître D’, who led them to their table. Of course, it was near the window, offering them an uninterrupted view of the cityscape.

Naturally, Hutch thought. Vanessa would have arranged it just so.

They’d been seated for five minutes, perusing the menu and wine list, before Hutch broke the icy silence. Putting the wine list aside, he asked Vanessa, “Do you still prefer white meat for your entrée?” He could hear the formality and emotional distance in his voice. When she nodded coolly he asked, “Are you happy with a Sauvignon then?”

“Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you, Ken,” she answered demurely.

After ordering, Hutch turned back to face her. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his water glass. “Vanessa. I agreed to dinner so we might talk. There are things you don’t like about me or my life; you make that clear. However, we’re no longer responsible for each other. So, let’s try to start again. I’m concerned about you. I’m here to offer whatever support I can while you’re in LA for your — your — ah — medical problem. So, can we just have a relaxed evening together?”

Vanessa ran a manicured finger down the starched white dinner napkin, and gave him an orchestrated look of meekness. “Of course. I came to LA to see you because I’m scared. I don’t want to fight with you. Let’s just drink a glass of wine and share a quiet meal.”

“Do you want to talk about what’s happening with you? This medical — problem? Have you been given bad news?” He paused while watching her.

“I’m scared, Ken. Simply scared and unsure how to cope.”

Her vague comments only elevated his frustration. “Van–” He halted as the waiter appeared with the wine.

It was a minute or so before they were alone again. He turned to her, determined to broach the medical issue head on.

But Vanessa raised her wine glass and dipped it toward his. “Ken — I’ve had a stressful few days. We’re at this lovely restaurant, and I just want to share the evening with you and put all my worries away for a few hours. Can we do that?”

Her expression and words brooked any attempt to delve deeper. He recalled Starsky’s words. He knew then that this dinner would not be useful in getting to the bottom of his ex-wife’s visit.

He could see her measuring him up, waiting for some sort of response — her face wary enough to show she would block him from pushing the boundaries. Vanessa was scared alright. However, Hutch felt it had little to do with her health. There was more to this, as Starsky suspected. As Hutch himself knew when he first laid eyes on her at his door.

Tired of confrontation and antagonism, he ignored his concerns. Picking up his glass, he completed their toast. “To a relaxing meal then. Remember though, if you want to talk about it, I’m here sitting right across from you.”

“Thank you, Ken. I appreciate that, but tonight, more than anything, I just need to unwind a little and think of something other than my worries.”

They spent the next half hour in small talk, Vanessa sharing a little about her last two years in New York working in the fashion industry, and briefly, her failed relationship.

Hutch reciprocated by filling her in on his family’s latest news, keeping it superficial.

The waiter moved away after serving the main course, and Hutch poured them each more wine, relaxing just a little more.

Vanessa picked up her fork. “You don’t see much of your parents then? How about David? I always got the impression he was extremely close to his mother?” she asked idly.

“Starsk?” Hutch answered, a little surprised that she had raised his name. “Sure — if his mother had her way she would see her ‘Bubelah’ every weekend.” He smiled at the Yiddish endearment Starsky’s mother used to refer to her hardened LA cop son. “But New York is a hell of a distance for him to travel, and with our hours and schedule, it isn’t easy. Still, he’s finally taught her how to use Skype,” Hutch laughed fondly, “and now he wishes he hadn’t.”

Vanessa didn’t share the humor, instead looking intent. “But he has his brother back there, too, doesn’t he?”

“Nick? Yes, but he does manage to get over here from time to time.” Hutch refrained from saying what he thought of Nick’s random and — from his point of view at least — far from welcome visits.

He had little time for Starsky’s younger brother.

“I heard about that mob boss that got killed here some time ago. You and David were involved with the case, weren’t you? I saw it on the news… Durniak — Joe Durniak, wasn’t it?” He was aware of Vanessa’s watchful eyes as she asked the question.

Hutch paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. Her question had come from left of center, confusing him. Something in Vanessa’s eyes as she waited made him cautious. “Didn’t know you were interested in our cases, Vanessa. But yes — Joe Durniak was gunned down.” He said it quietly, aware of their public setting.

“David knew him well, didn’t he? I remember years ago when you two were talking about him at dinner one night. That must have been hard on David — his death, I mean?”

“I suppose it was. Difficult for him. But as a cop — well — ” Hutch picked up his fork again, suddenly uncomfortable now that Starsky was the subject of the conversation.

“How’s your trout? Cooked the way you prefer it?” he said, deflecting the subject.

“It’s fine thanks.” She waved her hand at the plate, obviously not interested in the meal, as it remained largely untouched. “So does David still see Durniak’s family? I know it said in the papers that Durniak had a son about David’s age? Must be — umm — hard for David, like you said — being a cop and knowing — well, having connections with that side of the law — ”

The relaxed mood that had only just begun to settle on Hutch shifted. Vanessa’s questions concerning Starsky, and the intensity with which she pursued them, had him more than confused.

“I really don’t know much about Durniak’s family,” he told her. This was partly true. There were aspects of Starsky’s past involvement with the Durniak family that Starsky kept to himself. Hutch respected that. “Anyway, like you said, Starsky’s a cop. That comes first — always will for him, no matter what or whom he knows.” He said the last words with just enough edge to make Vanessa pull back.

She closed her mouth against whatever else she was about to say. She started paying attention to her meal.

Hutch was left with another layer of concern about Vanessa’s sudden desire to be back in his life.

What exactly did she want?

~~~

Starsky waited as long as he could before asking Hutch about his dinner with Vanessa. Ten minutes after he’d picked Hutch up for work, his partner had still not mentioned of it, absorbed in the same pensive state he had when he’d climbed into Starsky’s Mustang.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Are ya’ gonna tell me how it went?”

Hutch looked at him vaguely, which earned him Starsky’s elbow to his shoulder.

“Last night with Vanessa? It went okay, then?”

“Okay?” Hutch seemed to be evaluating that. “I guess you could say that.”

“You guess?” Starsky gave him a sidelong glance.

“Well, she was less emotional than that first night.”

Starsky didn’t miss his partner’s distracted look. Something about the previous evening was clearly niggling at him.

“And?” Starsky wanted more, especially given the quiet consternation hovering over Hutch like an ill-fitting jacket.

Hutch shrugged. “We caught up on what each of us has been doing since we split. It was — I don’t know — an innocuous evening with a woman I used to be married to. What more can I say?”

Starsky felt impatient. “Did she fill you in on how things went with the tests she’s had?”

“She said she’d rather not talk about it. She wanted an evening to take her mind off it.”

Starsky rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, making sure Hutch would hear his slight grunt of disbelief.

Hutch frowned at him. “Starsky. You and I have no idea what she might be going through. It could be just too much for her to open up about.”

“I can understand why she might want to share this stuff with you — since you’ve been her husband, it gives you, well, certain rights to the big worrying stuff in her life — hell, like being really sick. But then, to come on strong the first night with all the drama, and then just clam up… Makes no sense, Hutch.”

It was Hutch’s turn to look sideways at his partner. For a moment, he looked like he might argue the point but then conceded. “I was thinking the same thing all through dinner. But she started to get defensive when I focused on it, so I backed off.”

“Humph.” Starsky made sure it was a little more pronounced than his previous grunt.

“You’re still not buying it, are you?” Hutch asked.

“Just that none of it adds up, buddy.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment, Starsky concentrating on traffic, Hutch scrolling through his phone messages.

“So, when’s she leaving town?” Starsky finally asked.

Hutch looked up, seeming surprised at the new question. “Not sure. She really didn’t make that clear. Anyway she never mentioned wanting to meet again, either.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then tonight, you and I are on for dinner at Hug’s.” Starsky wasn’t in the mood to nudge Hutch anymore on the subject. “It’s been ages since we’ve hit his joint.”

“Hey — I’ve been hitting Huggy’s joint plenty, pal. By myself. You’re the one who’s been shackled to a date every night. Huggy’s beginning to think you’re boycotting him to avoid paying that humungous bar tab you racked up.”

“You still haven’t cleared that tab?” Starsky kept a straight face and made sure to keep looking straight ahead.

“Not when seventy percent of it is yours.”

“Hug knows I’m good for it. Anyway — dinner? Tonight? Since you want me to cut down on indiscriminate dating, it’s your duty to keep me on the straight and narrow.”

That got a laugh out of Hutch. “It’s never worked before, buddy, but I’ll try. I won’t let you pick up any strange women — unless I’m interested in them, too.”

“And here I was thinking we were too old for a threesome. Well, you anyway babe, with that bad back of yours and all,” Starsky teased.

“Starsky — no threesomes.” Hutch said emphatically. Starsky turned to see if he was serious or joking, but before he could, Hutch spoke again, more softly this time. “In fact, no women at all, okay?” Hutch rubbed his forehead and looked away. “I’m tired of watching you.” Starsky couldn’t miss the sadness that crept into those last words.

Starsky felt his breath hitch. The words alone seemed superficially jokey. Hutch’s delivery was not. What sat between them in the drawn out pause was no longer funny to Starsky.

“Tired of watching me, or tired of watching me with women?” Starsky felt he might be uncovering something crucial with the question.

There was another pause from Hutch, and Starsky waited.

Hutch gave him a measured look and a strained smile. Or was it a sad smile?

While Starsky was trying to figure that out, Hutch broke the quiet, avoiding the question. “So, dinner is on you. Huggy’s got a great new piano player doing sessions ‘til the end of the month. He does his last set by nine, and I’d love to hear him again. If we can cut out of work on time tonight, we’ll catch most of it and get fed at the same time.” Hutch was looking at him again, the sadness replaced by a lighter mood. Whatever he might have revealed was safely blanketed again.

Huggy, piano players, and dinner plans. Safe ground. The status quo of their relationship.

Starsky went back to concentrating on traffic and Hutch to his phone messages, but Starsky sensed they were both thinking about the indefinable ripple that had just passed between them.

How desolate safe ground could feel. He was as tired of the status quo with Hutch as he was of changing his bed linen every morning.

 ~~~

“Just leave it there, and I’ll get it in a moment,” Vanessa told the room service waiter. “Thank you.”

She waved a hand toward the hotel’s waiter who had just carried in her breakfast tray. Pulling the phone away, she scrabbled in her handbag and held out a few dollars to the young man as a tip. He left quietly, closing the door behind him.

Taking a steadying breath, Vanessa resumed her conversation. “I’m back. No…no, nothing to worry about. Just room service. I — I haven’t run into any trouble since I’ve been here. Yes, I know, I know. I’m being careful, and I’m keeping my eyes open.”

She paused and listened for a while, then rolled her eyes in frustration. “I’m not a fool, Jake.” She looked down at her hand as she listened; her brow furrowed at the chipped manicure. She knew her irrational annoyance over it was out of perspective given the situation she was in. However, the familiar focus on her grooming took her mind away from her increasing anxiety.

She paced the room. “Jake, stop it, will you! Don’t talk to me like I’m one of your dumb little admin assistants. I know my way around life. I was married to a cop for nearly five years, you know. Just because I haven’t got Marco beside me anymore doesn’t mean I can’t work a few things out for myself. I would know if someone’s onto me. There’s been nothing. Besides, the only time I’ve been out, I’ve been with my ex. Trust me; he’d soon realize if someone was lurking behind doorways. He’s a cop twenty-four-seven. Okay? Good. No, I haven’t found the opportunity yet, but I will. I have an idea of where — yeah, I’m sure it’s safe.” Her impatience rose as she listened to him. “God, Jake! Will you stop worrying? I haven’t even talked to him about it yet.”

She wandered over to the breakfast tray to walk away some nervousness. Disinterestedly, she lifted the lid. Uncovering the contents of the hot meal did nothing to entice her appetite. She picked up a triangle of toast and nibbled the corner as she listened to her caller.

“Ken seemed to believe me. He dropped me at the Specialist Center and was very sympathetic — offered to stay and wait with me. I tell you, it was hard enough getting him to leave…I was getting worried he would just stay and — ”

Nodding and listening, she put down the toast to pour black coffee from the heated carafe.

“I told you — I’d already booked a consultation with a specialist in case he checked up on me. Why? God, you can be stupid. I needed to give him a reason why I was in LA, that’s why. I could hardly just show up without a back story.”

She listened for a few more minutes.

“Of course, I didn’t tell him about Marco! You think my detective ex-husband wouldn’t get suspicious if I told him my boyfriend had been killed? I embellished the truth — told him Marco recently dumped me when I found out I was sick. Added to the overall effect and worked in my favor.”

The coffee was strong and hot; she sipped appreciatively as she listened.

“Yes — yes. I’ve already told you that. It went — well, it went as I expected. No, not yet. Look, I haven’t had the chance. It’s not that easy, you know. I can hardly come out and throw it at him when I just got here. This guy — he’s different from my ex-husband.”

She could feel the tension in her hand as she gripped the phone, tension caused by just the thought of dealing with the man who always made her feel like he could see right through her. The man who had always (if she was honest) intimidated her, and she prided herself on not being easily intimidated. “He’s — well, he’s not the easiest man in the world to deal with, and I am not exactly one of his favorite people.”

That was an understatement, but there was little point in alarming Jake anymore than he already was.

“I just have to find the right time and place. Jake, I feel like you’re pushing me on this.” She dropped the coffee cup with a clatter and jumped as the hot liquid sprayed the back of her hand.

“Alright. Alright! I’d like to see you manage this situation. You’re calling the shots, but I’m the one who has to pull this off. I don’t feel comfortable taking this to him. He can be — let’s just say you don’t know him like I do. If anything, he seems — more difficult than he used to be, and he was always unpredictable, even then.”

She pressed her hand on a folded napkin, but it needed ice water.

“You just make sure you’re doing your bit like we discussed, and I’ll do mine. I need to go. No — I’ll call you. Don’t call me again; wait for me to contact you when and if I have something definite to tell you, because all you’re doing is making me anxious. I’m doing my best here, Jake, and your leaning on me isn’t helping. I don’t remember Marco appointing you the boss if something happened to him.”

She sighed, and listened for a few moments more.

“Okay — I’ll try for tonight, but it won’t be easy to convince him. I’ll let you know as soon as I talk to him again.”

She ended the call, and pushed her hair off her face before running a hand across her brow. She swore she could feel the pressure in her forehead, her skin bunched and tight with worry and fear.

Shoving the breakfast tray away, she picked up the phone again. Before she could change her mind, she entered the number she had jotted down before. The time had come to do what Jake pushed her to do.

As she waited, she caught her reflection in the desk mirror. There it was — just as she had felt it. All over her face. She was afraid and becoming more frightened with every moment.

She readied herself for the call and prayed he would be available to talk to her. Prayed he would be prepared to talk to her. And getting him to agree to meet with her? That was going to be the real hurdle.

The line buzzed. She waited.

Damn you, Marco…why did you have to leave me in the middle of this mess?

~~~

“Hey, Starsky!” Slattery, one of the older detectives in the squad room called him as soon as Hutch and he walked in. “Check out your desk. Call came in on your extension, twice already. You two never seem to be at your work stations.”

“That’s because we’re out on the street where the real action is, Slattery. You should try it some time. Not too many perps pop outta’ the computer screen, ya know.”

“Well then, tell the people who are calling you to get you on your cell. I’m tired of picking up your calls.”

The day hadn’t even begun, Starsky thought, and officers were bitching already. The real ‘bull pens’ were in the squad rooms, not down in the holding cells.

Starsky raised his eyebrow at the grouchy officer. “So who asked ya to?”

“And by the way,” Slattery threw in for good measure, “Dobey’s been looking for the two of you.”

Starsky stripped off his jacket and straddled his office chair, picking up the scribbled phone number.

Hutch came in behind him in time to hear the comment about Dobey.

Starsky thumbed the piece of paper on his desk. “Slattery — who’d you say this call was from?”

“Some woman. She wouldn’t give me her name or any other information. Sounded pretty determined to talk to you — and only you.” Slattery wore a sarcastic grin before moving closer to Starsky, making a theatrical show of looking about to ensure he was out of earshot of other staff. “Thought maybe it was one of your lady friends. We all know how ya got the ladies on the run lately, Starsky.”

Starsky flicked the note aside, and didn’t miss the chilled look that Hutch threw at Slattery. “Shut it, Slattery. I’ll call her later. Gotta see the Cap’ now. We’re late as it is with that damn traffic.” He moved to pick up files from the desk to report to their captain.

He was surprised when Hutch put his hand on the files and shook his head. “No. Just take a minute to call her back.” He lowered his voice and stepped further into the partitioned workstation, blocking out Slattery’s curious gaze. “It’s probably your date from the other night. The one you left in a not-so-happy state when you came to see me. Sort it out — quickly. I’ll start with Dobey.”

Starsky was a little nonplussed at Hutch’s attitude. “Thought you were full of good advice about me not wasting my time with one night stands,” he whispered back, giving Slattery a narrow-eyed warning to walk away.

As Slattery did, Hutch picked up the phone and handed to him. “I meant it. So deal with her, and put it behind you. Then we can deal with our day and whatever Dobey has waiting for us.” He jerked his head toward the other cubicles. “Don’t give Slattery any more reason to rib you about this stuff.” He stood up, taking the files. “Come in when you’re ready. I’ll cover for you. Five minutes.”

“I don’t even know that it’s Lydia,” Starsky said. “Could be anyone calling me on this line.”

Hutch shook his head. “She knew you’d have to respond to a call coming into the squad room. Just talk to her, and figure out what you have to do to move on.”

Before Starsky could argue with him, Hutch took the files and walked off toward Dobey’s office, fixing Slattery with a withering look before pulling open the captain’s door.

Starsky was left looking at the scrawled number on the note. The number meant nothing to him, but then how many new numbers had he stored in his cell in the past month — most of which he never used again?

He hesitated. Lydia had his cell number, but like Hutch said, she probably thought he’d dodge her calls, so called him at work. Maybe. But despite Hutch’s advice, he was reluctant to return the call. Punching in the number, he braced himself for Lydia’s tirade.

When the call was finally answered, he was shocked.

Hearing Vanessa’s voice made him automatically glance at the captain’s door, as though Hutch could hear her voice across the distance. He spoke quietly, but with a decided edge. “Vanessa? Were you looking for Hutch? They gave the message to me by mistake.”

“No, David. I wanted to talk to you. I didn’t want to risk you answering your cell in front of Ken. I thought leaving a message at the precinct was the best way of going about this. I don’t want him to know about this call. Please.” He could hear something frantic in her voice.

“Know what?”

“Is Ken with you?” she whispered urgently.

He already didn’t like what was happening. “Not right now.” He looked again toward Dobey’s office, feeling guilty for even admitting that much.

“I need to see you.”

“You did see me. Only yesterday. Where you and I are concerned, once was enough.” It came out before he could censor it.

“Please. Don’t make this harder for me, David. It’s hard enough just making this call to you.”

He frowned at the stress in her voice. “Make what hard? You’re not making any sense.”

“Will you meet with me? I’ll tell you then. Please, David. I didn’t make this call lightly. This is very important.”

“What about Hutch?” Starsky was increasingly unsettled by the secretive nature of her call.

“He can’t know. I — I don’t want him to know. Please.” Vanessa’s voice bordered on frantic.

“Does this concern him?”

He heard her blow out a breath. “Indirectly. I need your help, and that will help Ken, too. But meantime, you can’t tell him.” Her voice hitched. “I know you don’t believe I have feelings for Ken, but I do. I really do. I don’t want him to know about this as it could be — well, it wouldn’t be good for him.”

Starsky leaned forward in his chair and rubbed his forehead. “You’ve got to do better than that, Vanessa. You want me to meet with you about something without Hutch’s knowledge, then I need to know why. I don’t like the sound of any of this.”

He heard her suck in a deep breath. “David, I’m in real trouble. But if I can’t sort it out, Ken could get dragged into it, too. And if he does…it could mean his career…everything. Worse than that, it will put him in real danger.”

Unsteady now, he looked again at the captain’s closed door. “What the hell do you mean by danger?” He thought of the evenings Hutch had spent with Vanessa and how little he’d really said about it. How little he’d really revealed about Vanessa’s surprise visit.

Did Hutch hold back on what he’d told him about Vanessa’s sudden re-entry into their lives?

Absorbed in his own maelstrom of worries, he was jerked back by Vanessa’s voice.

“Please, David. Just hear me out.” Starsky thought she might be crying. Theatrics or not, he couldn’t be sure. He was still stuck at the mention of Hutch at risk.

Dobey’s office door opened suddenly, and Hutch’s head poked out. Seeing Starsky still on the phone, he pointed behind him indicating Dobey’s impatience with his delay.

Starsky held his hand over the phone’s mouthpiece. “Be right there.” Hutch remained in the doorway, letting him know his time was up. Starsky spun his office chair away from Hutch’s gaze. He couldn’t look at him while he decided what to say.

“Okay, my place. Tonight. Eight o’clock.” Starsky could see Hutch waiting for him, concerned that the call was taking so long. He mumbled low into the phone. “I’ll text you the address later, okay?” Starsky hung up the phone, and avoided Hutch’s eyes.

“Dobey wants your input on the case,” Hutch said, although it was obvious his mind was more on Starsky and his phone call than the case. “You done with your call?”

“Yeah, all done.” Starsky walked over to him.

As he got closer, Hutch said, “You don’t seem too happy about it.”

“What?” Starsky was still thinking about Vanessa’s warning.

Hutch stopped him from entering Dobey’s office. He lowered his voice. “The phone call? I gather that our dinner tonight at Huggy’s is off?”

“Sorry, I didn’t see any other way out of it. Rain check?” He felt nervous, as though Hutch could see right through his lie.

“So which one of your ladies is this?”

Starsky was ready. “Lydia. You were right. The woman I so rudely walked out on to come to you. ”

“I see. It seems you’re not quite as finished with her as you said.”

“I — look, we ended badly, and I was hard on her. Now I feel like every sort of heel. She started crying and….”

Hutch just looked at him, something indiscernible on his face. Had Starsky disappointed him?

“I get it, Starsk. You don’t have to explain.” The way he said it made Starsky realize Hutch was trying to hide his disappointment.

“We can make Hug’s tomorrow night,” Starsky offered, concerned that he had left Hutch feeling rejected. But, it couldn’t be helped. He didn’t want to drag Hutch into another round of worry about this thing with Vanessa. More than that, Vanessa had him stirred up. He hoped she was just using drama to draw him in. How the hell could Hutch be in danger?

Hutch continued to look at him closely, and Starsky wondered if he could tell he was lying.

Finally, Hutch nodded. “Sure. Tomorrow night. Come on. Dobey’s waiting.”

As Starsky followed Hutch into Dobey’s office, he felt sick at the whole scenario. Sick and guilty.

The worst of it was, he didn’t even know why.

 

Chapter Two

It was one of those evenings for Hutch, long and relentless. He felt dragged along its time span in a slow motion of self-recrimination. An evening so difficult to get through that even his haven, his semi-covered balcony filled with his “jungle” of plants, as Starsky like to call it, failed to give him peace.

Dejectedly, he turned away from the shadowed balcony and walked back inside his living room. It was late, far later than he realized. His unstructured evening had passed him by while he was submerged in circular thoughts. He wasn’t hungry, felt too apathetic to pull a beer from the fridge and too wrung out to watch a movie. Despite his physical lethargy, however, he was too primed with anguish to consider sleep.

Besides, he needed to work through what was twisting his insides. He could not afford distractions or obstacles like sleep.

First, he had to push through resenting how Starsky had disappointed him once more. He’d had too many evenings like this, but tonight, somehow, it felt far worse. Starsky had gone off again in pursuit of some woman. Of course, it would end badly. The woman would be hurt, even more than she had been before, and Starsky would hide his feelings beneath another layer of denial. Starsky would come away with another notch on his bedstead and a fresh conviction that the women in his life caused him nothing but pain.

The darkness that had been steadily enveloping him since Clare and had ripped his ego to shreds was only going to grow. How bleak was that resentment going to get before Starsky would call a halt to his self-punishment? It had been so long since Starsky’s lightheartedness had gone.

Tonight was really Hutch’s own fault. He’d told Starsky to answer that call knowing full well it would end like this. Maybe he’d been testing Starsky? Maybe he’d hoped that his partner would refuse to return the call to Lydia. Choose instead to spend the evening with him over a quiet dinner as they had planned.

Christ, Hutchinson! Face it! You’re simply jealous.

No. Even as he considered the simplicity of that admission he knew it was more complex than that.

So complex that sitting here in his own comfortable space was doing nothing to help with his tumultuous emotions. He felt like he was trapped in a box with all those parts of himself that he was too scared to examine.

He knew he was going to be like this this evening. As soon as he and Starsky had gone their separate ways and not on to Huggy’s as they had planned that morning in the car. Those few moments in the car where the air was dense with all that bound them together and yet was keeping them apart. Unspoken thoughts and withheld actions. In those moments, Hutch sensed they were both being pulled toward something they were powerless to resist.

Hutch had come so close in that stillness to telling Starsky what he felt and had been feeling for such a long time now. But like most things fleeting – like pain and beauty – the moment passed him by, and he was once more left with the war of relief and sadness that he hadn’t taken the risk.

Again.

How many times had he not taken the risk? Far too many to remember. For the prospect of throwing away caution and losing was just too frightening for him.

He had told Starsky in the car – in an ambiguous way – that he was tired of it all. And that much was true. The overload of Starsky’s women did tire him. However, it was the other part of the question that Hutch had not answered that had him full of self-remorse this evening.

“Tired of watching me?” Starsky had asked him – so softly, so carefully.

And he hadn’t the strength to answer him. The fear of loss was just too frightening again.

No, Starsk. No. It’s not you I’m tired of watching.

For how could he ever tire of watching him?

What he was really tired of was his own state of inertia. So very sick of watching himself watching Starsky do what he was doing. Allowing Starsky to punish himself by hurting others. Standing uselessly on the sidelines while his closest friend, the most significant person in his life, cast about for some commitment of love, some antidote to his painful emptiness.

That was what Hutch was really tired of experiencing. That was what had really worn him down.

Especially when he believed he had the solution, had the answer to stop all of Starsky’s self-destructive anger. When he had the power to pull him out of his self-imposed darkness and back toward the light that was the real Starsky. The Starsky he knew and loved.

His Starsky.

In the past few weeks he was getting closer and closer to taking the risk of disclosure.

And then Van showed up on his doorstep and put another obstacle in his path.

So now they each had their demons to deal with that held them back. Him with Vanessa and all that she dredged up; Starsky with his perceived failure with women – each of them working in the opposite direction to where Hutch knew they should be heading.

So here he was. And there was Starsky. And in between were all the women – in both of their lives – past and present. Failed, wasted, hurtful unions that Hutch was worried Starsky would keep repeating, over and over until he got so brittle, so hardened that he might be lost to him forever.

He had to make a choice. Take the risk and possibly lose it all. Or do nothing and keep the Starsky he had now. The Starsky who was fast becoming surly and bitter. Certainly not the jaunty, easy-going guy – but a version of Starsky nonetheless and better, far better than no Starsky at all.

Hutch knew it was time to move forward and step into the risk. It might get him all he wanted or lose everything he already had, but either way he had to step out of this place he was in and move forward.

~~~

It had been more than twelve hours since Starsky had spoken to Vanessa on the phone and when he opened the door to his apartment and saw her perfectly made-up face, styled hair, and figure-hugging dress, he wished he had never agreed to meet with her. The worrying guilt he had tried to hide all day from Hutch paled into insignificance with what was twisting his gut as he ushered her inside his apartment.

“David?” Vanessa said, as he closed the door behind her. “You managed to arrange this without Ken knowing?”

Whatever the hell, “this” was, he thought.

He locked the door behind her, not even sure why he felt the need to do so. After all it wasn’t as though Hutch was likely to make one of his customary unexpected entrances – not when he believed that Starsky was spending the evening with Lydia.

“You think I’d be standing here if he knew?” Terse and abrupt, his cutting jibe reflected his mood.

Dropping her light coat on the nearest sofa, she surveyed his living room and ocean-side balcony. She walked toward the balcony and looked at the ocean view. “Ken told me about your new place. It’s a long drive back into the city to your station though, isn’t it?”

Her attempt at small talk seemed out of place, but he obliged her. “It’s worth the commute. I like keeping work and home separate.” Which of course was a fallacy as he and Hutch, as working partners, spent the majority of their free time together. Well, they had until lately…since Clare.

“And so close to Ken’s studio in Venice,” Vanessa put in, as though she had seen the contradiction herself in his proclamation about work and home.

Starsky shrugged. “It’s convenient for us to live close. Makes sense.”

“Hmmm…” she started, then stopped from saying anything more judgmental. “Ken loves that squalid little apartment for some reason.” She moved about, gliding her hand over a display cabinet, touching a painting. Her eyes landed on a freshly stubbed out cigarette in the small ceramic bowl he used at an ashtray. Promising himself daily that he would give up the recently resumed habit (not having smoked since his days in the army), he had refused to acquire an ashtray. He wondered if she was aware at the way she turned up her nose as she looked at the discarded cigarette. Disapproving, judgmental, and aloof.

Perversely, her non verbal censure made him want to light up in front of her there and then – but told himself to get over it, and instead picked up the bowl with the butts and turned toward the kitchen.

“You want a beer or something?” Opening the door of his fridge, he continued to watch her as she examined his apartment. He could sense her quiet distress buried beneath her cool façade. Vanessa was not her normal cool self. It was as though she was already wary of him.

Despite her quiet unease she aimed to project a shaky disdain with the way she prowled catlike from one corner of his living room to the next. He found her graceful moves almost theatrical. Pulling a six pack of cold beer from the fridge he eyed her more closely. Clearly beneath her veneer she was actually nervous and the orchestrated moves were an attempt to cover her unease.

“I – ah – don’t drink beer.” There it was again. The subtlest expressions of distaste flitting across her features. Beer and cigarettes, the antithesis to her social persona.

He clicked his fingers lightly as he set the beer on the counter. “That’s right. I remember now. You never liked Hutch drinking it either. Showed a lack of class.”

She frowned back at him. “It had nothing to do with class. It’s strange that you choose to remember it that way. I just don’t like the taste. I shouldn’t need to apologize for what I prefer to drink.”

She was ruffled, and he was surprised. Vanessa wasn’t normally so easily displaced in conversation. He didn’t want to argue over social preferences. Not now.

“I’ve got some white wine – chardonnay. Is that okay with you? ” She nodded, and while he uncorked the bottle and poured her a glass, he was aware that she had turned away from him and was looking out at the rapidly darkening ocean. She turned as he approached and accepted the glass from him, his beer in his other hand.

“Ken told me you had bought near the beach. At least you have a nice view and it’s quiet.” She gave a small tight smile. “Not like his quaint home over that noisy little restaurant in that artsy district of Venice. It’s so – well – so – ”

He took a swallow of beer, cutting her off sharply as she cast around for a suitable derogatory descriptor. “Why’d ya’ want to see me, Vanessa?”

She took a shaky breath before putting the wine glass on the coffee table. She clenched her hands together. “I need your help, David.” Her tone was pitched to match the request.

“I thought we established that much on the phone.” He knew he didn’t sound sympathetic. “This help you need from me – is this the real reason you’re back in LA? You’re not really sick, are you, Vanessa?”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“So, how about you uncomplicate it for me. What’s the story? The real story, not the one you’ve given to Hutch.”

She sighed, but wouldn’t meet his eyes. She drank from her glass as though to fortify herself. “I have a friend back in New York. He’s been helping me get through a difficult time since – I lost my boyfriend, Marco. Anyway, Jake, my friend – I told him you’re from New York, that you have some connections there.”

He raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

“Ken told me about your life in Brooklyn, and that you sometimes mentioned your past when you’d come for dinner. Jake hopes you might use those – um, contacts to help us. He and I – well we both need to get out of a difficult situation.”

Starsky looked at her flushed cheeks. This little speech was costing her. “Start at the beginning. This ‘Marco’ – is this the man you told Hutch walked out on you when he supposedly found out you were ill?”

“Hutch told you,” she said accusingly before her accusation fell away to reveal resignation. “Of course he told you. He tells you everything. Seems as though nothing has changed with the two of you, has it?”

Starsky didn’t even attempt to answer her. “Is he? The asshole who Hutch said walked out on you?”

“Yes – that’s Marco. We were together for over a year. He got me involved in some things I wished I’d never heard of. He brought a lot of trouble into my life.” She looked wistful. “Some good times, too – but in the end Marco brought me real trouble.”

“He’s out of your life now, though? For good?”

“You could say that.” She nodded shakily, sadly. “Marco’s dead.”

He was startled by her flat-toned admission. “Dead? Hutch only told me he walked out on you.”

“Of course he told you that. It’s what I told him, after all. I’m fairly sure he believes it, too. I don’t want him to know any of this, David. He can’t help me.”

“And you think I can?” Starsky raised his thick brows.

“I’m in deep trouble, David. Marco is not just dead – he was killed. He took something, and thought he could get away with it – thought we’d take the money and run. We were supposed to leave New York last week. Jake, his best friend, was helping us with the job. I saw Marco early Monday, and that night we were to take a flight. I was packed and waiting all afternoon. He never came back. Jake called and told me they’d killed him.”

Starsky grabbed her by the shoulders. “Who is ‘they’? What did he take? What was Marco into? Drugs? Coke?”

“Meth. Straight from the lab.” It came out in a rush.

Starsky cursed. “Start at the beginning and give me the full story. How long had he been dealing in meth?”

“Probably just over a year. I didn’t know. By the time I had feelings for him I knew something wasn’t right. I started to put it together. His disposable cash flow was too high, his lifestyle was just too – too highbrow for what he must have been earning. I got suspicious and -”

“And yet you stayed with him? Knowing he was a drug dealer. Christ, woman!” Starsky shook his head in bewilderment, running his hand through his curls.

“He wasn’t a dealer. Not really what you’d think of one anyway,” she answered defensively. “He just fell into it. The business opportunity, I mean.”

“Of course. A business opportunity.” Starsky scoffed, with no attempt to mask his derision.

She gritted her teeth at his reaction. “I know how it sounds, but that’s how it started. He just – fell back into contact with some old college friends. They gave him a taste of what he could have. But he never did the big transactions like they did. He was just on the periphery. He had a good career in a stock brokerage on Wall Street. He was smart, had two degrees in business and finance but -”

“But thought he’d make better money faster in the drug business?” he finished for her. “Vanessa, for God’s sake, you were a cop’s wife for some years. You know from your experience with Hutch’s job what happens to people in that lifestyle.”

“I never knew it would come to this! Marco had only ever dealt with small amounts….” She tapered off, sounding unconvinced herself.

“Until the packets he dealt in got bigger, the transactions of cash larger….” Starsky concluded, weary experience in his words.

She nodded, conceding to his insight. “This last one – I mean, this big last job. Marco had never done anything like this before. The two guys he knew – they worked for this big boss – and they decided to take off with one of the biggest hauls they had ever moved for him. They asked Marco to help them, but in the end they treated him like he didn’t rate. They were going to walk away with more than ten million. The cut they offered Marco was ridiculously small. He deserved more. He and Jake hatched a plan to steal the parcel and clear the country before the other guys knew what he was doing. I don’t know what went wrong – but it did. Very wrong. The two guys – they must have known what Marco was planning…”

“Ten million?” Starsky gave a small whistle of shock. “That’s a sizeable load of meth.”

Vanessa nodded. “Some big boss commissioned the stuff – he bought the services of a few corrupt industrial chemists and set them up in a fancy lab. The meth was different from the usual strength – potent compared to what was already on the streets. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”

“Modified meth. Very much the preferred thing right now,” Starsky said. “You were going to run with Marco when he stole the parcel?” He knew his distaste showed on his face.

She shook her head. “I wasn’t in on it. I only found out at the end – when Marco and Jake had it all worked out.” She frowned at his reaction. “Don’t look at me like that! I didn’t want to lose him. He was leaving the country until it was safe…” Her voice trembled. “I couldn’t bear to lose him.” She started to cry.

He was unmoved by her emotion. “You sure it wasn’t the millions you didn’t want to lose?” he asked drily.

“I don’t expect you to believe me.” Her voice quavered as she fingered her damp eyes with care. “You only see me as a money-hungry woman.”

He ignored her accusation. Now was not the time to go there. “So what happened?”

“I told you, they killed him! The two supposed college friends killed him. Under orders from the head guy, I suppose, but they still murdered him in cold blood. And it’s just ripped me apart.”

He was losing his patience. “This is a sad story, but I don’t think you’re here to get me to sympathize with your boyfriend’s death. Why did you bring up my life in New York?”

She finished her wine. “May I have a refill?”

As he brought her the bottle, he realized her cool veneer was slipping away as the alcohol eroded her defenses. Topping her glass, he asked quietly, “You have the meth, don’t you?”

She looked at him, surprised. “How -?”

“I’m a cop. Give me some credit.”

“Marco never came back, but I know where he stashed it. So, Jake and I, well, Jake is trying to help me sort out the whole mess – ”

“I bet Jake is.”

“He’s my friend,” she cried out. “He was Marco’s best friend. He doesn’t want to see me get hurt.”

He had to impress upon her the gravity of the game she was playing. “You’ll get more than hurt – you could wind up exactly like your boyfriend. You and this Jake. Dead.”

“That’s why I need your help, David. That is why I came here to LA.”

It all started making sense. “You think I can help you? Why? Just because I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks in Brooklyn?”

“It’s closer to you than you realize. I remember hearing you and Ken talk about you and your father’s relationship with him. He was fond of you.”

Starsky stood up straight, his face intent. He knew exactly whom she was referring to. “The man these college buddies worked for? You mean they were Durniak’s men?”

“Yes.” She watched his face, then looked down as though the reaction in his eyes was more than she could take.

It was clear why she had come to LA, why she had wheedled herself back into Hutch’s life, why she was standing in front of him. She’d used Hutch just to get to him. He had something that Hutch didn’t have – a connection to Durniak. It was clear now, very clear, just how much trouble Hutch’s ex-wife was in.

“Even if I could help you, why should I?” But, he already knew the answer. Manipulation. It was always Vanessa’s best skill.

“You think Ken would want me to die? What would that do to him? His ex-wife killed because she was caught up in a drug deal gone badly? He feels – deeply.”

“Yes, he does. And you hurt him deeply. You killed the part of him that cared about you a long time ago.”

Her slight laugh enraged him. “Maybe I did. But still – it would be disastrous for his career.”

He paced across the room before he could lash out at her for threatening Hutch. “Look, Vanessa, even if I could – Joe Durniak is dead. You know that, I’m sure.”

“But his son has taken over control of his organization.”

“Tony Durniak is not Joe.” He tasted the bitterness in his words.

“You knew him, though. You must have. He’s close to you in age. Lived in the same neighborhood. You must have grown up with him, must know of each other.” Her eyes were desperate.

“You’re wrong.” But he was too quick with the denial, and he knew Vanessa heard it.

“I saw photos in the papers. You went to Joe’s funeral,” she persisted. “You flew back to New York for it. You were photographed with Tony and his family.”

“Simple social formality. Joe’s death and funeral sold newspapers. The paparazzi were out in force. Lots of people were photographed. Like I said – Tony is not his father. I knew Joe. Tony and I – we weren’t friends.”

For the briefest moment he forgot Vanessa and let himself be taken back to a squalid room in New York with resentment flaring in Tony’s eyes as he faced Starsky down. “Whatever history we had wasn’t good,” Starsky said firmly.

He saw disappointment in her eyes as though she had just opened a gift box to find the present inside was not what she had expected. “I don’t believe you. I know you were significant to the Durniak family – just like your father was.”

His eyes narrowed. “What the hell do you know about it?”

“Ken talked about you so much. I know a lot more about you than you realize, David.” She hesitated as if deciding what else to say. “You always mattered more to him than I ever did.”

That had cost her. The Vanessa that he knew, the cold, selfish Vanessa would never willingly admit that she was second place to Starsky when it came to Hutch. She was showing how much she needed to sway him over.

His gut clenched as though she had just disclosed something that he only recognized emotionally for the first time.

So close and yet always so far.

She was looking at him strangely. “You don’t think I learned a lot about your life from Ken?”

“I don’t believe Hutch would have shared that much with you. Of course, I don’t doubt that you tried to find out.” He looked thoughtful. “So this why you strung Hutch along for dinner? To pick his brains about me and the Durniak family?”

She shrugged and he knew she would never admit that Hutch had not shared details of his life with her. “I’ve researched Tony Durniak and his dead father well enough to find a connection between the two of you, no matter what you’re trying to deny now.”

“Have you been paying for information in New York?” He already suspected she had been.

Her expression said it all. “Jake, not me. He has a lead in the NYPD. You were our only real hope of getting out of this mess.”

Starsky shook his head. “Then your friend. Jake, is a stupid bastard. The only information he needs to know I’d have given you both for free. Your friend doesn’t need to pay an inside cop to tell him that Tony Durniak will kill him. You two have taken Durniak’s mother load – he’ll track you down one way or the other.”

“Not if you help us,” she said, her voice strangled. “I know you’ve never liked me, but I hoped that for Ken’s sake you would – ”

“What? Wipe your slate clean? You’ve made an enemy of the Mob, Vanessa. You have to go to the police – lay it on the table. Hand over the meth, hand over Jake, and plead your case with them for protection. They might be favorable since you’ll be giving them a portion of Durniak’s dirty business on a platter.” He pulled at her forearm insistently, needing to drive home the point. “There’s really no other way out of this for you.”

“NO!” She backed away from him. “No way will I destroy my life by taking this to the cops. They’ll only use me; they can’t stop Durniak from getting to me. But you could. I know you could! Why won’t you help me?”

He almost laughed. “I’m a cop, not a mobster, Vanessa.”

“You’re not just a cop – you have a past.” Her tone was accusatory.

“Regardless of where I’ve come from and who I was, I’m a cop now.”

“If you won’t help me, I’ll have to run. Ken will never know what happened to me – and if I do die, it’ll be on your head because you refused to help me.”

“I’m not Hutch, Vanessa. When it comes to you, I have objectivity.”

“Ken would hate to hear the way you’re treating me.” The petulance in her voice sickened him.

“Oh honey, that is so not going to work with me.” He half laughed as he shook his head at her. “Remember this is me you’re talking to, not Hutch.”

He pulled his cell from his pocket and brought up the contact screen. Holding it up, he offered it to her. “Here. Why don’t you call him? Let’s bring him over. You can tell him all about how I’m treating you.”

She all but recoiled from the phone. “NO!”

“No? I think yes,” Starsky pressed. “I’m not happy about this secret meeting anyway. I don’t like keeping the truth from him. It’s not how Hutch and I work, not who we are.”

“He doesn’t need to know. I – ” she seemed to be grasping for the words. “I’m worried enough about how all of this will affect him.”

He wasn’t surprised at her attempt to fabricate concern for her ex-husband and he felt his jaw hardening at her deceit. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re losing sleep over that.”

“Look David -”

“No, you look, Vanessa. You haven’t changed one single bit. You’re still as selfish as ever. Now your greediness and scheming has landed you in trouble. So, you’ve blown back into Hutch’s life to dump the danger on his doorstep.” He stepped closer to her as his voice rose in anger.

She lunged for him, striking out with her nails. They caught him across the top of his open-necked shirt. He felt the scratch run deep across his skin. Wide-eyed at her impulsive strike, she stepped back as though frightened he might retaliate physically.

He was strangling with indignant rage but kept his distance. “Ah, of course, the Vanessa specialty. You like doing that, don’t you?” He touched the gouge and looked at the blood smeared on his fingers. “Do you know how many times I had to see scratches like this on Hutch’s face and arms?” he demanded, his voice low and fierce. “You won’t do that again. Not to me – not to Hutch. Not ever you understand?”

She was stepping back even further, her eyes round with fear from his threat, when the stillness between them was shattered. Starsky whirled at the crashing boom of breaking wood behind him.

His apartment door smashed open wide, banging against the wall with tremendous force, the jamb splintering and the walls around it vibrating with the jarring impact.

Two large men in dark clothes and ski masks waving semi-automatic weapons dominated the entrance to the room. Starsky pivoted and reached for his own gun automatically. His left hand came up empty. In his rush to prepare for his meeting with Vanessa, he’d shoved it in his closet when he came home without taking the time to secure it. Now, all he could do to protect Vanessa was shove her behind him. As the intruders kicked the broken door partly closed, they quickly entered the room.

Vanessa, crying out in shock, cowered behind him.

“Try to stay calm,” he told her, holding her back behind him with one hand while he faced down the masked men. Their ski masks were well secured, one navy and the other black, their clothes nondescript dark and their feet in boots. Starsky noted their fine fitting black gloves.

The two intruders didn’t speak; the one with the navy mask held his gun so he had a clean shot at either of them if they moved. Vanessa’s earlier soft tears gave way to choked wet gasps. Starsky stepped sideways, putting himself in front of Vanessa, facing the navy-masked man directly. “It’s alright, Van. Just stay quiet and say nothing.”

The other one, the black-masked man, split off to search the apartment. As Starsky watched him move through the place, he could tell that he was not adept at his role. And the one pinning him and Vanessa had a stance that suggested he was nervous. Starsky was sure these were not seasoned pros, so not likely to be Durniak’s hit men. Not that it made them any less dangerous. If spooked or threatened, they could be lethal. He wondered if they were the two buddies Vanessa’s boyfriend had double-crossed.

The man with the black ski mask returned with Starsky’s Beretta and holster in his hand and held it dangling from his finger like a trophy. “Pretty fancy piece you got here.” He backed away, keeping his own gun leveled at Starsky before sliding Starsky’s weapon onto the table behind him.

Starsky raised his hands as the semi automatic was jabbed toward him.

Behind him, Starsky could feel Vanessa trembling. He wondered if she recognized them, even masked, as Marco’s buddies.

“You gonna tell us what this is all about?” Starsky asked.

“Shut up. Sit in this chair.” Black mask shoved Starsky toward one of the dining room chairs.

Vanessa gasped when they were separated and tried to go toward him.

“You!” the navy-masked man said, pointing to her. “Stay where you are.” He moved closer to her and grabbed her arm roughly. “So, Vanessa – where is it?”

That answered Starsky’s question about whether the three of them knew each other.

Vanessa was falling apart, any traces of her usual bravado gone. She was rigid with fear. “Marco never gave it to me – never even told me where he stashed it.”

“Bullshit!” black mask said. “We know you both had tickets to leave New York. As soon as we took care of him, you grabbed it and ran. You think that LA was far enough away for you to hide?”

“No, I wasn’t trying to hide. I wasn’t. I – I’m here to see my ex-husband,” she stammered.

“How nice, a marital reunion,” the black masked man said, turning toward Starsky and assuming he was the ex-husband. He turned his masked face back toward Vanessa. “Marco said you were married before – to a cop. So that explains the holster and gun.”

Vanessa started to shake her head and splutter something to correct him, but Starsky quickly interrupted her, his voice now assuming more of an edge. “I didn’t invite her, ya know. Every time she drops in, it reminds me why I divorced her in the first place.”

The two men laughed at Starsky’s derogatory slant at Vanessa.

Starsky could feel Vanessa’s desperate eyes on him, not understanding what he was trying to do. He did his best to warn her with his eyes to play along. He had to keep these thugs away from Hutch.

“So – you’re the cop she came running to with the meth? Guess she thought you’d be able to bury it deeper for her.” Black Mask poked his gun at Starsky’s shoulder.

“I told you, I don’t have it,” Vanessa insisted tearily. “I came to see Dav – ah – my husband for support because I was frightened of what Marco had gotten me into. I swear I don’t know anything about where Marco stashed the meth.”

The navy-masked man backhanded her in the face, dropping her to the floor. Black mask turned away from Starsky to see what had happened. With his attention diverted, Starsky leapt up, plowing into him, taking him by surprise. The suddenly blow forced the criminal to drop his gun. It skidded away on the floor as Starsky drove his fist into the startled man. Scrabbling on his knees, Starsky lunged for the gun, but was stopped when the bigger man kicked him hard in the chest. The blow drove Starsky back against the coffee table. His rib cage ached; he gagged on bile. Struggling to catch his breath, he felt the gun’s cold barrel pushed against his throat.

Blinking tears of pain from his eyes, he tried to assess the situation. Vanessa was sobbing quietly on the floor; her nose was bleeding and her cheek red from the harsh blow to her face. The black masked man who Starsky had toppled was upright again, rubbing his lower gut and looking at Starsky like he wanted to kill him.

He was outraged – his eyes bulging as he pressed the barrel harder against Starsky’s jugular. “One of you had better start talking. Where the fuck is the stuff? Spill it.”

Leaving Starsky, he wrenched Vanessa up from the floor, his fist bunched in her hair. “We can leave her pretty face intact or, Mr. ex-husband, you can watch us beat her to pulp. She came here to get you to help her move the stuff. So you must know where it is. We’re not leaving LA without it.”

Before Starsky could come up with another move, Vanessa spoke up. “I never had it. Marco left it with Jake.”

Starsky knew that he shouldn’t have been shocked that she would sell out her friend so easily. Did she think she could actually succeed with this strategy? Did she really believe that she could bargain her way out of this?

“And who is Jake?” asked navy mask.

Starsky could hear genuine curiosity in his question. So, they hadn’t done their homework. Green at their game. But green players could be dangerous – very dangerous.

“Marco’s best friend,” Vanessa choked out. “He and Marco stole the meth. I wasn’t involved. He’s back in New York. You think I’d fly over here with that much meth for God’s sake? My – my husband knows nothing about where it is.”

The two men looked at each other.

“Details,” said black mask.

“His information is in my purse…let me get it for you. Please.”

Navy mask plucked up her handbag and, holding the gun directly to her head, he pushed it roughly at her chest. “Get it.”

With shaking hands, she pulled out a business card from her wallet. “Jacob Webster…his business contact is – please – please…” She handed it over to him, and watched him look at it before he slid it into his pocket. Starsky could see her chalky face beneath the blood. Something in the masked man’s eyes had obviously alarmed her. With the man’s back to him he couldn’t know what she was staring at, but whatever it was, was scaring the hell out of her.

“Okay, Vanessa, you’re coming back to New York with us and help us find this Jake and Durniak’s meth.” Navy mask smoothed down Vanessa’s hair with one hand and kept his gun trained on her with the other.

“No, please! Just leave me here. Jake has it, I told you already. It’s the truth!” She whirled around and cried to Starsky, “Don’t let them take me!”

Starsky knew that once they located Jake and the meth, they’d kill both of them. Starsky saw Vanessa’s frantic expression. She knew it, too.

She was crying in earnest now, her face streaked with mascara and blood. Her show of weakness made the man holding Starsky under gunpoint chuckle.

It was only a slim opportunity, but Starsky took it. He shoved his arm up, deflected the gun away from him while kicking out at black mask’s legs. For a brief moment, Starsky had the upper hand, toppling his opponent to the floor. He rammed his knee hard into the man’s chest. They were both struggling for the gun still clutched in his opponent’s hand.

As he grappled physically on the floor, Starsky caught a peripheral view of Vanessa. She screamed, thrashing about wildly to pull away from the navy-masked man. Starsky saw her aim a wild kick at the man’s groin. His bellowing howl rang out as he doubled over, clutching at his wounded balls. His gun clattered to the floor as he cursed and writhed in pain. Then, while Starsky focused on his own struggle, he heard Vanessa scuffle as she scrambled to her knees some distance away from him.

Then navy mask yelled, “Drop the gun, bitch! Now!”

Starsky frantically tried to pull away from the stranglehold black mask had on him, the gun still wedged between their bodies. He twisted violently under the grip of black mask trying to see Vanessa. Freeing his head enough to turn, he caught sight of her again. She was on her knees, sobbing and hugging a gun possessively to her chest as she aimed it toward her attacker. She was pointing it upward, directly into the gut of navy mask as he swayed above her still clutching one hand to his groin.

Navy mask yelled again. “Drop it, I said!” He kicked her in the chest. She careened to the side, the gun now loose in her hands. He threw himself at her.

“Vanessa DON’T!” Starsky called out at the same moment his grip on black mask’s gun slid away. He went for the man’s neck, but never made it.

A blinding blow to his head made him crash against black mask’s body. Pain and light exploded all around him.

He started losing consciousness as nausea flooded him. Vanessa screamed again, the sound raw. Even as the room and the action receded, he heard the unmistakable sound of his own Beretta being fired at close range. Once and then a second time – the crack of gunfire echoed around him before crushing pain took everything away.

~~~

The pain in Starsky’s head was familiar enough. He rolled his head gingerly and felt the brush of carpet fibers against his cheek and a light dampness.

Blood. His blood. From a scalp wound that had been busted open by a gun butt to the side of his head.

Oh yeah, he’d felt this pain before, more than once over the course of his career.

The fact that he couldn’t remember details of the event concerned him until flashes and images started pouring into his brain.

Crying. Screaming. The sound of a gunshot. Gunshots.

As the memory took hold and the images became clearer, he gasped and closed his eyes. The smell of blood, metallic and cloying, filled the room. It was too strong to be just from the gash on his head.

Steeling himself against the pain, he rolled gently onto his side.

Vanessa lay close by. Her shining hair fanned out around her beautiful face; her graceful limbs were almost artistically arranged, like a ballerina who had dropped dramatically to the stage. Beneath her body, the carpet was heavy with fresh blood. The skin on her face was not yet mottled pink. The blood spilled all around her was still moist and glistening. So, she’d been killed only a short time ago. Sitting up slowly, his head spinning, he looked around as he began to remember what happened.

Turning his head further, he took in the damage done to the living room. His apartment had been ransacked. They must have searched for the meth before taking off.

Shifting his weight, he attempted to get to his knees. As he did, his hand brushed something hard and cold.

His Beretta. Equidistant between Vanessa’s body and him, where the killers no doubt left it. She’d panicked; tried to run for it, so they shot her.

Hutch’s ex-wife was dead on his living room floor, killed by his gun.

He had to call Hutch. Then, he’d call it in. But first he had to talk to Hutch.

Reaching into his coat pocket for his cell phone, he battled to stay upright as nausea and dizziness assailed him. Just as he wrapped his hand around his phone, pounding footsteps sounded at the damaged doorway and he jerked his head painfully toward the commotion. For the second time in the evening his apartment was being stormed. Two uniformed cops charged into the room, their weapons held in front of them. Santa Monica Police – not LAPD. He was outside of his own jurisdiction – outside of everything that was familiar and normal.

“Police. Get your hands in the air. Drop that phone, too. Now!”

Starsky did as they ordered, letting the cell fall to the rug as he slumped to one side, falling listlessly against the couch. For several seconds he feared he would lose consciousness again.

He recognized one of the two officers straight away and, despite his clouded head, his name came to him. Perez, a young Hispanic officer who had served some time in his and Hutch’s precinct. Perez clearly remembered him, too. He could see his dawning recognition.

“Jesus, Sergeant Starsky!” Perez looked sideways at his partner. He moved in closer to where Starsky sat hunched against the couch. His gun out in front of him, his eyes swept across Vanessa’s body to the gun lying beside it before scanning the apartment.

“It’s just me here, Perez. And the victim. The men who trashed my place and killed her are long gone. They knocked me out cold.”

Perez nodded but walked off anyway to do the sweep, stepping around Vanessa’s body carefully, as Starsky knew he would. The cop he didn’t know continued to cover him while Perez moved through his rooms. He was as pale as Perez was dark, his skin lightly freckled and his hair copper colored. He eyed Starsky with wariness.

When Perez came back and stood in front of Starsky, he nodded briefly at his partner and holstered his weapon. “All clear, though like Sergeant Starsky said, the place has been overturned.” Perez looked at Starsky. “You’re bleeding from a head wound. You don’t look too good, Sergeant. We’ll need to call the paramedics when we call this in.” He turned to his partner “You want to do that, Cassidy?”

Cassidy nodded while re-holstering his weapon and walking to the side with his radio. Starsky heard him asking for a homicide team, crime lab, and medical examiner as well as the paramedics. The whole thing seemed surreal. Was he really crouched on the floor beside Hutch’s dead ex-wife? Starsky thought of Hutch hearing about this through police channels, not through him. He wished he’d had a chance to call Hutch himself, but right now that wasn’t possible. He doubted they would give him the chance.

Perez was watching him with concern. Crouching down on the floor beside Starsky, Perez asked, “What the hell happened here? We got called in for a domestic with gun shots.”

Starsky touched his bleeding head gingerly, frowning with the effort of concentrating. Despite his confusion, he had to present something coherent. “I was with her,” he motioned toward Vanessa’s still body, “when two men in masks crashed in through the door. They were armed. We engaged, and they knocked me down.” He raised his hand wearily to his still bleeding head wound. “One of them whacked me with his gun, the other tackled Vanessa with mine. I was barely conscious when they shot her with my weapon. I think – she grabbed it before….” He shook his head to clear it. “She — she panicked and tried to run. I – I couldn’t stop her…” His voice faded out, his throat raspy with anguish.

He lowered his head against the couch, closing his eyes. “How long ago? When did the call come in?” he asked weakly.

“Ten minutes. We responded as soon as we got the call, but were a few blocks away and then had to locate the apartment.” Perez scribbled notes on what Starsky had told him.

“That means I was out for at least five minutes.”

Cassidy was briefly examining Vanessa’s body while Perez wrote and looked about the room. “These men you say that attacked you both? You knew them?”

“No. But I know who they might be…probably from…east coast. They were connected to – to Van – to the victim.” He struggled to make sense of his own thoughts. He knew these first moments when cops entered a crime scene mattered. “She didn’t know them personally, but knew what they wanted.”

Cassidy raised his eyes and looked at Perez. Perez continued to take notes as he asked. “Your place has been turned over. What is it these men wanted?”

Despite his pounding head, Starsky knew he had to be careful with what he said without any legal representation. “I don’t know all that much. Drugs – they were looking for a stolen stash of meth that Vanessa was somehow involved with back east.” Starsky could see Perez’s consternation. “I had nothing to do with any of it. First I knew of it was tonight.”

From where he was crouched beside Starsky, he gave Vanessa’s body a long look. “And the victim?” Perez asked. “You knew her? You said she was here with you when the intruders broke in.”

Starsky’s gaze went back to Vanessa. “Yeah, I know her. Her name’s Vanessa Hutchinson.”

Perez did a double take at the name.

“Yeah…she’s Hutch’s ex-wife. My partner’s ex-wife,” Starsky clarified for Cassidy.

A look passed between the two uniforms, and Starsky felt the air thicken with their unspoken thoughts.

Even as scrambled as his head was Starsky knew what those unspoken thoughts would be. Still he had no strength to correct their misconceptions.

Perez stood up and turned to Cassidy. He was obviously going to limit his questioning of Starsky beyond the initial summation. “No problems with the call in, Cassidy?”

“A homicide team is on the way. The crime lab team will be here soon. Paramedics as well. I gave the details to Communications and asked them to alert Sergeant Starsky’s captain.”

“I need to call…my partner.” Starsky moved his hand to reach for his dropped phone.

“Sorry, I can’t let you do that,” Perez said. “Not until you talk to the attending officer from Homicide.”

“I can’t let -” Starsky sucked in a breath. “Hutch needs to hear this from me.”

“Come on, Sergeant.” Perez was gentle but insistent. “You know this is standard procedure. The victim is your partner’s ex-wife. I can’t allow you to talk to him at this point.” Perez held out his hand for Starsky’s phone, and Starsky slapped it into his palm.

He struggled to his feet only long enough to sink down onto to the couch. His rib might be busted, and his head hurt. His body was one indistinct blur of pain.

He thought of how Hutch would feel when he was told Vanessa was dead. And how he would feel when he learned that she was killed in his partner’s apartment.

He thought of Hutch and how much he wanted to have him here beside him to make this living hell go away.

~~~

The quiet night was wearing on Hutch. He’d had enough of his own indecision. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cell. He noted the time – well after ten. Late enough that Starsky should be finished with Lydia. His finger hovered over the keypad. Telling himself he was only checking on how things had gone for Starsky, he decided not to delay any further.

The phone buzzed several times before going to voice mail. Disappointed, Hutch tossed the phone on the coffee table and rubbed the back of his stiff neck.

He was ready for that beer now.

 

Chapter Three

It seemed like hours that Starsky had been sitting slumped on the couch, waiting with the pain filling his head and clouding his sense of time and place. Of course, hours hadn’t passed at all, only minutes. As a cop, he knew that once a homicide was called in things moved typically fast. Especially a homicide involving a cop. He struggled not to succumb to overwhelming fatigue and bone-aching pain. His head and ribs were screaming for something, anything to dull the throb.

In his far from lucid state, he felt uncertain of how much of the nightmarish scene around him were real and how much were a product of his own confused perception. Could he really be here beside Hutch’s dead ex-wife? Been with her when she was murdered? Or was he the cop who had walked in to find her like this? Perhaps he really wasn’t sitting here doubled over in pain, under police watch. Maybe he could stand up and walk around, walk outside — to find Hutch who was out there talking to the medical examiner and the forensic team. Maybe it was just a normal night shift on the job and his head was playing tricks on him.

The sound of a voice outside his apartment filtered in to him. He listened to the voice and caught some of the words. He looked sideways at the body, at Vanessa, and remembered all too clearly that he had not just found her like this, but had heard the shots that rammed into her chest, and the screams as she had faced death head on.

This was real — all too real. There was no Hutch outside waiting for him to join him as he always did to confer on the case. They weren’t going to walk out of here together to let the forensic team wrap up the scene while they went back to the station to punch out the report before driving home together after another long tiring shift.

Tonight there was no ‘together’ for Starsky.

In this, Starsky was alone.

Perez was walking around just outside the door of the apartment talking on his radio. He sounded agitated. The second officer, Cassidy, was still standing by Starsky, jotting down notes and looking over at Starsky occasionally.

Eventually Perez walked back in and came up to Starsky again. He looked more than a little harried. “How are you doing there, Sergeant?”

There was little purpose in telling Perez the truth. “I’m doing okay, Perez. There some sort of hold up with the paramedic team?”

Perez looked apologetic. “We’ve had word there’ll be a delay in the Santa Monica Homicide team and the paramedics getting here. Apparently, there’s been one hell of a pile up on Ocean Avenue — something to do with some shots having been fired between two vehicles — Traffic is at a standstill and all available units and paramedics have been called to the site. The two detectives let me know they will meet you at the hospital. They’ll be tied up responding to this major pile up for the next hour or more. The Forensic Team will be here shortly and the Medical Examiner. I’ve spoken to the paramedic by phone, and he’s satisfied that we can arrange to transfer you to the hospital by car.”

The thought of getting away from Vanessa’s body was welcome and any delay in being interrogated by the local crime team was okay by him.

“Sure. I’m fine to be transported. I’d rather not have them question me until I get something for this damn head. So we gonna head off now?” Starsky knew the drill only too well. Hadn’t he been on the other side of this scenario countless times? Still none of that insider ‘know how’ helped at this point. It did nothing to stop him from feeling like he was floundering.

Perez looked even more uncomfortable. His gaze moved to his partner, Cassidy, and then toward the entrance of Starsky’s apartment. “Umm…as you know, Sergeant, Internal Affairs from LAPD will need to be involved. Cassidy already flagged it with the team when he called it in.”

Starsky nodded wearily. A cop with a dead body beside him, one with two bullets in it from his own weapon, would be more than enough to bring in IA. “I expected as much.”

“Internal Affairs fielded the call from the Santa Monica Department about — ah — about you being involved in the case.”

Involved in the case. Starsky almost smiled at the polite reframing. Well he was damn well involved, that was for sure.

“Well yeah, I’m sure they’ll be lining up at the hospital, too. Maybe I ought to start assigning timeslots for the interviews. What’ya think, Perez?” His listless humor failed to bring any lightness to Perez’s grave face, and he sensed that Perez had more to say.

“Ah — well, it seems that an IA lieutenant is already on his way here. He wants to ask you a few questions now — before we take you to the hospital.”

Starsky felt the first flash of anger since he’d woken up from the blow to the head. The mention of IA always galled him. No amount of dread and anxiety about his situation could stop that automatic response.

IA? Here already? Bad news travels fast.

Before he had a chance to say another thing, Starsky looked up to see Lieutenant Matthew Carlson walk in through his broken doorway. In his less than coherent state, he wasn’t sure if his mind was playing tricks on him or if it really was him. This was the man Lydia dumped him for. The man she had cheated on him with. Christ! The man he caught in bed with her. The sight of Carlson was just another shock to Starsky’s already over-taxed system. Perez jerked around a little to stare at him when Starsky muttered loud enough for him to hear. “What in fuck’s name is he doing here?”

Carlson said a word or two to Cassidy before crossing the living room toward Starsky. Middle height and overly muscled, his suit pulled in all the wrong places, its fluid lines lost on his robust frame. His dark brown hair was almost black and swept off his brow to highlight a face that was too broad and flat to be handsome. Dark brows that were almost feminine, and an accentuated square jawline added to the severity of his appearance. Eyes that were pale brown and flat added an animalistic quality to Carlson. It was the same impression Starsky got every time he looked at Carlson, a man he knew only vaguely but despised.

As Carlson’s gaze zeroed in on him, Starsky stared back. Perez shuffled awkwardly, as if unsure of the reason for the tension.

Carlson walked up to Starsky and stood above him looking down from his vantage point. “Sergeant Starsky, do you understand why I am here? ”

Starsky felt an overwhelming urge to spit in his face but quickly suppressed it. “I understand why IA is here, sure. Standard practice. What I don’t understand, Carlson, is why the hell you are here.”

“No?” Carlson raised his eyebrows. “I thought that would be obvious. The Santa Monica boys contacted us as soon as it was clear one of LAPD’s men was implicated in a murder.” His expression was neutral as his gaze swept over Vanessa’s body.

“And you just happened to take the call when it came in?” Starsky forced himself to sit up higher fighting through the discomfort the effort caused him.

“Yes.”

“Where’s your partner, Carlson? You usually show up solo to crime scenes?” Starsky knew he was out of line but couldn’t stop himself.

Carlson smiled coolly and refrained from responding to Starsky’s jibe. “Sergeant, can you tell me briefly what happened here tonight?”

Starsky frowned at him. “I’ve already given Perez a statement. You want brief points? Two men made a forced entry. One of them shot and killed the victim. Like I said to Perez and Cassidy, she grabbed for my gun, struggled with one of them while I was tackling the other one. The gun went off as the other one pistol-whipped me, and then he must have shot her again. After that they trashed the place, looking for what they wanted and ran.” Starsky got it all out and then sat back a little watching Carlson’s face. “I’d prefer not to say anything else until I can get medical treatment for my injuries. And I’m gonna want legal representation before I answer any more questions.”

“So these men killed the victim in front of you and then left you alive?” Carlson paused a moment, pursing his lips. “Sloppy of them, don’t you think?”

“That’s what went down.” He knew better than to open his mouth about the way he felt about Carlson. “Did you go out of your way to take this case, maybe because of our personal history?” Starsky knew it was unlikely Carlson would satisfy him with a response, but he was unable to restrain himself from asking the IA lieutenant the provocative question.

“Sergeant Starsky, you should be more concerned about your personal history with the deceased.” Carlson again looked at Vanessa’s body. “You’ve been found at a crime scene, beside a dead woman. You got here all by yourself. I’m just the officer on duty.”

Tired, Starsky slumped further into the chair. Bracing his arms across his aching chest, he tried to filter out Carlson’s voice.

“I understand this is Hutchison’s ex-wife.” Carlson rubbed his hand along his jaw as he looked down at Vanessa’s body and not at Starsky. “Were you two having an affair?”

Starsky battled to hold back the verbal attack he wanted to unleash on Carlson and said nothing.

“Did Hutchinson know you were with his ex-wife tonight?” Carlson asked blandly.

Starsky sighed remorsefully. “You can ask me that when my lawyer arrives. I’m ready to go to the hospital now. Unless, Lieutenant, you want to go up on charges for neglecting an injured witness at a crime scene.” He couldn’t help adding the more than subtle goad.

Despite Starsky’s own internal battle to stay cool and collected, Carlson displayed no such difficulty. He stood looking calm and professional as he noted the scene, quietly measured up Starsky and managed to remain non-reactive to Starsky’s undertone of resentment.

Starsky scrubbed at his face, feeling the bristle of his stubble caked with dried blood from his head wound. The physical evidence of his injury made him feel displaced. Tonight he was playing the other guy. Tonight he wasn’t the cop who got to ask the questions. He was the victim, the suspect, who was expected to come up with the answers.

The experience of being the focus of the crime scene and not the one in control of it left him feeling alienated and depersonalized. Add to that his pain wracked body and the humiliation of being scrutinized by his current number one least favorite person on top of that and he was left feeling as impotent and disempowered as he had ever been.

He could see Carlson’s eyes settling on his face and upper neck, noting physical signs of evidence. Still Carlson said nothing more, merely nodded at Starsky’s request to not be questioned any further.

Starsky turned to Perez. “I want to go the hospital now. I’m in pain, and it’s getting worse.” He looked at Carlson. “Anything else you want to ask me will have to wait until I have legal representation.”

“As you prefer, Sergeant.” Carlson replied. “We can leave any further questioning until later.”

Starsky eased himself to his feet, determined to walk away from Carlson unassisted. Perez moved toward him after saying a few words to Cassidy. Carlson pulled out his cell phone and moved away.

All Starsky wished for right now was something he knew he couldn’t have: for Hutch to be sitting beside him telling him that everything was going to be okay.

~~~

By midnight, Hutch was still wondering what Starsky might be doing with Lydia other than finalizing their brief relationship. When his door buzzer rang, he reached the intercom before the third ring sounded. Expecting it to be Starsky, he was surprised when the video image showed no Starsky but two other men.

“What the –?” He squinted. What are Carlson and Simonetti doing here?

“Sergeant Hutchinson?” Carlson said into the intercom. “It’s Lieutenant Carlson and Detective Simonetti from Internal Affairs. We need to speak with you.”

Hutch, already feeling adrenalin pour into his blood system, hit the buzzer and let them in. “I’m up the stairs to the left. Just give me a second to get some clothes on and I’ll be with you.” He quickly shrugged into a soft t-shirt and hastily pulled on his jeans, then opened his apartment door. As soon as he saw their expressions, he felt his stomach drop away.

Oh God no, Starsky…

Hutch saw something in Simonetti’s face that he knew he’d worn on his own face so many times before. A look that said he was the bearer of news he would rather not have to carry.

Hutch thought his legs might not hold him up. He backed away from the door as they entered, leaning on the wall for some support “Is — is — ?” He couldn’t get it out. “Something’s happened to Starsky, hasn’t it?”

“No, your partner is okay, Hutchinson,” Simonetti said. “However, he is in the hospital, injured, but not seriously. He’s been admitted for a possible concussion and wounds from a physical assault.”

Hutch’s relief at Simonetti’s quick reassurance was short-lived. “What happened? You mean he was attacked? He was seeing someone tonight. Did it happen then?”

Simonetti spoke quietly but clearly. “Hutchinson, Starsky was involved in an incident in his apartment. According to his statement, two men broke into his apartment, attacked him, knocking him unconscious, and killed a woman who was there, then ransacked his place and fled.”

“They killed Lydia?” Hutch said, shocked.

The two IA detectives looked at each in surprise.

“Lydia?” Simonetti asked.

“The woman Starsky was with this evening,” Hutch clarified for them.

Simonetti again turned to Hutch. “I think you might want to sit down, Detective.”

Hutch tried not to wince when Simonetti used such a clichéd phrase. What were they going to tell him? “I don’t need to sit down. Just tell me what happened,” he snapped back, unsettled by the unaccustomed role he felt placed in.

Simonetti sighed. “Detective, we regret to inform you that the woman killed in Starsky’s apartment was your ex-wife, Vanessa Hutchinson. She was shot at point-blank range with Starsky’s gun.”

Hutch faltered where he stood. Of anything that they could have said, this was by far the most unexpected. Vanessa dead! Vanessa and Starsky?

“What in God’s name are you talking about? Vanessa? No — No that can’t be right. Why would she be at…” He shook his head at the men. “None of this is making sense.”

Carlson gave Hutch a few moments to absorb this information. “Detective Hutchinson, can you tell us your whereabouts this evening?”

His question broke into Hutch’s escalating anxiety. “My whereabouts? What’s that got to do with what’s happened to my ex-wife and my partner?”

Carlson said, “Standard procedure, Hutchinson. You know that.”

Hutch nodded, understanding but still rattled. Of course it was standard procedure. Anyone related to the victim was automatically a suspect. He’d be doing the same thing if it were his case. Still he was surprised at how unready he was for the question. “Here — I was here all night, alone.”

“Can anyone verify that? Your neighbors, maybe?” Carlson looked about the apartment. Hutch had left half-eaten food and a beer bottle beside it on the table, still half full.

“I was — I sent emails from my home computer. They’ll be time stamped.” Hutch’s head was spinning.

“Detective Hutchinson.” Carlson’s voice pulled Hutch away from Simonetti’s question. “Was your ex-wife seeing your partner?” The starkness of the unexpected question floored Hutch.

Hutch turned to face Carlson. “What are you talking about? Vanessa and Starsky?” He heard the indignant anger spring into his voice. “No, he wasn’t ‘seeing’ her! She’s only been in LA for a few days. She lives on the other side of the country.”

“Your partner was with her tonight in his apartment,” Carlson told him.

Hutch felt flummoxed. It was Lydia who was supposed to be with Starsky, not Vanessa. He had taken that call from her that morning in the squad room. Or had he? Did that mean that the whole story about taking the time to end it properly with Lydia was a fabrication? Why would Starsky lie to him about that? His head was reeling with turmoil.

Vanessa and Starsky? And now she was dead?

Oh God, Starsk, what have you done?

You’ve never liked her, and always resented how she treated me — but — you wouldn’t —

Simonetti was talking to him, he realized. “We need you to identify your ex-wife, Hutch. We’ll take you to the mortuary.”

Hutch looked at Simonetti. “Mortuary?” Simonetti’s request was sinking in. “Alright.” His voice was level and he strived for calm. He pushed away his doubts about Starsky and Vanessa, aware that the two IA men were watching him more closely. He couldn’t afford to let them see his reactions or his fears about what could have possibly gone on between his ex-wife and his partner. Once he got to see him, Hutch knew that Starsky would explain and make it clear.

“Does our captain know about this? Is he at the hospital with Starsky?” Hutch asked the men.

“Dobey will be informed,” was all that Simonetti said.

Hutch nodded and quickly disappeared into his room to retrieve his shoes. He could hear the two men outside talking quietly. Taking a moment, he tried to prepare himself to face seeing Vanessa at the mortuary. He resented Carlson’s presence, and knew it meant trouble for Starsky. Although he had no personal history with Carlson, out of loyalty to Starsky he harbored a degree of animosity toward him.

Back in the living room, he went to the closet to retrieve his holster. Neither of the two detectives said anything as he fastened his gun in place and snapped the holster closed.

“Would you tell me where they took Starsky? Which hospital? UCLA in Santa Monica?” Hutch asked as he pulled his jacket on over the holstered gun.

Hutch wasn’t surprised to hear what Carlson said. “Hutchinson — your partner is a suspect in your wife’s murder, and therefore is under police guard. You know, of course, that you won’t be able to see him until his lawyer arrives and we talk to him.”

Again, Hutch felt the unaccustomed sense of feeling the divide between professional understanding and emotional acceptance. Carlson’s level statement caused a flare of anger in him that he knew better than to show.

“I’ll want to be there when he’s finished with the questioning. He is my partner, Carlson. I’m sure you understand.” He said it quietly but firmly, the unspoken antagonism concealed beneath his control. He could easily find out where Starsky was anyway, so was a little surprised by Lieutenant Carlson’s avoidance.

Simonetti was waiting at the doorway and looked at Carlson before speaking. “They took him to Saint John’s. UCLA was backed up with the trauma from some big traffic pile up earlier.” Hutch didn’t miss the quick sharp look Carlson shot at Simonetti when he said it.

Hutch nodded, grateful enough that Simonetti had made it easier for him, not that it would have been difficult to find out where he could find Starsky.

After he’d finished at the mortuary, he’d make his way straight to the hospital despite Carlson’s cautioning. Eventually, one way or the other, he’d get to see Starsky and bring him home. And once they were alone, he’d get the real story.

~~~

The coroner’s assistant pulled out the drawer and presented Vanessa’s body. He looked at her face; her eyes closed and unseeing, her skin already waxy. Her face was lifeless but still beautiful.

Hutch’s hand moved toward the sheet, carefully lifting the drape from Vanessa’s shoulders. His hand wasn’t quite steady as he looked at the two bullet holes. Hutch let the drape fall back. Then he stood looking at her face, storing away the memory. He touched her face, letting his fingers gently trail across her cool skin.

He turned and nodded at Simonetti who stood to the side. He didn’t look at Carlson. “Yes. It’s Vanessa — my ex-wife.” It was all Hutch said before moving away from the body.

He turned on his heel and walked away. He was finished with the viewing.

Hutch made it to the corridor before he slumped against the tiled wall. Vanessa’s death hurt. Even though he didn’t feel about her the way he once had. Her loss still was a chunk out of his soul. She had been a big part of his life once — his whole life — once.

With some effort he straightened up again and headed toward the exit. The two IA men talked quietly behind him as they followed him out.

At the doorway, Simonetti called him. Hutch stopped and turned. “I’m sorry for your loss, Sergeant Hutchinson. The Santa Monica homicide investigators will be contacting Dobey about getting a statement from you. And we may have some further questions for you in the future.”

Hutch held up his hand in acknowledgement and left the morgue, using his cell to call for a cab as he exited the building.

What had gone on between Van and Starsky? Why did Starsky say he was meeting with Lydia? He recalled the strained look on Starsky’s face when he’d been on the phone in the squad room supposedly talking to Lydia. So, he had looked that way because he was talking to Vanessa? Is that why Starsky had cancelled their evening at Huggy’s?

Concern for his partner’s well being warred with his fear regarding why Starsky had kept him in the dark. They’d never gone behind each other’s backs before, but Starsky had lied to him. That just wasn’t Starsky — unless…

No. He pushed his doubt away quickly. Starsky couldn’t abide Vanessa. Even if Vanessa had put the moves on Starsky in some sick way to try and hurt Hutch, he knew in his center that Starsky would never betray him in that way.

All he wanted now was to find his partner and get to the bottom of this. Once he could see Starsky, talk to him face to face, he’d find out what could have possibly happened in Starsky’s apartment tonight that would have resulted in his partner’s injuries and his ex-wife’s death.

~~~

Dobey’s familiar bulky form was the first thing Hutch saw when he rushed through the sliding doors of the Emergency Department. His Captain was huddled with a small knot of men outside the swing doors of the assessment bays. One uniform and two plainclothes men, whom Hutch knew instinctively would be the homicide detectives from the Santa Monica unit, were talking with him.

Dobey locked eyes with him as soon as he entered the open waiting area as though he had been expecting his arrival. Before Hutch had a chance to make a line toward the group, Dobey broke away from the men, intercepting Hutch before he reached them.

His Captain took a firm hold of his arm and directed him into a more secluded sitting area on the other side of the room.

Hutch was already impatient and restless and pulled against Dobey’s hold.

“Where? Where is he –?” Hutch demanded, adeptly reversing the grip Dobey had on him and instead grabbing urgently at his Captain’s forearm.

“In one of the exam bays, getting assessed. We need to talk.”

“How bad are his injuries?” Hutch made no effort to sit when his captain directed him to the closest chair. His gut was clenched in apprehension with whatever Dobey might have to tell him.

Dobey had the details ready for him. “He took a solid crack to the side of the head with a gun butt. Some soft tissue damage to his abdomen and chest. Maybe a cracked rib from a hefty kicking. The main concern is possible concussion.” Dobey pressed down hard on Hutch’s shoulder. “He’s going to be fine, Hutch. Nothing serious I’m sure. I spoke only briefly to the admitting doctor, but he didn’t seem too worried.”

It was enough to take away a little of the rock hard stiffness from Hutch’s back and shoulders, and he sagged a little with the initial relief.

He nodded toward the two detectives who glanced his way now and then while they spoke together quietly. “Did you get anything more from them?” He heard the wildness in his voice and knew he was close to losing it. “What the hell has gone on?”

“I don’t know the full story. I know you’ve spoken to Carlson and Simonetti so you probably know as much as I do, Hutch.” Dobey watched his detective, as though still trying to assimilate the news.

“So, where is he now? Is he still down here in one of the exam bays, do you know?” he asked Dobey, his gaze wandering to the corridor that led to the treatment zones. He could feel his own restlessness mounting, his anxiety starting to bubble inside. Too many unknowns that might only be answered by seeing Starsky.

“All I know is that he’s being examined, probably given something for his pain. Paramedics never made it to the scene — same reason as the Homicide Team. Perez from the Santa Monica Department — you remember Officer Perez? You and Starsky spent some time with him around last fall I think,” Dobey interjected.

Hutch felt impatient, thought for a moment, pouting out his bottom lip in concentration and then nodded.

“Well Perez brought him in here himself. Said that Starsky was in bad shape after having waited nearly an hour with no pain relief. I only got to speak to Perez briefly as he’d been stationed to cover Starsky while the medical assessment takes place.”

“Christ! An hour without any analgesia for his smacked head.” The thought of Starsky suffering unnecessarily only added fuel to Hutch’s already rising anger.

“It happens like that sometimes — you know that,” Dobey said wearily. “Hell, most of time getting the stubborn fool to even let a paramedic near him is a major feat. How is this any different?”

“Its damn well different, that’s why!” Hutch yelled and then immediately felt contrite at lashing out at his captain with such a senseless comeback.

“Sorry — I’m just — “Hutch ducked his head and walked over to the water cooler. With a head that was not quite steady, he filled a cup and threw it back. He repeated the process twice more before crushing the soft paper and tossing it into the basket.

Dobey was well used to his temper and waited for his detective to settle. “Hutch. Sit down and calm down; there’s nothing you can do right now. You won’t be allowed in to see him yet. Let me get us both a coffee, and we can talk.”

Hutch begrudgingly took a chair as his captain took the other one across from him. He rubbed roughly at his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose hard enough to make his eyes water. “I don’t want any coffee. All I want to know is what in Christ’s name has happened tonight.”

Dobey nodded and leaned forward. Even at the late hour and ambient temperature he swiped at his sweating brow with his oversized handkerchief. Hutch knew his captain detested these hospital scenes as much as he and Starsky did — but this was a bedside vigil with a twist. Starsky had never been brought into hospital as a murder suspect before.

“Look, I only got the call about it myself after Starsky was brought here. The Homicide team hasn’t even seen him yet — they have to wait until he gets a thorough medical clearance — check for concussion, confusion — you know the drill.” Dobey looked across at the men. “The Homicide boys from Santa Monica never even made it to the crime scene when Starsky was still there. There was some big shit fest happening on Ocean — multi car pile up after some local gang shoot out.”

“Maybe Homicide hasn’t seen him yet, but Carlson already got to him at his apartment,” Hutch spat out in disgust. “He and Simonetti told me that already. Carlson of all people! Jesus, Captain — ”

“Yeah — I heard. Seems from what I learned from the attending officers he was pretty keen to be the IA officer in charge as soon as he heard what had happened.”

“I bet he fuckin’ was…”Hutch growled.

“Hutch — let’s not worry about Carlson at this moment. I recommend putting whatever animosity you might have toward him to the side for now,” Dobey advised. “I don’t want anything to stand in the way of getting Starsky out of this mess.”

“Alright. Fair enough,” Hutch said, biting the inside of his cheek. He hoped the lawyer would sort it out soon enough once the relationship between Carlson and Starsky was brought to light. Starsky should be spared the angst of having Clare’s lover handling the investigation. “So what do you know? Did the attending officers give you some background? IA said that Starsky and Van were together at his place?”

Hutch didn’t miss that Dobey appeared taken aback by his query. “That’s right.”

“I just don’t get it.” Hutch shook his head. “He was meeting with a girlfriend tonight. He was trying to smooth things over with her –”

“Hutch,” Dobey started slowly, as though he needed to impress reality upon his detective. “Starsky was with Vanessa when she was murdered, not whoever this other woman might have been. They were both in his apartment at the time.” Dobey fixed him with his serious dark eyes. “Are you trying to tell me you knew nothing about Starsky and your ex-wife meeting tonight?” He asked the question with deliberate emphasis.

“I have no idea why he was with Vanessa.” Hutch heard his own bewilderment and he felt almost treacherous admitting it, especially when he saw the reaction it caused in Dobey.

“But you knew that your ex-wife was here — here in LA?”

“Yes. She was back here because she was ill — needed treatment. I took her to the medical center.” Hutch looked distant as he said it as though realizing how intangible it all sounded.

“Where had she been living?” Dobey asked.

“New York for the past two years at least.”

“She couldn’t get the medical treatment she needed in New York?” Dobey raised his heavy brow quizzically looking bemused.

Hutch realized how lame it sounded, and remembered Starsky’s own early skepticism at her story. “Wanted to see me I suppose. At least, that’s what I assumed when she showed up,” Hutch said distractedly. He could no longer remain seated and stood up to pace. “Why? Who would kill Vanessa? Could it be connected with the murder case we’re working on?”

Dobey narrowed his eyes at Hutch. “I didn’t even know your ex-wife was back on the scene. I was the one who was going to ask you what the hell has been going on that might have led to Starsky being implicated in her murder?”

“Vanessa being back in town had nothing to do with Starsky. That I know for sure.”

“Do you Hutch? And yet you had no knowledge of them being together tonight at Starsky’s apartment.”

“This is crazy! What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Hutch barked.

“Starsky’s apartment was trashed — the assailants were looking for something,” Dobey went on.

“I heard that.”

“You have no idea of what they might have been looking for then?”

“At Starsky’s place? God no!”

“So you had no concerns about any activities Vanessa might have been involved in that could have led to her being at risk of a homicide?”

“No — nothing. We only talked a couple of times. She was her usual self but evasive about her medical condition.”

“And Starsky?” Dobey prompted.

“What about Starsky?” Hutch stopped his pacing and whirled around to glare at Dobey. “What are you asking me here?”

“Settle down, Hutchinson! You think no one else is going to ask you these questions?” Dobey snapped back at him. “What did your partner’s involvement with your ex-wife amount to over the past days since she’s been back?”

Hutch felt the confused anxiety rising in him again. “Except for one brief meeting at my apartment on the morning she arrived — nothing. He didn’t buy the story of the illness.” Hutch sighed. “When it comes to Van, Starsky doesn’t buy — didn’t buy, much at all. Starsky and Vanessa — well he didn’t abide her all that much.”

All too late, Hutch wished he could retract his disclosure to Dobey.

Dobey grunted and mopped again at his shiny brow and big broad cheeks. “I’ve already gathered that from snippets I’ve heard from the two of you over the years.”

Hutch looked nonplussed. “I didn’t even think you’d know about my marriage to any real extent.”

Dobey gave a wan smile. “It would probably surprise you Hutchinson — but I was — I’m a detective, too, you know. I do pick up on details that at the time might seem irrelevant. Still — it’s not exactly a positive for our boy, is it?”

“What?” Hutch looked initially strained and then angry. “You mean because he and Vanessa were never on friendly terms? You can’t be serious?” Hutch felt strangely uneasy all of a sudden — unsure of his place with his own Captain.

“Again Hutch — pull your horns in. I’m not the one you need to convince here.”

Hutch felt his unease increasing. “IA said she was shot by Starsky’s Beretta,” Hutch said. “How do they know that with certainty until the ballistic report comes back?”

“Starsky himself already stated he heard his gun going off before he blacked out.”

“So someone tried to frame him?” Hutch thought out loud, frowning as he spoke.

“We have no idea of anything like that yet,” Dobey said.

“Have you arranged legal representation for him yet?” Hutch asked.

God knows how Starsky must have felt when confronted with Lieutenant Carlson. Hutch hoped his partner had kept his cool and not said anything incriminating to Carlson.

“I’ve got the Departmental Union Representative coming in. Jackson — Tanya Jackson. She should be here by now, in fact. Is probably in with Starsky now I would think.”

Hutch’s spirits rose marginally at the news. “She’s a tough player. She won’t let anything slip and will do her best by Starsky. She’ll keep the Homicide boys in place if they push too hard at him.”

It was impossible, he knew, but still Hutch wished he could be with Starsky while the two Santa Monica detectives questioned him.

Dobey was looking at him with worry. “Tough, isn’t it? Being on the other side of the fence for once?”

Hutch rubbed at his temple. He was tired, confused, but still wary enough to close his mouth and hold his fears in. He kept seeing images and flashes of past incidences where Starsky had clashed openly with Vanessa. All the times in the last year of his troubled marriage when Starsky had risen up in indignant defense against the vitriol Vanessa threw at Hutch in liberal doses. Starsky resented her on so many levels for what he perceived she had done to Hutch. For some reason tonight, Starsky had decided to meet secretly with the woman who had always managed to antagonize him.

Now she was dead.

Until he could talk to Starsky, Hutch really didn’t know what was safe to say. Even to Dobey who he could see was also looking troubled about how Starsky had wound up in this messy situation.

Lost in thoughts of the past and fears of the present, Hutch became aware of Dobey considering him with a heavy brow. He still hadn’t answered his captain’s last question.

“Tough? For me?” Hutch’s mouth felt stretched tight with the strain of worry. “Imagine how it must feel for Starsky.”

 

Chapter Four

The waiting was interminable; each minute that passed added to Hutch’s jaw grinding tension and irritability.

When the hell was he going to get to see Starsky? His own rising impatience was wearing Hutch down. Making do with pacing and vending machine coffee, he waited for Dobey to join him again. His captain had left to talk with the two Homicide cops and the female lawyer representing Starsky – the four of them huddled on the opposite side of the Emergency Room waiting area, but still within Hutch’s full view. Not privy to the investigation involving Starsky, Hutch felt displaced at being excluded from any discussion that concerned his partner. His resentment left him edgy and ready to erupt.

Eventually the lawyer and the detectives exited; he knew they were headed to see Starsky. At the thought of Starsky being questioned by the two cops – even with his lawyer present — Hutch felt his neck grow stiff.

Then Dobey returned.

“So the doctor’s cleared it for Homicide to question him?” Hutch’s tone was resentful. “I thought they would have to wait until his medical state improved.”

“He’s only allowing them a few questions,” Dobey said. “Starsky won’t be ready to be seriously questioned until tomorrow. Tanya’s in with them -she’ll field the questions.”

“I damn well hope she does.” Hutch was tense. “And what about IA? Are they going to try to get to him again tonight as well?”

“Calm down, Hutch. No. The closest they’ll get to Starsky before tomorrow is to his lawyer.”

“Thank God for that. The last thing Starsky needs is another round with Carlson tonight. He shouldn’t even have been permitted to get to him the first time.”

The look Dobey gave him was wary and Hutch knew he was treading around him carefully. No doubt his captain was picking up on his thinning tolerance. “The two Santa Monica boys want to talk to you when they’ve finished with Starsky. Just a few minutes that’s all. Some brief questions.”

Hutch sighed. “When do I get to see Starsky, Cap’n? Can you clear it with them to let me in when they’ve finished with the both of us?”

“We’ll see what they have to say after they talk to his lawyer. I suppose it depends on whether they think they’ve got enough basis to pin an arrest on him or not.”

Hutch swallowed at the thought. He couldn’t go there – couldn’t allow himself to consider the complications and pain a formal arrest would cause for Starsky.

The Santa Monica cops were done quickly, Starsky’s lawyer obviously doing her job.

Dobey eyed them as they approached. “You ready for this, Hutchinson?”

Hutch merely pressed his lips together in resignation. He wasn’t ready for any of this. How could any of this be happening? Starsky shouldn’t be segregated from him under police watch and he shouldn’t be waiting for two cops to ask him about his ex-wife’s murder.

Dobey stood. “I’ll see if I can clear it with the doctor for you to have some time with Starsky.” He stopped and fixed Hutch with a steely eye. “Try to keep your cool, okay? Antagonizing them won’t protect your partner.”

Hutch would have smiled if he weren’t so tired. “Too late, Cap’n. My ‘cool’ left long ago. But – don’t worry – ” he added as an afterthought, “I’ll keep it together as best as I can.”

The two detectives moved together across the room. They were both in their mid forties and obviously seasoned cops. Hutch had already picked them as established partners. He only hoped their experience would go in Starsky’s favor.

Hutch consoled himself by thinking that two solid cops could make short work of shaking out Starsky’s innocence in Vanessa’s death. That he himself had no clear idea of what Starsky’s role in her death entailed was too frightening to think about.

As it turned out, their interview was brief, their manner courteous and their questioning direct. Hutch did his best to answer their questions. He had to admit again that he was ignorant of Starsky’s secret meeting with Vanessa and how she might have been involved with him. He hated knowing he was in the dark about it and was in his apartment stewing over thoughts of Starsky and Lydia while his partner and his ex-wife were fighting for their lives in Starsky’s home.

He accepted the usual advice to remain in the city, wishing he could ask them what they intended to do with Starsky. They wouldn’t discuss Starsky’s involvement with him, regardless of his status in the Department.

“Can I see my partner now if the Doc allows me in?” Hutch asked them. “I haven’t laid eyes on him since he was brought in here and -”

The two cops looked at each other before the one who had introduced himself as O’Hanlon spoke. “We’re aware of that, Detective, and your captain has already requested it. Officer Perez has been instructed to allow you in. We’ll need to confer with your captain and the lawyer about arrangements once Sergeant Starsky is released from the hospital. Oh – and Detective Hutchinson, might I add our condolences on the death of your ex-wife. I understand how difficult this whole situation must be for you.”

Yeah – a murdered ex-wife and my partner and best friend as prime suspect. It sure doesn’t get any more difficult than that…

Hutch only nodded and walked away, his body taut. He’d never felt this much apprehension at the prospect of seeing Starsky.

~~~

Outside Starsky’s exam room, Officer Perez acknowledged Dobey and Hutch and moved aside for them to enter.

Dobey stopped Hutch before he pushed open the door. “You go in by yourself. You need some time with him.”

“Thanks, Captain. I appreciate it.” Hutch wasn’t sure what he needed from Starsky, this whole situation was new terrain for both of them.

Dobey looked like he understood Hutch’s uncertainty. “The doctor says he can go home once they arrange for some pain meds and make sure his nausea has settled. I need to square up the paperwork from the treating doctor and arrange for his discharge into your care. Homicide and IA have agreed to allow him to go home with my assurance that he will be available for additional questioning tomorrow.”

“So, no formal charges?” Hutch asked. Dobey hesitated a little too long, prompting Hutch to add. “No arrest?”

“No. Of course, he’s suspended from duty – his gun is evidence, and he’ll have to turn in his badge. Starsky’s already been informed.”

Hutch considered Starsky’s situation. Life hadn’t been easy for him since the Clare and Carlson debacle, but this evening’s events had propelled Starsky’s life from being rocky to treacherous.

“Go on in, son,” Dobey said. “I’m sure he’s as impatient to see you as you are to see him.”

Finally, he was standing at the doorway of Starsky’s exam room. His partner was still, lying flat on the narrow bed, dressed in one of those ridiculously flimsy gowns that Hutch knew Starsky abhorred. Suppressing a smile at the desperate hold Starsky had on the inadequately small cover sheet, Hutch could feel his partner’s mortification at having to wear the get up.

At the sound of someone entering, Starsky turned his head quickly and Hutch got his first look at him. His normally olive complexion was chalky against the white pillow, and the bruising from the blow to his head was already beginning to mottle his temple and forehead. As Starsky realized Hutch was there, he scrabbled to pull himself into a sitting position. Before Hutch could get to him, he was upright, his arm bracing his middle to splint his tender ribs. “Hutch – Oh God. Finally…” he croaked out, his voice coarse with emotion.

“Whoa there – not so fast.” Hutch made it to his side in time to stop Starsky from hitting the floor, his face bloodless.

“Ah – shit.” He teetered toward Hutch, his legs giving out as Hutch seized him under the arms and managed to hold him up.

“Starsky! Jesus – what the hell are you trying to do? You’re supposed to be on the bed, not beside it on the floor. Just relax, will you — ” Hutch stilled his twisting movements, “and let me get you back in bed.”

Hutch made short work of getting him horizontal, easing Starsky’s head down and his body onto the bed. Starsky moaned and tried to roll onto his side. Hutch knew his partner well enough to recognize the imminent signs of Starsky about to be sick.

“Don’t feel — so hot Hutch. Oh hell…I’m gonna – be -”

Holding Starsky with one arm, Hutch reached over to snatch a plastic kidney tray from the side table with the other. “It’s okay, Starsky – Just let it go.”

Starsky took a death grip on his partner’s arm and fixed him with a stricken gaze that Hutch knew had more to do with his emotions than his physical state.

Hutch held him firmly while he watched his friend breathe deeply, swallowed back what was obviously a building wave of nausea. Hutch knew he was trying to win the battle against his churning stomach and as Starsky swallowed and breathed he found himself unconsciously breathing with him, willing the sensation to pass. He knew how much his partner detested vomiting and would do anything to circumvent it. He found a small hand towel on the table and quickly doused it with ice water from a small tray of cubes and used it to gently dab at Starsky’s brow and clammy neck. He was rewarded when some color returned to Starsky’s skin.

“Oh God, I hate that. There is nothing worse than that feeling. You know how I hate to spew, Hutch.” Starsky moaned as Hutch was still patting his mouth with the damp cloth.

“I know you do, babe, so why don’t you act like a good patient and lie still, hmmn? It’s all the sudden movement that is causing the nausea.”

“But I need – I need – to get up and talk to you, Hutch. When I saw you finally – I – well I’ve been waitin’ and waitin’ for you to come… I need to tell you what happened – Vanessa -” Starsky’s normally confident voice sounded like a bewildered child’s and it ripped at Hutch’s insides. He didn’t trust himself to give into his need to reach out and offer the comfort he so wanted to give. Instead, he lapsed into serious mode to hide his reactions.

“Have you been sick already? You know that’s a sure sign of a serious concussion, Starsky.”

Starsky shook his head. “Not sick – no. Only just now.” He took a jagged breath. “There’s so much I need to tell you, Hutch. Just let me sit up a little to – ”

Despite Hutch’s advice, Starsky gripped Hutch’s shoulder, struggling to sit up. The look in Starsky’s eyes – dark blue and storm-filled in his bruised and swollen face — was now too much for him to bear. Hutch cursed softly as he eased his hip onto the narrow bed. Unaware that he was even doing it, he reached out to release a curl of dark hair trapped beneath the bandage on Starsky’s temple.

“God damn it, Starsky, you’re a stubborn man.” Hutch frowned in frustration. “I’m going to have to sit on you if you don’t lie still. There’s a nurse hovering outside, and if she gets one look at you like this, there’s no way you’ll be getting out of here tonight.” With firm pressure, he pushed Starsky back against the pillows. “There – is that better?” Hutch was pleased to even more color returning to Starsky’s face. “Is the nausea passing?”

Starsky’s grip on his shoulder intensified and he fixed Hutch with an almost desperate stare. “Vanessa was shot, Hutch, with my fuckin’ Beretta in my apartment. My own gun, for God’s sake. I couldn’t get to her…” He closed his eyes and forced out the words. ” I’m sorry – sorry I couldn’t save her Hutch.”

“I know, Starsk. I know Vanessa is dead.”

“You know?” For one wild moment, Starsky looked disoriented. As Hutch became concerned that he might have a significant concussion, Starsky shook his head as though to clear it. “Of course you’d know. That’s why you’re here.”

“Starsky, I’m here to see you. Are you sure you’re alright? How bad is the head – really?”

His questions were brushed off as once more Starsky looked frantic. “They would have gone to you after – he would have gone to you after he left me. Carlson? Did Carlson tell you?” Starsky’s eyes grew dark with anger.

“Yes – Carlson and Simonetti, both of them. I thought when I saw them at my door…I thought they were going to tell me that you were seriously hurt – or dead.” Hutch squeezed Starsky’s hand transmitting the fear he’d felt and his relief that it had not come to pass.

“I should have been the one to tell you, but they wouldn’t let me. I’m so sorry, Hutch. Van – killed in my own place and I couldn’t even be the one to tell you.” Starsky’s hand patted at his partner’s cheek, and Hutch brought his own hand up to cover it. “You okay, Hutch? It must have been such a shock to be told like that.”

“Yeah – I’m okay, babe. Just thankful that you’re in one piece – even if a bit beat up.” Hutch touched Starsky’s discolored temple.

“Hutch – I didn’t have a chance to stop them. I would have stopped her dyin’ if I could -” He cut off midsentence when a nurse entered the room and stood to the side, waiting. He sighed at the intrusion, and Hutch felt apologetic for her as she stood awkwardly watching them. They remained as they were, close to each other.

She looked unsure as she moved closer to the bed. “Can you excuse me for a moment? I need to do the last set of observations on Mr. Starsky now, and then the doctor wants to see you both.”

Hutch nodded and moved off the bed. “Of course.”

Starsky, however, made it clear he did not appreciate the interruption. “How many observations do I damn well need? I’m sure you only did those five minutes ago. I was talkin’ to my partner.” Starsky was not usually offhanded with the nursing staff and his irritated remark underscored how tense he was feeling.

“That’s correct, Mr. Starsky – head injury observations need to be done very frequently,” the nurse said.

“Starsky, just let the nurse do her job, will you? Just try to relax. We can talk later.” Hutch stood off to the side and gave Starsky a small smile of encouragement, pleased to see him lay passive as she checked his pupils and blood pressure.

The nurse picked up the abandoned kidney dish on the bed. “Are you experiencing nausea, Mr. Starsky?”

Hutch jumped in before Starsky denied it. “He had a bit of it when I first came in. Has he been vomiting?” Hutch didn’t miss Starsky’s scowl.

“No, he hasn’t, and he’s here lookin’ at you so why don’t ya just ask me instead of her?” Starsky grouched.

The nurse threw a knowing grin at Hutch. He raised his brows back at her. “Just ignore him – he’s never a happy patient.”

The nurse smiled, relaxing in their company. “No, he has not been sick, and the tests have all been satisfactory. Apart from a nasty cut and some swelling near his hairline, he appears to be stable.”

“There – ya see? I’m fine,” Starsky said.

Voices at the door signaled the arrival of Dobey and the doctor, and Starsky threw up his hands at the second interruption. “Hutch, please, I need to tell you -”

“Later – you can tell me everything you need to later, Starsky. Just let the doctor tell us what he has to.” Hutch understood his partner’s impatience. He, too, wanted privacy so the two of them could talk this whole thing through.

~~~

It took another thirty minutes to finalize the discharge. The doctor was satisfied that Starsky would have supervision for the next twenty-four hours, and Dobey would vouch for his detectives to be available the next day for questioning.

Starsky sat quietly during the discharge proceedings and accepted everything said to him with quiet reserve. By the time they were ready to leave, Hutch felt that his tired partner would have agreed to anything if it meant getting out of the place.

It was not much different for Hutch either. As Hutch pushed Starsky out to his beat-up car in a wheelchair, he wondered if they would find the energy to have the talk Starsky wanted. Hutch leaned down to him. “You ready to leave?”

“If it means gettin’ out of here – I’d let you wheel me out on a hospital bed,” Starsky said, summoning up a weak smile.

~~~

Settled into the passenger seat of Hutch’s latest crummy Ford, Starsky found his last reserve of energy expended on the flyaway bucket seat which, despite whatever lever he cranked, still managed to drop backwards precariously into a sudden, sharp recline.

“Useless piece of shit. Can’t even give me a break when I’m in an invalid state.”

Hutch shrugged philosophically. “Tonight, that might work to your advantage. Put your head back and rest.”

Starsky would have normally added that he had little choice in the matter, his seat angle already determined by the general decay of the car’s moveable parts. Tonight he didn’t.

Their combined mood was somewhere between somber and shell-shocked. Starsky knew Hutch wanted to hear all the details of his hellish night, but he also knew Hutch understood that he desperately needed a reprieve.

Silence, for now, was recuperative.

Tonight, home would be Venice Place for both of them, and Starsky looked forward to getting to their destination. His own ocean side apartment was, after all, a crime scene, soiled with blood and covered in forensic dusting powder. Violated, just as much as he felt violated by the messy drama of Vanessa’s murder.

They made good time getting back to the familiar sandstone façade of Hutch’s small apartment. It was so familiar that Starsky felt almost weepy by the time they climbed the stairs, like he was returning home after some drawn out jail sentence. Walking into the homely confines of Hutch plant-filled home, the guilt started to fall away from Starsky.

He was accepted here; he mattered here.

That was because this was where Hutch lived, and Hutch — out of everyone in the world — accepted him unconditionally.

For Hutch, Starsky knew, he would always be the good guy. No matter how much angst and rage and shit he threw around, Hutch knew who and what he was deep down.

Just as well, too, Starsky thought, because lately he was forgetting it himself. Lately, he was starting to believe his own bad press and he was getting sick of it. After the horror of the night he just had, he wanted to move on from all of the anger he harbored and projected onto the world since Clare had betrayed him.

They made it inside, weary and battle worn, and when Hutch closed the door, Starsky could not help but think he was closing the door on the world outside, sealing them both inside to the cocoon and safety of Hutch’s domain. It was a poetic thought for him, and it wasn’t like him. He wasn’t prone to artful expression or fancy metaphors but right then, Starsky knew it was very close to how he really felt. After all, nothing about the last twenty-four hours had been typical for him anyway.

He stood in the middle of the room taking in the comfort of Hutch’s small living space. He tried to find the words that he was so eager to get off his chest when he first saw Hutch back at the hospital. Now all the unspoken urgent words were stuck in his throat like small rough stones, abrasive and choking as though they really were rammed in his airways.

“The first mistake I made was not tellin’ you that she wanted to see me -” he tried to begin, feeling pitifully inadequate with how it sounded.

Hutch walked a few steps away and shrugged out of his jacket. Away, not toward him and Starsky was suddenly unsure of what it meant, and even more unsure of himself.

“Hutch -”

“Are you up to a shower? I’ll have something ready for you to eat when you get out,” Hutch asked him as he folded his jacket with slow precise movements and draped it over the back of the kitchen chair.

Starsky waited a breath, thinking about what Hutch was doing and why. Making it easier for him, or at least thinking he was doing so. Transitioning him into the difficult part where they faced each other about what had gone on.

“Aren’t we going -” Starsky tried again.

“Not yet. You’re beat and need a shower to ease down.”

“No, what I need is to talk to you.”

“Shower then food – then we’ll talk. Neither of us can sleep anyway.”

Starsky closed his eyes against the determined strength that was Hutch. “This is our life, isn’t it, Hutch? Always needin’ each other to take the sharp edges away?”

“Yeah – this is our life, Starsk. Always getting hurt and hurting.” Hutch’s eyes shone with what Starsky suspected were probably the first real emotions he had allowed himself since he had learned Vanessa was dead. His words cut right into Starsky’s heart.

Starsky held his hand out toward him. “I would never hurt you, you know that don’t you? Whatever happened tonight – I never meant for anything like this to happen or for this to hurt you.”

Hutch busied himself with hanging his gun and holster in the entry cupboard, his eyes anywhere but on Starsky’s face. Starsky stood still. He couldn’t move. Not until Hutch gave him some sign that he believed him. He felt like he’d damn well stand plastered to that very spot until he did.

“Hutch, tell me you know that there is nothing I’m keepin’ from you.”

And then the distance was closed and Hutch was beside him, his big hand a little shaky as it reached up to touch Starsky’s mouth with his long fingers.

Unsure of what the action meant and still fearful of Hutch’s emotional distance, Starsky felt his whole tired, aching body hum to the feel of those fingers.

“Ssshh. It’s okay, Starsk,” Hutch said, his voice molten with emotion, chasing away all Starsky’s fears that he felt any degree of anger. “I just need time to catch up, that’s all.” He gave Starsky the sort of smile that always left him warmed all the way through before slowly disengaging those calloused fingers from Starsky’s now parted lips. “I’ll get you some food and fresh coffee.”

Starsky wanted to say that he didn’t want food and coffee – he just wanted Hutch not to take away his touch.

When the warm fingers lost the contact with his lips, Starsky was shocked at how bereft he felt. He was left with an inexplicable sense of loss so acute that even ten minutes under a steaming jet of hot water and a heavy dose of sensible rationale didn’t take away.

~~~

Hutch pushed the plate with the uneaten sandwich he had prepared for Starsky to the side of the coffee table and surveyed his partner as he sagged against the couch. He was showered and dressed in old track pants of Hutch’s and a faded t-shirt, which, Starsky suspected, may have well spent its early life in his own wardrobe. So much of their clothing wound up in each other’s laundry baskets it was no longer possible to know who was who’s. Not that it even mattered to either of them. Starsky fingered the soft fabric of the t-shirt, pulling it away from the raw skin of his battered chest, and then stopped suddenly when he realized Hutch was watching the movement of his hand on his own chest.

“Hurting?” Hutch’s eyes trailed Starsky’s hand as it settled to a stop on his chest.

“Some. Not too bad.”

“Not hungry?” Hutch asked.

“Thought I was. Turned out I’m not.” Starsky’s tired half grin tried to lighten the heavy atmosphere. “Sides – my jaw and temple ache when I chew.”

“I could make you some soup,” Hutch offered, but didn’t look like he could move off the couch, Starsky thought. He seemed almost as battle weary as Starsky felt.

“Nope. Nothin’. Just want to sit.”

Here with you where everything feels good and safe and…

The gaze that was fixed on his chest was torn away and focused instead on his head, the soggy bandage long gone in the aftermath of Starsky’s refusal not to wash his hair.

“That’s some lump you’ve got on your head. You shouldn’t have pounded it with water – you’re lucky you didn’t open up the cut again.”

Starsky grimaced. “Can’t stand dried blood in my hair. It’s like shit on a blanket. Anyway it’s not that deep so I think it’ll heal up pretty fast. Thank Christ I didn’t need sutures. Hate havin’ those damn things in my skin.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Hutch said. And he did, swirling around what must have been his fourth generous nip of scotch. His eyes tracked around the room and Starsky couldn’t help but think he was looking a little lost in his own home.

By rights, Hutch should have been drunk by now, but didn’t appear anywhere near it. Maybe, Starsky thought, that was because Hutch’s denial was thick and resilient. It would take a lot of alcohol to get to the raw grief and shock beneath that, that Hutch hadn’t seem inclined to go anywhere near while they’d been talking.

It was late, closer to morning than night, and even though Starsky knew they were both emotionally wrecked, he sensed they both felt reluctant to sleep. Neither of them seemed able to close out the terrible events of the evening, or, for that matter, let them in.

It was only by being this closely attentive to each other, aware and responsive to each other’s mood and shifts in emotion, that they could cope with the reality of the night’s horror. They had talked for more than two hours, close together, side by side on the couch, like they had done so many times in their long friendship. Starsky had poured out the memories of the evening, reliving the hell all over again as Hutch sat close, absorbing and buffeting much of Starsky pain.

Now Hutch seemed to have hit the wall, still and pensive as he withdrew into himself, crouched over his glass.

Starsky put his hand on Hutch’s arm. “Hey there, Blondie, you’ve gone all quiet on me.”

Hutch looked down into the amber splash of scotch remaining in his tumbler and rubbed at his drawn face. “I – I still can’t believe she’s dead, Starsky. I can’t get it into my head. Tomorrow, life goes on – but – Van is no longer part of that life. You think I’d be used to it – and I am. Hell it’s our whole life, death happens most days in our job one way or another….”

“This ain’t work, Hutch, and Vanessa was not a job to you. She was a big part of your life.”

“Was.” Hutch centered on the single word before he threw the last dregs of scotch back. Starsky wondered if he was referring to the fact that she was now dead or her lack of involvement in his recent life. Either way it sounded sorrowful and empty.

He wondered if Hutch was going through the whole event all over again in his mind. Not so different to how it was for Starsky since he couldn’t keep the brutality of Vanessa’s death playing over and over in his aching head. Starsky could see Hutch’s own distress etched deeply in the crease between his eyes, puckered with tension.

“The worst of it, Starsk, is that she died leaving me angry with her and – that’s just so wrong. The entire last two years of our marriage I was angry at her, with her, and all the years in between. And since she came back the other night, if I’m being honest, I was still angry with her.” He stopped and lifted his head. “It shouldn’t have been like that. She came back here – she damn well should have come to me with all of this shit and laid all her troubles on me – not you. Greedy and selfish. Up until the very end. That was the Vanessa I knew, the Vanessa I was married to. Jesus – the woman never changed.”

“We don’t know the full story behind her relationship with this Marco guy.” Starsky tried to take out a little of the heat in Hutch’s vitriol. “Maybe it was real love and not the money from the drugs she was after.” Not for a second did he really believe that, but it wouldn’t hurt for Hutch to think it.

“That’s hardly the case and you know it, Starsky. You knew Van as well if not better than I did when it came to her love of the better things in life. Still, even that’s not why I’m so damn angry with her – you know?” He was looking at the wall, then he looked straight at Starsky and the pain in his blue eyes was illuminated by unshed tears. “It’s what she did to you.”

With each word the weight of his anguish seemed heavier on his shoulders, his self-reflection getting closer to the core of his emotions.

“Vanessa came to you, Starsky,” he said, ” to the closest person in my life, and brought this danger right to your door. She came back here to LA to corner you. She lied to me to get to you, all so she could try and use you. Dragging up your past for her own gain… Christ, Starsky, you should never have agreed to meet her. Van’s always trouble – you should have told me she wanted to see you -”

“I’ve been through that already, Hutch.” And he had, but he could see the ramifications of it all was crashing in on Hutch now that the alcohol had loosened his carefully constructed wall of denial. “I should never have agreed to meet her without your knowledge – but I did and I can’t change that now. In some crazy, round about way of fucked up logic I thought that I could somehow stop what Vanessa was planning to do to you by agreeing to stand between the two of you. ”

Like I had always tried to stand between her and the pain she caused you. I hated her for that – I’m not apologizing for how she made me feel about her because of what she did to you.

“You know I suspected her illness act was a story. I thought I could get to the bottom of it – without you getting hurt anymore,” Starsky added.

“You were right about what you said the other night, Starsk. I was always a complete sucker for her. But I knew this time – I knew she was lying. I just didn’t want to tell you -”

“Yeah, well, we both screwed up. We should have admitted to each other that we didn’t buy it, and confronted her with it. It could have changed everything.”

“Maybe – though I doubt she would have told us the truth. God knows she rarely ever told me the truth. Even when she was in so much danger, she chose to take it to you, not me, her own ex-husband and a cop.”

“Only because she thought I could help her. That I had these connections she thought would help to drag her out of the mess she was in. That’s the only reason.”

“And in doing that, she came so close to getting you killed with her. I – I almost hate her for that. You could have so easily been killed tonight, too. If you’d died because she – I wouldn’t have even known why – never known for sure what had gone on with you and her tonight. How would that have left me feeling?”

“It didn’t happen – for whatever luck was on my side this evening, I got to live, and thank Christ I did, because you know I could not stand to think of how it would have been for you to go through years never really knowing or understanding what happened.” The next bit was not easy for him to say but he had wanted to say it all night. “I was just so worried that I couldn’t get to talk to you and tell you my side of the story until so much later. All the time I had to wait until they let me see you, Hutch, I kept thinkin’ you would have been feelin’ that I had somehow betrayed your trust. I was sure Carlson would distort it all to make you doubt me.” He watched Hutch carefully as he came clean with his admission.

“I’m not proud to admit it, but I can’t deny it either, Hutch. I was more devastated about what you’d think of me being found with Vanessa dead, rather than her being dead.” There – he’d said it. Not surprisingly, coming clean didn’t lessen any of the pain he carried inside. “Shit – isn’t that a terrible thing to have to own up to – to you, Hutch – about the woman you were once married to?”

Hutch didn’t look like he was judging him in anyway.

“While we’re doing confession,” Hutch said, “when Carlson told me that Vanessa was dead – in your apartment, with you there, too – ” he stammered, then stopped before looking Starsky in the eye. “Christ, Starsky, the fear was so strong that – well that, knowing how you felt about Vanessa – I was so terrified that she’d somehow pushed you into – ”

“What a pair, hey?” Starsky shook his head with the hint of sad smile on his lips. “I was worried you’d think I’d betrayed you with Vanessa and you were thinking I was that damn pissed off with her that I might have killed her….”

Hutch’s hand curled around his glass in a fierce grip.

“Hey, hey….” Starsky reached out, laying his hand over Hutch’s clenched one. “Take it easy on that glass – we don’t want to have to drive back to the emergency room to get your hand stitched up when you bust it to pieces. One casualty between us is more than enough for one night.” Then he pulled back enough to lift Hutch’s chin and get a clear look at his troubled eyes. “It’s okay, you know, to let out some of that walled-up emotion – lower those stoic Hutchinson defenses.”

Hutch swiped at his face with the heel of his hand and shrugged. “Thing is, Starsk, I don’t even know how I really feel about it all. About Vanessa. It’s all mixed up with my anger at what could have happened tonight – to you. What’s going to happen to you now because of her death.”

Starsky nodded in understanding. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to what I’ll be dragged through either because of her murder – but that aside, Hutch, Vanessa was your wife once. Allow yourself to feel some grief, not just resentment.”

“I don’t know, Starsk – I can’t say what I feel about her being dead. There’s shock – of course, there’s that…but loss, a sense of loss? I’m not sure what I feel.”

“Grief takes time, you know that.”

Hutch looked uncertain. “Right up to the end, she was still making selfish choices, still knowing just how to hurt me the most.”

“I don’t think she was doing any of it to hurt you purposefully. She was just grasping around for solutions – desperate and scared. Fear makes people do that. Fear makes people selfish. Trust me – messing with Tony Durniak is enough to make anyone fearful and more than a little desperate.”

Hutch sighed. “What a fool she was. She threw her lot in with some creep who could triple her money by pushing meth around New York.”

“She paid a big price for that mess, Hutch. It got her killed.”

“Yes, and no doubt her supposed friend in New York – the one she says was helping her – he’ll probably end up dead very soon, too, once those guys track him down.”

“Hutch, I’ve given some thought to that. This won’t be the last of it. The guys who killed Vanessa won’t stop looking for the meth. I don’t think Van was telling the truth when she told them her friend in New York had it. If they can’t find it, those boys will skew it so that we have Durniak on our tails.”

“That’s not our only problem, buddy. Lieutenant Carlson is out for your blood.”

Starsky tried a small grin. “You know, I don’t think Carlson likes me very much, Hutch.”

Hutch choked back a snort. “It’s the women you choose, pal. They got you into this mess. Clare specifically.”

“You’re right,” his tone adamant and just a little teasing. “That’s it for me, Hutch. No longer will women fuck me around.”

Staggering a little as he stood, Hutch moved in closer, so close that Starsky could feel and smell the earthy peat of scotch on his moist breath. “Nah – I know what you need Starsk.” He paused as though suddenly distracted by the closeness of his partner. His blue eyes deeply earnest and focused despite his inebriation, he brought his hand up to tug gently on Starsky’s curls. “What you need, David Starsky, — is to stop fucking women.”

Starsky felt Hutch’s hand lingering in his hair, his blue eyes unwavering as they held Starsky’s gaze for a drawn out moment, before he broke away with a small stumble. Lurching a little Hutch began fumbling clumsily with his shirt buttons, the scotch playing havoc with his co-ordination. Preoccupied with the mammoth task of getting his shirt off, Hutch was no longer looking at him and Starsky was oddly relieved. His face was acutely hot and he knew he was flushed with shock at what Hutch had just said.

“Solid, sound Hutchinson advice.” Starsky smiled, trying to cover his flustered state. “I’ll make sure to take it on board, pal.”

“Yeah, well – you do that, Starsk, because – because – well, that’s what I wanted to tell you. You need to know it, and I – I needed to say it.” He looked up again from his button fumbling and Starsky couldn’t watch him anymore and smacked his big hands lightly out of the way while he finished the job himself.

Hutch scrunched up his face in thought. “There’s probably a better end to that sentence – it sorta came out all wrong, but right now I don’t know what the better end is, so I’m going – to shut up. My mind has gone to sleep, which is where I need to be.”

He stood very still, obviously attempting to look serious and in control before he summoned up something else to say. “And you – you – should be in bed. You’re s’posed to be restin’ that head. Don’t forget; we have to meet with IA in only hours.” He stabbed a finger at the air with paternal emphasis.

Starsky tried to look suitably put in his place with the advice. His partner was in ‘care mode’, albeit a slightly drunken one.

“So,” Hutch turned around, as though looking for something he had misplaced. “I’m – I’m going to bed.” He stared hard at the couch, his face solemn with concentration as though he was trying to solve a very complex problem.

This time Starsky could not help but smile. It had taken long enough, but Hutch had finally succumbed to the scotch. “What’s wrong, Hutch? You lost something?”

“There’s a problem with my bed,” he slurred.

“What problem is that, buddy?”

“Umm – you’re on it.”

“That’s right, I am. That’s because it’s my bed. You’re not taking the couch in your own home, Hutch. Your back…”

“Your poor head.” Hutch leaned in to him, patting at the dark curls like he would a small dog, his eyes misty and full of open affection.

“My head is okay. The drugs from the hospital are still working -”

“No – your poor head is busted, Starsk. You need your sleep or you’ll be a mess tomorrow.”

“Not nearly as much of a mess as I think you’re gonna be, babe.” Starsky chuckled and moved to steady him as he listed a little too far to the side.

Hutch was making a sound that started out as a weak giggle and became a yawn. “You’d better move or I’m goin’ to – to fall asleep on top of you. And, Starsky, I use ‘fall’ here lit – literally…not -” he tugged ineffectually at the shirt that refused to leave his shoulder and arm, “not the other word, which I can’t think of now either. Can’t seem to think of anything right.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Starsky made short work of freeing him of the shirt just as Hutch tilted precariously toward the couch and tried to lever himself down. Starsky caught him around the waist as he swayed again. Somehow, between the two of them, they managed to get his body onto the cushions so he didn’t topple to the floor. With a little more rearranging, Starsky felt satisfied that the long limbed body was as comfortable as he could hope to be on the couch.

With Hutch down for the count, Starsky turned off the lamps and took the plates and glasses to the kitchen. He closed the shutters against the light that would soon be filling the small apartment and took himself off to Hutch’s bed in the studio alcove. Knowing that his exhausted body was crying out for sleep, he willed himself to sink down into oblivion. Oblivion that would be short lived, he knew, when waking would bring back all the memories of the horror filled night.

Yet, his mind refused to close down, and so he shut his eyes hard against the first rays of the early grey light and allowed himself to revisit what was in the back of his mind. He went back to what Hutch had said – or rather hadn’t said — when he was reflecting on Starsky’s declaration to stop allowing women to fuck him around.

“What you need, David Starsky — is to stop fucking women.”

Was it the alcohol or had Hutch intentionally omitted the last word “around” to that piece of advice?

All at once hot, constricted and suffocated by the bedcovers, he wrestled them away from his body, sighing with the frustration of chasing sleep that should have taken him as soon as he’d laid down. Careful of his sore ribs, he rolled onto his side and stared out across the half lit room. When his eyes adjusted, he could make out the top of Hutch’s head atop the armrest of the couch, the fair hair a ghostly shimmer in the half darkness.

He thought more about Hutch’s words and the intent behind them before he gave himself a mental shove.

Jesus, Starsky, you’ve just escaped death, become the subject of a murder investigation, and been placed on suspension, and what is it that is keeping you awake and taking up all of your thoughts? Trying to figure out the drunken ramblings of your best friend?

How pathetic is that? What the hell is that all about?

He shouldn’t have asked himself the question because he’d known the answer for a while now.

With his eyes fixed on the muss of silvery hair, he succumbed to sleep.

 

Chapter Five

“What the hell is this? Look at the damn time, will you!” Hutch jabbed at his watch and threw the irritated question into the already thick air of Dobey’s office.

Starsky could see that his captain already looked stressed, the ubiquitous oversized handkerchief suddenly reappearing in his hand. “I can read the time as well as you can, Hutchinson.”

“He’s making Starsky wait. I just know it.”

“Who?” Dobey swiped at his damp face with the cloth.

“Carlson, of course!” Hutch yelled and Starsky winced, knowing how much the effort must have sent shockwaves through his partner’s sore head.

“IA can’t do anything until the union rep shows up anyway, and he’s still not here,” Dobey said.

“Damn it, Carlson’s probably getting a kick out of letting him stew,” Hutch insisted, as though he hadn’t even heard his captain’s response. His blue eyes, shot with blood and bleary in the bright morning light of the office, still managed to transmit anger even though Starsky knew it wasn’t their captain that Hutch wanted to rip apart.

“It’s okay, Hutch. I’m not stewin’.” Starsky attempted to placate him, even just a little. One look at his haggard, red-eyed partner gave him little hope of accomplishing his task. Hutch was out for blood and to make matters worse he was functioning on limited physical reserves, the signs of his late-night drinking session clearly evident in his face and movements.

“Well, I sure as hell am!” He shouted it so loudly that Starsky thought the whole floor of the precinct would know for certain how Hutch was feeling at that very moment.

Hutch looked livid. Livid, but peaky at the same time Starsky thought. Livid, peaky, and generally pretty awful. As Starsky had anticipated, Hutch was worse for wear, fighting back what was obviously a blinding headache and a queasy stomach. The two of them made a great team, him with his bruised and swollen temple and Hutch with his noticeable mother-of-hangovers.

They’d got no real sleep to speak of, stumbling around each other in the mid-morning hours to shower and swallow coffee before heading into their own precinct to meet with the Homicide team from the Santa Monica Department. It had been arranged that the interviews would take place in the LA precinct as Starsky needed to also be questioned by IA and formalize his suspension for the duration of the investigation.

“Calm down, Hutchinson. Going on the attack is not advisable. Starsky’s in an invidious position and you blowing up is not going to help him.”

“I just want Carlson out of the picture. He shouldn’t be on the case and you know it, Cap’n. Now he’s getting a second go at you. Your lawyer should have made sure he was already taken off the investigation.”

“Look, if I was to consider all the personal issues and all the history that fellow cops might or could have between each other in this precinct or the department as a whole, I would be hard pushed to find any of my men to take on an investigation involving a fellow cop. Everyone’s got personal intersections with everyone else when you all work under the same roof and in a job as tough as this one. Starsky and Carlson are no different if they are from different departments.”

“With all respect Cap’n that’s bullshit! This is more than just a ‘personal intersection’.”

“Hutch -” Starsky began to break in.

“No, Starsky,” Hutch brushed his warning off, “you know how it is between the two of you, and the captain needs to know that, too. As soon as Carlson shows his face this morning, I’ll be making the point very clear. ”

“It is not up to you to set the rules here, Hutchinson. Those issues are not in your control. You should know that you won’t be privy to the interview anyway. Just the Union Rep and myself,” Dobey reminded Hutch, and then frowned at the filthy look he got in response. It was clear, Starsky thought, that their captain could read Hutch’s barely contained aggression. “Besides, you should be at home sleeping it off – you look rough. I don’t know out of the two of you, which one looks worse.”

The captain surveyed them both with a heavy critical eye as he swiveled on his chair, his bulky mass wedged firmly between the armrests like it might require an engineering feat to extract him from its confines.

“He’s right, Hutch,” Starsky offered, attempting to mollify his bad-tempered partner and his offended captain at the same time.

“And I might have gotten some sleep, too, if we weren’t dragged in here for this meeting. We get here at record time and find that we are sitting on our exhausted asses waiting for the bastard to show!” Hutch jabbed his finger in Dobey’s direction.

Starsky put out his hand to stop Hutch from whatever else he was about to say to Dobey. Hutch’s mood was simmering to a boil, and if he weren’t diffused by diversion he would explode.

Dobey leaned forward to check his desk phone message screen and made a sound of dissatisfaction. “I’m going upstairs to see what’s holding Carlson and Simonetti up. Wait here and don’t leave. Hutchinson, it’s your job to make sure your partner with the bottomless stomach doesn’t decide to make any trips to the cafeteria. I want you ready and waiting when I get back, you hear me? I don’t want IA to have anything else on you to bitch about.”

Starsky wanted to tell the captain not to worry. The prospect of what lay ahead with Carlson and IA removed all traces of any appetite he might normally have.

As Dobey closed the door behind him, Hutch rubbed at his brow and scowled at Starsky. “You may as well cut your little side show act – he’s gone.”

“What act?”

“I mean the act, Starsky, where you try to pull me back with your lame attempts to lighten the situation. Like you think I’m about to lose it because I’m in some fragile sort of mood.”

“Well, you were givin’ Dobey a hard time. He didn’t put me here, ya know?” The caliber of Starsky’s voice changed to a more serious note, now that his attempts to divert Hutch had fallen flat.

“I’m just generally pissed at the way this whole thing has been handled so far…with Carlson and all. As if Simonetti wasn’t bad enough.” Hutch rubbed at his chest like he always did when his nerves were getting to him. “And here you are acting as though you’re not sitting here waiting for a freaking inquisition. Like you’re not worried about what Carlson might be setting you up for?”

“Because you, Blondie, are worried and angry enough for the two of us. Ain’t gonna do me much good if you slam your fist into Carlson when he walks through that door. I’m trying, if you hadn’t noticed, to bring the furnace in you down a notch.”

“I noticed,” Hutch said looking a little paler with every moment, a grimace of discomfort on his face. “Anyway, the furnace is soon going to burn lower on its own accord. God, I feel like death.”

Seeing Hutch’s contorted face Starsky stepped closer. “Maybe I’d better hit the cafeteria after all – for you, not me. You need something in your stomach, Hutch.” He really did look green around the gills, Starsky noted.

“Why did you let me do it – drink so much, huh? You’re supposed to be my back up. You knew I had to be here with you for these meetings.” Hutch groaned heavily and slid down so low in his chair that his butt was barely on the seat.

Starsky shrugged. “Hindsight is a wonderful thing. Anyway ya seem to need it. It was one hell of a night to have to get through.”

“Yeah, well, I sure don’t need what it’s left me with this morning. Damn…”

“Headache bad, huh?”

“I’ve had worse, I guess – just can’t remember when at the moment.”

“I told you to stay at home and get some more sleep. You couldn’t have gotten any hanging half off that crappy couch. You need a better couch, Hutch.”

“My bed is good quality. Paid more than two grand for that mattress for my back. Didn’t do me much good last night, though.” Even though Hutch had his fingers laced over his eyes, Starsky could see quite clearly that he was looking straight at him when he said it.

“Now wait a minute – wait one freakin’ minute here. You were the one who went all gallant on me and insisted I take the bed because of my sore head.”

And the banter was on – their own style of remedial therapy doing its job to soften the harsh reality of the situation at hand.

“And see – now we’ve both got sore heads.” Hutch groaned.

“Yeah, but your sore head is self-inflicted. I got smacked with a hunk of gunmetal. Besides we both know the couch has nothing to do with it. Even if you’d found a fluffy white cloud to pass out on last night, you’d still look the way you look now.”

“What does that mean? How do I look, for God’s sake?” Hutch summoned up the energy for an affronted look.

Starsky looked down at his feet. Hutch had asked him a question, but the answer was painfully raw for him to say out loud.

“Well? Come on?” Hutch demanded, holding on to his forehead like it was about to crack right open.

Starsky still didn’t answer. The cut and thrust of their little battle had ceased as quickly as it had started. This time the banter wasn’t going to be enough to pull them through the treachery of the moment.

Starsky suddenly stood up and walked to the window, his face averted from Hutch.

Hutch was up and next to him, concern taking the place of discomfort on his brow. “What is it? Hey…I can’t look that bad, can I?” His attempt to go back to their bantering fell flat.

“You look like someone who’s found out his best buddy is the number one suspect in his ex-wife’s murder.” Starsky heard the rush of his admission, his voice flat and sad. “That’s enough to make anyone look the way you do. Hutch, ya haven’t even – you didn’t even – not once yet -” he battled with the words, “– act like you’re pissed with me about that. You let Dobey have it, and yet ya haven’t said one word to me about how you must be feelin’…toward me, about – ”

“About what, Starsky?”

“About me! About me being with Vanessa, and Vanessa being murdered in front of me – and some goons rippin’ my place apart for drugs. You should be damn well angry about that, don’t ya think?” Starsky’s voice had risen to a yell.

“Really?” Hutch looked freshly appalled. “Is that what you think? That I’m holding in the anger, holding back my resentment at you? Why the hell should I be angry with you?”

Starsky saw the shocked emotion on his partner’s face. “We went through this last night, didn’t we?” Hutch continued. “If I’d had any fears about what had gone on with you and Vanessa, they were over as soon as you told me what happened.”

Starsky stayed silent, his posture stooped.

Hutch looked more worried as the silence stretched out. “Starsk? What is this about?”

“I’m thinking that whatever happens with Carlson, the IA or the Homicide team – none of it will matter to me as much as you being sure in yourself that everything I’ve told you about what happened last night – is the truth. I had nothin’ to do with Vanessa’s death, Hutch, and I had nothin’ to do with why she came to LA – even if she came here to try and get me to help her. I can cope with IA and I can even cope with a full on investigation by homicide, but – but what I can’t cope with is you not believing me.”

The hands that took Starsky’s shoulders were almost painful in their insistent grip. “I don’t know where I must have gone wrong last night that I’ve left you in any doubt as to how I feel about all of this. All I can think is that I was so fucked up in the head at the news and the fear that you were seriously hurt, that I somehow failed to communicate clearly. Not for one moment after I saw your face in that hospital room, did I think that this was anything but a terrible nightmare that you were dragged unwillingly into,” Hutch told him in soft but firm tones.

Starsky tried a smile. “You did communicate that, Hutch – ya did. It’s just, I feel so damn responsible somehow, because it was me, and it was in my apartment, and I kept our meeting from you.”

“And I kept things from you, too,” Hutch admitted. “I’ve been thinking back to things Vanessa said to me, asked me, about you – it all makes sense now. If I hadn’t been so damned closed off to seeing the truth about her yet again, I might have figured out she was sniffing around you for all the wrong reasons.” It was Hutch’s turn to look defeated. “So – you see, you’ve got as much reason to be pissed off with me for that as I might have for you arranging to meet with Van in private. I damn well should have known, like you told me, that she was here, back in my life, for all of the wrong reasons.”

“Alright. Enough with each of us whipping ourselves over what is done. We can’t change any of that now,” Starsky said. “Still, you should’ve just stayed home. All that crap about them needin’ to question you further….”

“You think I would let you deal with whatever Carlson has lined up for you this morning? No way.”

“Like Dobey said Hutch, they ain’t gonna let you be part of the interviews anyway. They play this by the rulebook all the way.”

“Doesn’t matter. I need to be here. There are some things I can start looking into myself. With the Santa Monica team covering the homicide, there’s nothing to stop me doing some groundwork of my own. I can start trying to get a grip on Van’s life back east and this dead boyfriend of hers.”

“Hutch,” Starsky sighed softly, “the woman you were once married to has been murdered for Christ’s sake. You need some breathing space.”

“Maybe I do, but that is why I’m standing right here,” Hutch said, his voice falling to a softer pitch, all the angry tones replaced by gentler, more needy ones, which Starsky couldn’t help but hear in the somber voice. “I do my best breathing when I’m around you.” So redolent with emotion were the words that Starsky felt the soft caress of them against his neck as Hutch leaned in close, his partner’s lips all but brushing his flesh as he spoke each word carefully and slowly. “Surely you know that by now, Starsk?”

And there it was again for Starsky. That same overwhelming heat he felt when Hutch had touched his fingers to his lip last night. Now he felt the trail of those same long fingers across the nape of his neck, the touch feather light and evocative on his bare skin. He felt his skin burn with the tactile contact that conveyed so much more than reassurance and support. Any response Starsky might have made remained locked in his throat, and even his breathing felt constricted as he let the poignancy of the moment settle all around him.

“Starsk?”

Hutch pulled his hand back a little, enough for Starsky to know that his reticence had left his partner a little unsure. What did Hutch want him to say or do? He didn’t have Hutch’s smooth timbered way with words to reciprocate the intent, and even though he knew that wasn’t important to Hutch, he had no real idea of what he really wanted to say or do. All he knew was that Hutch was doing and saying things to him lately that left him wanting more. The intensity of just how much he wanted more of whatever it was they were both hovering closer and closer to, frightened and exhilarated him at the same time.

All at once, Hutch reverted the caliber of his voice and put a little more distance between the two of them, providing Starsky with the time to recover from the escalated intimacy of the moment. “Then you think we can take this on – whatever walks through that door? Two guys with sore heads?” Hutch asked him, breaking the silence of the moment and restoring them both to safer ground.

“Depends on how much I let Simonetti get to me. You know he ain’t my favorite IA pin-up boy. And Carlson, well I can’t promise anything there,” Starsky answered, already missing Hutch’s closeness, but knowing the timing of it was all wrong for both of them.

“Simonetti you might just need to live with, I’m afraid. Carlson? Well let’s hope he’s out of the picture before too long.”

The sound of several male voices just on the other side of Dobey’s door heralded their arrival.

Starsky turned back to face his partner.

“Let’s see what they want to make of this. Then I’ve got to get through the interview with the Homicide team. Either way, I’m counting on walking out of here when it’s finished. I don’t fancy the thought of spending tonight in a holding cell.”

Hutch flinched at the half joke. “Starsky – don’t. Don’t even joke about it like that. There is no way in hell that -”

The door opened and whatever else they might have shared about their unrest about the forthcoming meeting remained unsaid.

Dobey walked in with Carlson and Simonetti behind him.

Simonetti, Starsky knew all too well. Better than he knew Carlson, as Simonetti had been kicking around IA for a few years now. He and Starsky had clashed on more than one occasion, and Starsky thought it unbelievable bad luck that he should pull not only his ex-lover’s current bed partner but also the rigid Simonetti as the second IA officer on his case. It couldn’t have been worse for Starsky if it had been conspired that way.

Still, Hutch had said that Simonetti had been remarkably civil to him the previous evening. Was that to redress the imbalance of his superior, Lieutenant Carlson, being one of Starsky’s all time least favorite people?

Starsky gave them both a considered look as he himself was treated to the same before he turned back to Hutch. Their silent communication was rich in mutual understanding. He shrugged his shoulders lightly at Hutch and his mouth carried the ghost of a smile. It gave him a little pleasure to know that both Carlson and Simonetti saw it pass between them and that their silent but meaningful form of private communication frustrated and disadvantaged both IA men – as it did so many others.

As each of them broke their gaze, Starsky and Hutch both turned to face the music.

~~~

Dobey’s unease had long surpassed its zenith by the time he re-entered his office, Carlson and Simonetti trailing in his wake. Feeling apprehensive about the forthcoming session between IA and Starsky, he was not at all surprised to find Hutchinson not only still in the room, but tightly flanking Starsky. It was more than apparent to him that Hutchinson was in full-fledged protective mode, hovering close to Starsky and stepping forward quickly to put himself between the two IA men and his partner.

Carlson wasted no time in highlighting Hutchinson’s presence to the captain as he stood at the entrance of the doorway. “Captain Dobey, I understood that this was to be a private interview with Sergeant Starsky. I’m afraid that Sergeant Hutchinson will need to leave the room before we can proceed.”

Before Dobey had a chance to respond, Hutch spoke up, his expression only just short of hostile. “The interview can’t start without the union rep. I’m just waiting with Starsky ’til he arrives.”

“Of course,” Carlson replied. “The union representative is on his way downstairs now. As the interview is about to commence, I will have to ask that you leave the room, Detective Hutchinson.” Carlson looked at Dobey. “I’m surprised that this has not already happened.”

Again Hutch spoke before Dobey had a chance to answer. “The same could be equally said of you, Lieutenant. I’m surprised that you’ve even been permitted to get to this point of the proceedings with this case considering your personal history with Starsky.” Hutch then turned to Dobey in exasperation, making Dobey feel like the meat in the proverbial sandwich. “Surely the scheduling of this morning’s interview should have been cancelled out of principle, considering Lieutenant Carlson’s relationship with Starsky.”

“This is just a standard procedural interview by IA. It’s not part of the formal homicide investigation – you know that, Hutchinson,” Dobey answered, feeling the tension in the air between the men mounting.

“Then let someone else do the administrative legwork – Officer Simonetti can handle the interview, I am sure – or call in another senior officer to take Lieutenant Carlson’s place.” Hutch was stony-faced as he stood in front of Starsky.

It was then that Simonetti spoke up, holding up his hand against whatever it was that Carlson was about to say. “I suggest we all settle down and take a moment,” he said in a level voice, looking first at Carlson and then at Hutch and finally looking at Dobey. “Detective Hutchinson – in the interests of your partner I think it best that you leave the room. We will not start the interview until the union Rep is here.”

Starsky touched Hutch lightly on the arm, and the two turned to each other. Dobey watched as they gave shared a non-verbal exchange.

“Give us a minute here will you please?” Starsky gently pulled Hutch to the corner of the room, and Dobey made a show of coughing to clear his throat as the two of them spoke in quiet tones. It was obvious that both detectives were shutting out the others.

In a moment, Hutch broke away and faced Dobey. “Captain, I’d like you to do whatever is necessary to ensure this is the last time Lieutenant Carlson interviews Starsky in relation to my ex-wife’s murder.” Hutch looked directly at Carlson as he said it.

Dobey could see that Hutchinson’s cool manner, one that was ostensibly polite and respectful, was doing more to ruffle Carlson than if he had been out rightly hostile and inappropriate.

Dobey nodded and looked at the two IA men. “This matter will need to be brought to the attention of the legal representative and our own Department heads. For now, let’s just get on with this. The Santa Monica team and Starsky’s lawyer are already waiting.”

With a lingering pat to Starsky’s shoulder, Hutch prepared to leave the room. His next words were to Dobey. “Cap’n, can you make sure they call a halt to the interviews if his head starts to bother him? It hasn’t been twelve hours since he was concussed. Not that he’s likely to tell you or anyone else.”

Starsky shot him a withering look and, looking a little mortified, waved his hand in the direction of the door. “I’m fine. Go on, will ya, and get outta here?”

Dobey felt the reflexive pull of a smile at his two detective’s customary antics, but he just as quickly quelled it when he met the serious faces of Carlson and Simonetti. He straightened up and offered everyone a seat. Good to his word, he mentally prepared himself for his role as Starsky’s union representative finally entered the room as IA prepared to question him.

~~~

After leaving Starsky, Hutch spent the first half hour at his desk, skimming through documents on his computer. His mind was only half on the task as he watched the clock and worried about how his partner might be faring with Carlson and Simonetti.

Eventually his headache demanded a reprieve, and, against his better judgment, he left to make a quick visit to the cafeteria for fresh coffee and a sandwich. Even though he was only gone ten minutes or so, when he returned, he realized that Dobey’s office had been vacated and there was no sign of the IA officers, Dobey, or Starsky.

He presumed then that the Homicide team was now having their first real serious interview with Starsky and his lawyer.

Shoving aside his paperwork, he took his coffee and picked up his desk phone and scrolled through his snitch list on his computer. There were at least five good snitches and street connections he could rely on for leads on what might have happened to large parcels of meth being brought into the city in the past week. If he was lucky, he might even manage to dig something up on the two heavies that had stormed into Starsky’s apartment.

The other link he needed to follow up he was more tentative about. Tony Durniak was not so easy to get a handle on, and with his empire situated on the East Coast, information on him and his organization would be harder to come by.

Still, he had the time now while Starsky was being questioned – the time and the incentive to uncover something, anything, that would mean his partner’s name could be cleared of any charges that might arise from Vanessa’s death or stolen drugs. The Santa Monica team would have already started chasing down the same avenues.

Dobey would not be happy if he found out Hutch was rattling cages in this case, but Hutch had a vested interest with his ex-wife dead and his partner and best friend sitting in the hot seat as the chief suspect.

~~~

Nearly three hours later, Hutch had come up with little except to know for sure that Durniak had enough power and clout to keep him buried in anonymity.

Calls Hutch had made to Vanessa’s few acquaintances that he still could track down also had nothing of note to tell him about her recent lifestyle and relationship with the now-dead Marco. The Homicide cops, of course, could get further with the information from her cell phone and handbag.

His nerves were stretched, his head still heavy, and his patience growing thinner by the minute when Dobey’s office remained empty and his brief forays down the corridor to the interrogation rooms yielded no sign of Dobey or Starsky.

Hutch was exiting the squad room to take another walk to the interview rooms when Dobey rounded the corner of the corridor and headed toward the vending machine against the wall.

For the captain to hit up the junk machine so unguardedly in front of the eyes of other officers was a bad sign. Even when Hutch approached him, Dobey didn’t seemed perturbed that he had been caught in the act of roughly jamming in coins to secure his fix.

“That bad, huh?” Hutch asked him, no lightness at in his inflection. If the interviews had left Dobey tense, than how must it have been for Starsky?

Dobey only grunted as he bent down to pull out his second candy bar. “It’s never an easy thing for me to see one of my men on the other side of the interview table. Particularly one of my best men,” he said. “Any warm coffee left in the squad room to wash these down?”

“Well, warm enough. Go into your office, Cap’n, and I’ll bring you some in.”

Shutting the door behind him, Hutch found his captain staring out the window, one hand rubbing his lower back while he chewed the chocolate bar. Hutch handed over the tepid coffee and waited for Dobey to swallow some down, fighting hard to stop himself from demanding to know immediately what the score was with the Homicide guys.

“Where is he?” he asked quietly, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice.

“He’s finishing up with his lawyer.”

“How is he?”

“Okay. He’s doing okay. They gave him a break for coffee.”

“The interview – was it – tough?”

“You know your partner. He copes.”

“Did he need to cope? Was it – did they give him a hard time?” Hutch was already feeling animosity against the two detectives for the fact that they had strung out the interview for so long.

“No. No – I would say that on the whole they were level and fair. Handled it well enough. Still – still they put him through his paces. Posed some pretty challenging questions. He managed well though – even without his lawyer’s guidance. You’d have been impressed.” Dobey threw his candy wrapper into the wastebasket and gave Hutch the smallest grin.

Hutch had to allow his own small smile at that. “Starsk knows this is no time for game playing. He’s in it up to his neck until we can get something on the men that killed Vanessa.”

Dobey nodded as he settled into his chair behind the desk. “That’s the truth, Hutch. There’s a lot of evidence already that there were intruders who ransacked the apartment and were involved in your ex-wife’s murder – but on the other hand, there is nothing so far to say that Starsky wasn’t involved with them, Vanessa’s death, or this whole drug haul story. It’s early yet until they pull some other leads. Right now, your partner is the prime suspect.”

“I’ve already started digging around,” Hutch said. “You might as well hear it from me because the Santa Monica team will no doubt tell you when they get to look under some rocks I’ve already turned over this morning.”

Dobey merely fixed him with a beady eye and a raised eyebrow. “Can’t say I’m surprised that you’d be already talking to leads. Still it won’t go down well with Santa Monica, so be discreet. The two detectives mentioned that they may be requesting a second interview with you.”

“I see.” Hutch sighed. “So, is Carlson out? Did that happen?”

“Already done. Brass in IA already had wind of it, and Starsky’s lawyer followed it up with a phone call this morning.”

Hutch cursed. “Then he shouldn’t have been at the interview this morning!”

“Hutch, forget it. Carlson barely got to say much at all. After you left, Simonetti took the floor, Carlson only got to make side comments,” Dobey said. “I can tell you though, even though I don’t know the man all that well myself, I’ve got the feeling he isn’t too happy about being stonewalled out of the case so effectively. He couldn’t see that there was a conflict of interest. I think he’s taken it personally that you made such an issue out of it.”

“That I made an issue? He slept with Starsky’s girlfriend, for God’s sake. He knew that Starsky hated him, and I’m sure the feeling was mutual,” Hutch said. “Hardly makes for impartiality.”

“Yeah, well, now he’s off the case. Just be wary of him, will you. Carlson has pull around the Department. You and Starsky don’t need him getting all vindictive on the two of you.”

“I can handle Carlson,” Hutch said simply, his mind already elsewhere. “You think I can see if Starsky’s ready to head home? Neither of us got any sleep last night – I’d like to make sure he gets out of here and gets some rest. I can get him home and come back in for a few more hours later on….”

Dobey gave a low grunt. “You need to ask me that? You lost your ex-wife last night in the worst of circumstances. Now go home and get some time to yourself and look after that partner of yours. He’s suspended for the foreseeable future, and you can take a bit of time if you want, too.” Dobey jabbed toward the door as he spoke. Seeing Hutch’s face, he added, “At least I won’t be aware of you messing around in the investigation if you do it on your own time. Now go – but stay in touch. That’s an order. You know the drill.”

~~~

Ever since they’d left the precinct, Starsky had been complaining. He knew he was pushing Hutch with the dramatics about his car. But he was trying to derail Hutch’s hovering over him after the interviews. Ever since Hutch had seized him by the arm outside of the interrogation room when he had left his lawyer, his partner had been overbearing with his need to make sure Starsky was in one piece mentally and physically.

Hutch had not even waited to ask how it had all gone but had instead nodded brusquely to Starsky’s lawyer while he dragged him toward the elevators before anyone could hold up their departure. “Come on. I’m getting you out of here before someone else decides to question you. You look like shit, and we’re heading home. Dobey’s given me the rest of the day off.” Hutch spoke in a rush as he pulled them toward the exit, fixing anyone who seemed to want to speak to them with a look that stopped them in their tracks.

“Quit your bitching, will you?,” Hutch said. “It’s not going to kill you to ride in my car for a change.” Hutch scowled as he directed Starsky toward the parking lot where he’d left his car.

“I’m not bitchin’ – well, I am,” Starsky corrected. “I just want her back. They got no right to hold my Mustang, as though she’s evidence. Jeez, Vanessa never went near my car or the Ducati.”

“Well, not that we know of anyway,” Hutch said thoughtfully.

Starsky continued to whine. “Putting their dirty fingers and dusting powder all over her, scratching up the leather interior with their tools.”

“Starsky, your Mustang is an inert object. Stop personifying it, will you.”

“Person – a what? Jeez, whatever that means I know it’s an insult. Next you’ll be sayin’ the same about my Ducati. Where do they get off impounding my two vehicles?”

“You talk like you don’t know how a typical crime scene is worked. I know it hurts when it becomes personal – but truly, Starsky, your car and motorcycle will be fine. And until the crime lab releases them, you’re stuck with driving with me.”

“As if I haven’t had a bad enough morning as it is -” he eyed Hutch’s decrepit car in the near distance. “Now I have to be rattled to death by your crate of metal and springs.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, Starsky…if you don’t stop complaining, I might just leave you here to find your own way home.” Hutch fumed.

“You’re right. It’s not your car I’m pissed at, it’s just my way of venting, ya know that, don’t ya? As long as your car gets us outta here, that’s all that matters. I don’t want to have to even think, let alone answer one more question. This whole thing this morning – it was almost surreal, Hutch.”

In an instant, the frustration Hutch had shown about Starsky’s attitude to his car was gone, his caring persona back in place as he slung his arm tightly around Starsky’s shoulders. “I know, babe. I know.” Hutch pulled him snug against his side as they continued toward the car.

The solidarity of their relationship, the singular strength and enduring support of Hutch was like a balm after the morning’s grueling test, and Starsky felt himself beginning to relax for the first time in hours. He was looking forward to crashing on the couch in Venice Place with Hutch and sharing some quiet time away from the reality of this whole nightmare. His incredible friendship with Hutch was always a haven from what the world wanted to throw at him, and he felt sorry for others, so many others, who would never know the quality of such a kinship.

However, like most things in life as Starsky had learned, there was always something waiting in the wings to louse up good feelings.

When he caught sight of Carlson and Clare walking straight for them from the opposite side of the car park, Starsky almost laughed at the rotten timing of it all. Still he was determined not to let this little scenario take away his emerging good mood. However, as he felt Hutch stiffen beside him, Starsky was not so sure Hutch was going to manage to be quite so philosophical.

“Can you fucking believe this?” Hutch growled beneath his breath as Clare and Carlson saw them, too. The other couple faltered momentarily, passing a few words between them, but then kept walking toward the doorway from where Starsky and Hutch had just emerged.

“Yep, I can,” Starsky murmured back. “Someone up there has got it in for me.” Carlson had been at the precinct almost eighteen months and Starsky could not once recall laying eyes on him in the garage. Now today, of all days, he materialized in front of him, with Clare at his side.

Maybe he and Hutch might have made it to the car without further incident. Starsky never got the chance to find out because Carlson chose to walk right up alongside of them with Clare trailing behind.

“Leaving Starsky?” Carlson asked.

“Cops don’t usually hang around precincts when they’re on suspension, Carlson,” Starsky replied drily.

“I trust that you understand the importance of remaining in immediate contact and insuring you do not leave the city for any reason during your suspension?” Starsky could sense the change in the IA lieutenant’s attitude as soon as he addressed him. Gone was the smooth professional demeanor that he had shown Starsky at the crime scene the previous night.

“Starsky’s status is not your concern, Carlson.” Hutch narrowed his eyes at Carlson and turned to Starsky. “Sorry, Starsky, I haven’t had a chance to tell you the news. Lieutenant Carlson here is no longer assigned to the investigation. Are you, Carlson?”

“It would appear you took care of arranging that, Hutchinson, didn’t you?” Carlson parried.

Hutch shrugged. “It was obvious to everyone that you should never have been involved in the first place.”

“No, only when you made your captain paint an exaggerated picture about my personal connection to Starsky,” Carlson said.

Starsky could see Clare tensing and she caught Carlson by the wrist. “Let’s just go, Matthew,” she said, “don’t waste your time trying to talk to them.”

“I’d listen to your girlfriend, Carlson. Best not to waste your time on us. After all, we were just heading home. We’re both off duty,” Hutch told him.

Carlson shook off Clare’s hand and turned back toward Hutch. “Whether I am on the investigation or not, I will be kept abreast of the developments of the case. I am simply offering you advice as a senior officer of Internal Affairs. You both would be wise to heed my warnings.”

“Wow!” Starsky gave a low whistle. “You sure do take your job seriously, Lieutenant. Taking your own time here in the garage to give us your professional advice. It’s pretty neat of ya to take the time to do that for us. Don’t ya agree, Hutch?” Starsky turned and swept his arm from Hutch to Carlson. “Ain’t it pretty neat of the good Lieutenant to explain the rules to us? And him being a Senior Officer and all?” The smirk he leveled at Carlson found its way to Clare as well when he caught the open scowl on her face, clearly displaying her distaste at his behavior.

“Yeah. Really gracious of him, Starsk. Not like we two Homicide schmucks would know how a murder investigation works anyway.” Hutch picked up Starsky’s lead. “Tell you what, Carlson. Since you’ve been so generous with your advice, here’s some from me to you.” He stepped closer to the lieutenant. “Keep out of our faces and we’ll keep out of yours.” As he said it, Hutch also looked at Clare. “Like I told your girlfriend here the other day, it’s simple advice. Just stay clear of us – particularly Starsky.”

“Why don’t you save it, the two of you?” Clare retorted. “You think you can intimidate others with your tough united front. God! Why don’t you both get over yourselves? Approaching Matthew like you just have and speaking to him like that!” Her voice shook with indignation.

“The way I remember it, the good lieutenant here approached us,” Starsky said back to her.

“And like he said – he’s just doing his job,” she argued. “You might do well to listen to him, David. You’re going to need all the help you can get to walk away from this mess.”

“Sounds to me like your boyfriend has been divulging case details. Not so professional after all, are you, Carlson?” Hutch said, the challenge rising in his words.

“Oh come on! You don’t think the whole precinct knows what’s gone on?” Clare’s laugh was brittle. She looked at Starsky. “Getting involved with your own partner’s ex-wife for God’s sake!” She pointed an accusatory finger at Starsky’s shocked face. “The whole time we were together I felt there was something that was not right. Well, now I know why. I always felt there was someone else, something else you wanted, for it sure as hell wasn’t me! So now I know the truth. God, am I lucky to have finished with you before I let you ruin my life as well as your own.”

“Clare….” Starsky choked out, the single utterance raw in his throat. More than the bite of her false assumptions about Vanessa, her perception that he had never really wanted her – wanted something else — hit him hard.  The clarity of it, thrust in his face under the guise of her mistaken belief he was involved with Van, shocked him to the core. All that wasted anger on Clare, all that emotion – even she knew the truth that he denied. And it was true. He hadn’t wanted her, but he hadn’t had the courage to go after what he really wanted either.  When Clare had turned to Carlson, it was convenient for him to hide his real feelings beneath anger and grief. It was just another way of keeping himself from admitting what he really longed to have.

Slowly, he turned to Hutch, mesmerized at the moment of dawning self-awareness, looking at his partner like he had never seen him before.

Still caught up in his own thoughts Starsky could see that Hutch was looking at him with sympathy while cursing savagely beneath his breath at Clare. Starsky knew that his partner was reading his thunderstruck expression. He also knew however that Hutch had, understandably, misinterpreted his stark reaction to Clare’s accusation.

“Shut up, Clare. Just shut up,” Hutch warned in a low snarl before stealing another worried look at Starsky.

“Hard for you to hear the truth, Hutchinson?” Carlson asked, making no move to restrain Clare at all. “I’m not saying whether or not you knew about your friend’s relationship with your ex. Hell, maybe you did. Maybe you were happy to share her with him. Given what we’ve all heard about the two of you over the years with your cavalier attitude toward women, I suppose it’s highly possible that–”

“You fuckin’ asshole, Carlson!” Hutch started to lunge, but before he could, Starsky blocked him forcibly. “Is this what you wanted, Carlson! What you intended by approaching us?” Hutch ground out while Starsky never lessened his fierce hold on his partner, restraining him. “You wanted me to go for you, didn’t you?” Starsky pushed Hutch back further as they both stared at Carlson’s angry features.

Carlson squirmed. “Put it this way – it’s what I expected. And you talk about me having a personal involvement in this investigation! Seems to me that you’re the one with the personal involvement, Hutchinson. Covering for your partner every step of the way!”

“Hutch,” Starsky said quietly as he held Hutch back. “You’re playing into his hands. We’ve got enough to contend with here without rising to his cheap shots.”

Starsky waited a moment and when Hutch finally relaxed, Starsky pulled his friend farther away with a measured calm that belied the urge to violence quivering in his own body. It was an effort to keep his own impulses to lash out at Carlson in check, but knew he had to diffuse Hutch quickly and effectively.

Hutch was breathing rapidly as he fought to gain control over his temper, and Starsky knew the had to leave the scene before any further fireworks erupted.

“Hutch, keys.”

Hutch eventually stopped eyeballing Carlson and used the keys to unlock his car doors. He climbed into the driver’s side. Starsky waited until his partner was inside the car, still tense and on edge. Starsky opened the passenger door, but walked back toward Carlson now that Hutch was inside the car.

Clare had moved over to Carlson, offering him her attention, but Carlson pushed her hands away, shaking, Starsky thought, with his own suppressed aggression and rattled pride.

“Next time you provoke my partner, I might not be there to stop him,” Starsky said quietly. “Like you said – we cover for one another every step of the way, you’d do well to remember that.”

Not bothering to see Carlson’s reaction, Starsky slid into the passenger seat, barely managing to slam his door shut before Hutch gunned the car and screeched toward the garage exit.

 

Chapter Six

It was obvious to Starsky as soon as they sped away — the tires of the beaten up car squealing over the shiny concrete garage surface — that Hutch was still royally pissed.

Stopping his partner from launching a full physical attack on Carlson didn’t necessarily mean that he had succeeded in saving him from a blow out of rage. Far from it, in fact. It meant that Starsky now had to contend with the fallout. One very heated, quietly fuming Hutch.

Never an easy Hutch to have to handle.

Once clear of the precinct garage boom gates, Hutch floored the accelerator, seemingly heedless of other cars as he spun the wheel tight to push his heavy car brashly into the flow of midday traffic. His action earned them a series of short sharp horn blasts. But Hutch, impervious to the honking abuse, pulled the wheel hard to force his way into the fast lane. It was all Starsky could do not to wince in sympathy at the manhandling Hutch was giving the older car.

One more sudden and unnecessary lane change — resulting in him being thrown forward then jolted back with the change in momentum — and he could no longer help himself, fuming Hutch or not.

“You okay or you want me to drive?” Starsky asked, tempting fate when he saw the glare Hutch shot him.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Of course I’m okay for God’s sake!” but the set of his jaw and harsh, rapid breathing told Starsky otherwise.

“Might not get us home in one piece if you keep attacking the clutch like that, partner.” Starsky’s observation was serious, but in his Hutch’s dark mood the comment was not well received.

“Like I said before, Starsky, stop complaining and let me drive, dammit,” Hutch barked back at him before making another sudden violent swerve across the lane to cut in front of a car.

With his eyes narrowed with deliberate focus on the road, Starsky had the distinct feeling that it wasn’t the road his partner was seeing, nor was the gear shift beneath his death-like grip what he was feeling. Hutch was still back in the garage with Carlson in his mind.

“Fine. You can drive, just ease off weaving and cut the speed, will ya? My head still has moveable parts inside,” Starsky said, feeling no guilt for resorting to a tact that never failed with his partner. Even Hutch’s foulest mood could be diffused by concern for Starsky.

In an instant, Hutch eased up on the accelerator, turning quickly to give Starsky a worried look. “Christ, I didn’t even think of your head. Why the hell didn’t you say something?”

“Just did, didn’t I?” Starsky said wearily, and sat back in the passenger seat like he was told. He didn’t have the energy now to contend with Hutch when he was like this and knew it was best to let him settle down on his own. At least he had slowed the car to a reasonable speed as he lapsed into brooding silence.

After all, Starsky thought, he had enough of his own thoughts to keep him occupied on their tense drive back to Venice Beach. Clare’s outspoken accusations back in the garage had been like a bucket of ice water on his sluggish self-awareness. He needed some time to adjust to what she had inadvertently helped him to realize. Although she had no doubt said it to hurt him, it was probably one of the most valuable interactions he had ever shared with her during their brief relationship.

One day, if and when this whole mess was behind him, he would thank her for throwing in his face what he had been too gutless to admit to himself.

~~~

The confirmation call Anthony Durniak had expected was now an hour late and the waiting was more than a mild irritation. Late was unacceptable. He was never a man of patience and was intolerant of anyone or anything that kept him waiting. Agitation built in him as he paced across the plush carpet once more to take in the view from his expansive window. In the glass reflection he quietly admired his profile, the cut of his Italian suit, and the line of his muscular body. He turned to the side a little, using the reflected image to rearrange the heavy fall of his thick gold hair where it swept across his crisply starched collar. He preferred to wear his hair a little long, pleased with its abundance and its glossy texture despite being in his mid-thirties. He was proud of his well-kept appearance and his immaculate detail to his personal presentation. Appearances meant a lot, especially to a man who needed to project an image of power and control.

Anthony Durniak was a powerful and controlling presence in New York despite the growing number of other Mafia ringleaders.

Shifting his focus beyond his reflection, he took time to appreciate the magnificent view. Outside his plush tower office, the frenetic bustle of the pulsing city that spread out far below his vantage point never failed to excite him. It was an awe-inspiring spectacle, and no less thrilling because it was silent, cocooned as he was from its ceaseless cacophony. Presiding over the breathtaking view of the East River, he always felt somewhat possessive of the avenues and streets stretching out all around it, knowing as he did the depth of his power and influence over many of its inner sectors.

Tony Durniak loved New York, always had and always would – even though in the past few years he had taken up his father’s legacy and extended his operations to the lucrative west coast to take advantage its proximity to the Mexican border.

His thoughts went now to Los Angeles as he answered the buzz of his desk phone. It was his personal assistant putting through the call he had been expecting.

As the call went through, he cut in before the speaker could begin. “Monetti? I expected you to call over two hours ago. I trust you have a sound reason for the delay.” Durniak’s tone was unmistakably ominous, aimed to elicit fear and deference. “What have you got to tell me about our inside man? Has he made contact yet?”

This time he gave the caller time to speak.

“All I need to know,” Durniak said, “is that he arrived in LA and is taking steps to contact the cop immediately. I don’t want any time wasted here. When I find the law at my door I want to be ahead of the game.”

He listened for a moment or two to the caller and relaxed a little more in his desk chair at what he heard.

“Good.” He fingered his silk tie. “Good. Just be sure the bastard doesn’t decide to do his own thing as soon as he’s out of sight. His ties to the cop could make this difficult for him. Make certain when you meet with him that you emphasize how important it is that he keeps me informed. Informed, or out of my circle – permanently. After all, this is the first time I’ve ever found the useless prick in anyway useful.”

Durniak ended the call and paused only briefly before punching the line for his personal assistant. “Go over my schedule for the next two to three days and clear all my appointments except those that are essential or high priority. You can let them know I will be available for phone or video link up if necessary – from my West Coast office. Then arrange for a flight to LA for tomorrow – mid-morning. Book my usual suite.”

With that decision made, he felt a little less uneasy.

The recent unfortunate turn of events in his meth production and distribution business was a matter he would need to follow up on himself. He had made the decision to take a direct role in dealing with the stolen parcel of meth for two reasons. The first was purely financial, due not only to the magnitude of the investment at stake, but also because the theft of the meth would jeopardize the entire production arm of that sector of his enterprise.

The second reason, however, that required his personal attention concerned the person at the center of the loss of his missing meth. A certain LA cop with whom he shared history. A man who, in his opinion, had had more time — and a better relationship — with his father than he should have ever had the right to enjoy.

David Michael Starsky.

~~~

The two of them had said little to each other after arriving at Hutch’s home and even less once inside. Starsky soon discovered that Hutch was continuing to silently nurse his black mood. Leaving Starsky, he had walked straight out to the covered balcony, making some comment about needing to check on the welfare of his newly planted bulbs or some such thing. A ruse to buy more time for himself. Starsky accepted it for what it was – Hutch needing time to calm down.

Starsky busied himself with putting on fresh coffee he didn’t feel like drinking and scouring through Hutch’s fridge for food he didn’t feel like eating.

It didn’t take long before Hutch came back inside, his body noticeably less taut, but his jaw still set firmly. He accepted the cup of coffee Starsky handed him without a word and, cupping it in his big hands, he looked down at the steamy vapor.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said without looking up at Starsky.

“You usually do.”

Hutch let out a frustrated breath. “Lashing out like that at Carlson was damn stupid of me. Stupid and dangerous.”

“Yep, it was.”

“Carlson pushed too hard, Starsky.”

“Sure he did. That was no doubt his intention when he came across us like sittin’ ducks in the garage.” Starsky put down his unwanted coffee. “You want to fuck up your career as well, Hutch? Bad enough that one of us is in the hot seat with IA without you throwing yourself at them, too. Jesus, who more than me would love to be the one to put my fist through his face, huh? But one move by either of us toward him, and this whole murder investigation gets taken to new level. There’s already enough stacked up against me in this investigation.” His voice carried the worry he felt after the harrowing morning he already had with Homicide.

“Look, I know all that, Starsky. It’s just that – I was wound up this morning, wound up too tight. I’ll have to learn to cool it from now on,” Hutch said.

“I guess we both need to cool it,” Starsky said. “Not gonna be easy to do, but if we don’t…”

Hutch nodded and then looked thoughtful. “Dobey said you handled things well this morning with the Santa Monica team. How do you think it went?”

Starsky picked up his coffee again. “They’re putting their teeth into my connection with Durniak. The motive for Vanessa’s murder is tied up with her involvement with him and whoever else she was seeing back East.” He paused, distracted for a moment, holding his coffee in one hand while he patted down his shirt pocket with the other. “Tony Durniak. And they’re linking Durniak with me, of course.”

Ceasing the patting, his eyes tracked around the room. He could sense Hutch’s disapproval as he did.

“In the coat closet,” Hutch told him, “where I put your jacket last night.” He said it with as much distaste as he might use when describing the whereabouts of a severed body part.

“What is?” Starsky asked, feigning vague disinterest.

“What you’re looking for, Starsky. I hung it up when we got back from the hospital – you probably don’t remember with the drugs and all…”

“My holster?

Hutch spluttered disbelievingly. “Sure, Starsky. Your holster. Like you really need your holster right now – especially when you have no gun.”

Starsky gave him a wry look. “Smart ass.” He walked over to the small entry cupboard near the front door.

“Have to warn you though, there’s only a few left.” Hutch said it just as Starsky was pulling the crumpled jacket out and feeling in the side pocket. “And probably crushed to pieces the way you were lying in the car last night.”

“Damn it to hell,” Starsky lamented. “There’s no more than four in here.”

“Then I suggest you make them last. You’ve gotta kick the habit, Starsk,” he said in the paternal way Starsky knew only too well. “I’ve never seen you smoke so much as in the last weeks. Your lungs are going to quit on you on the job. How the hell do you expect to chase down a felon or get out of the way of flying bullets with a clogged up chest and heart?”

For about one moment Starsky felt guilty for his behavior. Hutch was right – as he always was about these things. Then he quickly changed to feeling resentful when he realized how very much he really wanted the battered cigarette he was holding in his hand. How much he craved the bent up, half-crushed slim paper tube. Damn Hutch for being right.

“Hey if I’m goin’ in the slammer you think I’m gonna be worried about my freakin’ lungs?”

There! Hutch could take that for making him feel like he was some needy addict when he had every right to be needy of something – especially now.

Hutch strode across the room, stood in front of him and jabbed his finger hard into his chest, his eyes bright with frayed impatience. “Are you going to go into pity mode on me now? If so, you’d better let me know so I can tune out and come back when you’ve finished feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Pity mode! Christ, five minutes ago you were the one in full on sulk mode when you couldn’t get your own way with laying your fist into Carlson. What the hell do you expect me to say, huh? Or act like for that matter? You tell me how else I should be acting or feeling! Christ, Hutch. I’m in a corner with my back against it so tight and everything’s crowdin’ in on me. I can either take in the face or turn around and let it fuck me over from behind! Maybe it’s easier to turn my back on it, have a freakin’ cigarette, and forget about things for a while.”

“Or, you can talk to me about your worries with the investigation and we can deal with it together – like we usually do,” Hutch said. “Since when did we ever take a punch to the face without fighting back or let ourselves be screwed over? Far as I remember that’s not how we work, partner. That’s not our M.O.”

“There is no ‘our M.O.’ in this one, Hutch. Just mine. This is not your case, pal. You ain’t in it.” He looked down to see that his fingers were crumbling the cigarette that had lain loose there, the shredded tobacco drifting to the floor and sticking to his hand. One less for his rasping lungs. God knows Hutch was right. He had to give the dirty habit up.

“The crap I’m not!” Hutch’s voice rose to a frustrated yell. “I’m in this ‘case,’ as you call it, about as much as anyone can be. Even more than you, Starsky!”

“Yeah?” Starsky yelled back now, his anger rising to match Hutch’s. “And how do ya’ figure that? To my knowledge, you ain’t the one being eyeballed for murder and drug dealing. You ain’t the one who’s being labeled as a dirty cop from the wrong side of the tracks. An ex-Brooklyn mob leech that could be playing both sides to pull in the cash.”

Hutch looked dumbfounded for a moment. “Where the Christ did all that come from?” He frowned. “Is that what went down in the interviews this morning?”

“Something along those lines – yeah,” Starsky muttered, aware of his dented pride.

“Is that what the Santa Monica boys implied, or are you reading more into this than you should?” Hutch asked, his eyes narrowed now as though he didn’t quite believe Starsky’s report. “I can’t believe your lawyer would let them go at you like that. You’re a cop – and a damn respected one at that.”

“They’re running a murder investigation, Hutch.” Starsky snorted. “They get to ask the questions and make some assumptions – lawyer or no lawyer.”

“Well then what? What did they say? What could they possibly have to ask you about your past with – with Durniak? Was that it? Joe? Joe Durniak, or his son?” When Starsky didn’t immediately answer, Hutch reached out and shook his shoulder. “Talk to me, will you, damn it!”

The hand on his shoulder was too insistent, so Starsky took a pace or two back, wishing now he hadn’t opened his big mouth about this aspect of the interrogation. “Just stuff – crap from my past – my ties with Joe Durniak and his son. You know all about that.” Starsky didn’t want to re-visit any of this with Hutch.

Hutch looked at him warily, Starsky thought, as though he wasn’t sure whether to say what he said next. “You know, Starsky, I actually don’t know very much at all about your relationship with Joe’s son. Whenever we talked, it was always more about the impact Joe had in your early life. Not about Tony.”

“Yeah well – that’s because there’s not much to talk about.” Starsky looked longingly at the crushed cigarettes on the table.

“Starsk? I never asked you and you never told me – what happened when you went back East for Joe Durniak’s funeral?” His tone was light, but Starsky knew him better than that. Hutch was going to delve.

“What do ya mean what happened? It was a funeral. Lot’sa family and friends cryin’ and lookin’ sad. The press havin’ a field day with all the big names showin’ their faces and lookin’ grim in black.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Starsk, okay? You know what I’m asking you. What happened between you and Tony?” Hutch persisted.

“Barely saw him. I was there to pay my respects to Joe and I did that. I kept to myself.” Starsky knew it hardly sounded convincing and that Hutch wouldn’t buy it.

“So what, nothing happened? You didn’t even speak to him?”

“What is this, an inquisition?” Starsky snapped.

“Cut it out, Starsk. Don’t go and get all riled up again on this. I’m just trying to figure out what part of the story you edited out. I don’t care that you’d do that for IA or Homicide or even for Dobey – but I do care, and wonder why you feel you’d have to do it for me?”

“There is nothing of importance that happened at that funeral that I’ve withheld from you,” Starsky said it lightly, his body language failing him in his verbal denial.

“Are you sure?” Hutch pried again. “Because, whether you or I like it or not, clearing your name could well involve rubbing shoulders with Tony Durniak in some shape or form. Thanks to Vanessa, you seem to have been pulled back into his world.”

“Told you already, there’s no – ”

“Starsk,” Hutch interrupted more denials. “It’s me asking you. Me. Hutch. If you kept things from me before about Durniak and your early life I can accept that, respect that – but not if it has some bearing on the now, and what is going to happen to you in this investigation.”

Huffing out a breath, Starsky walked over to the hall table where his abandoned lighter still lay, casually picking it up and tossing it in his hands. “Well, if you want the whole damn back story, which ya’ apparently ain’t goin’ to leave me alone till you get, then I need a cigarette.”

He quickly received the dirty look he expected. Starsky knew Hutch didn’t appreciate him suckering him with his emotional games but was going to fold anyway – as he so often did with Starsky.

“Alright, have your damn fix of nicotine. But outside on the balcony, not in here. And, keep your distance from my newly transferred seedlings.” Hutch scowled again as Starsky took the time to pick out the two best of the few remaining mangled cigarettes. He could easily have put Hutch’s mind at rest and declared out loud his fresh conviction that this would be his last indulgence in the vice. These cigarettes were his last hurrah and then he would be done with the filthy habit. But he didn’t say it. There were bigger issues at hand then his resolution to stop smoking – and right now this last bit of nicotine would give him the time he needed to get his thoughts together. He had to decide what he was prepared to share with his worried partner about his past with Tony Durniak.

Jabbing the cigarette between his lips, he led the way outside to the semi-covered balcony. Hutch was right behind him, and Starsky swore he could feel Hutch’s eyes scorching the back of his shirt.

“I want to hear it all. I mean it, Starsky,” he said to Starsky’s back. “Everything needs to be out on the table if we want to stand a chance of dealing with this. No secrets between us. No holding stuff back from each other.”

It was all Starsky could do to keep walking and not to turn around and search Hutch’s face.

Secrets? Holding stuff back from each other?

Was Hutch still talking about the investigation? About his past? Or was he also moving closer to what they both seem to be wanting, but were too damn afraid to ask of each other?

~~~

Outside on the street a half block up and across the road from Hutchinson’s Venice Beach apartment, a late-model rental car was parked parallel to the street, its driver having secured one of the few remaining parking spaces in the trendy, busy street.

He’d arrived on the early morning flight from New York as planned, but now more than six hours later he still hadn’t managed to secure a meeting with the cop Durniak had sent him to check out. It wasn’t lost on him either that he himself was being followed. Durniak didn’t get where he did by trusting anyone, especially his own inside men. A dark SUV had been parked further up the street behind him for as long as he’d been sitting here, and he had little doubt that the SUV’s driver was the same guy who had called him earlier to arrange a meeting once he had finished what he was sent to do with the cop.

Maybe Durniak didn’t believe he could handle this gig without letting his emotions mess up his mission. Well Durniak was wrong. If this was his big opportunity to make his mark with the New York mobster, then he was going to be damn sure he impressed his boss. Fulfilling Durniak’s orders would guarantee long-term pay offs for his career in New York.

Misgivings or not, if he were going to do this, then he would have to consider doing it soon. The two detectives had long since arrived back at the apartment. They’d arrived together as he had expected, and entered the building. Since he discovered that the police had sealed off David Starsky’s apartment, he figured Starsky would stay with Hutchinson in his Venice Beach digs.

With the most recent phone call from Tony Durniak’s LA man fresh in his mind, he knew he had to stop delaying what he had come to do. The two detectives were, unfortunately, together, but it was unlikely he would get an opportunity to get the one he wanted by himself without the other partner being by his side. He couldn’t risk them leaving again unexpectedly before he had a chance to make his move. Durniak would be gnashing his teeth if he didn’t have something to tell him soon.

His employer was counting on him – and, he’d learned very quickly that when Tony Durniak counted on you, it was in your interests to deliver.

~~~

Hutch couldn’t be sure why he was harboring so much pent-up negative energy, but as he followed Starsky out to the balcony he felt both stifled and wired at the same time.

Perhaps his tense mood was the accumulation of the leftover anger from the garage altercation with Carlson, the remnants of last night’s hangover, and the worry about Starsky being investigated.

Hell, given all of that, it wasn’t as if he didn’t have enough reason to feel like he did. And now here was Starsky finally admitting that there might be even more for him to worry about with Starsky’s past with Tony Durniak. Hutch wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what Starsky might tell him, and how it could possibly be incriminating enough that the Santa Monica Homicide team might investigate it in relation to Van’s murder and the missing drugs.

All of this was plaguing him, weighing him down – and yet – none of it – if he was really honest, could explain how or what he was experiencing as he stood beside his partner waiting for him to open up about his past. Yes, there was worry. Yes, there was fear and concern for Starsky’s welfare. And now, some immerging anger that Starsky might not have leveled with him about Durniak and why Vanessa had come to him in the first place. Yet, none of these he knew for certain were the underlying cause of how he was feeling.

It was something else entirely.

And this something else was fighting its way to the surface in the midst of one of the most difficult times Hutch could recall in his life. A murdered ex-wife and his best friend and partner as suspect.

Hutch watched as Starsky leaned casually against the brick balcony, one leg bent up behind him as he lowered his curly dark head over his cupped hands to light the cigarette in his mouth. Starsky drew on the cigarette, tipping his head back to inhale deep and long as though he was drawing in his life’s blood. Hutch couldn’t help but watch the line of his neck as it stretched back to maximize the breath and the fall of his dark curls as they tumbled down loosely over his collar. Exhaling, he looked up again, his head cocked a little to the side as he gave Hutch the smallest of smiles.

“I’d offer you a buck for your thoughts, but by the troubled look in those pretty blue eyes of yours I’m not sure I want to know them,” Starsky said.

“Not sure I could even tell you – not sure I even know them myself,” Hutch replied, surprised at his own honesty. Joining Starsky’s side, he leaned his hip against the waist-height balcony wall.

“So – you and Tony Durniak?” Hutch said, bringing himself back to the moment and away from his wayward thoughts. Thoughts he engaged in far too frequently of late.

Not surprisingly, Starsky gave him one of his nonchalant shrugs as he pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and squinted down at the red hot glow of burning tobacco. “Not much to tell. And I didn’t tell ya because I knew you’d get on your high Hutchinson horse about it.” Starsky flicked the ash over the wall while he looked, or tried to look, Hutch thought, unperturbed. “Besides, it’s all past history.” Then he frowned and the unperturbed look dropped away. “Or at least it was until this morning.”

“In the interviews? With IA or Homicide?”

“Simonetti made mention of it, but the Santa Monica detectives made more of a deal about it. They had photos – God knows how or why – of Joe’s funeral. Must have had some police presence undercover or something because I sure as hell don’t remember being snapped.”

“Photos? What do you mean?” Hutch asked, his brow knitting.

“Some photos of me and Tony,” Starsky told him as though that explained it enough.

“Go on,” Hutch prompted, not liking the sound of it already.

“It’s like I told Vanessa when she came to me thinking I could be an ‘in’ for her with Tony. My relationship with Joe’s son had always been a rocky one. He was always resentful of the way Joe had time for me as a kid, jealous of any affection or privileges he offered me and unwilling to share any part of his father. It got more pronounced as we got older. By the time I left New York, he was old enough to make those feelings known to me – clearly. I think that if I hadn’t ended up being sent away, Joe’s closeness to me would have caused serious problems for both sides.”

“Did you ever run across him once you’d left New York – Tony, I mean? I know you saw Joe occasionally,” Hutch said.

“Only once that I can recall. I’d gone home to visit Ma – Nicky was havin’ his first round of problems with the law. You and me were just outta the Academy. Joe made his usual effort of being there for Ma, though I know she never wanted his help or the influence he could wield to help Nicky. She always hated his mob connections even though she knew he was a friend of Pa’s. Anyway, Tony had quite a strong presence in the local mob, and he had quite a bit of pull with some of the younger guys. When I was at home, he made sure to pay me a visit and let me know the score. Or rather, had his heavy-handed goons let me know the score.” Starsky grimaced at the memory, rubbing his jaw as though feeling the long-ago pain.

“The asshole. What did Joe do when he found out?” Hutch could feel himself getting wound up as he always did when he heard accounts of Starsky being threatened.

“Joe didn’t find out. If he had, it would have been worse – for me and for my family. Tony was convinced I was like some prodigal son who was out to steal his father from him. I’d never used him as Tony thought I had and it wasn’t me who sought Joe out, but he was still in my life anyway. After Tony’s messengers delivered the warning, I decided in the future to keep well clear of him for Ma’s and Nicky’s sake.”

“And then Joe died, and you flew over for the funeral. I wish to God you’d have let me go with you, Starsky, knowing all of this.”

Starsky shook his head emphatically. “That’s why I purposely didn’t want you there, and didn’t want Dobey to know either. I was worried about how Tony would be with me – and couldn’t risk you being around beside me if he decided to act out. IA would have more than a couple of photos to throw in our faces. I had enough trouble keeping you off Carlson this morning.” Starsky gave the slightest grin as he said it. “Still, I was damned if I wasn’t going to say farewell to Joe. He’d been a big part of my life – and my father’s. Tony, however, was not too happy to see my face in the crowd at the funeral.”

“How bad did it get?” Hutch tried to recall how his friend had seemed when he had returned from the East Coast after the funeral. Had there been any indication that something was awry when he got back? He couldn’t recall any distinguishing marks or bruises on his friend’s body. He would have not let it pass without comment if he had, so Starsky must have made sure to keep any evidence of a beating covered up.

Hutch waited while Starsky, deep in thought, ground the cigarette butt into the worn brick ledge. “Not physical at least. Not like the other time. He just made sure to have his boys pull me aside for a very private little meeting and let me know just how much he really hated me. With his father dead, he felt totally empowered. Free to give it to me straight. That’s why I was so pissed with the implications that Simonetti and Carlson were making about Tony and me. If anything, those implications are as off base as they could be. Tony sees me as the classic enemy and being a cop, one who can’t be bought, just makes his opinion of me worse,” Starsky said. “For my part, I’m not all that fond of him, either.”

“And you think that Homicide is going to make something out of all of this — whether you have bad or good blood between you and Tony Durniak?” Hutch could see how this must have all seemed to Starsky and could understand his distress.

“Yep. Can’t win either way. Just knowing Durniak black marks me.” His tone was bitter as he lifted his left hand to press his thumb and fingers into his eyes. “And you know what? If I didn’t know him, Vanessa would never have come to me like she did – and she might still be alive.” He looked at Hutch. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought the same thing.”

“I haven’t, no – because it makes no sense to think that way. You can’t possibly know that – you have no idea of what would have happened to her given how deep she was in all of this.”

“Doesn’t alter the fact that she died because of what happened in my apartment with those goons. If I hadn’t been in the picture, if she hadn’t grabbed my gun–”

Hutch stalked over to him and seized his arm. “What the hell do you want me to say here, Starsky? That I agree with all this shit you’re saying? That I hold you responsible for Van’s death? That I think that your connections to Durniak got her killed? What? What do you want me to say?” Hutch shook his arm roughly, his voice cutting and hard.

“You see, that’s the whole problem for me, Hutch. You haven’t said it. You haven’t said anything. Not once so far. Well maybe you need to get it off your chest.”

“None of this is easy for me either, Starsky.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Hardly convenient having your partner out of commission and the whole precinct thinking I was involved with your ex behind your back –” Starsky wrenched his arm out of Hutch’s hold and stepped back.

“Where the fuck did that come from?” Hutch called out as Starsky turned and walked away. “I never said that –”

Inside the apartment, Hutch caught up to him quickly, and Starsky whirled around to face him. “Like Clare and Carlson said, everyone is going to assume that I was with her behind your back, whether you believe I was or not. And you know, there’s the drug issue, and my connection somehow with Durniak. Don’t try and tell me that none of this makes you burn.” Starsky raised his voice louder. “Why don’t you just go and say it. Say it to me, Hutch, God damn it! Stop being so freakin’ understanding about my feelings, will ya!”

“You’re putting your own slant on this, buddy. I don’t feel like there’s anything to say, and I’m getting sick of telling you that –” He sliced his hand across Starsky’s visual field.

“And I’m gettin’ sick of hearing you say it!” Starsky countered, not stepping back from his partner’s vehemence, but looking as though he no longer wanted to be near him.

Something about Starsky at that moment seemed so elusive, so tenuous, almost as though Hutch thought he was fighting to remain in the same room. “I know there was nothing between you and Vanessa,” Hutch said quietly.

“But there was, Hutch. There was and you know it. There was the resentment I held toward her. More than just resentment. I hated her and have for all these years for what she did to you. Can you really be sure I didn’t act on those feelings? That I didn’t set this whole thing up to get her out of your life, get her out of both of our lives?” Hutch could see the naked pain in his eyes. “And even if you did, even if you really thought I might have done it, what scares me, Hutch, is that you might just accept it and go on supporting me. If that’s what you really believe, I couldn’t stand it. I wouldn’t want that – even though I know you’d do it for me.” Starsky implored now, his voice trembling and his hands shaky as he reached out to hold Hutch’s shoulders.

“I don’t need to cover for you, Starsky, because there is nothing to cover,” Hutch insisted again. “Just stop this shit, will you?”

But Starsky looked nowhere near letting up on his quest. “Ask me, will you? Go on. Ask me what you haven’t asked me yet,” Starsky’s said with dark determination. “If you don’t – I’m gonna walk outta here right now,” And Hutch could see in his eyes that he would.

Starsky raised his eyebrows, waiting. When Hutch said nothing, he gave a grim nod and turned to open the door.

Cursing out loud, Hutch moved to the door and pushed against it, slamming it shut with a ferocity he couldn’t control. “Why are doing this!” he demanded hoarsely. “Why do you need me to ask you something that I already know the answer to?”

“What do you know?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Starsky! That you’re innocent.”

“Hutch, do you really know how far I might go to protect you or stop you from being hurt? If it came down to it, do you understand what I might be capable of doing for you?”

“Yes, yes, I think I do. It’s no different for me,” Hutch said, trying to reason with him.

“Are you so sure? Even if it meant killing someone?” Starsky paused, his mouth in a grim line.

Hutch felt the blood drain from his face.

Starsky’s provocation was too much for him. He took a breath. It came out as a tremulous, but angry whisper – the anger was for Starsky who had pushed him to this, not because of any doubt he had about the answer. “Did you have anything to do with Vanessa, or her death, or why she came to you in the first place?” There, he said it. He had asked. The treachery he felt at having to do so left him shaken.

Starsky lifted his head, looked him square in the eyes and answered, “No.”

It was simple and direct – such a tiny word – but once Starsky uttered it, Hutch could almost swear he could see his partner begin to let go and relax, his face losing some of its hardness, his body no longer seemingly poised for flight.

In a similar way, the emotional interchange had exhausted Hutch, and he wanted to sink down on the sofa. But he was fearful that if he moved back from where he had Starsky pinned against the door that he would flee the apartment.

More than anything, he didn’t want that to happen. It was as though they were moving closer and closer toward something inevitable.

“What are we doing here? What are we doing to one another – turning on each other like we are?” Hutch asked, defeated and upset by what had just happened.

It was he who posed the question, but he already thought he had half the answer. He looked into Starsky’s dark blue eyes and wondered if Starsky had the other half. What was going on was more of the same of what they had been doing to each other for the past couple of months. Dancing around the hulking presence that was always with them whenever they were in a room, a car – hell, whenever they were simply together. All that was happening was the tempo that was building with each passing day.

Hot and feverish, red and dangerous, the feeling was deep inside him. A burning addiction for something he had not yet even tasted was rising up in his chest, and it was taking all his strength to hold it in.

The timing was all wrong. Starsky needed him more than ever right now to be the partner and friend he had always been for him. Not something he felt he wanted to become for him.

Still against the wall, trapped in the triangle of Hutch’s arms as he barred the door, Starsky looked like he might be considering the question, but instead he had his own to ask. “How did you think I felt when Clare said what she did to me in the garage?”

Hutch was surprised by the question. It seemed to have come out of nowhere. “I knew it was painful and hurtful for you to hear it – and I felt bad for you.”

“In fact, it wasn’t hurtful at all, Hutch,” Starsky said. “You see, it was what I needed to hear.”

“I don’t – I’m not getting you here, buddy.” Hutch was genuinely confused now. He thought back to the moment in the garage that morning when Clare had thrown the insults at Starsky about their time together, and her mistaken assumptions that he had been having some sort of affair with Vanessa.

“Clare said to me in the garage that she always thought I wanted someone else the whole time I was with her,” Starsky said, watching Hutch more closely with each word.

“Yes, she thought – mistakenly, of course — when she found out about the murder, that it was Van you were with – Van you really wanted – ”

“She was wrong, Hutch,” he said. “At least,” Starsky took an unsteady breath, “she was wrong about Vanessa.”

“I know – of course she was…what she said – ” Hutch stopped then, the words dying on his lips. He saw it. On Starsky’s face, in his eyes. Something he had only ever dreamed of seeing.

Hutch felt he couldn’t move for fear that what he saw would fall away and he would be left thinking it had all been in his imagination.

“But, she was right about me wanting something else – someone that wasn’t her.” Starsky lifted two fingers to his temple and tapped. “And all the time I had it locked up here and wouldn’t let it out. You know that, Hutch? Locked so deep in my fuckin’ subconscious it couldn’t get free until – ”

“Starsk–”

“This is so damn hard for me…” Starsky choked, his voice dry and scratchy with emotion. “Hutch–”

“Please…” Hutch begged, but didn’t even know what he was pleading for. All he knew was he didn’t want what Starsky had to say next to be anything but what he hoped he would say.

The door behind Starsky’s head suddenly vibrated with a thunderous knock. Starsky’s dark blue eyes that had been regarding Hutch so earnestly were abruptly distracted as Starsky jerked his head at the intrusive noise.

Reflexively, Hutch pulled back from the door too, startled and displaced by the loud knocking.

For a few seconds, their eyes found each other again, but it was only fleeting before whatever had begun to unfold between them was packed away so they could deal with the outside world.

Starsky jumped away from the door. “Thought you got this place secured with the intercom downstairs.”

“Must be one of the other tenants,” Hutch suggested, more for something to say to stabilize his shaky emotions and to give him time to recover from his disappointment at the intrusion.

Starsky moved completely away from the door.

“Shit!” Hutch hissed, and fumbled clumsily with the locks. Little wonder, he thought, for his brain was still three paces back trying to fathom what Starsky had left unsaid.

Hutch finally pulled the door open to find Nick Starsky standing on the other side.

 

Chapter Seven

Hutch couldn’t believe it when he saw who was at the door. Then again — the way things had been going for him the past few days, he should have. Things were going from bad to worse.

Nick Starsky. Of course, impeccable timing as always.

Truth be known, he was never keen to lay eyes on Starsky’s younger brother, but his sudden appearance, now of all times, was like some lousy joke.

Hutch groaned inwardly at the fresh complications Nick’s arrival could mean. He had already surmised that it was no coincidence that Starsky’s only sibling had shown up now.

“Nick,” he managed, feeling the need to choke. Even his name was irritating. “How did you get up here without buzzing?” Not exactly a warm welcome he knew, but the question was out before he could stop it.

Hutch looked behind him quickly but there was no sign of Starsky. Had he gone back to the balcony for the last of his mangled cigarettes? Or could he be de-stressing from the near physical collision they had narrowly escaped thanks to Nick’s interruption?

Unruffled by Hutch’s less than congenial greeting, Nick gave him one of his smiles, one which Hutch was all too familiar with — a twisted rendition of a smile that never reached his eyes.

“Hutch, hey man.” It wasn’t hard to miss the lack of sincerity in his greeting either. Nick looked beyond Hutch into the room, no doubt scouting for Starsky. Not seeing him, Nick quickly dropped the false enthusiasm. “Pleased to see me as usual. One of your neighbors let me in. One sexy little woman. Wow! Said she works downstairs in the restaurant. I guess you know her — she sure seemed to know you.” His suggestive male-to-male wink made Hutch cringe.

“So,” Nick tapped the doorframe and looked back down the stairwell behind him, “you gonna let me in or you want me to go back downstairs and buzz the intercom, all official-like?”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “Drop the dramatics, Nick. I was just surprised by the knock, that’s all.”

“I can see that. Hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

Was it his imagination or was there just a touch of lewdness in Nick’s voice? Biting down on his urge to retaliate verbally, Hutch resisted taking the bait. “I didn’t know you were coming. Does Starsky know?”

“Nope, but he soon will. I gather my brother is in there with you?” Nick’s smirk did little to allay Hutch’s concern that he had been lingering outside before knocking. Nick had no doubt heard them.

“Yes — he’s here,” Hutch answered calmly. No matter what it took, Hutch wouldn’t let Nick see that he was getting to him. He stepped back into the apartment. “He must be on the balcony.”

“Good — then let me surprise him.”

Nick railroaded his way into the room, pushing past Hutch who dearly wanted to stand as an impenetrable barrier to this cocky man. Although of similar stature to his brother with the same swarthy complexion, there were myriad differences between the brothers. Nick was less muscled with close-cropped wavy dark hair and a false elegance he achieved with expensive grooming and fashion. It gave him an air of superficial class without depth or quality. At least in Hutch’s opinion.

He wasn’t proud of his inability to take to Nick, knowing how it hurt Starsky to have his best friend at odds with his only brother. He had tried in the early days to make his relationship with Nick work. It was, in many ways, he supposed, a similar tension that had existed with Starsky, Van, and himself; only in this situation it was Starsky sandwiched in the middle of the two opposing forces. Not that Starsky was oblivious to Nick’s shortcomings — just as Hutch had not been to Vanessa’s. It was simply more difficult for the one tied by blood or marriage to remain objective. Hutch knew what it was like to try to make the relationships work as best they could.

“Nick. Wait.” Hutch caught his arm loosely before Nick could make his way to the greenhouse where Starsky sat with his back to them, his head cocked to the side as he spoke on his cell phone. “Why’re you here? I mean… why’re you here now?” But, one look at Nick’s disapproving face and Hutch knew already. “You’ve heard what’s happened?”

“What do ya think, Hutchinson? Of course, I know what’s happened.” Nick gave him a hard look. “Sad, ain’t it, that I had to find out from my freakin’ social network and not my brother that he’d been arrested for murder?”

“Starsky hasn’t been arrested — he’s just under investigation,” Hutch said. “You need to hear the full story, not just media fodder.”

“Save the legal semantics, Hutch. I know he’s in trouble. It ain’t just media I get my information from — Davey still has people who care about him and what happens to him, ya know? People in the know. Lucky for me I got those people too.”

“If Starsky wanted you to know he would have called you,” Hutch said. “Starsky didn’t want to worry his family.”

Nick made a scoffing sound. “I wanna see him.” He brushed past Hutch, already schooling his features into a grin so reminiscent of Starsky’s that, had Hutch not known better, he might have believed was genuine.

Hutch lagged behind as Nick snuck up behind his brother, who was still on the phone. Pulling his mixed-up feelings together — dismay at the interruption to his and Starsky’s intense moment at the doorway and the added shock that it was Nick Starsky — Hutch forced himself to follow. Why was Nick here?

Nick stopped behind Starsky’s back and waited. Hutch said nothing, knowing that Nick was hoping to surprise his brother. Starsky ended the call on his cell and sat looking reflectively at the device as though it might hold answers for him.

As he sensed someone behind him and assuming it was Hutch, he said over his shoulder, “So, did ya get rid of them? Whoever was at the door? ” His voice was weary. Hutch wondered if he heard disappointment, too.

Nowhere near as much as I’m feeling, babe… Hutch kept his thoughts to himself and answered lightly. “No — I couldn’t get rid of him. Says he wants to see you for some strange reason.” Hutch didn’t look at Nicky as he played out his expected role.

Starsky turned and came face-to-face with his brother, who let out a howl of delight when Starsky’s face blossomed in shocked realization. “Nicky! What the hell! You mean it was you at the door? Why didn’t you call out when you came in?” He jumped up and quickly folded his younger brother in a hug. They simultaneously smacked each other on the back, laughing, before pulling away again to take each other’s measure.

“He wanted to surprise you.” Hutch could hear how flat it sounded, but couldn’t help it. “He came through the front door with another tenant so he didn’t have to ring the intercom.”

“Is that so? I had no idea you were in LA.” Starsky hesitated, looked at Hutch then back at his brother. “Did you just arrive? Why didn’t you let me know you were coming to visit?” Starsky was obviously trying to understand Nick’s sudden presence in Hutch’s apartment. “How’d you know I was here?”

“Didn’t know I was coming myself till I jumped on the first flight I could get when — ” Nick paused. “I arrived this morning but couldn’t track you down, bro. And here? Well, when you weren’t at the station, weren’t at your Santa Monica pad — then naturally I figured you’d be here…” Nick swung his head toward Hutch, “as you usually are when you’re not in your own place.”

Starsky looked down then back up at Nick, his face serious. “You’ve heard the news then?”

Nick said nothing, and Starsky pulled back, holding him at arm’s length. “How? How did you know, Nicky?”

Nick scowled, his bonhomie sliding away. “Stupid question in this day and age. The story is news. Hutch’s dead ex being found in your place — ”

Starsky held up his hand to halt him. “Nicky. Her name was Vanessa.”

It wasn’t difficult to see that he was put out by Starsky’s subtle reprimand. “Sure — well — yeah I remember that — you know, from the past and all.” Nicky looked at his brother’s pained face and stopped. “By the way, Hutch, I’m sorry to hear your ex — ” he blustered a little, “ah, sorry to hear Vanessa’s dead. Must have been a shock for you.”

Hutch nodded. “You’re right, it was a shock. It’s been a difficult time for your brother who’s been coping with the investigation.”

“Well, of course, it must be and — ” Nick said, quickly reestablishing the reason for his presence. “That’s why I came straight over here — to be with ya Davey. These are the times when a man needs his family. So, here I am.” He pulled Starsky against him tightly while looking at Hutch. “Hutch. You mind if I take Dave out for some brother-to-brother time?”

Here it comes, thought Hutch already schooling his features. “Nick, you hardly need to ask me. Your brother can make up his own mind.”

Nick looked like he had just been one-upped. He tugged on Starsky’s arm. “What do ya say, Davey? I figure you probably need some space to talk about some of this shit. With your own place trashed by the cops, at least I can get ya outta here, and give you the chance to share some stuff with your brother.”

Hutch’s eyes went to Starsky who looked uneasy as he disengaged himself from Nick’s possessive clinch. “I’m comfortable here — Hutch’s place is like my second home.” Starsky frowned at his brother. “We can have time together here. I’ll put some fresh coffee on — or there’s beer in the fridge — ”

“Oh come on, man!” Nick pushed. “I flew all the way across the country to be with you. I just want to be here for you. You’ve probably been cooped up inside since this whole thing happened. You need to get out — chill out for an hour or so. Let your little brother carry some of the weight. I bet you haven’t had a decent meal since this went down. I’ll buy ya a steak. We can have some beers — ”

“He’s right, Starsk,” Hutch said. “Why don’t you two go on out for a while? Have some private time.” He could see Starsky was vacillating.

“I was waiting to hear back from Dobey,” Starsky said. “The Santa Monica detectives are coordinating with the New York police about that contact of Vanessa’s. I was talking to Dobey when you came in with Nicky. He said he might have some news for us in the next hour or so…” Starsky was obviously feeling torn.

“Just go, will you?” Hutch insisted. “There’s nothing else we can do until we hear what’s happening in the investigation.”

Starsky still hesitated.

“I’ll call Dobey and tell him to keep me posted while you’re out,” Hutch told him. “In the meantime, I can catch a nap. I need to sleep off the last of this hangover.”

Starsky seemed to make up his mind. “Okay then. But only for a couple of hours, Nick.” He looked at Hutch. “We’ll go to Huggy’s. I can show Nick the latest make-over.”

“Hey,” Nick protested. “I had something more upscale in mind. Classier than Huggy’s.” Hutch thought he sounded like a spoiled brat.

“I’m not up for a flashy lunch,” Starsky said. “Hug’s is plenty classy enough for me. I wanna’ feel comfortable.”

Nick seemed to accept that. He jostled car keys in his hand, “Okay then. Whatever my brother wants.” He grinned. “I’ve got a rental. We can take that. ”

Starsky threw Hutch a half apologetic glance as his brother ushered him out. “I’ll catch you soon.”

As they left, Hutch could hear Nick declaring again how happy he was to see his big brother, especially when Starsky needed him so much.

Hutch walked back out to the balcony, taking his time to pick up the discarded butts and place them in the trash. He noticed the two remaining cigarettes, bent and misshapen, remained where Starsky left them on the entry table. About to trash them as well, he stopped short of crushing and tossing them. Instead, he placed them on the kitchen table for Starsky to find. It was pointless to try to moderate his partner’s habit.

Hutch thought again of Nick Starsky. It was the same scene. Nothing had changed. Nick was still trying to cut Hutch out of the picture whenever he was around. Hutch felt uneasy about Nick’s sudden appearance. He’d never trusted Nick, and right now was no different.

~~~

New York City

Jake Webster closed the door of his apartment behind the two NYPD detectives, maintaining his nonchalant composure until he was sure they were gone. Only then did he allow himself to lean his tall lean form against the door and breathe a sigh of relief. Shaken from the questioning, he rubbed his hands across his close-cropped hair before pulling off his wire-framed glasses and rubbing his eyes.

Since news of Vanessa’s murder had reached him, he’d been lying low, staying away from his job in the large finance house in Manhattan and keeping his eyes open for his own safety. He could be taken out by Durniak’s two dirty players who would be looking high and low for their stolen meth — Durniak’s stolen meth. He didn’t know if they’d come back to New York or remained in LA, or if they’d fled the country after Vanessa’s murder.

“Shit!” Letting out some more tension he paced toward his office and fired up his laptop, thoughts about the interview running through his head while he waited for the computer to log him in.

The two detectives had asked him questions mostly about Vanessa Hutchinson and David Starsky. He didn’t think that had anything on him except as a contact from Vanessa’s cell phone, but he couldn’t be sure.

He’d told them that he’d been off work when he heard the news of Vanessa’s death, that he and Vanessa had been friends but not close. He’d met her through his friend, Marco, who had been in a relationship with her before he was killed. Jake told the detectives that he’d been worried about her for a long time now, concerned that she was mixed up in something over her head…something related to what had gotten Marco killed. Still — their activities didn’t include him.

He admitted Vanessa had called him from LA–the police would already know that, after all — but insisted he’d been ignorant of why she’d gone to LA. He was only trying to offer her support when she called. She’d gone back to LA to try to re-establish a relationship with her ex-husband, she’d told him. Jake had added his suspicions that Vanessa might actually be seeking out the company of her ex-husband’s partner, David Starsky. She’d talked often of him, he told them, and would not have been surprised if she and David Starsky had something going on.

Jake wasn’t sure what good it would serve putting extra heat on the cop called Starsky, but at least it would keep the spotlight off him. He needed time to follow through on his plans. Jake knew he should get out of New York or at least get somewhere Durniak’s men couldn’t easily find him. He was fairly certain no one had turned up the meth yet.

Tony Durniak would be ruthless in tracking it down and the two men who had swindled it from Durniak would be even more desperate for it. Vanessa had been the last person with it, but she was dead. Durniak, the two men who had chased down Vanessa, and the cops in California — none of them could know if David Starsky was involved with her or not.

Jake focused on the screen, navigating around the website with speed and well practiced moves, his mind anywhere but on the task at hand. He was on automatic pilot now and with no time to lose he was already mentally running through his next moves.

The way Jake saw it, everyone involved in Vanessa’s murder was in the dark.

Everyone but him.

~~~

A lot of money had been pumped into Huggy’s establishment in the last three months, and, for the first time, Starsky noticed just how much his and Hutch’s favorite watering hole had changed. Hug had taken on a partner and used the extra injection of money to upgrade the interior. Still, until now, Starsky hadn’t appreciated how much Hug had transformed the place. Perhaps, it was his heightened awareness in the wake of what had begun to unfurl between him and Hutch. Whatever it was, as he and Nick settled into a corner booth, Starsky was genuinely surprised by his surroundings.

Huggy had seen him arrive with Nicky, and had raised his hand from his perch behind the bar, but had not had time to come over. Starsky had the feeling that when he did, his friend might not linger. Huggy, like Hutch, never seemed to smile when Nick was around. It was a sad fact that had not escaped Starsky; his brother had done little to endear himself to any of Starsky’s friends. Nonetheless, Nick was his brother and his cross to bear.

Starsky looked across the table at Nick. He’d picked up the menu and, after giving it a quick glance, tapped it distractedly against the table. Unlike Starsky, Nick seemed disinterested in their surrounding’s warm ambience.

Nick tossed the menu back on the table, bumping a small lamp, making it teeter precariously. Starsky reached out to right it before it toppled.

“So, you up for a big juicy steak?” Nick asked him, oblivious to Starsky’s quick save.

“Oh — I don’t know Nick. I’m not that hungry.” Even Starsky could hear how despondent he sounded. He wished he could feel brighter. His brother had come all the way from New York to see him.

“Am I hearing right? My big brother turning down a steak?”

“I haven’t had much of an appetite lately, but I’ll order something.”

Nick’s expression grew serious. “Of course, you haven’t. Shit, what was I thinkin’? Well, let’s get a drink and maybe that’ll whet your appetite.” Nick looked around the room and scowled. Catching sight of a young waitress nearby, he snapped his fingers loudly to get her attention. Starsky cringed when people turned to look at them. Huggy didn’t miss it either, Starsky noticed, and glared at Nick from the bar.

The young waitress approached the table. Starsky didn’t recognize her. It only proved again how long it had been since he’d visited the place. Most of Huggy’s regular staff were familiar to him and Hutch.

“Bring us a coupla double bourbons. On the rocks, no mixers.” Nick barely looked at her as he gave the order. His attitude grated on Starsky.

“Ah, Nicky, I’m not gonna’ drink doubles in the middle of the day,” Starsky said. “I’d prefer a beer.”

The girl hovered uncertainly, looking at Nick, waiting for clarification on the order.

“Davey — just one. Loosen you up. You’re as tight as a drum, and I just want us to chill for a while and talk. What’s the problem? You’re not on duty.”

Starsky sighed. Giving in, he took the path of least resistance. He nodded at the girl with a light smile. Nicky could be a formidable force to argue with and he didn’t have the energy.

Nick sat back in his padded seat and eyed his brother. “You know, I really don’t get why you didn’t call me when all of this went down.”

During the ride over to Huggy’s, Nick had asked him repeatedly about the event. Starsky was tired of talking about it. “I’m sorry, Nicky, it’s been a tough coupla days, y’know? Phoning people and tellin’ them wasn’t up there on my list of priorities.”

“People? I’m your brother, the closest person in your life.” Nick stated it with conviction, but Starsky knew differently. Nick had been insecure about his role in Starsky’s life for years. Starsky knew his little brother had figured out that he wasn’t the person who could claim that role. Worse than that, he never failed to show his resentment toward the man who did.

“Besides, it wasn’t up to you to call me,” Nick went on. “Hutchinson should have done it.”

It wasn’t uncommon for Nick to refer to Hutch by his last name rather than Starsky’s nickname for him. It was just another thing that bugged Starsky whenever he heard it roll off Nick’s lips. He wondered if Nick did it simply to piss him off.

“Hutch is my partner and best friend. Can’t you refer to him informally? Ken or Hutch?” Starsky had asked him often enough over the years.

The young waitress materialized with the drinks and then was gone. Starsky pushed his around, but didn’t raise the glass. Nicky, however, took no time in raising his own glass and throwing back half its contents.

“Hutch had enough to deal with, Nicky. His ex-wife had just been found murdered.” Starsky frowned at him.

“Sure, but while he was dealing with that, you were getting pinned for her murder,” Nick argued.

Starsky didn’t comment on that, but instead picked up his drink and took a swallow of the burning liquid. Everything about him felt constricted. Maybe Nicky was right. Maybe he needed to let some of the tension out. Trouble was, the tension was all mixed up inside him. Part of it was worry over what lay ahead with the investigation, but another part was pent up emotion over what was happening with him and Hutch.

Everything was changing between them. And if he let it happen, there would be no going back to the way it had always been. It left him fearful of moving forward, but also taut with wanting.

Nicky was talking again. Starsky was surprised to realize that two more drinks had been delivered. He turned toward the bar and caught sight of Huggy looking at him with an odd expression. Starsky knew his friend wasn’t happy with him. Starsky couldn’t be certain whether Huggy’s hooded looks were due to his keeping company with Nicky or the fact that he was drinking double bourbons in the daylight hours.

Well, Starsky thought, he wasn’t happy with himself, either. He rounded on Nicky. “Look, stop bitchin’ about Hutch, will ya? You think I want to listen to you put my partner down? And his name is Hutch, not Hutchinson. Not like I haven’t mentioned that to you before.” Starsky slammed down the second glass, its contents giving him fortitude.

Nick had the grace to look taken aback by his sudden anger. He raised his eyebrows and looked into his empty glass.

A moment or two passed where neither said anything. Nick made a pretense of looking at the menu while Starsky wished he hadn’t agreed to this brotherly meeting.

Nick cleared his throat. “So, these two thugs in masks who turned up at your place… You think they knew Hutch’s ex? I mean, why the hell were they there in the first place?” Nick had changed the subject from attacking Hutch to more questions about the investigation.

“Nicky, you know I’m not s’posed to discuss the case with anyone. That includes you — I’m sorry. ”

“But you’re not the detective on this one.”

“No, that’s right. I’m a suspect.”

Starsky didn’t want to discuss aspects of the murder investigation with his brother beyond the rough summary he had given Nick of what had happened. The whole thing was raw and sensitive for him still, and anyone else but Hutch prodding at it filled Starsky with discomfort. Still, he could hardly share that with his brother.

“So? What’s the problem then — in talking to me about it?” Nicky pressed.

“It’s just a hard habit to break, ya know?” Starsky shrugged. “I’m not used to being on the wrong side of an investigation.”

“Davey, you’re giving me a hard time. I’m your brother for Christ’s sake. Your only brother. Don’t you think I deserve to have your trust on this? Didn’t you think I’d want to be here for ya — to stand by you while you’re goin’ through all of this?”

“I get that, Nick. Sure. But there’s certain things I’m not comfortable discussing with you. And I don’t need to drag you into this mess. I‘m a cop as well as your brother and right now I’m a cop in a whole lot of trouble, so I need to be extra careful.”

“You tellin’ me you don’t talk about the investigation with Hutch?” Nick protested. “Or — is there stuff you’re holdin’ back from him, too? Like why his ex came knockin’ on your door in the first place?”

Starsky pushed his empty glass to the side as he leaned across the table. Nick’s attitude was seriously starting to annoy him. “One, Hutch is a cop just like me. Two, he’s my partner, and three, he’s directly involved with the investigation. You know all those facts, Nicky, so don’t play dumb and act like the injured party here.” Starsky knew he sounded agitated, but the initial looseness he had felt from the drinks was gone already. Fresh anger was tightening up inside him again. “As far as Vanessa comin’ to me — there ain’t anything about that Hutch doesn’t know.” .

“Okay, Davey — settle down. I get the picture. Let’s get somethin’ to eat, have another drink, and just chill out a bit, alright.”

Huggy’s lanky form was suddenly standing over them, his long fingers coming to rest on Starsky’s shoulder, offering his support. Of course, Huggy no doubt knew all about Vanessa’s murder. There was little that went on in this town that didn’t reach his ears. “I’m surprised to see you in here,” Huggy said. “I’m glad, just surprised. I heard what went down, Starsky. Bad news for sure. For you and Hutch.” Huggy said it in a serious tone. It wasn’t often he dropped his showman personality, and Starsky appreciated his genuine empathy.

“As for being here now, Nick just arrived in town.” Starsky motioned at his brother and Huggy nodded and turned to acknowledge him. But Nick was distracted by attempting to procure another round of drinks. He raised his hand to snap for the waitress again.

Before Starsky could stop him for acting like an arrogant ass in front of Huggy, Huggy spoke up. “What the hell you doin’, man?”

Nicky looked at him questioningly and then raised his eyebrows and turned to Starsky. Starsky shook his head, hoping Nicky would buy a clue before there was trouble.

“You livin’ in another decade, maybe even another century?” Huggy demanded. “You think my staff will answer the snap of your fingers? There are more polite ways of attracting my wait staff.”

Huggy was obviously not joking but Nick chose to act as if he were. “And I thought you people on the sunny West Coast were laid back.” Nick tried a teasing grin but it was strained enough for Starsky to realize he wasn’t happy with Huggy’s reprimand.

“There’s laid back and there’s just plain ignorant. Snapping your fingers for the ‘garcon’ is just plain ignorant, man,” Huggy said.

Starsky’s earlier misgivings at having agreed to this outing now doubled. He realized what a stupid decision he had made in bringing Nick to Huggy’s place.

Nick didn’t back down. “Well, maybe your staff needs to be a little more attentive to their clientele. A man could die of thirst while waiting for another drink here.”

“Perhaps a little overstated.” Huggy cocked his head and lifted the two empty glasses. Starsky was thankful when Huggy decided to let the moment go.

Huggy turned away from Nick and spoke to Starsky. “You want to change to beer now, or you gonna keep burning your gut with the heavy stuff? Bit early in the day for doubles, ain’t it?” Starsky resented his reproach. Not that he was surprised by it; Huggy never pulled punches when saying what he thought.

“Didn’t know you regulated your liquor, Huggy,” Nick said, butting in again.

Huggy only opened his eyes wider and raised his brows in challenge.

“It’s alright, Hug. Nick just wants to unwind after his flight,” Starsky said quickly. “Bring him what he wants. But for me, yeah, I’ll take a beer.” He would have preferred to change to something soft, but knew Nick would see that as mutiny in the face of Huggy’s attitude.

“You planning on eatin’ anything today or you just here for the booze?” Huggy fixed them both with a critical scowl.

“Sure — sure. Umm…” Starsky knew what was best for him when he got that look from Huggy. “I’ll order somethin’ in a short while.” He tried his best smile in an attempt to unruffle him. “This place looks so fancy now I’m wasn’t sure you’d still have burgers on the menu.”

“For you, my friend — I can make exceptions. I must admit, however, that my new extensive menu encompasses a balance of diverse culinary flavors. Probably more in keeping with Blondie’s palate than yours. Which is just as well, because I think your other half has been taking most of his main meals here of late. Alone.” Huggy emphasized the single word. “You — of course, have been noticeable in your absence.”

Beside him, Starsky was aware of Nick’s growing impatience as did Huggy who gave Starsky a final drilling look. “Don’t be a stranger. Don’t make me come lookin’ for you, alright?”

Huggy left, and after a fresh round of drinks were brought to them, Nick lounged back and eyed his brother. “Christ, told you we should have gone some place else. Bit damn pushy for a freakin’ barkeep, isn’t he?”

“Huggy’s okay — he’s just looking out for me.”

“Still, it don’t mean he gets a say in how I act or what I choose to drink.”

Starsky sighed. “That’s what friends do. Nag and worry.”

Nick scoffed. “Between your blond partner and this guy, it’s a wonder you get to make any freakin’ decisions in your own life, Davey!”

“Look shut up about Huggy, will you? If you hadn’t treated his staff like that he wouldn’t have come down hard like he did. That’s not his usual style, but he can get pissed as much as the next guy if you rub him the wrong way.”

“Thought he was just a guy you got to know over the years as a street informant,” Nick said.

“You know Huggy is more than that to Hutch and me. He was my friend before he was our link to the street. Over the years, he’s become a friend to both of us — a good friend.” Starsky emphasized.

None of this seemed to impress Nicky. “So, good friend and all? You think he’s got any word that can help get you out of this mess?”

Starsky pushed his beer to the side and picked up the ice water Hug had also sent to the table. “Huggy? No.” Starsky’s answer was short and sharp.

“But surely there must be some word out there about the drugs?” Nicky asked.

Starsky stopped with his water glass half-way to his mouth, his hand jolting enough that water sloshed out onto the table.

What? Was Nicky talking about the meth?

Starsky put the glass down, using the cool water on his hands from the condensation to rub on his brow. He tried to think. His mind was muddled. No food since, well… whenever. He couldn’t really remember. He and Hutch had drunk some coffee that morning but had had no breakfast. The night before he’d barely touched the light meal Hutch had prepared. No wonder the bourbon had gone to his head.

Nick seemed oblivious to Starsky’s reaction and went on. “Given the amount of missing meth, someone on the street must know something.” Nicky spoke with such confidence that Starsky tried to recall what he’d told Nicky about the investigation.

Nick was talking about meth now — not just drugs in general.

Shit.

Had he actually told Nicky about the missing stash? Had they discussed it on the way here in the car? In his stressed state had he forgotten? Surely, Hutch wouldn’t have had either the time or the inclination to share anything with Nick when he’d turned up earlier. So how could Nicky know anything about it? It sure hadn’t been made public; police reports to the media had made no reference to that part of the murder investigation.

“Nicky, I don’t remember tellin’ you anything about any meth. I don’t remember even telling you anything about any drugs,” Starsky said with cold certainty. His eyes narrowed as he watched Nick’s face. “You got something you wanna tell me? Like where all this is comin’ from?”

If he hadn’t known him better, Starsky would have missed it. Nick did a quick double take and re-calculation. “I told you, you’re story is news, brother. Even on the East Coast.” Nick shrugged it off, not even looking like he was trying to evade anything.

“So you say, but what you’re talkin’ about wasn’t part of any news story. I know that for sure.” Starsky was wary enough not to corroborate any of Nicky’s comments. He kept watching Nicky’s face.

Nick swallowed some of his drink and looked around the room, cool and unfazed.

His reaction irritated Starsky. “You got something you need to tell me?” Starsky asked again, now certain that Nicky had outside knowledge about the case.

“Like what?”

“Don’t play fuckin’ dumb with me, Nicky. You know as well as I do. You mentioned drugs. Meth to be specific,” Starsky said, his face darkening with anger, “just before you asked me what I thought the men who invaded my apartment were doing there. Seems you’ve got some ideas of your own on that one.” Starsky’s hand shot across the small table and wrapped tightly around his brother’s wrist. “Spill it — now.”

Despite the pressure Starsky was laying on him, Nicky remained calmly unflustered. The fact that he did only served to alarm Starsky more.

What the hell was going on here?

“I think, big brother, that you’ve been away from your roots for too long,” Nicky said, a challenging smirk on his face as he pulled his hand free of Starsky’s grip.

“What is that s’posed to mean for God’s sake?”

“Only that you’ve forgotten where I still live, the circles I still move in, the people I still know. They all know you too, Davey — or at least remember who you used to be. That is, before you sold out and came over here to be a cop.” Nick’s chin lifted in challenge.

“I left New York freakin’ years ago so quit tryin’ to put me back there in your zone.” Starsky wasn’t going to get suckered by this emotive spiel his brother often fell back on when they were together. “You’re still not makin’ sense, Nicky. Where are you gettin’ this story about missing meth from?” A distinct uneasiness wrapped itself around his gut.

“What’s that look for? You think I wouldn’t know what’s gone down with you? Don’t look so shocked, Davey. You truly think that the story’s not out there about what that stupid broad Hutch used to be married to got you tangled up in?” Nick’s quick harsh laugh surprised Starsky. “Don’t forget; she and her dead boyfriend were messed up in some heavy shit back in New York. I got friends and enough enemies, too, who take delight in telling me how you’ve landed headlong in the same shit because of her.” Nick fixed him with bright eyes, only slightly dulled by alcohol.

Starsky thought Nicky seemed to be getting harder every time he saw him. Starsky could remember a time when he would have had to half carry Nick out the door after that much alcohol. “So what do you know — or think you know — Nicky?” Starsky asked. “Talk to me. You’ve got my full attention now.”

“What I know is that you’re in trouble — big trouble,” Nick warned, glowering.

“Oh — thanks for the news flash, brother. Like I didn’t know that small detail.”

“It ain’t the murder investigation that’s the big trouble, Davey — it’s the fact that Hutchinson’s ex-wife might have been in possession of concentrated meth worth a bucket load of money. Fact is, Davey — you were the last person to see the woman alive.”

“I need to know where you’re getting your information from, Nicky.”

“So? You admit what I’ve heard about the drugs is right?”

“I’m not admitting a damn thing! But I need to know who gave you this information and I need to know now.”

Nicky shook his head again. “You think that’s goin’ to be of any use to you?”

“The New York cops can look into it — could give us some information on the men who murdered Vanessa.”

“Come on, Davey. You know how it is out there. You know how it works with your friend, Huggy. Information gets around, spreads like a dirty disease, and before you know it there’s no connection to where it started from. Enough people back home got variations on the story of the meth and none of them got it first hand. You ask anyone of them and they’ll play dumb.” Nicky leaned right across the table, dropping his voice. “I came here, Davey, because you need to understand the danger you’re in.”

“You don’t think I know that? Jesus Christ!”

“I’m not talking about the murder investigation, and I’m not talking about your danger with the law. I mean the danger you’re in from the people who Vanessa stole that meth from. You gotta start to think how you’re gonna get out of this, Davey. She came to you. She must have told you — ” he paused, rephrasing. “She might have said something to you — anything that could help you get those drugs before those guys come back for them.”

His brother was saying way too much, seemed to know way too much about things he really shouldn’t have that much knowledge about. Starsky was becoming increasingly uneasy as he tried to fathom what the hell was going on. “Is that why you’re here in LA, Nick?”

“You know why I’m here. I’ve come here for you.”

“Is that why we’re here now, Nick? In this bar?” Starsky pushed again.

“Don’t be stupid, Davey. Can’t I ever have some time with you without your partner looming in the background? Seems we never get to be alone anymore — just the two of us.”

Starsky dismissed what Nick was saying with a wave of his hand. “Forget about slamming Hutch, will ya? You’ve been pumping me for information about the investigation since we left his place.”

“I’m here for you because I’m worried about you and what might happen. I want to be with you.”

His blatant, easy denial angered Starsky more and he jabbed his finger at Nick’s empty shot glass. “Is that why you were trying to ply me with double shots? To loosen me up? What the fucking hell is this all about, Nicky?”

“Now you’re bein’ paranoid, Davey. Maybe that bump on your head is givin’ you some strange ideas. The drinks were only to help you to relax.” Nicky laughed but it was a laugh with all the wrong notes to it.

Starsky suddenly had enough. He needed to get out of here and think. Nick had thrown too much at him too quickly and he had to sort it out in his head before he took the conversation any further; before he said something he knew he shouldn’t let Nicky hear.

Before he changed his mind, he skirted to the side of the booth and stood up.

Nick jumped up after him.

“Davey, come on! Look, I can tell you’re pissed with me for talking too much about the investigation, but it’s just because I care about what might happen to you. That dead wife of Hutch’s has dragged you into some big stuff, Davey. Surely you’re not walking out over this.” Starsky could see that Nick seemed genuinely distressed that he was leaving. “What the hell did I say that’s got you so worked up?”

“It’s like this, Nicky.” Starsky pulled out some bills from his wallet and threw them on the table. “It’s not what you’ve said that’s got me worked up, it’s what you haven’t said. It’s clear you won’t come clean with me about how you know what you do. Maybe you need to think about that before you try to talk to me again, because I can damn well tell you, I’m not listening to your lies — not about this. I’ve got too much riding on this investigation — my career and my life.”

Starsky looked across the room and raised his hand in farewell to Huggy who had been watching their interchange.

“Where’re ya goin?” Nick asked him. “I’ve got the car remember? I’ll drop you back at Hutch’s if you really want to leave.”

“I’m not goin’ home. I’m heading into the station — I need to catch up with my captain.”

Starsky was already walking away when Nicky called out to him. “I’ll call you later. When you’ve cooled down.”

Starsky didn’t acknowledge him as he left through the main entrance, the bright light of day streaming into the semi-darkened interior.

~~~

Sagging back in the booth, Nick tried not to look at Huggy who was casting a wary eye on him from across the room. He cursed inwardly at how badly the whole thing with David had gone. He cursed outwardly at the monumental slip up he’d made when he mentioned the missing meth. Of course, his cop brother would question how he had any knowledge of part of the investigation’s inside information. Still, he’d done a fair enough job in covering his ass. Either way, it had left David annoyed with him and suspicious of just how and what he knew.

The real problem now, of course, was Tony Durniak’s LA man who Nick had seen hovering on the street near Huggy’s Bar after he had tailed them from Hutchinson’s place. As soon as he left the joint, the guy would want information for Tony. He would have already seen David leave the bar without him.

Nicky had nothing to give him. He had gleaned zero from his attempts to draw his brother out about Tony’s stolen meth. He hadn’t even confirmed in any real way that he knew about the stolen drugs, though he believed his brother knew a lot more than he was prepared to say.

Nicky looked at his watch. Still relatively early in the day and he’d only been in LA a few goddamn hours. Surely, Tony had to give him more time to come up with something solid.

He considered his options.

With his mind made up, Nick pulled on his jacket and stood up. David was going to be away for a while if he was heading into the police station to see his captain. That would give Nick a window of opportunity he had not expected.

He looked at the money his brother had left on the table for their drinks. It should easily cover it. He patted his own wallet and car keys. Damned if he’d leave that walking skeleton dude, Huggy, any of his own money — not after the way he had so pointedly belittled him.

Determined not to look fazed by his brother’s premature departure, he put on his coolest expression and strode out the door, knowing that Huggy’s dark eyes were watching him. No doubt the damn snitch would get on the phone to report back to his brother’s partner about the scene between him and Starsky.

It didn’t matter if he did. In fact, it might pave the way for his next move.

It was about time he and the golden-haired Hutchinson had their own private chat.

 

Chapter Eight

Hutch knew within minutes of Nick and Starsky leaving the apartment what he was going to do. He needed to run, to run hard and long. He’d missed his morning run, hung-over and anxious for what lay ahead for Starsky at the station that morning. Nothing else was going to help him if he didn’t give in to the compulsion to make up for his morning ritual.

At least Starsky wasn’t here to pass judgment on his chosen form of self-therapy.

Although he’d told Starsky he intended to catch some sleep while he and Nick were out, he knew his body wouldn’t allow him the respite into blissful nothingness.

Pent up still from what had happened earlier with Starsky, he knew that the best option for dealing with his restless state was to burn it out with physical exertion. He pulled on running shorts and his favorite tatty t-shirt and pushed his feet into his well-worn Nikes. A run would do more for him than some shut eye and might soften the sharp edges of his mood. He needed to feel an ache that was anywhere but in his heart and loins. If nothing else, a slow burn in muscles and the initial fire in his lungs was what he needed now. As his feet hit the pavement, he already anticipated the physical release that a five-mile-plus run could afford him if he pushed himself hard enough — and he would make damn sure he did.

If Starsky had been there, he would have grimaced and berated him for pounding the streets in the heat of the day. Starsky could never understand why his partner wanted to torture himself with more self-inflicted pain by going on a run when he was already suffering from the after-effects of a big night they might have shared at a bar or after collapsing at home from too many beers after a grueling case.

Mind you, Hutch thought as his legs pumped hard and his chest constricted with effort, Starsky rarely had to worry about ‘morning after suffering’ from any vice. Starsky’s stamina was incredible, bouncing back relatively easily after abusing his body. For months he had punished his body with an intolerable regime of excessive drinking, smoking, and, — if there was such a thing for Starsky — an overload of sex. Yet, like many things in Starsky’s life, he managed to over indulge without any visible effect. These extreme excesses tended to roll of his back as easily as caustic remarks and teasing jibes. Starsky was a man of resilience — in so many ways. Tough and impervious, adaptable and flexible, forgiving and forgetting — these were all qualities that he possessed in seemingly limitless quantities. Deep down, Hutch loved and admired him for these traits, even when he expressed overt envy at Starsky’s cast iron disposition and easygoing nature…and voracious appetite for bedroom gymnastics.

Hutch, on the other hand, was generally prone to a less robust constitution. Not that he could exactly recall the last time he had put his body through the ringer with sex. The more-than-occasional blow out with drink, yes, but a good workout in the bedroom — no.

So for the past few months while Hutch had been spending quiet evenings alone at Huggy’s snazzy new bar, going home to a bed where the only thing beside him was his alarm clock (which he didn’t need because he rarely slept), Starsky had excelled at pushing his body to the limit. Still, he managed to come out without showing any obvious physical wear and tear. Hutch, conversely looked — as he well knew — like he felt;  worn, tired, and frustrated.

Despite Starsky’s physical fortitude, mentally and physically he was not the same Starsky. His usual upbeat spirit and indomitable, effervescent enthusiasm for life had been buried under a thick guise of surly, judgmental, and self-destructive Starsky behavior. He had become more rigid and unforgiving of the world while developing an outer layer of impenetrable toughness.

As he eased into the run, Hutch gave considerable thought to how the two of them had travelled along in life for the past months. He thought about his running, and, in particular, to the sharp spike in the regime of it. He could now admit to himself what he had already suspected. His need to run more often, run harder and longer, had increased in directed proportion to Starsky’s need to burn the candle at both ends. Since Clare had betrayed him so unforgivably, and Starsky had descended into a one-way street of self-destruction by hedonism, so had Hutch amplified the role of running in his daily routine. The past months Starsky had disapproved of Hutch’s increased solo sojourns onto the streets to take on an extra early morning or twilight run, warning him against pushing his body too hard, abusing his health with runs in the rain, after too little sleep, or too stressful a caseload at work.

Never once however did he listen to Hutch’s own misgivings about what he was doing in his own life, blithely and angrily casting off Hutch’s concerns. “Get off my back, Hutch, and worry about yourself, will ya? You can’t seem to settle on anything until you’ve punched out a ten-mile run – rain, hail, or freakin’ shine.”

“It’s a healthy outlet, Starsky.”

“It’s obsessive behavior, that’s what it is,” Starsky had snapped at him, slapping the wall to punctuate his point. “It stopped being healthy way back when you forgot to stop running and come back home before you started another circuit of the neighborhood. You’re like one of those damn hamsters on a wheel — just can’t make yourself jump off, can ya? Like you’re locked in a cage on a wheel.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can stop whenever I choose to — I just don’t choose to stop, and why would I for God’s sake?”

“Sure you can stop whenever you want? You’re addicted to punishing your body as much as I’m addicted to smokin’ and you know it!”

“Difference is, Starsky, my habit is not going to kill me.”

“No? I say differently. Have you had a good look at yourself lately? Must’ve lost fifteen pounds in two months. You’re wearing yourself to blood and bone.”

“Oh, come on, buddy! And I guess what you do every night is better for the soul than running? I get tired of just watching you, partner. Car to bar to bed every night, and then work all day to do it all over again. I don’t remember the last time you even went to the gym — don’t think you could do a full session now with your lungs all clogged up with tar!”

“So why should I need to? Who the hell says we should bother to keep fit in this godforsaken job anyway? Who needs to be fit to get his head blown off by some crazed junkie in a back alley?” Starsky had retorted and Hutch remembered feeling shocked at the bitterness with which he had said it.

“It’s not about the damn job for God’s sake. It’s about you. You need to look after yourself, take better care of yourself.” Hutch remembered retaliating too quickly and could still see Starsky pondering the words before he answered.

“That’s the whole point, don’t ya’ see, Hutch? Maybe I just don’t care anymore — ’bout myself.”

“Then where the hell does that leave me, hey, partner? You think I want to hear that from you? What am I supposed to do or think when I hear you say that sort of stuff?” Hutch had wanted to know.

But Starsky never had answered him that time. He’d just looked at him and shook his head before grabbing his jacket and slamming out the door – no doubt on his way to another two dimensional evening with yet another woman whose face, let alone name, he wouldn’t be able to recall the next week.

So Hutch had run more, churning out the miles, sweating out his angst and resentment at being barred from Starsky’s life. In almost perfect tandem, Starsky had partied harder, notching up each new sexual conquest as smoothly as Hutch completed another mini marathon; dragging back cigarette smoke as greedily and frantically as Hutch sucked in oxygen to his burning lungs; his legs chewing up the miles in a blur as Starsky’s nights were spent in a mindless haze of forgettable couplings. It seemed to Hutch that they had each gone to the furthest corners of their usually very enmeshed everyday lives — still together for all intents and purposes as a working unit, as partners on the force, as friends and buddies even — but as unreachable to each other emotionally as they had ever been in their years of intensely tight friendship.

Hutch stole a look at his watch, slippery on his sweat-slicked wrist, and was shocked to see that he’d been running for nearly forty-five minutes. A trickle of sweat ran down his temple, the slide of it down his face making him aware that his body was tiring, the heat of the day too strong on his bare head and face, the bright sunlight harsh in his eyes. If he was sensible, he’d start for home by cutting down the next side street for the return circuit.

He thought about Starsky sitting in the darkened bar at Huggy’s with Nick and ran straight on past the side street, the next few blocks already in his sight.

A sudden sharp stitch clutched at his flank, and he dug hard at the muscles with his fist — but didn’t slow his pace. He had a run to finish and a compulsion to do so. Without the full run, there would be no catharsis.

Damn Starsky for being right. When was he ever going to jump of this freakin’ wheel?

~~~

Hutch rounded the corner to the last block of his run — his feet finding the route on automatic pilot, his mind still preoccupied with thoughts far removed from the physical activity of his burning limbs and pumping arms.

His Venice Beach apartment block was now just up ahead, less than one block away. He cut his pace to a slow jog, cooling down as he mentally prepared to re-enter his building and wait for the next scenario to play out between him and Starsky. Hutch wondered how the brother-on-brother meeting was coming along, and once again he felt the unease in his belly as he wondered about Nick’s true intentions. Hutch didn’t imagine that Starsky would have come away from the talk any the wiser as to why his brother was really here. In fact, Hutch was not sure that Starsky would ever really know half of the ‘Whys and Wherefores’ of the Nick that Hutch could see and the Nick that would always be his partner’s kid brother. The one Starsky had left behind all those years ago in New York when he’d been sent away from his family.

Drawing closer to his home, Hutch admitted to himself that he, too, would be unlikely to know half of what Nick was really up to, and how his being here was going to affect them. As the entrance of his apartment came into view, and he saw the man standing there, leaning against the wall as he spoke on his cell phone, Hutch’s gut lurched again. He figured that in about five minutes or less he might know a lot more about that missing half of information.

Nick was waiting for him to return. That much was obvious — and he was waiting alone, with no sign of Starsky.

Hutch came to a sudden stop a few paces from Nick, his breath still ragged, his muscles far from cooled down. Nick looked up at the sound of his approach, taking in Hutch’s sweat-slicked face and neck, heat-infused skin, and labored breathing.

“You always run in the heat of the afternoon?” he asked.

Hutch coughed lightly, stretching out his quads as he balanced himself with one hand on the wall of the building. “I run whenever I need to. Felt the need, so I ran,” he answered laconically.

“Crazy, if you ask me.” Nick pursed his lips and chuckled and in its release Hutch caught the distinctive waft of hard liquor although Nick seemed sober enough.

Hutch curled up his other leg, pulling his ankle up high behind him. “Where’d you leave Starsky?”

“Said he had to go and meet your captain ’bout something to do with the investigation.”

Hutch frowned. He’d spoken to Dobey after Starsky and Nick left his place and his captain hadn’t mentioned anything to him about needing to meet up with Starsky.

When Hutch said nothing and moved to the door, Nick stepped forward.

“Mind if I come up?” he looked down at his cellphone. “I — ah — left my cell charger back at the hotel. Davey’s got near enough the same model I noticed. Thought I could use his to charge the battery to keep me going. I need to make some calls.”

Hutch gave the slightest of nods and entered the code for the door. Not for one moment did he believe the line Nicky had just fed him. Nick wanted him by himself. That much was clear. Still, it was an opportunity to find out what Nick was up to so he might as well play along.

Inside the apartment, Hutch went straight to the bathroom to douse his hot face and head under the cool tap water. He’d prefer a shower, but with Nick there he’d have to wait.

Re-emerging with a towel to his face, he saw Nick standing at the doorway to the balcony, his eyes scoping out the outside area. Something about the way Nick did so seemed odd to Hutch.

Nick gave the barest of jumps when Hutch spoke. He hadn’t expected him to be watching him. “Starsky’s gear is over in the alcove there. His cell charger is in there with his stuff. Should be plugged in or on the chest of drawers.”

Hutch moved to the fridge and pulled out a flask of water and busied himself spooning in some refueling electrolytes. As he did so, he could hear Nick moving around in the bedroom alcove, shifting and lifting things as he rummaged lightly through Starsky’s duffle bag and travel case. Hutch listened some more and hearing the unmistakable sound of a drawer being slid open, he quietly moved over to the alcove, the drink in one hand, his other hand rubbing his chin in quiet consternation.

“Can’t find it?” Hutch asked from the edge of the alcove. Once again his voice seemed to jolt Nick from his rifling through the top drawer of the dresser. Nick whirled around in surprise. Hutch took a long swallow of his drink before motioning with the container toward the charging station over the chest of drawers, indicating the very obvious charger.

“Damn thing was under my nose the whole time!” Nick exclaimed lightly.

At least, Hutch thought, he had the decency to give a semi embarrassed laugh before reaching forward to seize the power cord.

Before Nick could plug it into the power socket, Hutch leaned over and took it neatly from his hands. “No — let me plug it in near the socket at the door. That way you won’t leave your phone behind.” Hutch gave what he hoped was his best helpful smile before he turned to carry the small device to the other power outlet. As he connected it, he stole a look at the battery indicator and was not surprised to see the charging bar registering an almost full battery.

When he turned around Nick’s face was no longer strained with discomfort but radiating anger. He obviously had picked up that Hutch was on to him and now Hutch felt the animosity like a physical presence between them.

Taking one more swallow of his drink, Hutch placed it slowly on the coffee table, all the while keeping his eye on Nick.

“You want a coffee while that cell phone charges up?” Hutch cast his eye back down toward the small screen of the cellular device before looking back at Nick. “After all, it could take a while.” Hutch said it with one blond eyebrow raised artfully.

Nick rolled his eyes and chewed hard on the inside of his mouth. “Okay, cut the shit. You know I didn’t come up here to charge the damn cell.” Nick snarled. “Jesus! Don’t you ever get sick of playin’ the detective?”

“It didn’t take much detective work to see through that one, Nick,” Hutch said. “Give me some credit, for God’s sake. I knew you were spinning me a story about the cell charger before we even came in the front door.” He fixed Nick with a steady eye. “So, you going to tell me why, Nick? Quit dicking around with phony smokescreens and cut to the chase.”

“I wanted to have a word with you,” Nick said.

“Obviously you want to talk to me without your brother being around.”

“I didn’t plan it that way. He went off to the station, but I wanted to talk to you anyway. I knew you weren’t going to play nice with me and invite me up for a chat so I used the cell charger story.”

“And why would you want to talk to me, Nick?” Hutch was already thinking he had an idea of what was going on. “If you’d wanted to talk to me, you could have done so before when Starsky suggested you stay here.”

Nick looked like he was trying to come up with an answer when Hutch cut in again.

“I’m thinking that the reason you want to talk to me is because Starsky wouldn’t. Or maybe he wouldn’t tell you what you wanted him to tell you.” Hutch was piecing it together now as he thought about what might have transpired. It was not like Starsky to walk off and leave Nick when he’d only just hit town. Something must have gone down between them at Huggy’s bar.

On an impulse, he strode over to the small desk in the corner of the living room where he’d left his cell while he went for his run. Sure enough there was a missed call from Huggy. Nick watched Hutch as he returned his cell to the desk’s surface. Hutch could tell that Nick was become increasingly wary of him.

“What went on with you and Starsky at Huggy’s?” Hutch asked, knowing that Huggy must have rung him in relation to Starsky’s and Nick’s visit to the bar.

Looking as though he was about to deny anything had happened, Nick shrugged before moving over to unplug his cell and slide it into his jacket pocket. “Davey doesn’t like to be reminded about his roots.”

“What is that supposed to mean, for Christ sake? His roots? You mean his family?”

“I’m talking about the people he and I grew up around, the streets and the neighborhood we lived in.”

“That’s no longer his life. Maybe he doesn’t want to live in the past.” Hutch shrugged.

“You’re wrong. Where we grew up, how we grew up — that doesn’t just go away. Davey prefers to believe that part of his life is behind him. But I can tell you like I told him — it ain’t.”

It seemed to Hutch that Nick was enjoying keeping him dangling in confusion. “How about you give it to me straight, Nick. I don’t think you’re here with me now to talk about Starsky’s early years. You wanted to talk to me — then talk. But cut the bullshit and give it to me without all the innuendo.”

The look of distaste on Nick’s face was apparent. “You really like playing the heavy don’t you, Hutchinson? Do you do that with everybody I wonder, or is it just me you like to push?'” Hutch didn’t miss the more than subtle curling of Nick’s fist. “Well, I’m sick of it and sick of you, the way you’re forever looming around, getting between my brother and me.”

Hutch pursed his lips in thought. “I don’t trust you, Nick. I trust you less right now than I trusted you the last time I saw you, and I’ll probably trust you less tomorrow then I trust you now. Seems you just get more slippery each time you show your face around your brother. Now, because it’s my job to look out for your brother, either you change your ways or learn to deal with me.”

“You know it cuts both ways with us? I can’t wait till the day that Davey wakes up and realizes you’re not the perfect friend and partner he likes to think you are.” All the raw resentment Hutch knew Nick harbored for him was sizzling in the room. “Look at the mess Davey’s in because of your ex-wife. If you were such a good friend, you would have made sure she stayed out of his life. Now because of her — because of you — Davey’s facin’ a murder rap.”

The accusations and spiteful jibes were salt to his wounds, but Hutch wouldn’t give Nick the satisfaction of seeing the impact of his needling. “Believe what you want, Nick, but I regret deeply that Vanessa brought any of this onto your brother. Starsky and I had no idea of what was going down with Vanessa or why what happened did.”

Nick shook his head. “Davey I can believe…but she was your ex, Hutchinson. You expect me to believe you didn’t know what she was into? You should have kept her out of Davey’s way.”

“What Vanessa was into?” Hutch was concerned now about exactly what the two had discussed and what slant Nick seemed to be taking on it. “What the hell would you know about Vanessa anyway?”

Nick curled his lip. “Probably a damn lot more than you knew about her, that’s for sure!”

Hutch wanted to lunge at him; all his senses were driving him to it, but he wanted to hear where Nick was going with this. “Sorry if I don’t believe you, Nick, but I don’t think you even remembered her name until Starsky told you.”

“Hey, I don’t need to know a broad’s name to know she had trouble plastered all over her — and walked it right into my brother’s life,” Nick bit back.

Hutch gave him a searching look. “Starsky and you were talking about this? About Van? About the investigation?” Even though Hutch knew it was understandable that Starsky would have shared some of his concerns about the murder investigation with his brother, he couldn’t see where Nick was getting the ammunition for his vitriol against Vanessa. He couldn’t or wouldn’t believe his partner would disparage her so openly to his brother like that, even given his long-term antipathy towards her. Nick’s reaction to his question — a frustrated grimace — and his next words cleared the picture for him.

“Davey didn’t want to hear some of the things I was tryin’ to warn him about with this situation. He’s gotta face reality but –”

“What things?” Hutch’s eyes narrowed. “What were you trying to warn your brother about?”

What was Nick referring to? The investigation — or something else?

Hutch’s head was beginning to reel with Nick’s alarming implications. Exactly what did he know? Had Starsky told him about the drugs?

“Let’s just say I know the connection. I know she took two in the chest and I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of why.”

Hutch stepped back from Nick’s brutal statement trying hard not to show his shock. Once more, he needed to hold back his impulse to floor Nick for what he said and the way he said it. Callous and cold.

“Stop fucking me around and say what you came up here to say. I’m losing patience with you. Ask what you want to ask me.” Hutch moved in closer, feeling himself tensing with each moment he spent looking at this man.

Nick smirked — a challenge in his eyes, sharp and malicious. “I don’t want to ask you anything, Hutchinson, you’d only fuckin’ lie to me anyway. I want to tell you something though. I want to tell you that if I find out you knew what the stupid bitch was into, I’ll make sure you take the heat for it — and I ain’t talking here about heat from the law.” His eyes were alive with satisfaction as he delivered the threat.

In his head, Hutch could almost hear the pieces snapping into place — the total picture shaping up as it all came together. It was yet another damning picture of Nick Starsky. Nick knowing about the missing drugs was one thing, but what worried Hutch more was something else altogether.

“You knew about it even before you came here, didn’t you? You just hoped by getting Starsky by himself you’d find out more,” Hutch said. “But Starsky didn’t tell you anything more, did he, Nick? And — if I’m right, he walked out on you because, yet again, he couldn’t stand to see what sort of a brother he has in you.” He studied Nick, a calculated expression to instill as much fear as he could in the other man. “Tell me, Nick. Did you come here to help Starsky or to use him?”

He could feel it then, the telltale clenching throb in his temple that marked the onset of mounting rage. Its pulse was so strong he swore he could almost feel his skin stretching with each hammering beat.

“I came here to warn him — and now I’m warning you. That meth is goin’ to bring a fuck load more trouble down on Davey then any murder rap could ever do. If that missing meth don’t turn up and turn up fast — Davey won’t even live to see the inside of a courtroom for a murder trial.”

The pulsing beat in the blood vessel above his eye told Hutch that he’d reached his limit. Release was only going to be found one way. If he could have fought it down, he would have, because in the back of his mind Hutch was already seeing how this would all lead to nothing but pain for Starsky. He breathed hard, clenched and unclenched his forearms, the burning urge to lash out rising the longer he looked at Nick’s contemptuous face, as though his sardonic smirk was openly inviting the arc of Hutch’s flexed fist.

Seconds later, the sounds coming from the body pinned vertically against his told Hutch that he hadn’t slammed his fist into Nick’s face after all. Nick’s strangled involuntary grunt and forced expulsion of air told Hutch that he had used his body to lift and slam Nick violently against the wall, his head cracking hard on the wall. Hutch’s right hand and forearm were still straining for release, the fury still trapped inside of its muscle and sinew. The hand bunched up in Nick’s shirt found its way to the bare throat just above it.

Hutch wrapped his big hand around Nick’s throat, controlling the force of his grip, keeping the constriction to the point where fear jumped in Nick’s eyes but he could still manage to draw a ragged breath. With his other arm and lower body, Hutch ensured that Nick could not even flinch beneath him let alone move away.

“This is your brother you’re talking about, you fucking bastard! Your own brother!” Hutch roared at him, pressing his forearm harder against Nick’s chest and neck. “You dare to stand in front of me and dangle that threat about his life — like it means nothing more to you than the life of some two-bit punk from the ghetto you seem so fucking proud to be a part of?”

“Ba-back off, Hu-Hutchinson. Just…tellin’ ya’ how it… how it is. You say… you have Davey’s back… Then know for… sure what will… happen if…” Nick gurgled, squeezing the words out, his crimson face contorted in pain.

Hutch dug his thumb even deeper into the bulging tendon in Nick’s neck. “If what Nick? If WHAT! You know about all of this shit, don’t you? That’s why you’ve come here. You know about the men that killed Vanessa, too?” He lifted his lower hand to smack it hard against the wall, the blow barely missing Nick’s cheek, and he enjoyed the perverse satisfaction Nick’s reflex jump instilled in him. Nick stared sullenly back at him, squirming his face to turn away from the cruel pinching pressure of Hutch’s fingers. “Answer me, Nick, or I swear I’ll wring it out of you with my bare hands! You’re not here under your own steam, are you? Someone sent you, didn’t they?”

When Hutch saw what he interpreted as a snarling smile from Nick’s contorted face, he felt the last vestiges of his self-control falling away. His fingers tightened around Nick’s neck. Nick gagged, spluttered, and made a low keening deep in his throat. Nick’s eyes watered with the effort of pulling in oxygen to deal with the crushing pressure.

Rasping heavily himself, Hutch swallowed hard when he felt the click in his head, as real as though it were a switch. He stared at his numb, shaking hand, bloodless now from maintaining the force of the grip around Nick’s neck. Then he looked up again, not at Nick’s face, but at his hair, not as long and soft as his brother’s, but dark and curling just the same.

Not the same — but so similar really to Starsky’s.

“Christ… Christ!” He wrenched back his hand as though it had been doused with boiling oil, and then stepped back away from Nick’s sagging body.

Turning his back on Nick, who was gagging forcibly, Hutch strode away to the other side of the room, deliberately putting distance between himself and his target. Cursing again, he pivoted and retraced his steps. Nick had managed to maintain his upright position but was obviously struggling to do so. As Hutch reclaimed his stance in front of him, Nick openly flinched and covered his throat with both hands as though that would ward off another assault.

Hutch took another long calming breath and fixed Nick with an affected smile, all teeth and tightly drawn lips. “You know, Nick, I don’t think we’re making the best use of this private time between the two of us. You wanted this little talk, and I should be letting you have it. We have the perfect opportunity while your brother is not here.” He leaned in closer again, so close he knew Nick was battling not to squirm and pull away from his hovering bulk.

So very different from his brother. So gutless and weak in comparison to Starsky’s strength and courage.

“So, here’s what’s going to happen Nick.” He pitched his voice even lower, but it still had the whisper of slicing steel as he breathed the words close to Nick’s flushed face. “I’m going to calm down, let you get your breath back, clear your head — and then –” he rubbed his temple hard with two fingers, easing the tension that was still reverberating through his skull, “then, you’re going to talk to me.” Hutch raised his brow as though waiting for Nick to agree. “No more riddles, just straight facts. You will tell me what you know about Vanessa’s death, about the missing drugs, and how you know it.” He paused again. “I’ll even get you a glass of water to ease that throat, how’s that? Couldn’t be more fair, could I?”

Moving away slightly to give Nick some space, Hutch watched as he gathered himself, pulling his shambled composure back into place by straightening his shirt, pushing back the hair from his eyes, and sliding out and away from where he had been pinned against the wall.

“Anything I’ve got to say about what I know, I’ll be saying to Davey, you asshole,” Nick said, the bite of bravado creeping back into his voice. “All you need to remember is what I’ve already made clear to you. If you do know anything about where your dead wife stashed those drugs, then you fuckin’ better come clean soon, otherwise you’re puttin’ Davey’s life at risk.”

“I don’t know anything about the meth, Nick — and neither does Starsky. If you came here hoping to find the drugs, then you’ve struck out, you fool — and — whoever else is waiting to uncover them has struck out, too.”

“I don’t think you know what you’re up against here, Hutchinson,” Nicky warned.

“By that I guess you mean ‘who’ and not ‘what,’ don’t you? And, yes, Starsky and I both do. But do you? Do you know what you’re up against, Nick? I could tell you — or I could take you to the Santa Monica cops and let them tell you. I’m sure that’d be very interested in hearing what you’ve got to say about all of this.”

Nick shot Hutch a look of pure loathing. He stood up straighter, tried to clear his raw throat, and went to move forward. “I’m outta here — now.” Nick went to push past the blockade of Hutch’s tall solid frame. “I’ve had all I’m gonna take from you and your damn tough cop act. Move aside!”

Nick pushed at Hutch’s resisting form. Hutch shoved him back with one hand. Nick slapped his hand away and pushed back, indignant wrath layered over what Hutch could read as real fear that Hutch would not in fact let him go without harming him more.

“Get your dirty hands off me, you fuckin’ queer! Don’t lay your hands on me one more time!” Nick’s cry came out as a broken croak, his voice hoarse with strain. The jarring accusation, coming out of seemingly nowhere hit Hutch hard.

Despite discounting the possibility earlier, Hutch now wondered whether Nick had actually heard something when he’d stood outside his door before he knocked? Something he’d heard between them? He must have. Otherwise where was this coming from – this reference with no basis.

Or was there a basis?

Hutch’s head swam with other possibilities. Had he been so blatantly obvious in front of Nick earlier out on the balcony when he was looking at Starsky? Did Starsky also read him as being so blatantly obvious? Was he so freaking obvious about something he had struggled for so long to keep hidden from Starsky? Was his secret, painful, hopeless love for his partner and his desperate need to express it so poorly concealed that even Nick or others could see it?

Hutch anguished over what damage he might have caused by letting Starsky see his true feelings. Had he been the one pushing Starsky away, because Starsky couldn’t cope with Hutch’s needs?

In the midst of his whirling uncertainty, Hutch lost focus on Nick, but it came to him soon enough that Nick had not lost focus on him.

“Looks like I hit a nerve, Hutchinson? What? You shocked to hear me call you a queer?” he sneered. “Didn’t realize you were quite so out there with the moves you’ve been puttin’ on my brother, did you?” Nick’s smile was one of supreme satisfaction, his head tilted cockily, as he lapped up Hutch’s shocked bewilderment.

Still Hutch did not answer him, worried sick that he might have disclosed his real desires to Starsky unconsciously — and out of step with Starsky’s feelings. Had he and Nick talked about it while they were at Huggy’s? Is that why Starsky had not come back to the apartment?

He wanted nothing more then for Nick to go. To clear out and leave him to sort through this mix of fear and self-doubt before he had to face Starsky again.

Hutch scrubbed hard at his face and looked at the door, fearing that Starsky might walk in at any moment when he hadn’t had the chance to think things through. “Just get the fuck out of my place now,” he hissed, “before this goes any further.”

Nick smirked, regaining some of his earlier arrogance in the face of Hutch’s uncertainty. “Why? Because of what I’ve said about Davey and the missing drugs, or because I’ve put my finger on what you are?” He choked on the effort to speak, his hands gingerly touching the discolored skin on his neck. “Hey maybe you got off on fuckin’ up my throat? I’ve heard that queers like that sort of thing. You like that, Hutchinson?” He stepped closer, becoming braver with every second. Hutch knew it was because he felt he was demoralizing him into a submissive corner. “Maybe you liked choking me? Maybe it turned you on? Did it, Hutch — did it turn you on?”

“I’ve got no idea where this crap is coming from, Nick, but you’re fucked up to come out with this bullshit. Take your sick sex fantasies and get out.”

Nick laughed. “I’ve seen it in your face. Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”

Hutch answered honestly. “If you weren’t Starsky’s brother, I’d be more than happy to take you down.”

Nick’s laugh was raucous and just a little crazed. “Why Hutchinson — you tryin’ to proposition me? One Starsky not enough for you?”

“Shut the fuck up, Nick. Shut up now if you know what’s good for you!”

Nick was only getting started. “You get turned on by choking other men, you dirty faggot? Is that what Davey likes you to do? Does it turn him on, too? Maybe he likes getting roughed up by you before he sucks you off.” He sneered luridly as he looked down at Hutch’s crotch.

Hutch’s blood pressure, which had only just begun to settle, skyrocketed, thundering in his head.

Nick’s taunts rang on. “I’ve seen the way you look at Davey, the way the two of you talk and touch. Is that what you are — the two of you? Cocksuckin’ lovers?”

Hutch’s head was pounding, rock hard rage smashing around his skull. Nick had to stop now or —

“Is that what Davey is? My bro’? My flesh and blood hard-assed cop brother? Nothing but your little cocksucker?”

It was too late to stop the unstoppable.

Hutch’s fist flew hard and fast and found its target with the unmistakable crack of bunched knuckles on the hardened plate of cheek bone and nose cartilage.

Nick flew backwards as the powerful arcing blow crashed into him. He floundered awkwardly against the coffee table before losing his balance completely and folding to a heap on his knees. Blood dripped through his fingers as he cupped his hands over his face as he huddled on the floor, whining.

Hutch watched as crimson drops settled on his light colored rug. Nick’s blood. Not enough — not nearly enough for Hutch to wipe out the sound of his filthy words still ringing in the room. Not nearly enough to make him pay for the denigration he had spat at Starsky or how he had belittled what was between them and dirtied what Hutch so dearly wanted to have with Starsky.

With two big strides, he was beside the huddled man. Hutch was ready to take it further, more than prepared to haul him to his feet for another strike. Single mindedly focused on Nick’s vile presence, he was oblivious to anything else. So oblivious and so tightly focused that he had no awareness that Starsky was in the room until he felt his partner’s firm arm wrap around his midriff, pulling him back against a hard chest. Shocked, Hutch turned enough to look directly into the navy depths of Starsky’s eyes and felt sick at what he saw. Disappointment and sadness was there for him to clearly read. Almost immediately, Starsky closed his eyes, shutting out the reality before him. When he opened his eyes again, they reflected weary frustration.

With his arm still wrapped tightly about Hutch’s middle, Starsky applied extra pressure to bring Hutch’s eyes up to his. They locked gazes.

“Stop, now. Stop, Hutch. It’s done,” Starsky said quietly.

Guilt and pain flooded through him. Shame came next. Whatever was in Starsky’s eyes, he’d put it there.

“Shit…Starsk…I’m sorry…” Hutch said. But he wasn’t sorry for what he’d done. Wasn’t sorry for the pain or the blood or the fear he had inflicted on Nick. Only sorry for the look he had put in Starsky’s navy eyes.

But Starsky wasn’t looking at him any longer — his attention now was on his brother who was making a show of dragging himself to his feet, snuffling into his hands as blood bubbled from his nose and the broken blood vessels in his cheek were already blossoming into the first phase of bruised flesh.

“Your partner is fuckin’ crazy, Davey. Tried to strangle me and then …then… Shit, he might have even broken my damn nose. Jesus! He’s a fuckin’ mad man.” Nick held out one blood-stained hand as though to solicit support from his brother.

Starsky didn’t go to him. Instead, he remained where he stood midway between Hutch and Nick and said nothing. He looked long and hard at his brother who seemed to shrink under his scrutiny.

“What the hell is this, Davey? You tell me. I come here to try to help you — to warn you of trouble that could be comin’ your way — and this? I get this from him?” Braver now that Starsky was between them, he stabbed his finger at Hutch. “And you, Davey. What about you then? My own brother? Not sayin’ a thing about it!”

Still Starsky didn’t move toward Nick or react to his impassioned cries. Instead he looked toward the greenhouse, silent and closed faced.

“Davey… Dave!” Nick implored. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Starsky turned to him. “Best if you leave now, Nicky. Best all round — for you, for Hutch… for me.” It seemed to Hutch as though Starsky had to dredge the words from deep somewhere inside him, as if the effort to produce them was too much. “Just go, will ya’?” Without so much as another glance at either Nick or Hutch, Starsky walked toward the door leading to the greenhouse balcony.

Hutch stood transfixed, caught between wanting to follow his partner and his fear that he would not be welcome. Vaguely, he was aware that Nick had hobbled toward the bathroom. He was still standing in the middle of the room when Nick returned moments later with a dampened washcloth pressed to his nose and cheek. Distractedly, Hutch noticed that he’d washed the excess blood from his hands and cleaned up the worst of the spray of red from his face.

Nick was staring at him warily, but there was cold defiance in his voice. “Remember, Hutchinson… you know anything about the meth, than you’d better know it’s in Davey’s interests to tell me — and tell me soon.”

Until he heard the door slamming shut, Hutch hadn’t even realized that Nick had walked away.

~~~

Starsky hadn’t gone to the station after all. He hadn’t known where he was heading when he’d left Nick behind at the bar, knowing only that he wanted to be out of there and away from the reminder of what sort of brother he had.

He had walked the streets, going back over their conversation in the bar, going back over Nicky’s reactions and guarded looks, his attempts to divert Starsky from his real intentions. He walked for a long time, enough time for the sick feeling in his gut begin to settle.

Eventually, he had phoned Dobey and talked about what the cops in New York had — or rather hadn’t — uncovered about the investigation when they’d interviewed Vanessa’s friend, Jake.

A big nothing. Big fuckin’ nothin’! And Vanessa had sold him as a major player in the whole drama. Obviously, the guy had his story all worked out. So he was back to zero — with himself still as the only focus for the investigation of Vanessa’s murder.

Stressed with Dobey’s news and disillusioned with Nick, he had walked some more — heading unconsciously back toward Hutch’s place although it was miles and miles away.

At some point, his cop instincts kicked in enough to override his self-absorption and he became aware that he was being followed. A dark green Dodge had been tailing him for at least three blocks now, slowly weaving in and out of the slow lane to keep him in sight. Testing his hunch, he had diverted from the route, and when he had rounded the corner and cut down to the next block, it never left his side. He lost sight of it but only for a while when it reappeared as he came out of a small side street to wave down a taxi.

It was still there when he arrived back at Venice, but way back down the busy street where Hutch lived when he leaned into the taxi’s window to pay the driver.

Nick was in town, in town with too many questions for him and now he was being tailed. He was chewing this over in his weary brain when he started to climb the steps to Hutch’s apartment. Halfway up the steps he heard the sounds from inside Hutch’s place — sounds that had him reaching for his gun that wasn’t there. At the door, panic filling his veins as he fumbled for his key, he was heedless to his vulnerable state, unarmed and exposed when he got the door open. His actions were governed by his driven need to stop whoever might be inside and harming his partner.

Then the locks released; he pushed the door ajar and took in the scene. Hutch had his back to him and seemed unaware he had entered the room, so deeply locked was his concentration on Nicky who was beneath him crouched, half slumped on the floor near the coffee table. He catalogued Hutch’s state — his sweaty body and his running attire and the fact that Nick was hurt.

Hutch was the aggressor not the victim as he had feared. Starsky read the signs well enough to realize his partner was primed for another attack on Nicky who was down and bloodied. Hutch was in full-blown fury, and when he was like this it was never easy to pull him back.

Starsky moved quickly before Hutch rained down another blow on Nicky. Before even calling out, he came up behind Hutch and pulled him back firmly, holding the quivering bulk of rage steady in his arms until he felt his partner let go and relax against him. He spoke quietly but decisively, his lips close to Hutch’s sweat-dampened hair, and kept his arm wrapped firmly around Hutch’s chest, feeling the equally damp t-shirt that clung to Hutch’s chest and back.

It was almost too hard to look at his brother. Clearly, Nicky had provoked Hutch. Starsky speculated what Nick might have said or done to have pushed Hutch to this extreme. Hutch had a formidable temper but as frightening as Hutch’s rage could be, it usually took significant provocation to incite his caring, gentle partner to unleash it. There was, however, one sure way to make Hutch snap, and that was for someone or something to threaten or hurt his partner. It hurt Starsky to accept that there was a good chance that his own brother was paying the price for having done exactly that.

Starsky said all he was prepared to say to Nick, telling him to go. He simply wanted him out of his sight. It was all piling on top of him — Vanessa’s murder, his involvement in the investigation, and Nick showing up and filling the spaces in his head and heart with pain.

Without saying anything else, he walked out on Nicky and Hutch, leaving the two of them to sort out whatever was between them.

A short time later, he sensed that Hutch was standing not too far away from him. Not close enough for Starsky to feel his warmth, or smell his distinctive familiar smells, but still close enough to know that Hutch was standing, waiting, guarded and uncertain of his place. Feeling guilty as Hutch so often did Starsky surmised. It made Starsky sigh deep and hard. His loyal, loving friend, shamed and remorseful for doing what he could no more help himself from doing even if Starsky begged him not to. Protecting him as he always did.

Starsky didn’t turn around. “How did Nicky get to be here?”

“He was waiting for me on the street when I got back from my run.”

Running, always running. What are you running from, Hutch?

“Maybe this time — just this once then — ya’ should of kept on runnin’,” Starsky said to the air in front of him.

“Maybe you’re right.” The self-recrimination was evident in Hutch’s voice.

“Don’t look like that, Hutch.”

“Like what?”

“Like I know how you’re looking.”

“Starsky, you’ve got your back to me.” And Starsky could see in his mind how Hutch would be rolling his eyes in frustration.

“Don’t need to see your face to know what’s written all over it.” It would be covered in guilt and the light blue eyes would be brimming with it, too. He heard a heavy sigh from Hutch and knew he was correct.

“I’m sorry, Starsk. I know it hurts you when I act the way I do with Nick. I shouldn’t have done what I did — shit — I just lost it –” Hutch cursed softly. “Hell I’m losing it all over the place today, aren’t I? Me and my damn temper.”

Starsky turned then and walked toward his friend. Hutch was a study in regret — his sweaty damp blond head down and his shoulders slumped.

“My big blond softie with a black temper and a mean right hook.” He picked up Hutch’s hand and stroked his thumb across his knuckles that were swollen and red.

“Starsky — he’s your brother. I — I should’ve tried harder to control myself.”

Starsky looked into Hutch’s remorse-filled eyes.

“I know you, partner,” Starsky said. “You don’t rain down on people for no reason.”

“I’d like to tell you he gave me reason — but I know that’s still no excuse for what I did.” Hutch held his hand still, seemingly soothed by Starsky’s touch across his lightly abraded flesh.

“Nicky might be my brother but I know what he is, Hutch. It hurts; I won’t pretend that it doesn’t. It’s always hurt and probably always will – but I know what he is.”

“Starsk…” Hutch’s eyes flooded with empathy as put his left hand over top of Starsky’s, stilling his movements and holding his hand in place.

“What did he want from you?” Starsky asked.

It didn’t surprise him when Hutch hesitated, looking away, thinking… and Starsky knew his partner was weighing it all up. How, what, or whether to say at all what had gone down with Nick in his absence. Protecting him, standing guard against the truth or the pain that he didn’t think Starsky could cope with or want to hear.

“I walked out on him at Huggy’s,” Starsky said, wanting to let Hutch know that he wasn’t going to be surprised with what Hutch didn’t want to tell him. “I needed the time to think. He was all over me for information and details about the investigation. It was — ” Starsky’s mouth was tight with reluctant acceptance, “well beyond just brotherly concern. I’m guessin’ then, that he came here to get all over you with the same line of questioning? I’m also guessin’ you didn’t much like what he had to say to you. So you thought you’d shut his mouth with your fist.” Starsky tried a tentative grin, but Hutch was hanging onto his guilt.

“Worse than that.” Hutch admitted. “You’ll probably hear it from him anyway… going to have some bruises on his neck as well as his face.”

“Really gave him the Hutchinson treatment then…” Starsky raised his eyebrow. No wonder Nick looked like he’d been run over by a truck. Hutch probably scared the shit out of him. “Might as well tell me what he said to piss you off like that.”

“He knows about the drugs, Starsk.” Hutch looked pained as he said it. “Worse than that — I think he’s here to find them. Someone is feeding him information.”

“I figured as much from our little talk at Huggy’s,” Starsky said. “I also figure he knows a lot more than he’s gonna tell us.”

“Says you’re in danger, Starsky. Not just from the law, but from whoever wants the meth. I’m concerned he knows something about the two thugs that broke into your apartment.”

“I was followed when I left the bar. A car tailed me when I was on foot and later when I got a cab back here.”

“Jesus…” Hutch pressed his lips tight against the worry.

“Got the plates — dark green Dodge — latest model — no doubt a rental. We can run it, but I don’t expect too much…”

“You think Nick set them on you?” Hutch wondered.

“Maybe — but then Nicky wouldn’t have expected me to go anywhere but the station or back here. I’m thinking they’re watching Nick as much as they’re watchin’ me. Maybe they think Nicky’s gonna unearth the meth for them?”

“You got any ideas of who might be behind Nick coming here?” Hutch asked.

Starsky knew he was treading softly with him and that Hutch already had his own ideas on the matter. “Yeah. ‘Course, I do. As much idea as you have, Hutch, so stop tiptoeing ’round it. You don’t have to — told ya I know my brother. It’s a good guess he’s in Durniak’s pocket.”

“Tony Durniak. Are you sure?” Hutch looked worried for him, but it was clear he had already considered the same thing. “He wouldn’t spill anything to me about who might be behind him coming here.”

“Me, neither — but you and I both know that’s a likely bet,” Starsky concluded with weary resignation. “Nick turns up, hits us both up with twenty questions, acts suspicious, and makes heavy references to his connections back in New York. Then, out of the blue I get tailed. It just adds up too easily doesn’t it?”

Hutch stayed quiet, as though waiting for Starsky to finish whatever else he wanted to add.

Know me too well, don’t you, Blondie?

So he added the part that hurt him to the bone. “He’s such a disappointment, Hutch, a total, fuckin’ disappointment.”

Hutch nodded understandingly but Starsky knew his partner would have chosen far more extreme adjectives to describe Nicky. Like he usually did, Hutch kept them to himself, somehow thinking he would wound Starsky by saying what he really thought. Well, one look at Hutch’s swollen knuckles spoke volumes about what he wouldn’t say out loud.

You can smack him in the face and choke the breath out of him, but you can’t risk telling me straight up how much you really hate him.

“So, how you want to play this, Starsk? Nick obviously has information we need,” Hutch said, changing the subject. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that again he was trying to take Starsky’s mind off how bad he felt about Nicky.

“That’s almost for certain,” Starsky said. “If I’d played him out a bit more back at the bar he might have given me more. Instead I had enough and walked away.”

“Well, I sure as hell didn’t do too well in getting anything out of him,” Hutch said. “Except some more abuse and a bloodied rug,” he added with a sheepish grin.

“Maybe you’ve got to work on your interrogation techniques,” Starsky said lightly. He was subtly probing for might’ve have caused Hutch to let loose in such a violent attack. “You don’t think, perhaps, you overplayed the heavy cop act just a bit too much?”

Hutch looked evasive. “He’s got a smart mouth, and I didn’t like how offhanded he was about the danger you were in, and yet not giving me any information to work with.”

Starsky knew there was more that Hutch wasn’t telling him. Still, now was not the time to push him for it. “I’ll handle Nicky,” Starsky told him.

“We could just put a tail on him,” Hutch suggested.

“I’ll deal with Nicky.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? This is the first solid lead we’ve gotten to get you out of this mess. You’re not going to make this a family thing — Nick is holding information and we need to crack him open–”

“No.” Starsky paced away, and then came back. “Leave Nick to me. You know he’s going to hold out against you. I know how to manage him better than you.”

“Look, I said I was sorry–”

“I don’t care about that, Hutch — I know you had your reasons. I also know you’re not tellin’ me everything about it — but that’s not the issue here. I’d already decided what I was gonna do before I came back and found you with Nicky anyway. He’s my brother and I’ll manage him.”

“And if Nick is connected to Durniak — what then? You’re going to leave me out of that, too? You’re not going this alone!” Hutch was yelling now. “Don’t you go and make this some Starsky family thing and lock me out…. Nick is pure trouble. You throw your lot in with him and God knows what will happen. If Nick’s got information, we need to take it to the police — hand it over to the Homicide team.”

“I don’t want the cops in on this – at least not yet. Not ’til I know what Nicky’s role is. If he can help me, then I’ll use that to get out of this shit.”

“You think I want you in with Nicky on this? He’s a damn walking danger magnet, careless and self-centered…”

“Nicky might not be you, Hutch, and I know you don’t like or trust him, but he’ll do what he can when it comes to helpin’ out his big brother. Besides, he’s right in a way. About the people from my early life — about connections…”

“Oh what crap! Those connections could just as easily get you killed as help you out of this mess.”

“Not if I’m smart about it. And you — you, Hutch, need to stay out of it. If I want to make contact with Durniak, then that’s my choice — you don’t need to be involved. Not with Nicky, not with Durniak or whoever else is behind Vanessa’s murder.”

“Oh, so this is your issue now? Yours alone?” Hutch was steaming now.

“Yeah, it is!” Starsky retaliated. “You’ve got your career. My career is already on the line, yours doesn’t need to be, too. Nick and I can – ”

Starsky’s words reignited Hutch, enraging him. “Forget Nick! This is not about Nick. This is about you and me! We’ve been through all this. How many times have I got to tell you, I don’t care what happens to my career? How many times before you believe me?”

For a moment, Starsky considered Hutch’s question. “This is the big one, that’s why. If you get too involved on the wrong level with me and I go down for this, so do you.”

Hutch’s laugh was one of stuttered disbelief. “The big one? Then what the fuck is it we do every day together when we’re on the job? Can you tell me that facing down a perp who is aiming to blow one or the other of our faces off doesn’t rate up there with ‘big’? What is it, if not the ‘big one’ when you have my back or risk taking a bullet for me more times than I can remember?”

“You’re just makin’ this more difficult, Hutch,” Starsky growled and stalked away. “I simply want the chance to try and sort this out in my own way without you gettin’ dragged into it. If Durniak is in the picture with Nick, then you don’t want to know about him. You bring the cops in — that will screw up my chances of gettin’ the guys who killed Vanessa.”

“Don’t tell me you’re walking out now to go to him?” Hutch caught him, pushed past him and blocked the doorway.

“I’m only going to talk to him now that I’m sure he’s involved –”

“How do I know that’s all you’re going to do? What if Durniak’s men pick you up out there? What if Nick’s set you up? You’re not even armed!” Hutch glared and waved his arms angrily. “I won’t let you go until we work out a plan together.”

About to make a decisive comeback, Starsky stopped. Hutch would not make this easy and suddenly Starsky knew that if he was really honest with himself he wasn’t sure he wanted him to. “Why do you have to do this to me, Hutch?”

“I think I’m the one who should be asking you that question, pal.”

“I shouldn’t have even told you what I was planning.”

“I would have been on your heels anyway. Before you got to the car. Sooner rather than later. So there was no point to any of this in the first place.”

“Be rational about this, Hutch. Please. Take out the emotional side of it and be rational.”

“You know I can’t do that. Not where you’re concerned. Sure, your partner, Hutchinson, can be the dogmatic, ruthless, rational cop with others when he needs to be — but never with you, buddy. Never with you,” he finished softly, staying in place, barricading the door, but reaching out to Starsky with his eyes — eyes full of gentleness.

Starsky worked his jaw back and forth as he always did when something deep inside of him wanted to get out but he was resisting it. He knew Hutch could sense it, too. They were back in almost the same position they had been in when Nicky had knocked on the door — only this time it was Hutch with his back to the door. Full circle. Full circle of actions and emotions, but now the emotions were even more intense as though they had magnified themselves after having been staved off earlier. Starsky wondered if those emotions had been left suspended in the air the whole time, just hanging there when Nicky had broken their spell with the knock.

Despite the odds and the bad timing, Starsky knew they were both in the middle of a watershed moment. Something too long in the coming was breaking toward them and it would have a God almighty undertow when it pulled back out. Could he stay on his feet when it hit him? He wasn’t sure — but it was coming either way.

“You could be puttin’ yourself on the line here, Hutch. Gettin’ too involved with me on this…”

Hutch closed his eyes for a moment, as though making some sort of decision, and Starsky waited tensely for whatever he was going to say.

“Too involved with you?” Hutch repeated. “Don’t you think it’s a bit late to worry about that?” Hutch asked gently, squeezing Starsky’s upper arm. “I’ve been involved with you since the day we met, and getting more involved with every week, every month, every year we’ve been partners.”

Starsky looked at Hutch’s big hand gripping him, and then back up into Hutch’s eyes. “Better watch it, Blondie. Anyone listening might interpret those words the wrong way.” Starsky’s weak grin was strained and shaky.

“Only you and me in the room, Starsky.” Hutch didn’t smile back; he was totally serious, totally focused.

“Just sayin’. That’s all, ’bout the way it sounds,” It came out clumsily as Starsky felt his cheeks burn.

Hutch was reeling him in slowly, closer and closer, dragging him in with his eyes. Then Hutch took him by the shoulders, and turned them both around without a word so that their positions were reversed and Starsky’s back was pressed against the door. The flush in Starsky’s cheeks travelled down to his neck and chest, infusing him not just with warmth but with sensory response. Hutch’s hands added to the heat searing through his skin as he held him against his body. Starsky felt the scorch burn deep inside of him.

“Better,” Hutch said, watching him as he spoke. “I like this better — the door behind you — no where for you to go. This is where we were before — just like this.”

“I think you’re still wired from your round with Nicky — and your run,” Starsky suggested, taken off guard by Hutch’s predatory moves.

“I’m wired, Starsk, definitely wired — but not from that.” His soft voice was now a low growl.

Starsky swallowed so hard, he felt the slide of his Adam’s apple along his throat. Hutch’s eyes followed its movement before he laid his hands delicately, caressingly, over it. His fingers trailed down, then encircled Starsky’s neck, slipping tenderly beneath his curling hair, his broad hands forming a necklace around Starsky’s throat. His tender touch tore through Starsky straight to his lower belly and groin.

With his hands around the back of Starsky’s neck, Hutch used both thumbs to stroke him from his ears down to his collarbone, each stroke mesmerizing in its gentleness. “When I first lost my temper, I throttled Nick. So, he asked me if I liked to put my hands on your throat like this… asked me if I ever did to you what I was doing to him.” Hutch frowned at the memory, still holding Starsky’s neck in his gentle clasp as if fascinated by his skin. “I wanted to tell him that if ever I put my hands around your throat, it would be nothing like what I was doing to him. Nothing like I would do to you, how I would touch your neck, your throat, your skin….” Hutch’s head dipped down. “Nothing like this….”

His mouth began to follow the same path his fingers had just trailed, laying small kisses where Starsky’s flesh was still warm from his touch, his lips stroking its wet warmth over his skin leaving a nerve-tingling trail in its wake. Starsky was filled with the scent of Hutch’s hair as it brushed his chin and cheek. Starsky didn’t realize until then how much he’d missed Hutch’s hair, white in the sun and gold in the muted light. With only the slightest movement, he was able to nose the fine blond hair, feeling its softness, breathing in its scent. Hutch’s kisses found every spot on Starsky’s exposed throat as his mouth gave each inch equal attention. The rasp of Hutch’s beard as it rubbed over his slicked skin was electrifying.

Starsky threw his head back, exposing his throat, giving Hutch as much as he wanted. Moving upwards, Hutch nipped gently at his ear lobe. Then he traced the outer shell of Starsky’s ear with his thumb before his insistent tongue made an exploratory search of his ear. Just the sound of Hutch’s lapping tongue was enough to make Starsky fall into his arms.

“Jesus… Hu-Hutch.” The way he struggled to get the words out, Hutch might have been strangling the air from his throat rather than killing him softly with delicate kisses and short tantalizing licks. Hutch continued to suck and nibble his ear while softly moaning. Hutch’s sounds of pleasure sent even more blood rushing to Starsky’s groin.

Hutch brought his head up as his eyes zeroed in on his partner’s mouth. “We were interrupted before, Starsky. It won’t happen again. Someone can knock, the phone can ring, the intercom can buzz — but this time it won’t stop me.” Hutch’s voice was raw with emotion and something else that sounded desperate with both longing and hope. “Only one thing would stop me from doing what I want to you.”

“It would?” Starsky croaked, convinced that if Hutch didn’t keep going, he might just implode.

“The only thing that would stop me is if you told me you didn’t want me to do it,” Hutch said, waiting, his lips hovering over Starsky’s, his eyes gaging his response, his breath quickening in time with Starsky’s own. “Do you want it, Starsk?” Hutch’s lips brushed over Starsky’s slightly parted ones with a tender touch, giving Starsky just a small taste of Hutch before he pulled back, bracketed Starsky’s face with his hands. “Do you want this? Do you want it as much as I want you to want it?”

His poignant questions were almost too much for Starsky to bear. The raw exposure of Hutch’s deep emotional pain was overwhelming. When Starsky saw the aching pull in Hutch’s eyes, he knew he couldn’t have stopped his shaking hands even if he tried. He needed to enfold Hutch in his arms and touch him as he was being touched. He reached out to draw in what his trembling body so badly wanted. His hand wrapped around the back of Hutch’s neck and pulled him toward him.

This time, his mouth took the initiative, his tongue wanting in on the act, pushing its way into Hutch’s mouth, finding Hutch’s tongue, dancing over its surface, tangling with it before darting out again. Starsky’s lips pressed hard against Hutch’s, his teeth nipping Hutch’s fleshy lower lip. Hutch moaned, opening his mouth wider, inviting Starsky back in, but Starsky took a breath, pulling away while keeping his hands in Hutch’s soft hair.

“Would you take that as a ‘yes,’ Hutch?” Starsky rasped, his breath hitching with want.

Hutch’s eyes were clouded with desire, his lids heavy with sensual hunger as his hands descended from Starsky’s neck and face to his chest. “I’ll take it as a yes — but I want to take a hell of a lot more. Not sure if I can stop myself from taking it, Starsky.” Hutch groaned against Starsky’s neck, pushing his tall body against Starsky’s, shuddering with the intensity of his physical need.

“Not sure if I want you to stop.” Starsky smiled as Hutch’s hands found their way inside his shirt, his warm fingers catching on Starsky’s chest hair, then brushing lower to make contact with already erect nipple. With slow deliberation, Hutch released the top three buttons on Starsky’s shirt, exposing his dark hair before pressing his face against his chest.

As Hutch rubbed against Starsky’s chest, Starsky heard Hutch’s confidence slipping. “Can you possibly know, Starsk? Can you?” His voice was rumbling against Starsky’s skin. “I’m scared you don’t have a clue.” Hutch was clearly distraught — torn between his physical and emotional needs.

“Know what? Not sure I get what you mean, babe? What are you scared of? Tell me.”

“How very – very much I want you.” Hutch let the words out slowly, each one thick with emotion. “I’ve waited such a long time, waited to have you for such a long time. It’s almost too much to take if you don’t want it, too.” He made a sound that could have been a sob and the intensity of his pain ripped deep into Starsky.

“Hutch… Hutch,” Starsky soothed, lifting Hutch’s head up to look into his troubled face. “You’re so busy worryin’ about all of this that you haven’t even realized what’s been right in front of your face for months now.”

Hutch’s eyes opened wide — questioning hope shining out of them. “I haven’t?”

“No — and you’re usually so damn smart at workin’ me out, babe. Better than I am at workin’ myself out,” he emphasized, cupping Hutch’s cheek. “Seems that this time I got there before you. It’s all starting to make sense to me — but only today — if I’m really honest — did I face the truth.”

Hutch waited, tender patience on his beautiful face, yearning and need put on hold while Starsky got out what he wanted to say.

“All the crap with the women, the wounded ego shit, even fooling myself that Clare mattered to me — all of it was just because I was too damn fearful of accepting what I really wanted.” Starsky sighed, all at once tired of thinking, tired of analyzing. His hand slid under Hutch’s t-shirt, so each of them now had a hand on each other’s chest. “Now the damn murder investigation is tryin’ to stand in our way…” He frowned as he mentioned it, letting it creep into the moment, before he went back to stroking Hutch’s smooth skin.

“But you’re right, Hutch. Right now, no more interruptions, no more delays. Forget a knock or a ring — a fuckin’ bomb could go off outside and I don’t think I’d be able to stop where this is goin’ — where I want you to take me.” With his hand still under Hutch’s t-shirt, he curled it up in a tight wad, using it to pull Hutch around and toward his bed. “Come on, babe — the waiting’s over.”

 

Authors Note: Parts of this chapter have been edited to conform with technical issues of police procedure and story plot. It does not affect the overall direction or tone of the story. 

 

Chapter Nine

The memory of the wild hatred in Hutchinson’s eyes was vivid in Nick’s mind as he shut the engine off after parking in his hotel’s garage and let his aching head fall back against the head rest of the car seat. His brother’s partner really was a crazy son of a bitch — dangerous and unpredictable. With his whole body still vibrating from the delayed shock of the brutish attack, he stumbled from his car barely making the short but tortuous journey across the hotel’s garage without collapsing.

All he wanted now was to get back inside his hotel room and behind closed doors. His entire face was a throbbing mass and his tortured larynx knifed his throat with every gagged swallow. Using the garage wall to support him, he took a moment to fight through a wave of dizzy nausea and lifted his hand to summon the elevator down.

He was so centered on his internal suffering, he didn’t realize at first what was happening when a man suddenly materialized beside him. He hadn’t seen a soul when he’d driven into the garage. The darkly attired stranger slapped his hand up to block the control button before Nick’s hand could reach it.

“What in hell are you doing, man?” Nick cried out in shock at the act of pure casual arrogance, bewildered at what the man was doing.

He turned to let the man have it and stopped short when his fuzzy brain put it together. The man with a buzz cut and a mean face was the same man who had shadowed him outside of Hutchinson’s Venice Beach apartment that morning. Durniak’s man without a doubt — no longer keeping his clandestine distance but all of a sudden up close and way too personal for Nick.

A quick surge of fear galvanized him and he looked about the garage wildly for a quick exit. He wasn’t ready for this.

The stranger gave him a smirk. “Don’t shit ya pants, Nicky boy — if I’d wanted to take you down, I would have done it by now.” The stranger’s voice was pitched low and rough as he barely opened the side of his mouth. It wasn’t hard to imagine how the man’s face might have gotten so misshapen. With his nose pressed into his face and his jaw misaligned, he’d most likely been on the receiving end of the sort of violence he was now projecting to Nick.

“Durniak sent you to follow me, didn’t he?” Nick swallowed, his pain forgotten in a rush of immediate fear.

This seemed to amuse the stranger and he let out an incredulous laugh. “Know anyone else who would be bothered to tag your useless ass all around the city today? Of course he sent me, you stupid schmuck.”

Nick could barely hold himself together. He wanted to lie down in a cool dark room with an ice pack and three or four painkillers, wooing sleep with a couple shots of bourbon. He didn’t want to be facing off with one of Durniak’s army of heavies. Hutchinson had left precious little in him to go another round with anyone, let alone this man.

“You got something to tell me, Nick? I got Mr. Durniak riding my back and I don’t wanna have to go back to him again today empty handed.”

“I told Tony I’d get back to him as soon as I got something solid.” Nick rubbed nervously at his bruised throat.

“That’s all nice, Nicky, but seein’ as I’m askin’, you can tell me. You get anything useful from your little visit to your cop brother?”

“I’m workin’ on him.”

The man laughed. “You sure he didn’t work on you?” he jeered, nodding at Nick’s cut up cheek and swollen eye. “Some brotherly relationship you got there, Nicky boy. Real sweet brotherly love.”

At the man’s taunts Nick lifted his hand to touch his swollen cheek, realizing what he must look like. “Nothin’ to do with my brother,” Nick snapped. “Look, I’ll explain it all to Tony when I talk to him. It’s not as easy as I thought getting through to my brother. His partner’s got it in for me,” he spat, fresh contempt in his words at the memory of how Hutch had humiliated him in front of his own brother.

Durniak’s man fixed him with narrowed eyes, reading something that Nick knew he couldn’t hide — desperation and uncertainty. “The boss ain’t gonna like that.”

“I’ll clear it with him when I call him,” Nick said decisively. He wanted the conversation over.

Surprisingly, the man punched the elevator controls, calling the elevator to the garage. Still unsure of what the stranger would do next, Nick waited, not daring to believe he was about to be dismissed so easily when the elevator doors finally opened in front of him.

The man nodded at the vacant interior of the brightly lit elevator and Nick stepped in warily. The man held the door open so that the elevator could not leave. Maybe he wasn’t going to get away as easily as he thought.

“No need to call him,” the man said, in such a way that Nick knew there was going to be a punch line. “Mr. Durniak will see you in person tomorrow morning.”

Durniak was here, in Los Angeles? How? Why? Didn’t Durniak trust him?

Jesus…. this whole thing was getting way too tense. First Hutchinson smashes his face up and now he had the prospect of facing Tony Durniak with not one shred of information. Nick’s head throbbed even more.

“I’ll call his offices in New York. Sort out a meeting with him then,” Nick said coolly as though the news didn’t worry the hell out of him.

The man didn’t like his idea. “No, it’s all arranged. I’ll be in the lobby at ten to take you to him. Be there. Don’t be late. Mr. Durniak don’t like delays of any kind. And Nick,” he added casually as he released the elevator doors, “my job’s to deliver you on time. If you decide not to show — be sure of one thing — I’ll come find you.”

Nick didn’t doubt he would.

The mounting fear of what he was going to tell Tony Durniak was almost enough to override his physical pain. He had been so sure he’d have gotten his brother on his side; that he’d have been able to find out something solid for Durniak and in doing so stake a place in the mobster’s inner team.

He’d have to come up with something and fast or what Hutchinson had done to him would pale into insignificance at the hands of Durniak.

The doors closed — not nearly fast enough for Nick, shutting out the coarse-looking man’s face, leaving him inside the elevator with his private pain and creeping dread.

~~~

Starsky’s husky promise that the waiting was over had held Hutch spellbound to the point that he became pliant in Starsky’s arms, allowing himself to be pulled bodily toward the bed. It was now Starsky who led them to where they were irrevocably heading, literally and figuratively. Moving Hutch strategically across the room toward the bed, Starsky took the leading role as he commandeered the slow seductive dance Hutch had begun.

With his hands urgent and insistent as he angled Hutch’s body to where he wanted him, Starsky took little time in changing the tempo that Hutch had established. Now that he was in control, he kicked things up from slow and gentle to hot and urgent, using his body to move them both effortlessly toward the side of the bed. Pushed up against the edge of the bed, and with Starsky’s body pressing him further back, it was more than clear to Hutch that Starsky wanted him horizontal and fast. His rough tugs to remove Hutch’s t-shirt said he also wanted him bare to the touch of his roaming hands. With one quick move, Starsky pushed him against the soft contours of the big bed, giving a husky exclamation of triumph at his accomplishment. Before Hutch could move, Starsky had straddled him, keeping one hand firmly on his shoulder to hold him in place.

“Damn it, Hutch — let me get this thing offa’ ya,” he grunted softly, holding Hutch’s shoulders off the bed with one hand as he pulled the t-shirt over his head with the other. In a low crouch, Starsky used his body to pin Hutch beneath him, an arm on either side of Hutch’s chest and his knees pressed hard against Hutch’s hips to hold him fixed beneath him.

Another small cry of conquest escaped Starsky as he peeled away the offending obstruction. Holding the t-shirt aloft, Starsky surveyed the skin revealed by his efforts, and his cry of success was overridden by Hutch’s hungry groan. Starsky tossed the garment aside and lowered himself closer to the body pinned beneath him. He took a moment to let his smoldering gaze brush over his captive’s bared upper body before he lowered his dark head to take one nipping bite at Hutch’s parted lower lip. Hutch jumped with the unexpected thrill of the small pain that lay claim to his mouth. Before he could move his own lips to respond, Starsky’s dark head had already moved lower to Hutch’s chest, still damp from his earlier physical exertions and getting damper from his fresh arousal. Starsky took a few experimental licks, breathing deeply as he nosed the smooth, revealed flesh.

“You smell like sweat, babe,” Starsky said. “Hutch sweat. I can taste it, too — your smell and your sweat — all over your golden skin and it’s fuckin’ turnin’ me on. I need it in my mouth. I want the taste of it on my tongue — want the taste of you, babe.” He lapped his tongue around one hardened nipple and the shock ripped through Hutch so violently that his legs jerked in a spasm of ecstasy.

Feeling his response, Starsky moved one hand down to circle the top of Hutch’s bare upper thigh, quieting him. “Steady, babe — it’s my turn now — my turn to taste you. Lie still and let me eat you up.”

The hot sensual lull of Starsky’s words had Hutch biting his lip against his mounting desire; the pure rawness of his words and the way Starsky ground them out were a tantalizing provocation. He could feel his heart rate picking up, his breaths quickening, and his vision dimming — the feverish excitement Starsky was inciting in him pounding in his hardening cock.

“My turn, Hutch…” Starsky repeated in a low growl before he put words into action and turned back to use Hutch’s bare, smooth flesh as a feasting plate, his moist mouth voracious he licked, kissed, and playfully sucked at Hutch’s skin. Whereas Hutch’s attention to Starsky’s chest had been tantalizing soft, tender and slow, Starsky, by comparison, went at Hutch’s skin like he wanted to consume it. Starsky had tasted him and when Starsky’s appetite was whetted there was no turning back until he had taken his fill. Powerless for the moment to resist his partner’s sultry demands, Hutch gave himself up to accept the lavishing attention he was receiving.

Hutch felt the pull of Starsky’s enthusiastic savoring of his chest like a vortex — helpless to stop the sensations that brought him to a heightened sexual plane. As Starsky sucked and kissed, his hands went ahead to pave the path for where his hungry mouth was soon to follow. He used the heel of his palm to press hard against the sharp angles of Hutch’s flank, chest, and pelvis before grazing his fingers over the smooth skin in tiny circles. Then, when his fingers left one spot to move to the next, Starsky’s mouth moved to replace them. It felt to Hutch as though every inch of skin on his chest was being innervated with Starsky’s lips and fingers. Hutch could feel his skin becoming slick with new sweat, his whole body as damp as when he had run five miles. He could feel how Starsky’s hands slipped so easily over his skin’s frictionless surface, and he didn’t need to see it to know that it would be sheened in a film of lustful wanting.

Starsky’s mouth was on a mission, moving lower, eventually finding his concave navel. When his warm tongue dipped into the small mound of knotted skin, Hutch arched up from the bed from the sensual shock. Starsky only pressed him back firmly, not allowing him to move.

When the insistent probing of Starsky’s tongue finally finished its thorough exploration of Hutch’s navel, it moved to trail lower still. It flicked at the downy fuzz of blond hair that paved a line down from his navel to his lower belly. Starsky brushed the fine hairs with his tongue, lifting them and wetting them, following the trail to where it disappeared beneath Hutch’s running shorts.

“God, Starsky — God!” It came out in a stammered breathy whisper, but Hutch had no idea what he was trying to convey. He wanted more, of course — more, more, more — but in the back of his mind he knew he wanted something else, too. Something he had lost track of as soon as this masterful new lover had laid hands on his body. Starsky’s sensual attack was so skillfully executed that he felt his body succumbing entirely.

Falling, drowning, burning up — Hutch’s every sense was assailed by the pleasuring acts Starsky was so beautifully gifting him with and he was fast losing himself to Starsky’s control. Fighting through the desire to take all that Starsky had to give him was near impossible, but he knew he wanted to put a halt to this agonizing gratification.

As much as it was excruciating to refuse, there was no way Hutch was going to give in to Starsky’s natural exuberance to take this first experience at the same pace that his partner approached everything in life. Hutch knew that once engaged in the act of discovering one another on this new intimate level, he would find Starsky a handful to manage and control. His fiercely virile nature and competitive spirit in all things physical, combined with the sexual motor of a high performance vehicle, meant that Hutch would have his work cut out in taming his hot-blooded counterpart. Starsky, once committed to a physical act, jumped in with both feet and no brakes. Hutch quickly sensed that slowing him down wasn’t going to be easy. But he didn’t want this first time to burn hard and bright, only to later have them draw apart as they realized what had happened between them.

Maybe he was wrong and it would make no difference in the long run, but he wanted to take this “first time” at a slow speed. He wanted to be sure they could make something together that they could build on forever. If they gave into a fevered sexual coupling, which–given their states of arousal would be over in a few sweaty damp thrusts–then they would be left shocked and disbelieving in its wake. With no time to understand what was happening to change the nature of their relationship, they could only react to the fact that it had changed. This first time had to have substance, a foundation of more than just the need to release the sexual tension building between them for months. If it didn’t, then Hutch feared that the timing of it — in the midst of Starsky’s current stressful situation — could devalue the experience and have serious long-term repercussions.

If he thought Starsky was ready for all this rationalization, he would have shared it with him, but once again his uncertainty stopped him from trying. He knew what his fears were: that they were taking a risk and possibly making mistakes that couldn’t be undone. He didn’t want Starsky to think that all he wanted out of this was sexual satisfaction. And yet he was unprepared to ask for anything more at this stage of the game.

It was too much too soon. Hutch was being taken somewhere he wasn’t ready to go yet. There was too much he had wanted to do for too long, and if he didn’t stop Starsky now, the chance might be lost forever.

When Hutch felt Starsky’s nimble fingers sliding beneath the elastic of his flimsy running shorts and lowering them beyond his hips so that his mouth would have free range to find new territory, Hutch knew he could wait no longer.

Starsky had repositioned himself slightly, but still ensured Hutch was securely trapped beneath him. He had moved his knees further down the bed to allow his mouth to have easier access to the skin he had just exposed. He looked up to share one small wicked grin of delight with Hutch before his mouth went down to touch the spot where the trail of Hutch’s naval hair ended and the dense thatch of his pubic hair began.

“Starsky!” Hutch shouted before jerking back with such force that he dislodged his partner. Undeterred, Starsky returned to his quest, nuzzling his lips and nose deep into Hutch’s springy golden hair. Hutch jerked back again, his actions more decisive.

Starsky stopped. Lifting his head, he looked at Hutch with curious eyes. Despite his pause, however, his expression still displayed a voracious appetite. Clearly, Starsky was hungry for a lot more.

Torn between his physical desire and his emotional needs, Hutch felt trapped. If he didn’t break the impetus of their steamy foreplay, then this experience was heading one way fast. He would never get the opportunity to slow this down again.

Was he being selfish? Overly emotional? Unrealistic about what they were about to share and might continue to share? Soppy, sentimental? Misjudging his own feelings for what could simply be a need for them to give each other temporary sexual release at a time of harrowing stress?

Was this all it was going to be? A one time, getting off together? Hard, rough, and mind-blowingly unique sex, but just sex and nothing more?

Hutch wanted so much more than that.

Would Starsky look at him with shock and regret, embarrassment and resentment when they reached their sexual pinnacle side by side?

Damn it — was he just plain stupid and naïve?

He wanted to say so much and show so much to this man who meant the world to him. But there was a part of him that was terrified that his need for a sexual union with his partner might be at total odds with Starsky’s. Starsky hated soapy scenes — or so he always claimed — so maybe Hutch’s ideals and hopes about the potential for their future relationship were not going to fly with him at all.

What if Starsky simply wanted the experience of being matched in bed physically — experimenting with an equally powerful male who happened to be his best friend and partner?

Hutch felt his resolve slipping, his bewilderment and fear clouding his intentions to slow Starsky down and to try to articulate to him what he really wanted.

He became aware that Starsky was waiting for him to come out of his lapse into heavy headed introspection. Sensitive to Hutch’s hesitation, Starsky had reined in his ardor to wait for him, and Hutch loved him for doing that, but still couldn’t say what he wanted.

Starsky slowly brought his thumb up to rub over Hutch’s mouth — his eyes asking him if there was something wrong. When Hutch remained silent, Starsky gave the smallest of nods before continuing to explore beneath Hutch’s shorts.

This time Hutch couldn’t hold in the sharp yelp of pleasured agony and deep bellied longing for more of Starsky’s touch. He shifted himself back on the bed, drawing away from Starsky’s hands, trying to evade from the next move he expected Starsky to make. It took all his will to suppress the need to pull Starsky’s head down so his wanton mouth could continue its exploration of Hutch’s lower belly.

Hutch recognized the first sign of doubt and confusion flitting across Starsky’s face. “Does that mean stop, or does that mean go faster?” he asked, carefully removing his hand from the top of Hutch’s shorts. His voice was uncertain and soft, his brows knitted with worry. “What’s wrong, Hutch?”

Before Hutch gave into the desire to simply lie down and pull his new lover back into place, he took hold of Starsky’s chin. He grew determined to stop this rollercoaster of seduction before the bed was set on fire and they both ignited. The most he could hope to do was to demonstrate how deeply intense his feelings were for his partner.

He wanted to love Starsky, love him with his hands, his mouth, and his body. He wanted it to be the foundation of everything else they might ever hope to have together if this physical joining was going to be a real part of their relationship. Still, he needed to handle this carefully without seeming to convey that he didn’t want what Starsky was also trying to give him.

“It means, babe,” Hutch began soothingly, subtly moving so that he was no longer captive beneath Starsky and instead was now alongside him. His arms wrapped around his fully clothed partner. “I don’t want to rush this — this very special thing that I can finally experience with you. I want to enjoy you — enjoy us, like this, together for the first time, slowly, unwrap you slowly, love you slowly…”

Starsky rose to support himself on his elbow, head on his hand. His fingers still traced over Hutch’s bare shoulders as he tilted his head to meet Hutch’s gaze. “So you want what I want. What’s the problem then? I was enjoying myself and I know you were too, babe — so — ” He reached to pull Hutch tight against his rock-hard body, grabbing Hutch’s hips to pull them firmly against his own. The rigid outline of Starsky’s arousal was as obvious as Hutch’s, despite Starsky’s tight jeans.

For a moment, Starsky seemed lost, moaning softly as he ground himself against Hutch’s groin, delighting in the meeting of their erections. While Starsky was absorbed in this sensual distraction, Hutch used it to his advantage to reverse their positions. He swung up and over Starsky, his taller body now dominant.

“Hey,” Starsky complained. “Not fair. I had you where I wanted you.” Then he grinned as he deftly moved his hands over Hutch’s back and down his ass. “But, now that you’re up there, I can do this — ” His hands latched onto Hutch’s ass, his palms scorching through the thin fabric of Hutch’s running shorts as he cupped a buttock in each hand.

Hutch sighed with pleasure and frustration — his partner was unstoppable and Hutch was fast losing his battle to resist the pleasure that Starsky’s touch gave him.

“Not so fast, babe — not so — ” he struggled to explain without seeming like he was rejecting Starsky’s sexy advances. He took a calming breath. “Not so quick — I want this to be slow. I need to take the time to show you how much I want to love you. Let me…” Hutch implored in a whisper as he tried to temper Starsky’s enthusiasm. “Let me be selfish here, please, Starsk. Just for now. I’ve waited so long to give myself to you like this, so long to love you this special way, not just how we’ve always loved each other — that I want to have this time. Just this first time. Please let me have it….” He heard how plaintive and wistful he sounded.

As he spoke, the fingers of one hand opened the remaining buttons on Starsky’s shirt while his other hand pushed the shirt from Starsky’s shoulder. Hutch moved tentatively. “Please, let me have you, love you the way I’ve wanted to for so long. It’s an ache inside me. If I can’t touch you like I’ve dreamed of, feel you, kiss you, be with you — I don’t think I can go on. Just this one time.”

Starsky lay still under his gaze, his deep blue eyes never leaving Hutch’s face as he spoke.

“I want to show you how much you deserve to be loved and cared for and cherished…” Hutch pulled Starsky’s shirt away from his furred chest and laid his hand over Starsky’s heart. “Let me do this for you. Take away some of the pain, some of the hurt that you’ve locked inside you. Love you so much that I might make up for the way you’ve been hurt, touch you in a way that might let you forget for a while about all the worry of today, of yesterday — what might lie ahead tomorrow. Let me just love you right now.” His voice was tender as he struggled to express the magnitude of his feelings. And then he tried to give words to his greatest fear. “If I can’t show you this one time, I’m scared I’ll never get the chance to show you again…”

Once more he brought his shaking hand, trembling with the need to do what he wanted, to Starsky’s face. He placed his palm there, waiting for Starsky to talk to him, to understand what Hutch was asking of him.

The answer Starsky gave was clear. He lifted Hutch’s hand from where it touched his heart and brought it to his mouth. He kissed Hutch’s palm with the same tenderness Hutch had been showing him, and with none of the hungry drive he’d shown earlier.

“My tender blond hero,” Starsky whispered, smiling. “You’re worried I don’t get this side of it, aren’t you, babe? You think I don’t want you to love me like I know you can and will — with all of that gentleness you got stocked away just for me — in unlimited supply?” he stroked the small furrow between Hutch’s eyes, a look of concern on his face. ” Just ’cause I want to ravage your beautiful body don’t mean I don’t get that there’s more goin’ on here than just what we might do in this bed now.”

Starsky’s words were heartfelt and sincere. He waved a hand at Hutch’s face and bare chest. “I find you irresistible, blintz — I think that’s pretty clear to both of us… I have for a while now…and I’ve got this really desperate need to put my mark on you in the most intimate way. But don’t you think for one moment I don’t have more in my head about where we’re going with all of this than just what I want to do to your body. It’s not like I just want to jump your bones and then it’s back to life as usual.”

Starsky sounded deeply serious despite his casual allusions to sex. “I know there’s a whole lot more to think about and talk about for us — whatever happens here right now — and I know you’re already thinking about all that might go wrong for us, too.”

Starsky paused. “Am I right, partner? That’s what’s going on in your beautiful blond head, isn’t it, babe?”

The blush Hutch could feel warmed his neck and rose up to his cheeks. Caught out by the one man who knew him as well as he knew himself, his fears and insecurities were clearly visible to Starsky.

“God, Starsk — I’m sorry…I just wasn’t sure…and I’m worried you won’t …you wouldn’t — ” Hutch tried, but it was all mangled now, his thoughts in disarray, disarmed by the sharp insight and perfect understanding Starsky had just shown.

“Of course you are, you big soft, gentle lion. Well, quit it now, okay? No more talk — all you’re doin’ is gettin’ yourself all worried like you always do.” He pressed his fingers firmly against Hutch’s lips as though to silence him. “You can talk yourself into anything with that silver tongue of yours, so enough. I’m on board with all of this, Hutch — what’s happening right now, what might happen after…where this might take us. So stop worrying. I understand and we’ll walk this through together — but,” He gave a little teasing smile then, and it had Hutch’s pulse jumping again. “I still want to jump your bones.” And then to reassure him further, he took away his finger and replaced it once more with his mouth, sliding his tongue in before Hutch knew what he was about to do. He let the kiss linger, long and deep and endlessly soft.

When he finally pulled away and let Hutch take a gasping breath of oxygen his eyes were alight with mischief. “See babe, slow and smoldering works just as well for me as fast and burning. We can have it all — every bit of it. We’re not gonna use it all up this one time — which ever way we go.” As he spoke he fingered the edges of Hutch’s hair. “Now you better stop with those sad blue eyes, babe, and those sad poetic words of yours or you’ll turn me into a big ball of mush.”

They moved closer together on the bed, enveloping one another in a hold so tight that Hutch felt Starsky’s heart beat through his own chest, and felt the pulse at his throat through his lips as he pressed them against it.

Starsky pressed his face into Hutch’s hair he had just been feathering. “God, I love being able to do this to you. To smell you, touch you like this — and — my very favorite sense, especially when it comes to sampling you, babe, to taste you — mmnn…” he purred at Hutch’s neck as sucked his flesh in delicate little mouthfuls, the gentle suckling not strong enough to bruise but more than powerful enough to make Hutch crazy.

For a few luxurious moments, Hutch lay still in Starsky’s arms in silent awe at how adaptable his incredible partner was. No matter how long Hutch knew him, Starsky never stopped surprising him with the richness and versatility of his personality. In the past half hour, he had transformed himself from a sleek and sensual prowling panther prepared to exert his power to take his sexual fill of his mate, to an empathic, reflective listener, and now, in deference to Hutch’s needs and expressed wants, he was a considerate and caring lover, adoring and affectionate — transitioning their loving into a soft sexual journey.

It came to Hutch then. The realization that this experience, although unique, was not all that different or new for either of them. Starsky had just proved that by reminding him again how solidly stitched was the fabric of their relationship. Solid because of how they cared for each other no matter what.

Carefully extricating himself from Starsky’s grasp, he pulled himself up and into a kneeling position and then reached for his partner to join him. They moved as one, mirroring each other as they rose up onto their knees and faced each other in the center of the bed. Bare chest to bare chest, knees to knees, arms wrapping around each other, they brought their faces close enough that Hutch could see the darkened flecks in Starsky’s eyes.

Hutch waited, looking long and lovingly at Starsky, seeing in his face that he felt as comfortable as Hutch did as they prepared to move forward.

Their mirrored positions said it all. Hutch could see that now.

This wasn’t about Hutch showing Starsky how he could love him slow and tenderly or about Starsky leading the way in a steamy seduction of Hutch.

This, the first time of physical loving was going to be more of what their relationship was founded upon.

Mutual trust and love.

They would find the way there just as their mouths were finding the way to each other’s, their hands cupping each other’s heads, their bare skin pressing as close to the other as they could get, their mouths exploring each other’s in a never ending kiss.

Coming up for air a little while later, Starsky wore a look that Hutch had not seen in months — a buoyant effervescence for life was there once more. “Hutch?”

“Hmmn?” Hutch asked distractedly, now immersed in trying to release the buckle on Starsky’s belt with one hand, his other busy massaging the swollen mound of Starsky’s crotch through his denim.

“Before, when I said that ’bout the talking thing — you know how I said you can talk yourself into anything?”

“Um — right?” Hutch was only half listening now that he was making headway with the belt and the top button of Starsky’s impossibly tight jeans.

“I didn’t really mean it, ya know. I love your words; I love the things you say and how you say them. So sexy, so lovin’…you know that, don’t ya? I wouldn’t want you to think — ” Gasping, he moaned as the belt finally fell loose and Hutch began to slide down his zipper, not easing up on the firm hold he had between Starsky’s legs. “Hutch!”

It was Hutch’s turn to smile. “Starsk, you said no more talking; now you won’t shut up.” He ran both hands inside the snug jeans, sliding around to Starsky’s rear, gripping twin handfuls of hard muscle, loving the rounded perfection of Starsky’s ass. His mouth salivated at the thought of gently biting into their olive skinned ripeness.

“And you,” Starsky hissed, clenching his jaw hard at the moment when Hutch’s big hands managed to encompass each buttock easily “you’re supposed to be the silver-tongued romantic. Thought you were wanting to go slow this whole show down.”

He sucked air through his teeth as Hutch pressed his engorged crotch against Starsky’s, his hands still full with his partner’s ass.

“And now — now you’re — now you’re -” Starsky gasped, halted in midsentence, his eyes glazing with lust.

“Now I’m what?” Hutch teased.

“Now — Oh God, now I don’t have the words for what you’re trying to do to me.”

Hutch smiled and eased his new lover back down onto the bed beneath him, spreading him out in all his bared glory for his eyes alone. “Don’t you? I do. I could tell you exactly what I’m trying to do to you. Remember, I’ve got the silver tongue? But I’m taking your advice and I’m not going to talk.” He leaned over Starsky’s quivering body and ran his tongue in one long languorous trail from the base of his neck to the lower edge of his hip without stopping, peeling away the stubborn denim as he did. “I’ve got other plans for this tongue than just talk,” he said as he tossed Starsky’s jeans over his shoulder to the floor. “Now — let me show you what this silver tongue is really good at.”

At Hutch’s raunchy innuendo, the laughter bubbled out of Starsky unbidden, lighting him up from within. Hutch thought it was perhaps the most unguarded show of joy his partner had shown in months. It made Hutch’s heart sing to see something of the old Starsky. Eventually his laugh subsided and he shook his head, smiling at Hutch before his face settled into a more serious repose. His dark blue eyes locked on Hutch’s, waiting, expectant, sparkling with a mix of pure lust and shining adoration.

It was a heady combination for Hutch, irresistibly intoxicating, unbelievably attractive and pure Starsky.

His Starsky.

~~~

With a waking stretch, Starsky let his whole body lengthen to feel the pull, back arching as he extended his shoulders and lifted his arms high above his head. A hard, long stretch after a marathon between the sheets. The memory of what he had so recently shared with his new lover was still clear in his mind and as he held his arms high, extending the stretch even more, he contemplated the event.

Something on his arm caught his eye. He lowered his arms to touch the skin at his elbow and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Even modestly speaking, Starsky had experienced more than his fair share of “what happens when it’s over?” scenes in the bedroom. By any measure, this one was unique and a definite first for him.

For a start, he thought, as he touched the inner side of his arm and gave it an experimental sniff, he had never woken up after sex and discovered dried semen in the fold of his elbow. At least not semen that he was fairly sure was not his own.

Secondly, the sheets, which were still decidedly damp — seemed to be doubly damp, heavy with sticky semen and distinctly masculine scents — come and sweat with maybe a hint of aftershave. Not a whiff of perfume or female pheromones to be found.

The other factor was, that if he was correct in his assessment of the sounds floating in from the balcony, that his new lover had left him alone in the big bed to go out and do some light gardening. Now that was definitely a first. Rarely did David Starsky get left alone in a bed for any other reason then his lover was showering, grooming, or preparing him a post-sex drink or breakfast.

He was unexpectedly rattled by the discovery.

Was this typical for Hutch, he wondered? Leave warm, if damp, sheets and his lover to re-pot his ferns?

He smiled. Jesus… Perhaps he ought to talk to Hutch about bedroom etiquette.

Suddenly lonely and surprisingly bereft for the feel of Hutch’s skin and the sound of his voice, he slipped from the bed and wrestled himself into his crumpled jeans.

He took a moment to use the bathroom before scooping some water into his mouth, thirsty and dry from sleep. When he turned to grab the hand towel, he caught his reflection in the mirror above the basin and saw in his own eyes a far calmer contentment than he had seen there for many months.

Hutch and me.

Hutch. His partner, his best friend, his buddy, and his confidante, the man at his back and always on his side, the man who knew him better than anyone else, the man he trusted and valued more than anyone else.

Now his lover.

It was all so new, of course. Fresh and new and only just beginning to unfurl. What they had shared in bed had been monumental to them both, but still only the first steps to where he knew they both would take this new side of their relationship.

Too long in the coming, too long by far — but finally it had been theirs to share.

God almighty Starsky, you’re getting as bad as Hutch with all this heavy thinking stuff.

He stumbled groggily out into the late afternoon sun. Shielding his eyes from the change in light he stifled a yawn before treading quietly up behind his partner who was thoroughly absorbed in pulling dead leaves off a potted flower with careful and precise dexterity. Starsky smiled and rolled his eyes. Not many people would give that much undivided attention to an average house plant — but Hutch was one of them.

Enjoying the view, Starsky took a moment to stand and watch Hutch’s bowed head with its fair hair looking gold in the last rays of the day. As he tended the fragile plant, Hutch’s fingers were as careful and gentle on the delicate plant as they had been when he’d stroked Starsky’s face. The memory of that silken sensation had Starsky reaching for his lover, wrapping his bare arms around Hutch’s back and drawing him against his chest.

Hutch gasped softly before allowing himself to be pulled back into the bear hug, his own arms wrapping around Starsky’s.

Starsky’s hand reached forward and touched the small potted white flower before bringing his hand back to Hutch’s chest. “So, is this is what you left me for? Hope she’s worth it.”

He felt Hutch’s laughter against his chest. “Actually, she’s turning out to be a little too demanding lately. Wants too much of my attention.”

“I bet she knows how to wrap you around her little petals. She’s got that look about her.” Starsky played along and then, deciding he couldn’t resist Hutch’s nape another second, he lost himself in the softness of his hair, breathing his scent deeply. “Is this how you treat all your dates after you take them to bed? Love ’em and leave ’em for your plants?” He nuzzled the neck he was already hungry for.

“Only when my lover looks like he’s going to sleep for another two or three hours.” Hutch chuckled softly, his back still against Starsky.

“Couldn’t help it — you damn well wore me out, lover. All these years and I’ve been missing out on what you’ve got to offer between the sheets. What a waste.”

“God, I love hearing that.”

“That you’re one hot, gorgeous man in bed?”

“No — well, that too, of course.” Hutch turned in Starsky’s arms, his cheeks aglow with a faint blush of embarrassment that Starsky wasn’t surprised to see. Hutch was always unaware of his own virtues. “Glad to know that I could please you. But, what I meant was that I love hearing us call each other ‘lover’. That’s what we are now babe, lovers,” Hutch whispered as he moved in for a long slow kiss.

Starsky grinned as the kiss finally ended. “And here I was thinking that you weren’t going to have anything to do with me now that you had your way with me — tossed me to the side to come running back to your plants.”

“Oh, don’t be jealous of them, Starsky. After all, they can’t compete with you. Have you ever tried to make love to a fern?” Hutch asked with a silly grin.

“Now don’t go gettin’ all kinky on me so soon in our relationship, Hutchinson.” Starsky shook his finger at Hutch in mock severity. “You want to do plants, that’s one thing — but keep me out of it, alright? I sure don’t want you draping a climbing ivy all ’round my manhood.”

“No?” Hutch answered. “Pity, because it sounds kind of appealing to me.” Hutch grinned, his hand trailing suggestively down to the anatomy in question. “I could see you draped in ivy, maybe some rose petals in your hair…” and he yelped loudly when his comments got him a firm pinch on his ass.

Starsky snuggled his face against Hutch’s freshly washed hair. The blond silk carried wafts of spice and scented wood — something faintly oriental and deeply masculine. He’d smelled it on Hutch for such a long time now that he had come to associate it with his partner’s distinctive, signature scent.

“…Smell so good,” Starsky murmured against his hair. “Could eat you up — again.”

“Thought you liked me all stinky and coated in sweat,” Hutch teased back.

“I like it all — every bit of you — anyway you are. As long as it’s on your beautiful body, I’ll eat it up. You’re the secret ingredient babe — you make it all smell and taste so good.”

“Starsky, have I ever told you you’ve got a way of making something that shouldn’t sound sexy, incredibly sexy?”

Starsky tipped his head to the side as if pretending to think. “Nope, come to think of it I don’t think you’ve ever had a reason to tell me that before now. I’ll have to say things like that more often then, to make up for it. Another thing we’ve been missin’ out on.” He lifted his hand to brush a speck of dirt from the edge of Hutch’s cheek. “You about done out here? Thought I’d go catch a shower and maybe we could head out for an early dinner — see if those guys are still waitin’ out there to tail me?”

The mood breaker had Hutch straightening up. Starsky felt it as soon as Hutch reacted.

“Real life, huh?” Hutch forced a strained smile. “It’s out there. Even if we were able to make it go away for a little while.”

“Real life,” Starsky agreed. “Still, it don’t make anything that has gone on here any less real though. Just another part of it. A difficult part I’ve gotta’ get through, Hutch. Until this whole mess is sorted…”He let the sentence fade away, not stating what he knew could be the truth ‘if the mess’ were sorted out. He felt despondent by reminding them that he was stuck firmly in the center of a precarious situation.

“I know.” Hutch nodded, exhaling. “And you’re right. We need to see if this tail on you is any use to us — and I guess you’ll need to talk with Nick again soon — despite what I said to you before about me not wanting you to go.” His face twisted a little with distaste at the mention of Nick.

“We can talk at dinner about how I’ll approach things with Nicky now that we know he’s really here for more than to just hold my hand,” Starsky said.

“Either way, we stick together.” Hutch was firm. “No solo trips that I don’t know about — agreed?”

Starsky crossed his heart. “Agreed. I go nowhere you don’t know about first, partner.” He tapped his hand lightly on Hutch’s cheek. “Now get back to your little beauties here and I’ll go clean up. My missing appetite has just shown up again — I’m damned starved.” He turned to walk back inside.

In the bathroom, he turned on the shower full blast before walking back out to toss his peeled off jeans across the bed and to grab up his towel. Stealing one more look out the window to the balcony while the water ran hot, he could see Hutch kneeling down, intent on the task of repotting something colorful. The long curve of his back against the backdrop of the last of the day’s light had Starsky transfixed. He stood grounded at the sight, his fingers tingling with the memory of touching that smooth back as they traced down Hutch’s spine.

Real life. Damn it.

~~~

Refreshed from the shower, Starsky turned around from where he’d been searching for a clean pullover shirt to find Hutch standing at the entrance of the bedroom alcove.

“I need you outside now Starsky,” he said, his face impassive, his tone edgy and mysterious.

“Now? But-” Starsky grabbed his jeans from the chair.

“Now Starsk.”

“Okay just let me get my jeans on and I’ll be there,” he said and was a little surprised to find that Hutch had turned and walked back outside.

Fastening his jeans he picked up the shirt and walked out as well with the shirt in his hand. Hutch was kneeling on the ground next to what looked to be a large bag of opened potting mix, his expression unaccountably severe.

Not sure what to make of it, Starsky went for a light hearted approach, extending the earlier joke about sex and plant life.

“So,” Starsky said, waving his hand at the bag of earth mix and grinning impishly before he went to pull his shirt over his head. “is this more of your garden fantasy? What are you gonna do with that, huh? Cover me in organic earth mix before you drape the ivy over the top?” he lifted the shirt to put it on, his voice muffled as he dragged it down over his head. “Wish you’d have let me on the idea before I had my shower.” He was grinning at his own joke as he wiggled into the shirt. It wasn’t until his head emerged that he realized he was the only one laughing.

Hutch, his eyes cold, was looking down at the bag seemingly unaware of Starsky’s commentary. “That bitch!” his voice was murderous. “She wanted cold white wine she said…” Anger contorted his face as he seemed to remember something.

Starsky’s smile froze on his face. “White wine — who?” Starsky asked, confused and more than just a little alarmed at the dramatic change in Hutch’s behavior.

“Van!” Hutch spat out. “I didn’t have cold wine — she sent me downstairs to the restaurant to get a bottle…and… she had her overnight bag with her….” As he spoke, he eyed the potting mix bag with a livid expression.

“Hutch?” Starsky took two steps toward him. “What the hell is wrong? What is this?” He nodded at the bag next to Hutch. It seemed to be about three quarters full. His hand reached out toward the open top of the thick plastic bag. Hutch’s hand shot out to stop him. “Don’t touch it. Prints.”

“Prints? What are you worried about prints for?” Starsky was genuinely confused now.

“It’s evidence Starsky. I’m damn lucky I had my gardening gloves on -” Hutch said.

“Evidence? Prints? White wine? What the hell are you goin’ on about Hutch?” But even as he was saying it his initial confusion was clearing and in its place was the glaring light of dawning awareness. ” – Oh…shit,” Starsky looked at Hutch, knowing he was right.

Hutch nodded back.

“She hid it in the mix, Starsky. Van planted the fuckin’ parcel of meth inside a twenty pound bag of potting mix. It’s been out on my balcony since the first night she came here.”

 

Chapter Ten

“And you say it was like this when you found it?” Dobey straightened up from his inspection of the dusty bag of potting mix, peeling off latex gloves and looking back up at Starsky and Hutch as they all stood on Hutch’s balcony.

“Vanessa had layered over about a two-inch blanket of the mix; as I dug in for a handful I felt it.” Hutch nodded as he faced his captain in the last of the fading light of early evening.

Dobey grunted in the way he so often did and eyed the offending article with a pained expression, scowling as though the bag of potting mix’s very presence was a major irritation – which it was.

What the hell did his two detectives expect him to do now? He didn’t want to think about it. They had summoned him to Hutchinson’s Venice Beach apartment to not only view this tangible piece of evidence but to drop on him like a ticking bomb their unspoken expectations of how he would proceed now that it had been discovered. And he knew with absolute certainty that they had expectations – as yet undeclared and weighing heavily among the three of them.

“I’ll have to run it for prints.” He looked at both men as he said it, already steeling himself for their resistance. He knew what they wanted of him, what they hoped he would agree to do for them as soon as they had presented him with the meth’s discovery.

“You know as soon as you release it to forensics we’ll both be implicated,” Starsky said. “Simonetti will have Hutch as well as me dragged into the station and the Santa Monica boys will be right behind them.”

“Of course I know that, Starsky,” Dobey growled, “but that’s not what you’re asking me, is it?”

“Cap’n, Hutch and I thought about it before we decided to call you about this…” Starsky began.

“What the hell does that mean? ‘Before you decided’ to call me about it?” Dobey fixed them both with a frustrated look. “You had no option but to call me and you damn well know it.”

But of course they did; he knew it and they knew it. He couldn’t begin to count the times these two had played by their own rules. He supposed he ought to be grateful they had chosen to declare their find to him and to hand over the parcel of meth. Still, he knew that was only half of the equation, and he was quite sure he wasn’t about to feel grateful that he was going to be implicated in the proposal they were about to present. These two men – the very best of his team of detectives, possibly the very best of any officers he had ever commanded — came with a heavy price tag.

Worry. They provided him with unlimited doses of the stuff. Worry and acid-churning stress attacks. The familiar gnawing pain of his recalcitrant heartburn was already clawing behind his sternum as he watched two pairs of blue eyes turn to him. Dobey was more than familiar with their pre-ambush look and was ready for the attack as they closed in.

“Look, you have the meth now,” Hutch started.
“Its safe and it ain’t goin’ anywhere,” Starsky followed. “We need time.”
“Just give us a little time,” said Hutch.
“It’s not as though it will change the course of things,” Starsky said.
“The investigation won’t be compromised in the end – just the timing, -” said Hutch, “will be slowed down a little….”
“Now that we know there’s this parcel of stolen meth -” said Starsky.
“We’ve got some leverage -” Hutch added.
“….to use to our advantage…” Starsky said.
“But we can’t do a thing if -” Hutch said.
“…you put the meth on the table to homicide,” Starsky finished.

His head reeling from switching from one to the other as Starsky and Hutch lobbed half finished sentences back and forth between them, Dobey cut them both off. “Enough with the damn verbal ping pong; lay it on the line, will you!” His anxiety levels were rising even higher as the two men bombarded him with their usual strategy of trying to confound him with their own brand of rationale. “I knew it as soon as you phoned me to tell me what you’d found.” He waved his hand, indicating the bag of potting mix. “You want me to lock this haul away and pretend I don’t know about it, so you two can run your own show.”

“Come on Cap’n -” Starsky said, not managing to cover his irritated frustration. “You’ve got to give us some damn breathing room here, let us do our jobs -”

“Don’t you ‘come on, Captain’ me, Starsky!” Dobey gave him a sharp jab of his finger. “This evidence is not part of any job either of you are connected to, and you well know it. Not only that, but can I remind you, Starsky, that you’re officially on suspension?”

“You think I’m likely to forget that? Of course I’m on suspension but -” Starsky said, struggling to remain calm but barely, “- but that don’t mean I can’t talk to people.”

“And what people might that be, Starsky?” Dobey’s eyebrows went high. “You two can’t muddy up the waters of the investigation. You know full well this is a Santa Monica case – one, you have no jurisdiction and two, you have no right to withhold evidence or knowledge of the case, if you have any. So – what people?”

Starsky closed his mouth, a mouth with a sullen pull to it, and gave his partner a long-suffering look. Hutchinson returned a small a shake of his head.

Dobey groaned inwardly. He knew these two were manipulating him -yet again. “And don’t looking at each other like that! Look at me!” Dobey was getting seriously pissed off now. They were cutting him out. He could feel the brush off even before it fell from Hutch’s lips.

“Starsky’s brother is in from New York,” Hutch said, and something in the way he said it and the way that Starsky looked at the floor when he did told Dobey that this was something contentious between them. That at least did not appear to be part of their charade. “We think there might be a chance he can give us inside information on the two men who were looking for the meth and killed Van.”

Dobey felt certain that Hutchinson was being evasive in throwing this fact to him, like it was some small offering designed to distract him from the bigger issue he wasn’t getting from them. Wasn’t likely to get from them until they were ready.

Altogether too weary for any of this, Dobey made a grunting sound and looked again at the hefty bag of potting mix. It had been a long and particularly hard day. He was overdue for dinner by more than an hour. He looked at his watch, paced a few steps, and exhaled.

“You’ve asked me to do this sort of thing for the two of you before, but not like this time. Never before have you asked me to withhold evidence in a crime where one of you is the major suspect. The only damn suspect!” He raised his voice to convey his uneasiness at what he was about to.

“We need forty-eight hours, Captain,” Hutch said quietly.

“You know I can’t give you that long. My ass would be in a sling. Twenty-four hours, and that’s my best offer,” Dobey said. “Especially since you’re not going to tell me what you intend to do in that time frame to help Starsky’s position.”

“Captain, it’s best if you don’t ask,” Hutch said.

Dobey watched the two partners exchanged heavy looks again, and wondered if they even knew what they planned to achieve with the time.

“Twenty-four hours?” Starsky winced, looking at Hutch again.

“We’ll take it,” Hutch said hurriedly.

“I’ll get this evidence locked up. I’ve got back-to-back meetings with the chief and commissioner in the morning. In fact, most of my day is shot tomorrow.” He knew it sounded as though he were thinking out loud, attempting to justify his decision to agree to keep the uncovered stash of meth on hold for the agreed period. “I can’t stop you from talking to people; you’re right about that, Starsky – but I won’t be happy to learn that you’ve put yourselves in danger -”

“Hutch and me will cover each other like always,” Starsky said evenly, cutting Dobey off, his curt sullenness there again.

“And have you thought about the danger of jeopardizing this investigation?” Dobey asked.

“I’m already the prime suspect in a murder investigation. Doesn’t get a lot worse than that,” Starsky said.

“What about your partner’s career then?” Dobey knew he might be pushing Starsky a little too hard as he said it.

“I think more about that than I do my own, so don’t try and put that between us,” Starsky said, his temper flaring.

“Starsk-”

The one short utterance from Hutch was enough to pull the simmering Starsky back. Dobey was well used to how effective Hutchinson was in curbing his partner.

“Vanessa was my family, Captain,” Hutch said, his voice one of quiet reason. “Don’t you think I deserve a shot at finding the men responsible for killing her, and a chance to clear my partner of suspicion?”

Dobey grunted grudgingly and nodded. “You’ve handed over the meth like you said. You could have held it back from me. I’ll give you the twenty-four hours, but that’s it. After that, I’ll have to reveal this evidence. I’ll be sweating my ass off on this one, and you both know it.”

“We realize that, and we appreciate it,” Hutch said, just a little too grave for Dobey’s liking. Hutch was playing him like he so often did. He fixed Dobey with his serious blue eyes radiating just the right level of concern. Maybe it was for real, or maybe it was just more of the duo’s tactical crafts.

It wasn’t lost on Dobey that tonight Hutchinson was in the role of good cop, while Starsky came across as heated and just a little dangerous. Whether or not it was all real he couldn’t be sure. Even as their captain and having known them for a considerable time, with these two he couldn’t be sure how much was smoke and mirrors.

“I want to be kept abreast of everything you might uncover – is that clear? It all needs to go on record – just like the meth does.”

“Of course,” Hutchinson said equitably, and far too quickly for Dobey to believe he agreed at all.

“By the way,” Dobey added, “I got a phone call from the Santa Monica detectives just before you two called me. The New York PD managed to find and interview your ex-wife’s friend in New York,” he looked down quickly at a note he’d written before leaving the office, “Jake Webster.”

“That’s great. At least the men who killed Vanessa didn’t get to him first.” Starsky appeared to be waiting for Dobey to continue. “And?” For the briefest moment his face showed some relief.

Dobey was reluctant to take the look away from him. “And nothing. Turned out to be a dead end.” Dobey watched the two of them, seeing Hutchinson’s shoulders visibly slump at the news. “He claims he had no connection to her activities – was a friend, that’s all. There’s nothing else to link him to her murder.”

“And that’s it? For Christ sake, they can’t leave it at that!” Starsky insisted, heatedly. “Vanessa implicated him! It was in my statement. There has to be more that they can get out of him – before the two men get to him -”

“It’s not up to us to tell other detectives how to run their investigation,” Dobey pointed out gruffly but then added before Starsky could jump in again, “but I’ve already begun to run a more extensive background check on him and to follow him up after the New York cops questioned him. I’m waiting to hear something back on that by tonight. I’ll keep you both posted. Now,” he looked down at the bag of potting mix at his feet, “help me pack this bag up in something to protect it from contamination, will you? And some new gloves if you’ve got them here.”

“I’ll get a heavy duty garbage bag and gloves,” Starsky said, and disappeared inside the apartment, snapping on the lights as he went.

Dobey watched him as he walked away. “You going to be able to rein him in if he gets too hotheaded?” Dobey turned to Hutch. “One of you has to keep a cool head.”

“I’ll watch him. He’ll watch me. We’re both jumpy on this one.” Hutch answered just a little too briskly and Dobey sighed again.

“I’m not your enemy, Hutch,” he said. “I might be your captain, but you know I stand by you two as I always do, so don’t close ranks on me and shut me out. No one knows more than I do how you two can do that to everyone else – but don’t do it to me, understand? It’s not going to help Starsky’s position one bit if you close me out.”

Hutch gave him a considered look before he nodded with a warmer expression. “You got it, Captain. Thanks.”

With the evidence bagged up safely, Dobey allowed Hutch to carry it down the stairs to the exterior doorway, Starsky bringing up the rear. He turned to them both before exiting. “You’ve got precious little time to talk to your brother, Starsky, or whoever else it is you want to talk to, so get going. Stay on your cells.”

Then Hutch transferred the bag to his arms and Starsky opened the door to let him out. He walked to his car and placed the bag in his trunk.

Alone again, Dobey sat in his car for a moment and pressed hard at the burning pressure in his chest. He’d wanted to rub at the internal burning for minutes, but would never have let his men see how much they’d stressed him.

“Damn those two!” he muttered as he scrabbled in his car’s console, his fingers closing over the trusty packet of antacids. Popping two out of the pack, he crunched down hard on the tablets. He’d give himself a few minutes for the pain to fade before driving back to the station to take care of the bag in his trunk.

He closed his eyes and tried not to think about what he’d agreed to do for his two detectives. The burning was already easing and he relaxed into the car seat. One of these days those two would stress him to the point where no amount of antacids would resolve the pain. One of these days… he thought, as he rubbed again at the lessening pain behind his breast, his two favorite detectives would end up giving him a heart attack for real.

~~~

Carlson wondered if Starsky and Hutchinson were both off their game. He watched them as they got out of Hutchinson’s car and entered the bar, neither of them showing any sign they’d noticed him parked across the street half a block away.

It had been a spur of the moment decision to follow Dobey when he had taken off out of the precinct in a great rush – a hunch more than anything that something was going on between him and his two detectives. Dobey certainly didn’t look like he was heading home for the evening, and his hasty departure had been preceded by a phone call that Carlson had seen him pick up at one of the squad room desks.

Carlson had given Dobey a wide berth while following him. After all, the captain was a veteran cop and would be alert to anyone trying to tail him. Half way into the trip, Carlson was certain Dobey was heading to Venice Beach, more than likely to Hutchinson’s place. He lagged behind a few more cars, no longer so intent to keep the tail. It wouldn’t do for Dobey to spot him.

Dobey turned onto Hutchinson’s street and parked his car near the Venice Place entrance. Carlson pulled his car into an empty slot a full block away from the apartment building. In the distance, he could see Dobey’s car near the entrance as the captain left it and entered Hutchinson’s building. A half an hour passed and restlessness was setting in when Dobey came out, hefting a large bag in his arms, which he transferred to his trunk. His interest piqued, Carlson decided to bide his time.

He didn’t have to wait long before Starsky and Hutchinson also appeared and got into Hutchinson’s car.

Once again, he pulled his car out slowly and followed them until they arrived at what appeared to be a restaurant and bar. Carefully parking a few car lengths from the restaurant, he watched as they left the car and walked toward the entrance.

Were they meeting someone? Was Dobey going to turn up here, too?

Just because Carlson was officially off the case didn’t mean he couldn’t keep his ears and eyes open for any leads he might be able to give Simonetti. After all, it was his civil duty to uphold the interests of the Los Angeles Police Department in any way he could. He wasn’t ready to admit that his actions were influenced by his resentment of not just his girlfriend’s ex-lover, but also Starsky’s arrogant partner, Hutchinson. He settled in for a good old-fashioned stake out.

~~~

Hutch looked at his partner and the half-eaten steak that Starsky labored over. “Seems your missing appetite might still be missing.”

Starsky’s head came up, his eyes tracking to the entrance yet again. “Huh? Yeah – well – no. Thought I could eat but – ” Distractedly he cut another bite of the steak before looking at it as though not sure what to do with it – the disinterest in his food a clear sign to Hutch that his partner was well and truly off balance. Hutch knew he was preoccupied with his brother’s failure to appear at the arranged meeting place.

Hutch pushed his own meal aside and picked up his beer. “He might not show, Starsky. It’s been nearly an hour since you spoke to him, and he hasn’t answered any of your calls since then.”

Starsky’s mouth tightened in concern. He, too, abandoned his meal, pushing it toward the edge of the table. “Startin’ to look like that, ain’t it? Damn Nicky! I need him to spill something to us about what he knows. He’s got to be connected to Durniak…and maybe even to those guys who were tailing me this afternoon.”

“Seems they’ve gone under,” Hutch said. “I was hoping we could draw them out again when we left my place.”

“So if he doesn’t show, how the hell are we goin’ to track him down? He never told me where he was stayin’,” Starsky wondered out loud, tracing his finger through the condensation on his beer glass.

Hutch tried not to think about the finger trailing through the moisture, the heat of it as it contrasted against the cool wetness of the glass…

Oh God….What was Starsky saying?

Hutch forced himself to come back to the thread of the conversation rather than the memories of those same fingers trailing across a different surface – his own skin, scorching him with sensual sensations. He fought against the hot images and focused on Starsky’s voice.

“…Made sure not to mention where his hotel was – but nothin’ we can’t find out with a bit of tech input…”

Hutch looked again at his watch and then at Starsky. More than anything he wanted to be back in his apartment, back in his bed, where the two of them had left off late that afternoon, but he knew his brand new lover’s mind was weighed down with matters other than hungers of the flesh. Maybe if he could get Starsky home and relaxed…

Hutch sighed, seeing the worry etched in Starsky’s brow and chided himself inwardly. He ought to be repentant for thinking of his own physical desires and not focusing on the situation in front of them; or rather the situation not in front of them – namely one missing Nick Starsky.

Damn that man to hell!

“Try his cell one more time. If he doesn’t answer again, then I think it’s safe to say he won’t show up,” Hutch said, pointing out the obvious.

Starsky hit the redial button again, waited a moment, and then kicked the table leg hard. “Useless piece of shit!” He tossed the slim-line phone across the table and Hutch barely managed to catch it as it skidded toward the table edge. He was tempted to ask whether the piece of shit in question was Starsky’s reference to the phone or to Nick, but didn’t. Not with the mood that was quickly overtaking Starsky.

“What’s he think he’s playin’ at?” Starsky demanded. “He must have gotten the calls. What’s he trying to prove by not answerin’ me?”

Despite Starsky’s vent of angry frustration, Hutch could easily discern an underlying element of fear and concern that something might have happened to his brother.

“Starsky, he more than likely opted out because he doesn’t want to face me and is probably pissed off that you didn’t back him up this afternoon,” Hutch rationalized, trying to allay the tight look of worry on Starsky’s face.

Huggy appeared at their table and looked down his long thin nose at the largely untouched meal on Starsky’s plate. “Something wrong with my prize cut of sirloin?” Huggy asked, looking with disapproval at the unfinished meal.

“Huh? No it’s fine, Hug,” Starsky answered, still distracted.

“Well, if it’s so damn fine, why is it still on the plate and not in your stomach?”

“Look Huggy – I’m just not hungry alright?” Starsky’s clipped tone was close to a snap.

“For you, my friend, a lack of hunger is not a good sign,” he told Starsky, not at all put out by Starsky’s offhandedness. “I could count the times on one hand that you’ve failed to demolish a meal in record time.” Huggy motioned to the wait staff to come and clear the table as he looked from Starsky to Hutch with his thin eyebrows raised high.

“Huggy,” Hutch interceded, “he’s got things on his mind. You know the stuff that’s going down with Van’s investigation…”

Huggy caught Hutch’s eye and held his gaze for a second. “I get it, man. Some tough corner you’re in, Starsky.”

“Got that right, Huggy,” Starsky said, and looked once more at the doorway, and then at Hutch. “Let’s make a move, Hutch. I’m gettin’ antsy just sitting here and waitin’ for him.” He stood up, pocketing his cell phone. “I’ve gotta get some air. Sorry ‘bout the dinner, Huggy – next time, okay? Catch you outside, Hutch.”

Huggy watched him walk off. “He’s worried about that loser brother of his, isn’t he?”

Hutch stood and shrugged into his jacket. “He didn’t turn up here as planned. Starsky’s probably worried that something’s happened to him – something to do with the guys behind Vanessa’s murder.”

“Can’t see why he bothers with that ignorant piece of shit.” Huggy shook his head. “I was ready to deck him today when he was in here with our curly haired friend. ”

Hutch couldn’t manage to suppress a small smile as he confessed, “Oh don’t worry about that; I decked him enough for both of us – which is more than likely the reason he chose not to grace us with his presence here tonight.”

“No shit?” Huggy’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, I’m sure he had it coming to him.”

“Trouble is, Huggy, he’s still Starsky’s brother, and what he has coming to him isn’t what Starsky wants to believe,” Hutch said as he made to leave. “If Nick turns up, can you phone us and let us know? It’s important that we talk to him again. Whether we like him or not, he could be the only chance we’ve got to help clear Starsky.”

“Sure, my man.” Huggy nodded and then picked up the untouched dinner bill. “And this evening’s consumptions are –?” He drew out the open-ended question as he flicked the paper chit with his middle finger.

“Put them on our running tab, will you, Huggy?” Hutch gave a quick smile before pulling out some tip money to leave on the table for the wait staff.

” ‘Running’ being the operative word when it comes to you and your partner’s tab – ” Huggy raised one fine eyebrow in sarcastic style.

“We’ll catch it one day, we promise.” Hutch’s dry smile earned him an elaborate rolling of dark brown eyes.

Outside, Hutch found Starsky lounging up against the car, looking more short-fused than when he’d walked out, his fingers tapping restlessly against the side of the car as though they needed some sort of tactile input.

“Fresh air not helping?” Hutch asked. “Or isn’t this the sort of air you were thinking of getting out here?”

Starsky scowled at him. “Don’t start.”

“Don’t tell me,” Hutch grinned, “you only just realized you don’t have any on you anymore?”

“Oh, shut the hell up will you and get outta my head,” Starsky snapped. “So I stepped out for a cigarette – one very needed cigarette, before I realized….” He looked around the darkened street as though a packet of them might suddenly materialize. “Jesus, I might hav’ta rethink the idea of givin’ up…”

The comment buoyed Hutch. “You’re giving it up? That’s great news, Starsk – I’m proud of you.” Hutch smiled, genuinely pleased by Starsky’s oblique declaration to stop the habit.

“Said it was an idea; haven’t done it yet,” Starsky muttered, toeing his foot moodily at something on the ground as he did so.

“Then I’ll just have to keep you on the straight and narrow, won’t I?” Hutch grinned. “Come on. I’ll take you home and we can find something else for you to do.” He moved around to the driver’s side of the car, pleased when the small smile he threw Starsky across the roof of the car got him one back in return.

“Alright, you hot stud – you win this round,” Starsky tossed back at him. “Take me home and make me forget about how badly I want a smoke right now.”

However, once inside the car, Hutch could feel the hesitation in his partner, the brief interlude of lightness quickly lost as Starsky seemed to tense beside him.

Starsky’s hand caught Hutch’s right arm as he leaned forward to push the keys into the ignition. “Hutch – uh – you know that right about now I’d like nothin’ better than what I just joked about,” he said uneasily. “Umm…for you to take me home to continue where we left off this afternoon – but….” Starsky faltered and stopped. He looked across at Hutch with a mix of apology and disappointment.

“Hey,” Hutch cut in soft but quick, wanting to spare his partner’s troubled thoughts, “it’s okay, babe. We both know what’s happening with us has to have the all time record for bad timing. It’s okay, Starsk – we can put all the – the,” he labored a little with the wording, suddenly unsure of his footing in this new, unchartered territory.

“It’s just that -” Starsky tried again as if equally tongue-tied with articulating the changed status in their relationship. Hutch could hear the remorse in his voice, layered over with frustration. ” – I think we need to keep our heads clear and our energies focused so I can get out of this mess, otherwise we might have no chance at taking what we’ve got any – “. He stopped suddenly his eyes riveted on the car’s passenger side mirror, his intention diverted.

“Is it Nicky?” Hutch asked, but something in Starsky’s narrowed-eyed gaze told him it wasn’t.

“Not Nicky – but someone that has no business being here,” Starsky answered through tight lips. “Fuckin’ hell, Hutch, it’s Carlson. That’s the first time I’ve noticed him parked down the street. How long has he been there?”

“Carlson?” Hutch was genuinely surprised, remaining still in his seat and not turning to look. “He alone?” Bad enough that it was Carlson; Hutch only hoped for Starsky’s sake that Clare wasn’t with him.

“Yeah, just him. Can hardly see him inside the car but it’s definitely him, and he’s by himself.” Starsky watched, his eyes piercing beneath the shadowed street lights. “Bastard must have followed us here.”

“What the hell is he hoping to do by shadowing us? If he’s tracked us here that means he must have been waiting for us outside my place.” An alarming thought came to Hutch. “Christ – he might’ve seen Dobey leaving with the bag.”

Starsky pursed his lips, considering Hutch’s question. “So what’s he tryin’ to get by doin’ this? Is he out to piss us off? Intimidation? Goading us? Fuckin’ asshole…”

“Starsky, if he’s following us, we can report him for harassment.”

“Report him? Yeah sure – that’ll achieve a lot with Simonetti covering his ass. Why’s he riding me like this? Jesus, is this all because of Clare or is there more goin’ on here?”

“Not sure, but I’d say we’ve well and truly upset the good lieutenant. There was the garage incident and now this. We can file an official complaint -”

“Complaint? Right now I’d like nothin’ better than to climb outta this car, go over there and ram my version of a complaint down his throat. Pretentious prick!” Starsky fumed.

Hutch could see Starsky’s determination. Nick’s no-show and now Carlson popping up out of nowhere were too much for him to leave alone. “You and me both, buddy, but right now it’s to our advantage to have him tailing us. If he did see Dobey with the bag of meth we need something to use as leverage against him.” Hutch started the car before his volatile partner could let loose with his anger against Carlson and do something stupid.

Starsky smashed at the dashboard with his hand. “I don’t want to walk away from this, Hutch… ”

“Come on, Starsky, you know to confront him on the street now is stupid,” Hutch reasoned, as he put the car into drive and slowly pulled out onto the street. “Let’s see how far he’s gonna go with this. If we can catch him in the act of following us, you might get your chance to get in his face.”

Hutch drove at a normal pace, changing lanes in the light evening traffic as he normally would, slowing at the lights and idling while Starsky kept his sights set on the rear and side mirrors.

“He’s still with us – a ways back – lights on,” Starsky murmured.

“So you want to do it?” Hutch asked, moving into a turning lane.

“Yep. If he stays with us.” Starsky’s fingers flicked on his passenger window as he kept his gaze on the mirror.

“Alright and it seems like he is,” Hutch muttered low as he concentrated on negotiating the turn. When Carlson’s car followed suit, a few car lengths back and then again on a subsequent turn, Hutch gave a small smirk of triumph.

“Persistent fucker, ain’t he?” Starsky asked his partner.

Hutch took the car a fair way along the intersecting road before picking up speed and pulling away from Carlson’s tail. Once there was distance between their car and Carlson’s, Hutch made a sudden sharp turn into a narrower side street. “I trust he isn’t that familiar with the territory,” Hutch said as he sped faster to take another corner.

When he completed the circuit of the block, they emerged onto the same street they had just turned off from. Hutch moved fast through the light traffic until the back of Carlson’s car came into view. His car had obviously slowed, as though he were trying to find Hutch’s car ahead.

“Get right behind him, Hutch, and ride up his ass ‘til he gets the message.” Starsky was sitting forward in his seat in anticipation. “Look up ahead – there’s a parking spot near that Thai joint we went once – nose him into it if you can.”

“Maybe you should be driving with all the orders you’re giving me,” Hutch complained, but did as Starsky had advised anyway.

“If I was driving, I would’ve side-swiped him by now, the prick,” Starsky added.

Hutch didn’t doubt he might have carried out his threat for sure. “Okay – here we go. He’s got the message we’re behind him.” Now abreast with Carlson’s car, Hutch watched Carlson slow and nose into the parking slot, letting Hutch pin Carlson’s car in place. “He’s pulling over.”

Starsky was opening the door, ready to confront Carlson before Hutch had even brought his car to a complete stop.

“Starsky?” Hutch’s warning tone made Starsky turn to him. “Remember what you said to me this morning in the garage? We both have to be cool about this.”

It was enough to put the brakes on his partner; Starsky nodded as he left the car with a calmness Hutch knew he wasn’t feeling. Hutch could tell the moment when Starsky traded his burning aggression with restrained control.

Beneath the streetlights, Hutch could see Carlson’s pensive stare through the car window as he watched Starsky approach. Hutch saw Starsky staring back at Carlson with just as much intensity. Hutch climbed out of the car to follow, letting his partner take the lead.

Starsky made a show of walking slowly toward Carlson’s car, his pace unhurried, almost lazy – all designed to make Carlson uneasy. Hutch knew this tactic of Starsky’s well. He frequently employed it with suspects when he wanted to rattle them – and it was dangerously deceptive. For that reason, Hutch made sure to catch up with his partner as he came close to Carlson’s car.

Carlson was looking decidedly uncomfortable and stiffened in his seat as he took in Starsky’s demeanor. He turned to look up at him through the lowered window, trying for nonchalance but not pulling it off.

He remained silent as Starsky, his hand on the roof of his car, his hip resting against the side of the door with casual grace, addressed Carlson through the open window.

“Is this the time I get to use the line ‘of all the gin joints in town’, Carlson?” Starsky asked, his expression set like rock in contrast to his loose body stance. His smile was almost predatory as he waited for Carlson to say something. ” ‘Cause…you see this area ‘round here is Hutch’s and my stomping ground. Didn’t know you hung out here, too.”

“Why did you signal for me to pull over?” Carlson asked, looking at Hutch now and ignoring Starsky as though he couldn’t face his fixed glare for another second.

“Well, you see -” Starsky answered anyway and Hutch let him, knowing this would rattle Carlson. “I said to Hutch, look ain’t that our Lieutenant Carlson from IA? Now what would he be doin’ out and about in this part of town at this time of night? Now, because this is our part of town and we saw you looking a little lost and all, Hutch agreed we should be neighborly and say hello.”

This time Carlson did react. “Save it, Starsky. Save your smart-mouthed comments and your damn threatening act.”

Hutch didn’t miss how Starsky’s hands gripped the edge of the car’s roof more tightly and how his loose posture coiled into readiness.

“Threatening? No. Like I said, we just wanted to say hello to a fellow officer. Nothin’ threatening about it. In fact, Hutch has almost forgotten that little spat the two of you had today in the garage, haven’t ya’, Hutch?” But Starsky didn’t look at Hutch when he said it; his eyes instead remained fixed on Carlson. The anger radiated off his body in such tense waves that Hutch feared what might happen.

“Starsk – ” Hutch warned quietly from behind him, laying his hand lightly on Starsky’s hip.

“It’s alright, Hutch. I’m only here to talk to the lieutenant.” He leaned inside the open window closer to Carlson’s face. “I have no intentions of laying a hand on you.”

“You’re already in enough trouble, Starsky. You’re suspended, and now you’ve pulled me over to threaten me. You’ll be facing new charges tomorrow,” Carlson retaliated.

“That so? The way I see it, Lieutenant, you’re the one who’s guilty of misconduct by following police officers in their off duty hours.”

“That’s absurd,” Carlson said, but his voice betrayed his unease.

“Bullshit!” Starsky smacked the roof hard. Carlson jumped from the sudden violent thump. “You’ve been taken off the case but just can’t keep your nose out of our business.”

“How I spend my private time has got nothing to do with the two of you,” Carlson insisted. “I can drive when and where I choose.”

“Now, that’s a double dose of bullshit.” Starsky’s smile was mean “You wanna’ cut outta here, partner?” he said, turning to Hutch. Then smirking at Carlson, “Let’s see how long you drive around here when your floor show leaves.” With that, Starsky turned back to Hutch and their car.

As he climbed into his car, Hutch contemplated Carlson’s intentions.

Why had Carlson been following them? Obviously, Carlson was deeper into his resentment of Starsky than Hutch had first realized. Was he really trying to build a worse case against his partner, put him in an even more dangerous position as a suspect than he already was, or was he simply out to provoke and needle Starsky? Had he seen Dobey with the stuff, and if he did than what did this mean for Starsky – or hell, for Dobey?

Hutch had to put it aside to concentrate on something Starsky was saying. He would chew on it later. He didn’t want to say anything to aggravate Starsky more until they got well clear of Carlson. Right now, their focus had to be on Nick and why he had failed to show up at Huggy’s after he’d agreed to meet with Starsky.

~~~

Starsky remained tense on the trip home, quiet while Hutch drove, besieged by worry about Carlson, about Nick’s no-show, the surprise of finding the meth, Van’s murder investigation – but also by what had so recently happened between him and Hutch.

How the hell did fate intervene to make this the time for such a monumental shift in their relationship? Or, was it because all this had happened that they had been brought together like they had? Was their relationship’s shift a reaction to what they might both lose? Starsky had to admit that there was nothing like the fear of being thrown in prison to make someone reach out to grab blindly at what he might never get a chance at again?

Either way, there was no going back, only forward – whether it was the right way or not. Inevitable and irreversible. Not that the irreversible part worried him, at least not yet, but then he hadn’t had time to take a breath after what they’d shared, let alone mull over how it might change things for them both – professionally and personally. There was a hell of a big difference from being best pals and watching each other’s backs on the streets to being lovers and trying to do the same. A difference that he just wasn’t ready to measure – at least not yet. A difference that could be dangerous for them on so many levels.

Beside him, Hutch remained as quiet as he did. Starsky knew he was paying close attention to whether they were being tailed again, this time on the lookout for the men that had followed Starsky that afternoon. But he also knew that Hutch was leaving him be; letting him wallow in his own mire of introspection. At least, he let him wallow until they were nearly home. Then it was Hutch who broke the thick silence in the car.

“So which is it?” Hutch asked

“What?” Starsky was jostled by Hutch’s quiet probing and momentarily confused by the question. “Which is what?”

He could see a slight flicker of exasperation in Hutch’s profile. “Starsky…answering a question with a question still leaves us with a question.”

“Fine. Then maybe if you gave me a proper question you might get a proper answer.”

“Okay. Point taken,” Hutch threw back at him. “I meant – are you thinking about Nick’s no-show or why Carlson was following us?”

“Both of those things,” Starsky’s answer came out too curt and hearing it, he tagged on a bit more. “That – and… other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” Hutch’s question was tentative. Starsky could almost imagine Hutch walking around the two words in his head as though circling two big billboards with one word on each, assessing them like he would evidence at a crime scene. He knew it meant that Hutch wanted those two words to tell him more than they had so far.

“Just – just other stuff that I really shouldn’t be thinking about – not now.” Starsky really hoped Hutch would leave it be, but Hutch was not giving up easily.

“Is the ‘other stuff’ you and me? Us? Together?” Hutch’s face was shadowed in the semi darkness of the car’s interior, but not so shadowed that Starsky could miss how pinched it looked.

“Look – not now, Hutch, alright? I just don’t want to talk about it. I’ve got enough to deal with at the moment, don’t you think?” Starsky willed the words back into his mouth as soon as they were out. It had sounded too hard and sharp, as though he was angry with Hutch. As much as he would have preferred to deny that his words might have hurt his partner, he could hardly mistake Hutch’s quick emotional response. The evidence was clear in the increased tension he applied to the steering wheel and in the way the long column of his throat was working hard to choke down – what? Disappointment? Fear that Starsky was rejecting him, regretting what they’d shared that afternoon?

The recognition of his pain gave Starsky an immediate wash of remorse. God, I can be such a heel to him… Why? Am I really angry with him? With what has happened between us? Am I somehow blaming him for what has suddenly changed between us?

He vetoed that thought as soon as it came into his head. He wasn’t feeling anything toward Hutch but closeness.

He stole a glance at Hutch’s profile. Such a perfect profile. Beautiful. Even more beautiful for what they had had together.

Powerless to hold back, and needing to convey to Hutch what he couldn’t seem to say at the moment, Starsky reached out to nestle his hand on the nape of Hutch’s neck, just below his baby soft hair. His touch seemed to achieve what it always did. Some of the rigidity in Hutch’s neck lessened under the light caress of his fingers. His touch alone was enough to take away the bite that he knew his rough tone had left on his too-sensitive partner.

How could he tell Hutch that what was chewing him up inside right then was not what had changed between them, but his fears that they might never get the chance to take it further? The near future for him was too frightening and too precarious for him to allow himself the freedom to enjoy more of what he and Hutch had only just begun. Not just now.

Not when this investigation surrounding him was like the entire weight of the world on his shoulders. The uncertainty of what tomorrow might bring was stopping him from taking more of what he so badly wanted–his and Hutch’s new intimacy.

What if it was all so quickly taken away from him? Ripped from him, like he would be ripped away from Hutch if he was convicted of Vanessa’s murder or of being involved with the discovered meth?

Even more than these fears were the creeping doubt of what finally being with Hutch on a sexual level meant for them both. Since the initial euphoria, wonderment, and pure bodily satisfaction of what they had shared in bed had been replaced by time to mull it all over, Starsky was no longer so sure of what their sexual relationship meant to each of them and how it might affect their friendship. Sifting his hand through the softness of Hutch’s fine hair, he gave thought to this familiar habit he so often was drawn to. It was a simple act, but one that gave him deep, gut wrenching pleasure and a closeness to his partner that words could not convey. But never had there been any agenda to this simple action other then a way to transmit support and friendship.

Touch – touching Hutch. Touching him without forethought, without constraint, or without mixed messages. Their way of bringing and keeping them close, closer than anything they might share with other friends or even family.

How many times over the years had he sat in the car and touched Hutch just like this? Too many to remember. But never like this. Never with the sort of thoughts that the skin-to-skin contact with his partner was provoking in him at that very moment as he ran his fingers over the warmth of Hutch’s neck, his skin a light smooth gold in the car’s darkened interior.

What would this familiar touch and so many like them mean from here on?

Starsky didn’t want to think about how everything between them would never be quite the same again. How could he begin to try to put into words all the mixed up shit that was in his head and his heart, when words, the really tough words that came with emotion and feelings, were not easy for him to put together?

And why in God’s name was he spending so much energy on all of this when he should be putting his thoughts to his own survival, his quest to clear his name as a murder suspect?

He didn’t have time for these psychological head-trips with himself. Dobey had given them a small time frame to sort something out and with Nick not showing, it seemed as though the time would be wasted anyway.

And so as they pulled up outside Venice Place, Starsky tried to pull himself back into gear and push the heaviness of his internal musings to one side. Hutch certainly didn’t deserve any of it.

“Hutch – I’m sorry ‘bout the moodiness. I know I’ve been depressed since Dobey took off with the meth and gave us this damn time frame.” Hutch nodded, accepting Starsky’s explanation as Starsky went on. “I just don’t know what we’re even gonna do to change my position here. Dobey gave us twenty-four hours -but for what? What? Apart from Nicky, and some goons I saw tagging me this afternoon, I got nothin’ to open up. Now the meth has been found, it’s only gonna complicate my case more.”

Hutch pulled the keys from the ignition and tapped Starsky on the leg. “Nick knows something – a lot, actually. We need to find him. Let’s go upstairs, get some coffee, and use our considerable skills as detectives to locate his whereabouts.”

“What if he’s been nabbed by the men following me?” Starsky asked.

“Starsky, I still think he’s lying low to keep away from me.”

“Maybe you’re right and he just needs some time to get it together,” Starsky answered and allowed himself the diversion of a small teasing grin despite his worried state. “You did scare the shit outta him with that Viking act of yours.”

“Well, we’ll find out soon enough – or at least we’ll find out something more than we know now. Nick wants the meth. If we let him know we’ve got it, we might well bust this thing right open, Starsk. Come on – ”

Starsky followed Hutch out of the car, both of them wary and alert as they locked up and stood on the sidewalk. They each took time to unobtrusively scan the street as they walked toward the entrance. Beside him, Starsky could feel Hutch’s vigilance. He could feel something else too, a quiet vibration in Hutch of a new sort of tension. Hutch was primed for defensive action if need be, but also he was primed with something else – the changed quality in their relationship. Starsky felt it too, deep inside himself. The change that would never allow them to go back to what they had been for so many years.

At the top of the stairs, Hutch took out his keys. Starsky watched his big hands move as they managed the locks. Hutch looked up to see him watching him so intently and something again passed between them. A fission of sexual current that charged the small space between their bodies and heated their mutually attentive gaze of each other. A little in awe of what this new power house of sensual interplay they had now tapped into, Starsky settled his hand on Hutch’s lower middle back as he moved into the open doorway behind him. He was brought up abruptly when Hutch took a couple of steps into the apartment and came to a jarring halt.

“No fucking way!” Hutch cried out.

Immediately galvanized, Starsky sought to see what had caused Hutch’s anguished reaction. Something was outside on the balcony. Something was wrong. In the shadowed darkness outside, it was obvious that Hutch could see something he couldn’t.

Hutch strode across to the balcony door. As he came to a standstill in front of it, he cursed again, patting his jacket pocket. “Jesus! Gloves – where are my gloves?” He ran back to the bookshelf where he kept a box of disposable gloves and roughly pulled out two pair, pulling them on after he tossed another pair to Starsky. “The place has been trashed. Better not touch anything in here ‘til we see….” He threw the internal locks on the reinforced glass panels and flipped open the security screen door. Reaching around, he found the external balcony light.

As Hutch snapped it on, Starsky could now see what Hutch had reacted to.

“I’ll kill the little bastard!” Hutch roared. “Your brother or not, Starsky, I’ll kill him.” He whirled around to Starsky, holding his arms aloft, the balcony a backdrop behind him.

Had Nick been there at that moment, Starsky very much doubted he would have escaped becoming a homicide statistic.

“Look at what he’s done to my plants!” Hutch thundered.

Starsky did – and cringed at the specter.

Hutch’s balcony greenhouse had been ripped apart.

The damage done was carnage – at least it would be in his partner’s eyes, for Hutch’s apartment garden was his baby. The destruction was cruel, ruthless, and heartbreaking. The concrete floor of the balcony was covered in potting dirt, garden sand, and fertilizer, topped with crushed flowers and the branches of plants. Many of the small potted plants were turned over and broken as though victims of haste and desperation rather than ruthless destruction. The bigger urns and pots, however, were overturned, cracked, and disemboweled. The roots of bushes, small trees, and flowering shrubs, were exposed and eerily white against the dark potting mix scattered over the balcony’s surface.

Dumbstruck by the senseless ruin, Starsky tried to pull his thoughts into gear.

Nicky, did you do this? Did you?

He walked over to where Hutch had crouched down to survey the mess at a different angle. In his hands, he held what Starsky suspected was the same potted flower Hutch had tended only hours before with such infinite care; the same one that Starsky had joked about taking Hutch’s attention away from him. Now it was so broken that no amount of tending would fix it.

Starsky looked over his shoulder, surveying the apartment through the open door. Nothing inside appeared to have been damaged or even disturbed. The trashing had been localized to Hutch’s balcony garden, the precious oasis he cultivated in his spare time. Only Starsky knew how much this haven meant to Hutch. He felt his partner’s pain.

“I’m sorry, Hutch. Really. If Nicky did do this then – ” He crouched alongside Hutch and felt tempted to begin righting the overturned and damaged pots, but knew better than to contaminate the field anymore than they already had by walking across the debris. “We’ll salvage a lot of it, babe. I’m sure we can.”

Hutch exhaled, placed the already wilting plant carefully on the bench, and stood up. Starsky could see him donning his cop persona, putting his personal feelings aside. “We’ve got to call this in, Starsky, right now before more time passes.” He said it in a matter-of-fact tone. “The intruder might’ve left prints and evidence – although with all this dirt and mess we’d be lucky to find any.”

Starsky looked at him sharply, surprised that he had made any mention of the chance of the guilty party being anyone but Nicky.

Hutch signaled for them to leave. “Come on, we’ll go downstairs and call Dobey again. We can’t do this alone, Starsky – there’s too much riding on it for you if this is connected with the stolen meth – and you and I both know it must be. Maybe there’s a chance Forensics can turn up something.”

Starsky followed him out, walking carefully across the balcony so as not to disturb anything further, his mind as messed up as Hutch’s greenhouse.

It was clear to him that Hutch really believed this was Nicky’s handiwork, but either way they needed to bring Dobey in on it in. If a crime team did collect evidence that Nicky had done it, what would that mean for Starsky?

 ~~~

Down on the street outside of the restaurant beneath Hutch’s apartment, they stood waiting for Dobey and the forensic team to arrive. Starsky had made the call to Dobey and as expected he was far from impressed with the new turn of events.

More than ever, Starsky wanted that damn cigarette – even if it was unlit, he had a desperate need to manipulate it in his hands. As soon as the arrangements had been made with Dobey, Hutch turned to him, both of their backs pressed against the outside of the restaurant.

Hutch had said nothing else ‘til they settled against the exterior wall of the restaurant, Hutch having notified the staff inside of what had transpired upstairs and to expect the arrival of some cop cars. “So now we know why Nick didn’t meet us at Huggy’s. He was here, tearing my garden apart.” Hutch shook his head in frustration, his mouth tight with bitterness. “Your little brother acts before he thinks. That’s if he was thinking at all. Does he believe that because you’re his brother, I wouldn’t involve the police?”

“Listen, while you were inside the restaurant talking to the staff, I’ve been thinking it through,” Starsky began carefully. It was clear that Hutch had already pinned the destruction of his balcony on Nicky. “Whoever it was who did that upstairs had to have come in over the edge of the balcony – he must have. Nothing seems touched inside, and the balcony door was still intact.” Starsky was hesitant to say what he was thinking, knowing that Hutch wouldn’t be receptive.

“What do you mean- ‘whoever’ it was?” Hutch’s tone was sharp as he looked at Starsky. “I think it’s pretty damn obvious who did this.”

Starsky sighed. “I know you don’t want to hear this, Hutch, but let me finish. Could this really have been Nicky’s work?” He stood eye level with Hutch.

“Oh Jesus, Starsky! Don’t try to protect him – or defend him,” Hutch said in a clipped voice. “Most of all stop denying to yourself what sort of person Nick really is.”

“Of course, it seems logical to assume its Nicky. But think about it for a minute, will ya?” Starsky pulled insistently at Hutch’s arm as Hutch tried to move away as though he couldn’t stand to listen to him trying to absolve Nicky of the blame. “Van put the meth out on your balcony. Did Durniak’s men find that out? Told Nicky? How though? Who would have told them when Van is dead? They were looking for the stuff at my place, not here. How would Nick know about where she stashed the stuff? Did Nicky know Van or talk to her? I don’t think so. She would have told me otherwise – used it in some way to reel me in to helping her.”

Hutch shook his head, but at least stayed still to answer him. “None of that clears Nick. It just opens up a hell of a lot more questions about him.” Hutch looked along the darkened street and then back at Starsky. “Nick didn’t show up tonight, Starsky – he didn’t show because he was busy ripping my balcony apart for the meth! He sized the place up this afternoon and then, when we gave him the perfect window of opportunity by telling him we were at Huggy’s and waiting for him, he came back…”

Starsky listened but was already shaking his head. “If Nicky had come looking for the meth when he knew the coast was clear…it wouldn’t have gone down like this. He would have found a way to get through the front security door – easy enough for him; he’d have used his flirtation skills to do that like he did this morning. Once in, it would have been a breeze for him to pick your locks. He’s a deft hand at that.”

“Why do all that when he could have just done what he did upstairs?” Hutch asked him. “Come up the fire escape out the back of the restaurant and over the roof?”

“Because if it was Nicky he would have needed to search your whole apartment, not just the balcony. He wouldn’t have known about the spot where the meth was hidden. How could he?” Starsky asked. “Nicky didn’t know Vanessa – barely knew of her – so he would not isolate the search for the meth to just out on the balcony.”

What Starsky said seemed to be sinking into Hutch. His forehead was creased in concentration. “What he did today – when he came up with me….” Hutch’s voice trailed off as he looked into the distance, obviously thinking back on his discussion with Nick earlier in the day. “He told me today – he said something about him knowing a lot more about her than I realized.” Hutch’s face was intent with remembering.

“Yeah, but that could mean about what she’d been up to, not what she knew and had done with the meth,” Starsky argued.

Hutch paced away a few feet as he so often did when he was thinking and pinched the bridge of his nose. He paced back. “When he came up to the apartment with me this afternoon, I found him looking through your stuff and opening drawers in the bedroom alcove. Said he was looking for your phone charger….”

Starsky nodded, seeing Hutch’s resistance gradually subsiding. “So, you see? Why would he be looking in the bedroom or inside at all if he had knowledge that the meth was out there on the balcony? He had no real idea where the meth might be – or if it was even at your place for certain. Whoever did this knew specifically that Van had hidden the meth in potting soil, and whoever did this ripped into everything when they couldn’t find it. To me, that suggests it’s not likely to be the two men who were following me today, either. The person who did this must have had a direct line of communication with Vanessa.”

“That’s assuming that my greenhouse was trashed because someone was looking for something – like the meth. It could, I guess, turn out to be a simple case of reckless vandalism,” Hutch surmised.

“Bit of a coincidence for that, don’t ya’ think?” Starsky said firmly. “Nah. Had to be something to do with the case, with Van, or the meth.” A thought hit him and he cursed. “God! You don’t think it could have been Carlson, do you? What if he’d come up here after we left? But – no – why in hell’s name would he do something like tear your garden apart?”

“Can’t discount it, I guess. Pure, spiteful revenge.” Hutch paused for a moment before going on. “But, no, I can’t really buy that one.” His face was still heavy in concentration. “Like you said – more likely it was someone Van had told someone – like that guy she was linked to in New York, that Jake guy?”

Starsky nodded. “Unless Van was in contact with someone else about the meth, then he’s the obvious choice. We know after what Dobey told us that he’s still alive.”

“That’s if Van’s killers haven’t tracked him down since the cops spoke to him…” Hutch added. “God…we’re stumbling around in the dark here, Starsky. Stumbling and getting nowhere fast.”

Starsky heard the catch of worried weariness in his partner’s voice. Hutch looked wiped – emotionally and mentally, the destruction of his prized garden just another blow.

Hutch looked back at him very intently and obviously on the same wavelength. Clearly, he was all too aware himself of how the cumulative effects of the last couple of days were swamping them both. “What a fucking tangled mess this all is,” he muttered quietly. “A tangled mess at the worst possible time for us both.” As he spoke, Hutch turned and pressed his forehead hard into the rough stucco wall causing Starsky to wince.

“Hey, cut it out, will ya? That’s my partner’s head, and although I know it’s hard, it ain’t that hard,” Starsky said, trying to make the moment lighter. It didn’t work.

Hutch stepped back and looked at him. “Starsk, I don’t want us to end up like my broken plants upstairs; crushed and beaten down by life before we even get a chance to grow and flourish.” Hutch spoke softly as he fixed Starsky with loving but sad eyes. “There’s always something in our way it seems; something trying to cut us down. I don’t want what we’ve just begun to create together to be ripped apart.”

It was no surprise to Starsky to hear his bookish, skillfully articulate partner come out with such an expressive declaration – he was well used to Hutch’s way with words. Still, he was ridiculously touched by Hutch’s metaphor.

Determined to give Hutch some reassurance, Starsky spoke with more confidence than he actually felt. “We’ll get through this, Hutch – like we get through everything. Something will turn for us. I’ll get clear of this. I don’t intend to sit in a cell for the next twenty or so years.” Starsky hoped his voice carried more surety than he felt.

“Just as well, buddy, because I won’t stand to let anything or anyone put you there -” Hutch choked back what sounded like a knot in his throat.

Starsky’s protective instincts surged. He wished they weren’t on the street waiting for the cops to arrive, waiting for reality to close in on them again. He wished that at that moment he could wrap his arms around the big blond form of his dejected-looking partner and reassure him – and be reassured right back.

“Hey, you.” Starsky reached out in the semi-darkened sidewalk shadows to touch his thumb briefly to the deep furrow on Hutch’s forehead, noting as he did the light redness where he had abraded his forehead on the wall. “Tonight, right now, you’re just feelin’ extra vulnerable and that’s natural. So much has gone down in the last coupla days.”

“And it’s far from over,” Hutch said softly. “I want it all over. I want you in the clear. More than anything, I want us to be free to be together.”

“I’m not goin’ to deny that I’m worried about where all this is headin’. I’m still the only viable suspect the cops have for Van’s murder. But,” Starsky said, as he dared one final stroke over the ever present furrow on Hutch’s forehead, “I knew that before we did what we did this afternoon. And I know it now, and I still can’t stop myself from wanting more of it with you – even at the risk that something might happen to take it all away.”

Hutch let out a shuddering breath. His hand came up to cover Starsky’s, folding over it and squeezing it hard and maintaining the hold for longer than they should dare in the open street. “Nothing will take you away from me, Starsky. Nothing. No matter what happens, now or in the future, I don’t aim to lose you.”

Almost overwhelmed, Starsky was saved from an emotional meltdown by the sound of approaching cars. He looked up to see that Dobey’s car was nearing the apartment as it came down the street toward them, a second patrol car bringing up the rear.

His eyes met Hutch’s. “That’s good, babe, because I damn well don’t have any plans to get lost. I’m planning on sticking as close to you as that close beard you’ve been forgetting to shave off every morning for the past few months.”

A soft splutter erupted from Hutch. “Has anyone ever told you, you have a way with words? Besides the point, how many times do I have to tell you the beard is on my face on purpose?” Hutch chuckled again before pulling away from the wall and straightening up, visibly preparing to deal with what awaited them.

“So you keep sayin’ Blondie, but if it was a purposeful beard, why not have a beard and not an overgrown shadow?” Starsky grinned as he delivered the final word and turned to greet their captain. “Let’s talk to Dobey and see what he’s got to say. He’s sure gonna be pissed making a second trip out here tonight.”

Letting go mentally of what was between him and Hutch, Starsky’s mind turned once again to Nicky and why his little brother had failed to materialize. Whatever might happen with the crime team’s assessment of Hutch’s apartment, Starsky was determined to find out why Nicky hadn’t – and to do so before the night was out.

 

Chapter Eleven

By the time Dobey was finished in Hutchinson’s apartment for the second time that evening, he was feeling more than ragged. Clumping heavily down the stairs from the apartment to the dark street, he approached the small trendy restaurant beneath the apartment and caught the last scents from the kitchen – now closed for the night. It reminded him that he was hungry, that he’d missed his own meal. His life was full of too many missed meals and lost family time, stolen from him by the demands of a stressful work life.

Not that his wife ever complained – ever supportive of her husband’s responsibilities as Captain of Detectives. He could see Edith’s eyes on him as he took the call from Hutchinson just as he’d sat down to eat, and knew she was already ahead of him when she lifted his untouched dinner plate from in front of him. She was gracious about his need to make a hasty departure that late in the evening because she had always had a soft spot for his two trouble-prone detectives. They had somehow managed to endear themselves to her years earlier, as they had with his two children. Starsky and Hutch were hotshots, not just in their own Department and the eyes of every junior officer, but in the eyes of the Dobey family.

What possible hope did he have with these two?

Dobey found the pair in question where he’d left them. They were still in the restaurant huddled at a small corner table, their heads close as they talked.

He walked up to them, nodding at the waiter as he did, signaling for a cup of coffee before turning back to his men. Starsky looked up to acknowledge him and pulled out a chair for him to join them.

“Cap’n? The Crime team finished up yet?” Hutchinson asked.

“Don’t think there’s going to be all that much evidence for them to find, but they’re packing up now,” he told them, accepting the coffee from the waiter. “What’s going on with you two that you’re both so suddenly the center of attention?” He wanted to add something acerbic, but stopped when he realized how worn down both of them looked. There was nothing “hotshot” about them now, the last few days had depleted them of their hallmark vitality. He realized then that their nerves were probably stretched as tightly as his own.

“Seems that way, doesn’t it?” Starsky muttered. “Lucky that Hutch found the meth this afternoon or we wouldn’t have known it’d been taken when we got back here tonight. Might have thought it vandalism – which we both believe it’s not.”

“No – seems too coincidental,” Dobey agreed. “So now we have to decide what to do. I think it’s best I call a team meeting in the morning and lay out what’s happened tonight. We can keep the information about the meth away from the media, but we should hand the situation over to Homicide and let them handle it. They need to know about the meth in light of the break-in.” He sat back in his chair and looked at them. “You got any ideas about who did this, who might know to look for the meth on Hutch’s balcony?”

He saw something pass between them, their usual silent communication. It always unnerved him.

“No time for damn secrets. Spit it out,” Dobey pushed. “I’d like to get home sometime tonight, so if there’s anything you need to tell me, tell me now.”

“Two possibilities,” Hutch said. Dobey didn’t miss the look of surprise on Starsky’s face. Hutch gazed back, giving Starsky a nod. “We want to find out more about this guy in New York that Van was connected to. This Jake character. It’s very possible that he was aware of where Vanessa planted the meth. You told us that the police questioned him and left him floating – well, maybe he came here to find the meth himself.”

Dobey nodded. “Jake Webster. Already thought about that. The other possibility?”

Starsky started to say something but Hutch stopped him with a touch. Dobey knew he was being cut out.

“You mentioned Starsky’s brother before,” Dobey said to Hutch. Starsky stiffened as he did. “That he might know something. You talk to him yet? Think he might know who could have trashed your place?” The tightening on Hutch’s face showed he’d hit the mark.

“Not just yet,” Hutch answered, glancing at Starsky. “We got waylaid with the surprise on my balcony before we got a chance to talk to him. We’re still hoping he can tell us something though,” he said, his explanation sounding too careful.

Dobey regarded them both. “If you have reason to believe that he has something he can tell us about this case, we should be bringing him in for – ”

“Nicky’s my brother, Captain. I’d rather talk to him myself,” Starsky said.

“Brother or not, Starsky,” Dobey interjected, “we need to open this case up. If he can do that for us in even the smallest way, then we need to talk to him.” He waited a pulse. When Starsky said nothing and Hutch looked at his hands, Dobey went on. “Why do you think he might be able to offer something about the investigation? What’s the story here you’re not giving me?”

“You agreed earlier to give us time,” Starsky said firmly, ignoring his question. “Okay, so now things are different – but we’ve still got the upper hand while we hold the meth. Like I told you earlier this evening, Cap’n, we just want the chance to see what we might be able to turn up by talking to Nicky. He might not know a thing that could help, but I want the chance to talk to him by myself now that things have changed.”

“Then why haven’t you?” Dobey asked, his question a direct challenge.

Starsky hesitated before responding. Instead, his partner answered for him. “Nick isn’t keen on meeting up with us while I’m around. Starsky’s brother and I, well -we aren’t exactly each other’s favorite person.”

Dobey shook his head in frustration. “So what? I don’t much care about your popularity ratings, Hutchinson. Let Starsky talk to his brother alone. Whatever it takes, just do it and soon. Understand?”

“You can be sure of that,” Starsky said.

“Good. And remember, by tomorrow morning this all gets laid on the table. I’m phoning in a request for Forensics to go over the bag of meth tonight for any prints. Maybe we’ll get lucky by matching something from the meth parcel to whoever did the number on Hutch’s garden.” Dobey pulled out his cell, opened up his messages and scrolling through them. “Since you two are now both unable to return home, I’ve booked you a hotel for the rest of the night. You can head over whenever you want. It’s the small Hilton on Paxton that the Precinct often uses. I’m sure you know it.”

Hutch nodded. Starsky seemed preoccupied and didn’t comment.

“You can go up to your apartment and grab some things before the boys lock up. I’ve arranged a patrol car to watch the place tonight in case our suspect or suspects come back for a second look.” Dobey stood up, prepared to take his leave.

“Captain, before you head off,” Hutch stood up, too, “I think we should tell you. On our way back here tonight from Huggy’s restaurant, we caught Carlson tailing us.”

“Carlson? Are you sure?”

“Oh yeah, we’re sure alright,” Starsky muttered, “It was him. Had a little up-close-and-personal chat with the lieutenant on the street.”

“Starsky, if this is something I’m going to be hearing about tomorrow morning-” Dobey rumbled, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“Hey, he was the one following us. And that was after he challenged us openly in the precinct garage earlier today.” Starsky stood up too, his chair screeching in unison to his slightly raised voice. “Besides, I kept my cool. Didn’t touch a hair on his head. Not that I damn well didn’t want to. Prize jerk! ” He sounded as if the subject disgusted him.

“Maybe you didn’t, but there are other ways you like to get up people’s noses without using physical force,” Dobey gave it back to him. “I know most of them considering how many years I’ve had to mop up after you and your temper.”

“Carlson’s fine – really,” Hutch intervened. ” He isn’t likely to bring it up anyway, as he was clearly in the wrong. However there is a potential concern here, Cap’n that you need to know about.”

“Oh?” Dobey broke his stern glare at Starsky to give his attention to Hutch. “You mean there’s even more I need to worry about?”

“Carlson must have followed us from here to Huggy’s and then again when we left there. If that’s the case, then he may have seen you take the bag of potting mix with the meth out to your car.” Hutch looked concerned. “Maybe he even followed you here in the first place.”

Dobey chewed on the information for a moment. “Forget about Carlson. Let me handle him. The less you two have to do with him the better. Now, get yourselves organized for the night. You’ll hear from me in the morning. That is,” he winced as he stole a quick look at his watch, “if this is the end of the evening’s drama. I’d really like to go home to bed.”

~~~

Nick pressed his bruised face into the cold glass of his hotel window, welcoming its slightly numbing effect. It was better than nothing now that he no longer had any ice. The ice bucket he’d filled had run dry at the same time he’d finished his Scotch. He’d been sharing the ice between his glass and an icepack for his face while ignoring his insistent cell phone. His brother was surely one determined bastard.

He looked at the missed calls on his phone now as he tried to make a decision. No – while he tried to get the guts to do it.

Seven missed calls and three texts from his brother over the course of the last two hours. None of which he had responded to. He might have done so – at least midway through the evening when his wounded pride and bitter anger had finally abated. Hutchinson had really pissed him off by laying into him like he had done, but Davey was his brother and hard to ignore. He might have called him back earlier had he not got the other call. One he had answered because God help him if he didn’t. A call from Durniak. And not from one of his men – but from Tony Durniak himself.

After he was finished hearing what Durniak had to say, he hadn’t been able to call Davey back. He’d found it easier to keep drinking and holding a pack of melting ice to his face than doing what he knew he was going to do eventually. That is, if he wanted to grab a chance of climbing out of his pathetic life. If he was prepared to take the carrot that Durniak was holding out to him. If he was prepared to do what he was being asked to do.

He touched his swollen cheek and remembered how Hutchinson had humiliated him – not so much by his violence, though that had done its damage, but more by Hutchinson’s attitude toward Davey. Nick detested the blond’s sense of ownership of his brother. Every time he met with Hutchinson, he seemed to be the most important person in Davey’s life. He had usurped Nick’s role, as Davey’s real brother. That role rightfully belonged to him – not some queer who wanted to lay claim to Davey with his perverted love. But even after accusing Hutchinson of that earlier, and telling himself again that was why Davey wanted Hutchinson, in his heart, that wasn’t what was ripping Nick’s insides up.

Lovers or not, whatever it was that his brother and Hutchinson shared, he could not hope to break through it. That something was more than he had ever shared with Davey.

Hadn’t his own brother allowed Hutchinson to degrade him, to drive him away from Davey’s side? David had rejected him, his own sibling, for his cop partner. His need to retaliate was justified in light of what Hutchinson had done to him, and what his own brother had not only failed to prevent but had failed to find fault with how Hutchinson had treated him.

The drink made him drowsy, in spite of the pain in his head and face. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep without following through on what he had decided to do. It would be easier to do it before he lost the rage that vindicated his decision. Time to take the chance Durniak offered.

Nick turned away from the window and brought up his brother’s number. With an unsteady hand, he hit the call button and waited to hear his brother’s voice.

~~~

Starsky waited downstairs on the street while Hutch went to collect their necessities. With the restaurant now closed, Starsky leaned against the wall, debating tracking down Nick’s location by getting Dobey to request a fix on Nick’s cell phone by tracing him through the car rental agency he’d noted earlier when Nick was driving them to Huggy’s. As a cop, he stored these pieces of seemingly unimportant data out of habit.

Even with his brother.

Who the hell was he kidding?

Even more so because it was his brother.

Starsky knew Hutch had left him down here alone to give him the chance to make up his mind about seeking out Nicky. Before he had gone upstairs to his apartment, Hutch had made a simple suggestion that would negate the need to use third parties.

“Look, Starsky, just text Nick again, and make it clear you’ll meet him without me,” Hutch had said. “If he thinks I’m out of the picture, he’ll probably surface.”

“Thought you were hell bent on being around,” Starsky replied. “I know you don’t trust him.”

“I don’t, but you need to talk to him before morning. Just pick a place where I can be nearby. I think if you say that, you’ll get him to agree to talk. I’m the reason he’s avoiding you. I’m certain of it. I don’t think you’ll need to involve anyone else in finding him.”

He’d give Hutch’s idea a try. In all the texts he’s sent so far, he hadn’t made it clear that he’d meet with him without Hutch being there also.

But his phone buzzed just as he was starting to text and Nicky’s name flashed on the screen. He punched the button, angry and relieved to see it.

“Nicky?”

“Yeah – it’s me.”

“Are you okay? You sound like hell.”

“How do ya think I oughta’ sound after your partner put his fist in my face and choked the shit outta me?”

“You’ve been drinking. You’re not doped up, are you?”

“Now, there’s an idea…but I’d have to go out on the street to score and I’m too damn tired and busted up to do that. No one’d give me a deal with me lookin’ the way I do.”

“Nicky, you didn’t show. At Huggy’s, like we arranged.”

“Thought better of it. Thought I’d rather keep my own company.”

“I’ve been callin’ you for hours.”

“I know that. Too bad. I’m sure your partner kept you company – ”

“About Hutch…”

“Don’t mention that motherfucker’s name to me.”

“I want to talk to you. Meet up, like I said. No Hutch – just us.”

“Why? You had your chance today – brother – and you walked out.”

“Nicky, please. Can we meet – just you and me?”

“I’ll ask you again. Why?”

“‘Cause I need your help, that’s why. Okay, so today I didn’t listen – about what you tried to tell me. You had some things to say about -back home, about ties you still have there. I guess I didn’t want to hear it.”

“So?”

“Jesus, I’m askin’ you now, all right? I’ve told you I need your help. I’m lookin’ at a prison sentence here, brother, and whether I like it or not, I’m startin’ to realize that I might just have to use whatever it takes to clear my name. If you can – if you have anyway – any information – anything at all that you think I could use…”

“What’s changed since today that you’re asking for this now? You didn’t want to know a thing about what I had to say today. And your hotheaded partner sure as hell didn’t either. Now, all of a sudden, you want to talk. What gives, Davey?”

“Time is what gives. It’s runnin’ out for me, Nicky. The investigation is drying up – there’s no one else but me in the picture. The missing meth you seemed to know about – it could be the only thing that could open the case up. You might know something more about that than I do.” There was a long pause and Starsky suddenly worried that Nicky had hung up. “Nicky?”

“We’ll meet. No Hutchinson. Agreed?”

“Agreed. Where? Which hotel? Where’re you stayin’? I’ll come over now.”

“Davey, not tonight, for Christ’s sake.”

“I’m on a time frame. I need to come up with somethin’ fresh to get me out of this mess. That’s what I’m countin’ on you to do, brother. Help me shed a little light on a few things, with all those connections you still have back home. Come on, will ya? It’s not that late…”

“It’s nearly one and I’m fuckin’ wiped, Davey. I wouldn’t even be conscious if it wasn’t for the pain in my face that your fuckin’ partner put there -”

“I really need to move on this and fast.”

“In the morning. It’s not as though a few hours will make a difference. I’ll come and meet you somewhere in Venice.”

“No. We’re not goin’ to be here in the morning.”

“What do ya mean by that?”

“It doesn’t concern you, Nicky, and I don’t want to talk about it over the phone. I’ll text you the address of the Starbucks just near the hotel we’ll be stayin’ in. I’ll meet you early in the morning. Six?”

“Jesus, Davey, six?”

“I can’t wait any longer.”

“You show up with Hutch and I leave.”

“You’ve got my word. Be there, Nicky. I’ll call you at five.”

“You don’t need to. I’ll be there.”

“I’d rather not have to play cop with you, not when I should be able to rely on your word as my brother. Be there.”

~~~

Hutch waited outside the door of the hotel room with their overnight bags slung over his shoulders while Starsky wrestled with the electronic door key. When Starsky got the door open and slid the electronic card into place, the room opened onto muted lamplight and the air conditioner kicked on with a low hum.

Starsky let out a whistle. “Either we got an upgrade or Dobey’s showin’ his sympathetic side, since we’ve both been tossed outta our places.” He accepted his bag from Hutch and walked into a small suite. He tossed the bag carelessly on the nearest of the two double beds and appraised the room.

Hutch dropped his own bag on the second bed and walked over to the expansive window that looked onto the street below. He too, was surprised by the size of the room. “Probably all they had left at short notice, I guess. Big by departmental standards, that’s for sure. I’m impressed.” He studied the view from the window. “It’s got a good vantage point to see the Starbucks across the road.”

“And I imagine you’ll be using that vantage point to its fullest,” Starsky quipped beneath his breath as he unzipped his bag.

“You sure Nick knows to meet you there?” Hutch ignored the soft jibe and tried to keep the concern out of his voice. Starsky had jumped down his throat enough already for nit-picking the outcome of the conversation he’d had with his brother.

“Yep.” Starsky huffed out a breath. “I’ll give him a wake-up call at five just to make sure. Is that good enough?” He asked, more with resignation than anger.

Hutch turned and faced him. “I just wish we knew what he’s up to. He’s got an agenda.”

“Hutch, we agreed to that four conversations back. What’s still eating you? You were the one who suggested that we set up a brotherly meet in the first damn place. And you were on the money. At least he’s agreed to come out of his hidey hole to talk to me.”

“I know that. It’s just -”

“It’s just that you don’t trust him.” Starsky sighed and wrestled with his watchband as he eased it off his wrist and rubbed absently at the mark it had left.

“He can’t be here on his own steam, Starsk. That’s what worries me.”

“Well stop worryin’. It’s Nicky – my kid brother. He’s pissed at me like you said, for what happened between you and him this afternoon. But, at the end of the day, he’s probably just looking out for me in his own way.”

Hutch could have finished Starsky’s sentence better… in his own way, as long as Nick’s getting something out of it for himself. There had to be some gain in it for Nick, even if it came at a cost to Starsky, his own flesh and blood.

Hutch could feel Starsky waiting – expecting some sort of comeback, but Hutch didn’t give it. He kept it to himself for once and looked away, busying himself with unpacking his bag. He wasn’t going to push the point further. Starsky was still a long way from admitting the true extent of Nick’s shortcomings, at least out loud.

Tossing his shaving kit onto the side dresser, Hutch shook the creases out of a folded shirt. It was better than having to show his frustration at Starsky’s blinkered view of Nick’s nefarious side. As he draped his shirt on a hanger in the closet, he tried for casual. “You’re pinning a lot on what Nick might give us. A hell of a lot.” He turned from the closet and could see Starsky was annoyed.

“If I handle things right, Nicky’ll be okay.”

“I don’t give a damn if Nick’s okay with anything, Starsky. We need information on what he knows.”

“Hutch, for God’s sake. Just let me handle it – let me handle him.”

“And? If he fails to come up with the goods? What then? We’ll be facing down Homicide and IA either way in the morning once the meth is revealed.”

“Then I guess we have to use what we have,” Starsky said with no hesitation. “We’ve got the meth now, the big prize. The reason all of this happened. Tony Durniak would be more than interested to know where and why his meth went missing – and we know those answers – or at least some of them anyway. And – on our side, Tony knows the two men who worked for him before they stole his meth. The same ones who busted into my place and got Vanessa killed.”

“So you’re saying we play Tony Durniak off – ”

Starsky interrupted him. “You know what I’m sayin’.” Starsky leaned down, not looking at him as he toed of his shoes and began unbuttoning his shirt.

The coldness of Starsky’s tone, the edge to his words, had Hutch more than a little shocked. “I do, but I don’t like it,” he said tersely. “It sounds like crazy talk to me.”

“Why? Not so crazy when it’s my only ‘out’.”

“Crazy because it’s fucking dangerous, that’s why, Starsky!”

“You asked yourself what’s next if Nicky doesn’t give me a way out of this. It seems clear. We’ve got information Tony wants, and he’s got what I need.”

“You can’t manage Tony Durniak on your own terms.” Hutch reached across the gap between them and jerked Starsky’s arm as he was managing the last of his buttons. “Not unless it’s approved by Dobey and Homicide. IA, too. You can’t afford the risk professionally or personally to negotiate with him on your own.”

“I know all that, Hutch, but that isn’t the real issue here, is it?” Starsky pulled his arm back, not quite a jerk, but forcefully enough to allow Hutch to know he was serious. “It’s not my goin’ behind Dobey’s back that’s got you all fired up so much as the possibility that I might go behind yours.”

“I don’t want you doing anything stupid without me, Starsk,” Hutch said, knowing Starsky had pegged his fears.

“Well, stop thinkin’ that way, Blondie.” Starsky’s face relaxed, his tone lighter. “Because that won’t be happening. I’m not stupid enough to go it alone with Durniak or anyone else that Nicky might be connected to. Whatever Nicky can give me, I’ll bring it back and we’ll deal with it together. I promise you that, Hutch. No moves without you beside me.” He gave Hutch one of his beguiling grins before he dropped down onto the bed, looking up. “Feel better now?”

“Yes, I do,” Hutch answered. Starsky’s promise and engaging smile had done its job. “However, I think you’re way too good at sweet talking me into believing you.”

“Well, I’ve worked years to hone my act with you, partner, so I’m glad to hear that I’m accomplished.” Starsky stood and swatted Hutch on the behind with his towel as he moved past. “Now, as I’m further progressed with undressing than you, I’m gonna hit the bathroom first and then turn in. Suite or no suite, all I want is the bed in the middle of it.”

He was out of the bathroom again in usual Starsky lightening style, pulling back the covers on the bed and climbing in. He set his phone beside him on the small table and spoke to Hutch who was still at the window, still dressed, still thinking. “Hey? Remember the idea of hitting the sack? You gonna wash up or just stand and look outta that window and worry some more?”

“No – no, sorry, I’m turning in, too.” Hutch reached for his towel and toiletries and moved to the bathroom. “Turn out the lamps if you want. I won’t be long.”

Despite what he said, Hutch took longer than he normally would in the bathroom with his nightly routine, knowing he was stretching out the time so that Starsky would have drifted off to sleep. It was easier that way. He couldn’t stop worrying about Starsky’s meet with Nick. He wanted nothing more than to climb into bed with Starsky and make those worries recede with some close personal contact. He looked at himself in the mirror as he wiped his damp face.

Was that the full truth? Was that all he needed and wanted from his partner right then?

The mutinous tightening in his loins told him otherwise. Despite the lateness of the hour, the momentous day they had both had, and the ongoing pressure to find an out for Starsky in Vanessa’s murder investigation, Hutch’s body wasn’t as tired as his brain. It had its own ideas on what it wanted to do to ease away the sexual energy that kept building whenever he looked at Starsky.

Too bad, Hutchinson. Not now.

Sleep and rejuvenation is what they both needed, not sex and further energy depletion.

He tossed down his towel and toothbrush, smacked off the bathroom light, and walked back into the room. The sight of Starsky still awake, lying to one side of his bed with the covers pulled back, and his eyes watching the bathroom door, gave Hutch a moment of uncertainty. He stopped in mid-stride.

“Took your sweet time about it, Blondie,” Starsky drawled sleepily.

“You’re still awake,” Hutch said unnecessarily.

“Barely. I’ve been waiting for you…”

Hutch walked closer and stood beside the bed. He could feel his body reacting to Starsky’s proximity as his brain fought the reaction. “Starsky? Don’t you want to get some sleep? You need it after the day we’ve both had.”

Starsky’s answering smile was both tender and provocative. “It was a big day, wasn’t it? A sorta’ milestone for us.”

Hutch felt warmth shoot through him when he realized what Starsky meant. “It was – a very memorable and special day…but it was also stressful and wearing.”

“I know what ya’ meant, Blondie. But it was a day where we were still together – as bad as some parts of it might’ve been. Who knows how many more I’ll get with you?”

“Starsky don’t -”

“Okay, I won’t. No more gloom tonight. Just get in here, will ya?” He patted the bed firmly, his lopsided smile softened by sleepy fatigue. As he reached up, the sheet fell away to reveal his bare chest and the dark line of hair running from his naval to beneath the sheet. He was naked beneath the bedclothes.

Nothing new there, Hutch told himself. Nothing new for Starsky, but so very new for Hutch ever since their relationship had rotated wildly on its axis.

Despite his own exhaustion, Hutch couldn’t help but notice the smallest details of the body he knew so well. For tonight. he was looking, not just at his partner, but also at his new lover. Every feature, every small part of Starsky’s familiar body was a gift to his heightened senses. Every move, every sound and smell jumped out at him. Like the way Starsky’s crisp, dark chest hair caught on the starchy sheets as moved close to pull Hutch nearer; the way the lamplight picked out the velvety darkness of the thick lashes that fluttered upward with his inviting smile; and the definition of his shoulders as he flexed his arm forward to reach for Hutch.

None of it could be ignored. All of it had to be experienced at closer range. As close as Hutch could get to what he had only dreamed of having for so very long.

Silently, Hutch removed his loose-fitting drawstring pants, pulled the covers back further and eased his long body in beside Starsky. Selfishly, he left the light on, not wanting to lose a chance to drink in the sight of the warm body curling eagerly around him.

“I know we should be sleeping, but I don’t want to waste one moment now that I’ve found you,” Hutch whispered, letting his hands slide beneath the sheet to feel the naked smoothness of Starsky’s hip and the heat of his well-muscled thigh beneath the cool covers.

“Hey,” Starsky used his own hand to give Hutch’s bare ass the quickest of indignant squeezes, “who said you found me? Why can’t I be the one who found you? Didn’t I make the first move?”

Hutch gave that some thought and then raised his eyebrow. “I can’t really be sure. We’ll have to go back and reconstruct the crime. But, all right then – ” Hutch pushed a curl away to drop a long soft kiss on Starsky’s temple, “we found each other – after all this time together.”

“Hutch?” Starsky spoke against Hutch’s cheek. “Did this…this thing between us, did it just happen or did we make it happen?”

Hutch lifted his lips from Starsky’s temple and looked at him, the sincerity in the familiar face unmistakable.

“Are you asking whether this is fate or design? Because that’s something I don’t know – would ever know…” Hutch stopped his ministrations for a moment.

“I don’t know what I’m questioning.” Starsky took hold of Hutch’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. The small move was enough to push away Hutch’s mounting fear that his partner might be having second thoughts. “All I know is that this feels good, feels so damn right. But it’s also – it’s -”

“Frightening?” Hutch provided. “I know that. I’m frightened too, babe.”

Starsky pulled at Hutch’s hand to press it against his lips. “It’s goin’ to be different for us now, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It’ll be different. You think you’ll be okay with that?” It had to be said, the words slicing Hutch’s heart like a knife. He had dealt with all of this himself, or at least a lot of it. He had to consider that Starsky might not have even begun to do the same. It was all so new and there were so many other more pressing issues in their way.

“Not just that it’ll be different,” Starsky went on. “It’ll be – well, complicated. Complicated and totally new in every way.”

Hutch nodded, swallowing against his fear. “You think the difference might be too much for you to manage, Starsk?”

Just when Hutch was starting to seriously rethink the idea of sleeping together while Starsky was talking like this, two dark blue eyes lit up with a hint of mischief, despite the edges of fatigue evident in their heaviness.

“You questioning my versatility, babe?” Starsky reached up and gently twisted his ear. “I can do different – just as well as you.”

“Ow!” Hutch seized Starsky’s wrist and pulled the annoying hand from his ear. “No, Starsk, I’d never do that.” He smiled fondly as he moved in again closer to look into his lover’s dancing eyes.

“Just as well,” Starsky yawned. “Now, how ‘bout you put those long arms of yours to use to turn off that lamp behind you? Then maybe we can get down to sayin’ goodnight properly before I go and disgrace myself by fallin’ asleep on the first night in bed with my brand new lover.”

Laughing softly, Hutch leaned back and did just as he was asked. With the lamp off, the room was still light enough for him to see the outline of Starsky’s face. Hutch let go a long breath of contentment as he leaned down to take that shadowed face into his hands. The two of them shared one long, slow and loving kiss before Hutch knew Starsky had drifted into sleep. Smiling in the semi-dark at how quickly Starsky had slipped away into oblivion, Hutch brushed a few more kisses across Starsky’s lightly whiskered cheek. Satisfied with the contact, he smoothed the sheets and settled down close to his partner, laying his arm across Starsky’s chest and wrapping his hands around his shoulder.

Despite the reassurance of having Starsky so close to him, Hutch still felt the weight of worry like a rock in his stomach. He shuffled closer to the warm body and fixed his gaze on Starsky’s face, determined to keep the fear out of his head and enjoy these special moments until sleep took him as well.

~~~

What was left of the short night was gone when Hutch next opened his eyes, the greyish morning light creeping in around the edges of the heavy drapes. He didn’t need the distant ping of an elevator to orient him, realizing where he was and why immediately. He heard the shower running and his hand went out to touch the still-warm space beside him. Starsky hadn’t been awake and up for very long, either.

He squinted at the digital clock; it was already past five-thirty. Allowing himself a minute to fully wake up, he climbed from the bed and drew back the drapes, letting in the beginnings of the day. He fixed his sights on the Starbucks cafe across the road.

Nick, you better well show.

The shower shut off, its sound replaced by Starsky’s early morning cough, the steam no doubt helping to decongest his lungs. That distressing reminder – a brittle, too tight cough, was something that Hutch had become accustomed to hearing over the past month or so. God, how he resented that sound and what it represented. Starsky’s recent addiction to nicotine.

Damn those cigarettes…

Starsky emerged from the steamy room, his body and hair still damp, with a towel snugged tight around his waist and apology on his face.

“Mornin’, babe. Sorry, but I couldn’t help but wake you. Hotel rooms make it too hard not to.” He walked up to Hutch thoroughly surprising him by leaning in close and dropping a gentle kiss on his cheek.

It was all so new, so crisp and unexplored, this different place they had arrived at together. Never had they shared a morning kiss before. Such a small thing, but momentous, too.

Hutch breathed in Starsky’s freshly showered scent and fingered the dark curls, still glistening with water droplets. A little lost for words, Hutch found his attention riveted on those few drops that had escaped the coils of dark hair and were finding their own path, sliding down the taut musculature of Starsky’s neck. Starsky gave a light laugh at Hutch’s mute state and proceeded to drop a second kiss, this time on Hutch’s slightly opened mouth.

Hutch stood still and mute, more than a little paralyzed by the sensations that were erupting inside him.

It was typical of Starsky to make the mastery of new habits seem so effortless. He had shifted easily into an unconscious display of overt physical affection without any obvious deliberation. When Starsky accepted something, wanted something, he went at it one hundred percent.

“What?” Starsky tilted his head a little in question. He’d obviously picked up on Hutch’s surprised reaction. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“No, I’m just – happy. Very happy,” he answered simply before catching his partner’s face gently in his hands and planting his own morning kiss on Starsky’s lips. He made sure to take his while delivering it.

“Some bedmate I was last night.” Starsky gave him a grin as Hutch finished the kiss by running his fingers along his slightly darkened jaw line.

“You went out like a light,” Hutch agreed, still holding Starsky’s jaw in his hands.

“Sorry. I didn’t know I was that wrung out.”

“You’re stressed and worried – we both are. As it is, you only had a few hours sleep – like you have since this whole nightmare began. I’m sure we’ll have to go in to meet with Homicide later this morning. You’re going to be wrecked.”

“I’ll be fine. I can’t afford to sleep until this whole mess is sorted out. Now, my blond beauty,” he said, gently disengaging himself from Hutch’s hands, “I need to get dressed before I change my mind and climb back into bed with you. I’ve already texted Nicky. He’s on his way.”

“I’ll grab a shower and be out before you head off,” Hutch said, already throwing his clothes onto the bed.

“Don’t be crazy. There’s nothing you can do anyway. Go back and sleep for a while. I’ll bring you back a coffee.”

But Hutch shook his head. “I want to be ready in case Nick gives you something we can follow-up before we have to meet Dobey.”

Starsky shrugged as he began pulling on his jeans. “Stubborn man.”

When Hutch was finished showering and shaving, Starsky was fully dressed and standing by the window looking at his phone. “I’m goin’ to head down now. He should be here any minute.”

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Hutch knew it was a futile question as Starsky was already at the door, pre-empting any further commentary about his meeting with Nick.

“Hutch. No.” Starsky sighed and opened the door. He toed the newspaper that was lying on the doorway’s threshold before picking it up. “Here,” he tossed the paper at Hutch who caught it deftly. “Go back to bed and read the paper. You never know, I might be today’s feature.” Despite his smirk, Hutch doubted he was joking.

“Don’t flatter yourself, buddy – you’re not important enough.” It seemed the right answer because Starsky chuckled for real and gave him the finger as he turned and walked down the corridor.

“For that, you might not get the double espresso I was goin’ to bring back for you,” he called over his shoulder.

Hutch shook his head and grinned, too. Starsky’s light mood distracting him from his worry. But then, Starsky waved and disappeared around the corner toward the bank of elevators, and Hutch quickly forgot about being distracted. He slapped the newspaper against his hand, and turned to go back into the hotel room, the short reprieve over.

He dressed with quick efficiency and took the time to pull on his holster, snapping it into place as he stood looking out the expansive window. He watched Starsky disappear inside the Starbuck’s. There had been no sign of Nick, so Hutch assumed he was already inside.

Within minutes, he watched as a dark Chrysler pull up outside the café. Two suited men climbed out, one from the passenger seat in front and the other from the back, and walked into Starbucks. A third person, the driver, remained in the car. Hutch leaned closer to the window, his heart rate picking up as his hand reached for his cell phone.

Those aren’t businessmen. They look like mob muscle. Shit. Answer your damn phone, Starsky!

Starsky’s phone continued to ring.

Then the two men walked back out, one flanking Starsky, the other Nick.

“Starsky! No!” Hutch yelled, his hand flattened on the window. He was angry at his impotent position. He hadn’t trusted his gut feelings that something was going to go wrong with this meet, and let his partner go in alone.

He forced himself to note details as the men herded Nick into the front seat and Starsky into the back, knowing that he couldn’t make it to the street from the hotel room four floors up in time to intercept the situation. He grabbed the hotel pad and sent the clock flying as he scribbled down the car’s plates, then frantically tapped a text to Starsky’s phone.

The big car pulled away into the street. If the men hadn’t taken Starsky’s phone, he might get a chance to see that Hutch knew he and Nick had been taken.

Scrambling to open the door, he was calling Dobey with his other hand. Dobey would authorize patrol cars to look out for the Chrysler. He tried not to think that it might be too late if the men had orders to take Starsky and Nick on a short ride or to change cars before they were picked up by cops.

By the time he’d filled in Dobey, he was running into Starbucks, cursing about how quickly everything could go wrong. There were only two baristas behind the counter and one occupied table. He’d ask questions but didn’t expect to get much in the way of useful information.

After that, it would all come down to a search for the Chrysler.

 

Chapter Twelve

Nicky had been sitting at the back of the café when Starsky walked in. He looked like shit. It was hard to tell whether his bloodshot eyes, haggard face, and skin tinged with blue and green, was the result of Hutch’s fists or the mother of all hangovers. Starsky never got a chance to say so much as a good morning before Nicky retreated quickly to get the coffees. At least it seemed this way to Starsky, who sensed his brother’s discomfort at being scrutinized. As Nicky returned to their table in the back of the Starbucks, Starsky noted his behavior and wondered why he seemed so agitated.

Nick slid two large coffees onto the table but didn’t sit down. Instead, he hovered, glancing nervously at the doorway. “You want something to go with that, Davey? I can get us a couple of donuts.”

Starsky kicked out the other chair against the wall, stabbing his finger at the seat. “Just sit down. I don’t want any goddamn donuts, I’m here to talk.”

Nicky was stalling — why?

Nicky dropped into the chair, glowering. “Don’t start with me, Davey,” he warned. To Starsky it came out like a petulant whine.

“Then settle down, will ya?”

“Hey! You don’t get to tell me what to do like I’m some perp you picked up off the street. You’re lucky I agreed to this meet in the first place. You drag me out here at nearly dawn when I feel like death warmed over after what your partner did to me and expect me to be all social.” His eyes darted once more to the door.

“You sure that’s all it is, Nicky? I told you Hutch ain’t comin’. He’s back at the hotel if that’s what’s got you riled up.”

Nicky wasn’t listening. He stared, instead, over Starsky’s right shoulder.

Before Starsky had a chance to look at what had his brother transfixed, his cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket. “This’ll be Hutch,” he said before answering it, “– checkin’ on whether you turned up. See? You can relax; he’s not waiting outside –”

Starsky stopped when the expression on Nicky’s face changed. He sensed a presence behind him as a stranger, a man in a suit, moved to stand by Nicky. Starsky was still holding the buzzing phone as he realized his meeting had suddenly gone off course.

“Shit….” Was all he managed to mutter, watching Nicky’s face drain of color.

“Don’t answer that,” a voice behind him warned. “Put the phone down or your brother here will pay for it.”

The man who had given the order riveted Nicky’s attention but Starsky couldn’t see him.

Starsky took his hand off the phone and looked up at the man closest to Nicky. His damaged face and irregular bone structure suggest that he was an ex-boxer.  White, at least five foot eight and middle-aged, his short muscular body was squeezed like a sausage into a firm skin of black suit. Starsky still couldn’t see the man behind him, but his hand on Starsky’s chair held it firmly in place.

Nicky started to sweat. Starsky wondered if his brother might either bolt or faint.

Despite the order, Starsky kept the phone in his hand and turned instead to eye the man behind him. Taller than the boxer, about six foot, he was also Caucasian and decked out in a suit. He had a puckered, keloid scar running down the left side of his face, no doubt thought Starsky, courtesy of an old knife wound. They were both obviously muscle for the mob. No doubt they were armed as surely as Starsky was not.

His cell buzzed again. Hutch.

The man behind him took the phone from Starsky’s grasp, silencing the call.

Starsky watched it disappear into the man’s jacket. “You came here to hijack my phone? If you’re lookin’ to score the latest model, you’ll be pissed. It’s last years,” Starsky drawled.

“Davey…. Come on. Please, ” Nick muttered.

“What do you want?” Starsky directed his question to  the men while ignoring Nick’s reaction. He suspected he already knew their intentions.

“Mr. Durniak wants to meet with you. We’ve got a car outside,” the boxer next to Nick said quietly. His hand moved his suit jacket just enough to display his gun. Then he picked up Nicky’s phone from the table as well, turning it off before pocketing it. “Time to go, Nick.”

Starsky tried not to react when the man said Nick’s name, but knew his surprise showed. “You know Nicky? Then you probably know I’m a cop. You sure you want to play it this way?”

The boxer didn’t hesitate. “We’ve got our instructions. Get up.”

“Alright. Let’s go see what Mr. Durniak wants.” Starsky stood, nodding to Nicky. Some color returned to Nicky’s face when he realized Starsky was agreeing to go with the men. Starsky wondered how much of Nicky’s unease was due to his fear of the men or that Starsky might have refused to co-operate with them.

Outside, Starsky saw a dark Chrysler waiting. It wasn’t the same car that had been tailing him yesterday. He frowned at the implication and then pushed the thought away. He had more things to focus on now.

Nick was ushered in the front between the driver and Knife-Scar, while Starsky was directed to the back seat next to the Boxer. He glanced up at the hotel window, knowing Hutch would be watching, and knew that, behind the tinted glass, his partner would be going crazy with fear and frustration. Starsky pulled his gaze away from the window, feeling Hutch’s distress.

The driver took off as soon as he locked the doors and, keeping within the speed limit, he turned ten blocks from the Starbucks and directed the car into the entry of a subterranean garage. Nicky and Starsky were quickly ushered out of the Chrysler.

Nicky looked confused, struggling with Scar who was gripping his arm. “What the hell is goin’ on?”

Scar shoved Nicky toward a light-colored late-model Lincoln that pulled up alongside. “Just get in and shut up.”

Nicky had always played up his streetwise persona more than he could back it up, but Starsky still expected him to recognize what was happening. “They don’t want to get picked up on the street cams. They figure Hutch’s is already looking for the Chrysler.”

Hutch would have wasted no time in reporting the abduction. Starsky could imagine him beating himself up for letting Starsky go to the meet without him. The boxer tossed Starsky’s cell phone to another driver waiting with a third car; yet another non-descript vehicle. Durniak was taking no chances.

Now Starsky’s phone was in the wrong car going in a different direction. It would be the first dead end Hutch would run into. As the Lincoln left the garage and pulled back into the street, Starsky could only imagine Hutch’s reaction when his phone’s GPS would lead to nothing. He knew how he would react if it were his partner in this position.

Oh, Hutch… I promised I wouldn’t go to see Tony Durniak alone, and I meant it. But now, I don’t have a choice. I’m so sorry, babe.

~~~

Hutch was barely holding it together when he picked up his phone. “Do we have anything yet?”

“Not yet,” Dobey answered.

“It’s been over thirty minutes since they took him! Christ — all this damn technology and we’ve got nothing?”

“Hutch — try to remain calm.”

“There’s no sighting of the Chrysler?”

Stop pushing him. He already told you that, didn’t he? It’s not easy on Dobey either.

Dobey sounded tired. “They’re looking for it, but so far…no. You want to come in and go through the footage?”

“I don’t know if there’s any point to my coming into the station — ” he stammered. He felt close to becoming unhinged. He could imagine the grief he’d give the tech staff while hovering around them, berating them, demanding more than they could give. He’d drive them crazy or piss them off. “I’ll wait here for now.”

He put the phone back in his pocket and paced again to the window, the last place he’d seen Starsky. He didn’t want to leave the window or the room, paralyzed by the fear that if he did, he might miss something. He should have never allowed Starsky to go to the meet with Nick alone. He kept hoping that the Chrysler would reappear and let Starksy out, or that there would be a tap on the hotel door and Starsky would be standing there unscathed, winded after he broke free at a stoplight and jogged back to the hotel.

You know that won’t happen.

He’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.

That’s a fantasy, Hutch. They’ve got him and they’re taking him to Durniak. Those men are professionals.

He tried telling himself that Starsky wanted to talk to Durniak anyway, so this might work out. Just as quickly, he rejected that thought. This wasn’t going to work in Starsky’s favor — it just put him in danger.

As he stood, his mind churning, his phone rang again.

“There’s been some news,” Dobey spoke hurriedly. “We’ve got a bead on Starsky’s cell. A patrol car is closing in on it now. They picked up a signal about seven miles from your hotel.”

Hutch tried to subdue a burst of hope. “I’ll come down to the street. Have a patrol car pick me up so I can meet the unit at the designated location.”

He hadn’t even cleared the hotel entrance when his cell buzzed again.

“Hutch?” It was Dobey again.

“What happened?” Hutch asked, his stomach dropping.

“Never mind going out to that location. It was a dead lead. Starsky’s phone was in different car — not the Chrysler.”

Hutch shut his eyes.

“They found the Chrysler, too. Left in a garage a few blocks from Starbucks.”

“Any details from it?” Hutch asked.

“It was a corporate rental, just like the car Starsky’s phone was in — traced back to some small company that’s probably a subsidiary of one of Durniak’s legitimate corporations. We never found the drivers or anyone else we could question. Doesn’t help us much.”

Hutch groaned, forcing himself to take a long slow, breath.

Dobey was speaking again. “I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything. Officer Kaplan is digging for more background on Vanessa’s associate, Jake Webster. The Homicide team is waiting to meet with me over the meth you uncovered. You should come to the station so we can brainstorm.” Dobey was obviously waiting for some response from him. “Hutch? We’ve got to keep moving forward. The results from the sweep of your place last night might give us something, too.”

“Yeah — yeah, I’ll do that,” Hutch managed. “I’ll head in soon.” He ended the call and resumed his silent vigil at the window.

He found it hard to believe how quickly everything could just come crashing down. Before this morning, everything had centered on his fear that Starsky might be convicted of murder. That the two of them might never get to be together in the full sense of what they had just begun to explore with each other. But once he’d seen those men push Starsky into the Chrysler, his fears had turned to terror. Now, he and Starsky might never have a future at all —

~~~

The two men moved Starsky and Nicky from the Lincoln to an elevator that took them to the eleventh floor of a glass and chrome tower. Since their guards had not disguised their route or destination meant that the location wasn’t significant to Durniak. They’d been brought to an office building, a featureless structure like so many in downtown LA. Starsky figured it was likely rented space rather than one of Durniak’s personal offices. The bare outer office and the lack of staff outside supported that assumption. Once Durniak left, it would be stripped of any sign he’d ever been there.

They walked a short distance from the elevator to a glassed-in suite. Bare and insulated from the city noise outside, the floor space was substantial. The men ushered them toward large double doors. The boxer knocked, waited, and then hearing a voice from inside, opened the door.

Tony Durniak stood waiting at the end of the expansive room.

Durniak watched him as soon as he and Nicky entered the large suite. Durniak was measuring him up, his gaze moving with the precision of a laser-focus on a tactical weapon.

Feigning nonchalance, Starsky ignored his scrutiny and pretended to take in his surroundings as he strolled across the plush carpet toward Durniak’s sleek desk.

Giving Joe Durniak’s son a closer look, Starsky pondered how different a father and son could be. This office space, although minimally furnished, was still grandiose enough to demonstrate what Tony Durniak was worth. No poorly lit back room in a striptease club for Durniak’s meetings.

Joe Durniak had never gone for displays of excess. He’d never flaunted his wealth or rank in the Family. He had even used his financial position to help those he cared about. His son, however, was making up for his father’s austerity. It was just another thing Starsky didn’t like about Tony Durniak.

Boxer and Scar, having delivered their charges, now became their guards, taking their positions at the office’s entry. Scar directed Nick to stand off to the side, like a secondary character in the scene. That made Starsky uneasy. Durniak had barely looked at Nicky when they came in. His sole attention seemed directed at Starsky.

Starsky plastered on a disinterested mask and relaxed his body posture to reflect indifference. All of it was at odds with what was going on in his head. The drive here had given him time to dwell on how wrong this meeting with Durniak could go and what might be at stake. Possibly his and his brother’s life.

The game was way too personal with too much at stake. And this time, there was no blond-haired partner watching his back. If it all went to shit he’d be alone to deal with it, and maybe never see that partner again….

Durniak stepped out from behind the desk as Starsky approached. Tall and thick set, with dark blond hair, he did not resemble his father very much at all. “David Starsky,” he said. He didn’t offer his hand. Durniak glanced at Nicky who was nearby before looking back squarely at Starsky. “It’s been a while.”

Starsky gave an incredulous laugh. “So you had an urge to see me, and had your boys pick me up?”

“I couldn’t risk your refusal, and there’s too much between us for me to believe you would come willingly.”

“I got the message at Joe’s funeral that you still don’t like me. I got it loud and clear,” Starsky said, thinking back farther than Joe’s funeral. He remembered other times in his youth when Tony had used his thugs to deliver pointed threats. “You know the feeling is mutual.”

I hated you then and I hate you now.

“Whatever happened in our past, we’re here now,” Durniak said.

“How profound.” As soon as it came out of his mouth, Starsky thought it sounded like something Hutch would say, not him.

Durniak looked unperturbed. “Sit, so we might talk.” He indicated a pair of wingback chairs facing each other that looked out of place in the modernistic room. Before Starsky could do anything, Durniak sat down in one of the chairs. He pointedly left Nicky standing. “So our lives intersect once more — in a most unfortunate way.”

Starsky looked at Nicky standing off to the side and wondered again why Durniak had left him there. Nicky looked more frightened than Starsky had ever seen him, but still struggled to give Starsky a weak smile. Nicky nodded, as if to say, go on and sit. I’m fine.

And maybe Nicky was counting on his big brother to steer them through this.

So, Starsky took the seat. But despite what Nicky was trying to convey, he himself sure as hell didn’t feel fine.

“Have your men been tailing me — yesterday? Last night?” Starsky threw the question at Durniak. He wanted to see Durniak’s expression when he asked it.

“Tailing you?” Durniak seemed genuinely surprised. “That wasn’t necessary. I had other ways of locating you.”

Starsky considered his response. Durniak had no reason to lie about that. So if it wasn’t Durniak’s men, then who? He pushed it aside and focused. “Why did you bring us here?”

“Are you pretending you don’t know why I requested this meeting?”

“Requested?” Starsky said. “Is that what you call it? I’ve had nicer requests.”

Durniak leaned back in his chair. “I’ve gone to considerable effort to arrange this meeting. It’s not every day that I fly across the country and disrupt my schedule like this.”

“I feel so honored. You think you deserve an award for snatching a cop against his will?”

Durniak pursed his lips. “I think, Starsky, you should be more appreciative.”

“Appreciative? Jesus Christ! Your men threatened my brother to get me here. I should appreciate that?”

A flush of anger suffused Durniak’s face. “Neither of you were harmed, and I made sure that your partner was not with you. I wanted Hutchinson out of the equation.” He watched Starsky closely. “From what I know of his dedication to you, the situation could have become,” he pressed his lips together, “messy. I know Hutchinson’s wasted no time trying to find you.”

Starsky leaned forward, struggling to stay seated. Durniak brought Hutch into the conversation for a reason. Did Durniak have Hutch under surveillance?

Aware that Durniak seemed amused by his expression, Starsky steeled himself to rein in his reactions. “Don’t play games with me,” he growled, “especially where it involves my partner.”

“He isn’t in this room, is he?” Durniak pointed out. “If I’d wanted him to be, he would, and there’d be nothing you could do about it.”

“Just tell me what you want!” And leave Hutch out of this!

The mobster’s expression grew harder. “I want my missing meth. Ten million dollars worth of prime product. I believe you have it.”

“Why would you believe that?”

Durniak smiled, arching an eyebrow. “Why? Because Hutchinson’s ex-wife came to this city to meet with you and her ex-husband. She had my meth, and she spent her last moments with you. I’m sure she confided in you — and in Hutchinson, also.”

“I’ll tell you again. None of this has anything to do with Hutch. Vanessa came to me.”

“She came to you the night she was killed.”

“Yes — she had some notion that because of — my previous connection with your family, that I would be able to help her in some way.”

“Help her how exactly?” Durniak gave Starsky his full attention.

Starsky recalled the evening. “That part was vague — I don’t believe she’d put a lot of thought into it. She had some idea that, because of my past relationship with your father, I would be able to negotiate her out of the mess — with you.” Starsky grimaced at that possibility.

Durniak waited a beat and then continued. “So you knew then that the meth was mine?”

“I only knew what she told me. She was desperate to get me to help her.”

“Were you willing to do that? Help her? Did you relieve her of my stolen goods?” Durniak asked pointedly. Starsky couldn’t miss the flash of anger in his eyes.

“Like I said, I don’t know what she expected me to do. I never got the chance to find out if she wanted me to get it back to you. We’d barely started talking about it when two men broke in. They pinned me down. She scuffled with one of the men and then she was shot. Killed.”

“You had no time to plan a course of action with her regarding the meth?”

Starsky sighed angrily. “I had no involvement with those drugs. The first I knew of it was the little she’d told me just before she died.” He frowned. “But what does it matter what I say? You wouldn’t take my word for it either way.”

“I’m not interested in the validity of your word. I’m only interested in getting back what is mine. I believe you’re in a position to tell me what I need to know about that.”

“Your two ex- employees ransacked my place and never found it,” Starsky told him.

“That doesn’t mean a lot, does it? Only that Vanessa did not put the stash in your apartment. They broke into the wrong apartment, didn’t they?”

“You’re tellin’ the story here,” Starsky said, wondering how Durniak knew what he did. “Cut to the chase if you know the ending.”

Durniak glanced at Nicky still hovering on the sideline. “See that, Starsky? Your brother looks nervous.” He waved a hand toward Nick. “I wonder why. Maybe he doesn’t like the way you’re answering my questions. Maybe he thinks you know more than you’re saying and your continued denial does not bode well for his future.”

Starsky felt confused. What the hell was Durniak getting at with Nicky? Starsky remembered the way Nicky had grilled him yesterday at Huggy’s. Did Nicky think, like Durniak, that he was in on the theft with Vanessa?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Starsky answered. “Nicky knows nothin’ either.”

Starsky didn’t like the expression on Durniak’s face anymore than he liked the evasive one on Nicky’s. Something had shifted in the room, and he had no idea what it was.

Durniak turned back to Starsky. “So you think these two men who killed Vanessa are my employees? I’m constantly surprised at how duplicitous employees can be — even when I reward them highly. Some will even bite the hand that feeds them.”

“Those same two ‘duplicitous’ employees not only killed Vanessa,” Starsky said, “but also her boyfriend — a man called Marco — who was also involved in stealing your merchandise. Your employees are now responsible for at least two murders.”

Durniak shrugged. “What they did or didn’t do matters little to me except when it concerns my merchandise.”

“Then does it matter to you that they’re the reason Vanessa ended up with your ten million dollars of meth in the first place?” Starsky demanded.

“Very much so,” Durniak said. “They’ve acted against me and must be punished.”

“If you know about them, who they are, and what they’ve done,” Starsky asked, ” then why haven’t you simply taken them out?”

Durniak flicked a speck of lint from his cuff. “My employees are my concern. I’ll deal with them in my own time and in my own way. But — to be clear here, I don’t believe they have my meth. Those men think you — or your partner — have it. As do I. I also know these men could be pivotal in exonerating you of Vanessa’s murder. If I was to punish them for their betrayal — it might benefit you.”

Starsky reeled from the impact of that statement. Was Durniak prepared to help him –for something in return?

“You need these two men, don’t you, Starsky?” Durniak stated bluntly.

“You know I need them,” Starsky said, tight-lipped. “I need them alive and willing to talk.”

“Yes, I understand that. I hope that you can also understand that I need something, too. I want what is mine returned. Need and want –powerful instigators.”

“Just say what you want to say,” Starsky snapped, anxious to get Durniak to stop dancing around. “Are you gonna give me those men?” When he and Nicky had arrived, he never anticipated Durniak would propose any sort of deal.

“Only if I get my drugs in return for handing them over and insuring their cooperation. Are you willing to do business?”

Starsky knew Durniak’s meth was locked up in the police evidence room. Even if he could steal it back, he wouldn’t. He be damned if he’d help the distribution of such a destructive drug. But Durniak didn’t know to what lengths he might go to get himself cleared of Vanessa’s murder charge. And, if he outright refused Durniak, what was in store for him and Nicky?

“I need to clear my name! You think I want to go to prison for somethin’ I had nothin’ to do with?” Starsky shouted, unable to keep the tremor from his voice. “But I also want them because I’m a cop. Vanessa’s dead; Marcos is dead. Those murderers are still on the street. That’s what’s in the balance, not just clearing my name.”

“Such honorable sentiment.” Durniak smirked and then shook his head. “You were never cut out for the life my father wanted to offer you.”

“You’re letting your imagination run away with you.” Starsky suspected he would anger Durniak, but he was so angry himself he couldn’t stop. “I was just a young kid who ran the streets with a pack of low-lifes. I had no interest in your father’s mob. That was your own jealousy you invented in your head. Your father may have been fond of me, but he never intended to groom me for a place in his organization. Don’t let that old history get in the way of what we’re talking about now. Your father is dead, and years before he died, we had no meaningful relationship.”

“I’m glad you recognize that, Starsky. Glad you understand that whatever you meant to my father means nothing now.” Starsky could see Durniak’s emotion rising, his eyes bright.

Starsky decided to get the conversation back on track. “How can you give those men to me? You’ll either kill them for what they did, or they’ll go to prison for murder. Why the fuck would they agree to –?” Starsky stopped. He could see Durniak waiting for the moment when it would all come together in his head. Starsky nodded. “You’re going to advise them to take your best offer — a safe, comfortable prison cell — or death.”

“Those men are out in the cold, trying desperately to get my stolen meth back — either to save their asses with me or, if they’re stupid enough, to try to get the hell of the country with my product. But you know they’re not going to get it back, are they, Starsky?”

Starsky stayed quiet. Let Durniak think that he had the meth in his possession if it was going to help him get out of here.

“No — I don’t believe they can get it back, and they know it’s only a matter of time before I find them,” Durniak said. “Either way, they’re fucked. They’ll do better by letting me negotiate on their behalf.” He watched Starsky for his reaction.

“You think you can sway them to testify by offering them protection in prison?”

“Keeping people alive and comfortable behind bars is a strong incentive. I can make that happen. In addition, I can look after their families while they serve time. A small price to pay if it means getting my meth. On the streets, they’re not only at the mercy of the cops, but of any of my employees who sees an opportunity of gaining my favor by turning them in.”

“But are you sure you can get them?” Starsky pressed.

“I could ask you the same of my meth,” Durniak countered.

“So if that’s your deal, are we finished? I need some time to consider my options.”

“You’re not in any position to consider anything — or to keep me waiting. I want my product back, and soon.”

“For Christ sake — I’m a cop!” Starsky yelled. “What you’re asking is too much.”

“Its quite incredible what men can achieve if they have the right amount of motivation,” Durniak said quietly. “Every man has a price. I simply have to find yours.”

“My partner and me — we have our own value system.”

“I know from my sources you’re both honorable cops. But all the honor in the world won’t save you now.”

“You think I can just walk out of here and secure your fuckin’ meth because you leaned on me?” Starsky snapped feeling pressured.

Durniak smiled, got up from the chair, and walked toward Nicky. He stopped in front of him and then faced Starsky. “For your sake, I hope so.”

Starsky lurched up from the chair, anxious. He tried moving toward Nick and Durniak but was halted as the two guards blocked him.

“While you consider your options,” Durniak said, “Nick will stay with us as our guest. Just for insurance.”

Starsky understood the threat. If Starsky didn’t deliver, Nicky would disappear, and Starsky would never know what happened to him, or how much Nicky would have suffered before he died. That was why Durniak had left Nicky standing at the side of the room. Starsky now had two incentives to co-operate.

“I shouldn’t be surprised after you used Nicky as leverage to get me here –” Starsky began before Durniak interrupted him.

“You misunderstand. I didn’t use your brother as leverage to get you here. On the contrary, it was Nick who used you.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” But even as Starsky demanded an answer, Nicky’s expression changed. What he was seeing on his younger brother’s face was unmistakable. Shame and panic.

“I told you earlier that I had a source,” Durniak said. “Your brother came to me, certain he could get you to locate my product.” He smiled as he patted Nicky on the shoulder. “Nick was the hook to pull you in. Unlike you, Nick appreciates the rewards that working for me can provide, don’t you, Nicolas?”

“You set me up this morning?” Starsky asked his brother. “You came out to LA just to set me up?”

Damn it, Nicky, why can’t I see you for what you truly are?

Nicky’s eyes looked around the room then at the floor. Anywhere, but at Starsky.

Look at me, you coward…

As though hearing Starsky’s mental command, Nicky finally returned Starsky’s gaze. The truth was there, along with just the hint of smug pride. Damn him to hell!

You bastard, you lying, deceiving, greedy bastard. Why can’t I finally admit what you are and be done with you? Why have I been such a blind fool?

It made Starsky sick to look at his brother.

“I did it outta concern for you, Davey,” Nicky insisted. Whatever satisfaction he may have felt at having worked with Durniak was gone. Now he just sounded desperate. “I know you can help Mr. Durniak, just like he can help you.” His rationalization sounded pathetic to Starsky. “I did it for your own good!”

“That’s very noble of you, Nick.” Durniak smirked. “I wonder if Davey appreciates your brotherly concern.”

“It’s what I was tryin’ to tell you yesterday, Davey,” Nicky continued in the face of Starsky’s anger and silence. “But you wouldn’t listen to me and neither would your partner. Mr. Durniak’s the only one who can get you outta this mess.” He seemed to be trying to hold his chin up, but his confidence withered under Starsky’s glare.

“Shut up, Nicky,” Starsky finally muttered. “Just shut the fuck up.”

“There you have it, Starsky,” Durniak said triumphantly. “Your brother facilitated this meeting.” He gave Nick a look of disgust. “God knows the useless bastard had to do something to redeem himself when he came up empty.” He directed the next words to Nicky. “Despite all your grand promises, you couldn’t get anything useful out of your brother.”

“Mr. Durniak, wait!” Nicky cried out. Starsky cringed at the deferential whine in his voice. “You know what the problem was. It’s that fucking partner of his, Hutchinson. He’s got Davey brainwashed against me. I told you before, Mr. Durniak, to deal with my brother, you should have had your men get rid of that blond bodyguard of his. With him out of the picture, I could have gotten a lot farther with Davey –”

When Starsky lunged, the two guards were too busy protecting Durniak to stop the roundhouse punch he swung at his brother. The punch connected, knocking Nicky sideways. Starsky followed it by shoving him against the nearest wall. “I ought to kill you for sayin’ that!” Close to his brother’s face now, he jabbed hard, his left fist cracking against Nicky’s jaw again.

Nicky howled, Starsky’s blows obviously reawakening every hurt from Hutch’s previous attack. Blood spurted from his split lip and his cheekbone reopened; fresh blood trickled down.

Behind him, Durniak snapped an order. Starsky felt a meaty arm wrap around his neck and pull him away from Nicky. A second hand twisted his arm behind his back, pain shooting through him.

“Enough — just pull him off the kid,” Durniak barked.

Starsky was breathing heavily, still angry, disgusted, disappointed — the burn in his released arm was nothing compared to his fury.

Durniak laughed. “I don’t care what you do to your brother; you want to kill him — fine. You can sort that out on your own time. For now, Nick is my main insurance policy.”

“You can keep your fuckin’ insurance policy!” Starsky gasped raggedly. “He means nothing to me now that I know what he’s done.”

“He’s still your brother,” Durniak replied calmly. “Your blood is his blood.”

Shaking his head to clear it, Starsky pressed his right hand over his left, his knuckles throbbing. Then, with Durniak’s words prompting something in him, he saw Nicky’s blood on his hands. The sight of it was too much. Swallowing convulsively, he quickly wiped it on his shirt until it was gone. He’d never hit his brother like that before. Never with the intent to do him any real harm, and never with so much anger.

“I’ll make contact with you once I’ve secured the two men you need,” Durniak said. “After that, I expect you to deliver my meth.”

Starsky waited, knowing there was more. Nick made a low sound as though wanting to call out as he sagged against the wall and then slid to the floor. Starsky wouldn’t look him in the face.

“If you fail to deliver my goods, or if I have complications from the police, remember I have your brother.”

Starsky chuckled. “You really think I’d lift a finger for him now?” Nicky had irrevocably broken their bond. He had not only sold his own brother out to Durniak, but he’d openly admitted to wanting Hutch killed, to having put the idea into Durniak’s head.

“I think you will,” Durniak said, sounding confident. “You’re an honorable police officer, and from what I know of you, you honor your family. I don’t think you’re ready to tell your mother what happened to her youngest son…because you failed.”

Starsky couldn’t think about the ramifications of that. Durniak was right. Regardless of what he thought of Nicky, Starsky would never knowingly cause her grief.

“That’s something I’ll have to decide for myself, isn’t it?” Nicky moaned when Starsky said that, but Starsky still refused to look at him.

Everything was starting to close in around him. He felt like he was hanging on by a thread. But what would it do to Hutch if he lost control here? Hutch would only blame himself if Starsky wound up dead. No, Hutch needed him to do whatever it took to keep himself alive.

He closed his eyes and envisioned Hutch beside him. Like a talisman, the thought of Hutch, of his voice, his touch, stilled the panic he’d felt escalating inside.

Don’t fuck this up, Starsky. Hutch is waiting for you, terrified of what might be happening to you. Just pull it together and walk out of here. Once you’re back with him, you’ll both figure a way out of this mess. Hutch’ll help you find a way to keep Nicky alive. Walk out now or you’ll never see Hutch again.

“Am I free to go?” The icy calm he projected took supreme effort.

Durniak seemed pleased, as if assuming he’d accepted his proposal, and turned to his men. “Drop Detective Starsky within walking distance of his favorite Starbucks. It’s only right that we return him the way we found him.”

Starsky said nothing as he walked out of the office with the two guards flanking him. He never looked at Nicky. As he left, he felt completely drained of energy. The only thing he needed now was to feel Hutch’s arms around him, and hear Hutch telling him everything was going to be all right.

 

Chapter Thirteen

Carlson arrived at the precinct long before dawn. IA was empty at this hour, giving him time to work on his own investigation. He logged into his own computer and made short work of accessing the common IA files on the Hutchinson woman’s murder. Flicking through the screens, he scrubbed at his tired eyes. Christ, he was tired. Fatigued to his bones from his late night secret surveillances and his early morning clandestine starts while trying to keep abreast of the investigation.

It shouldn’t be like this. He shouldn’t be reduced to sneaking around his own office, stealing opportunities to unearth anything new in Simonetti’s in-tray or elsewhere in the IA files. If Hutchinson had kept his opinions to himself, he would still be on the case, right beside Simonetti, not here in the still-dark morning hours like some thief in the night.

Still, as frustrating as it was, if he eventually managed to blow the lid off Starsky’s guilt, he’d need records to back him up. With what he was putting together from IA files and Starsky’s old cases, he had some solid ideas. He’d need more though, and that meant more research and more time looking. If and when he was prepared to share his suspicions with Simonetti, as a detective, he still understood the importance of good documentation to back him up. Without the paperwork, his suspicions would mean little.

Carlson continued reviewing records of IA’s investigation, and wasn’t surprised that he couldn’t find anything related to the package Dobey had put in his trunk. However, evidence on a supposed break-in at Hutchinson’s was new, as was the intense focus now placed on this Jake Webster character from New York. Dobey had asked Officer Minnie Kaplan to trace the man’s movements since the NYPD had passed him over.

So the break-in at Hutchinson’s last night seemed to coincide with Kaplan following up on Jake Webster. Did Starsky and his partner stage the break-in to throw everyone off the trail? Or to cover up whatever Dobey had removed from the scene? He frowned. Because Hutchinson’s apartment was now a crime scene, the two had been forced to stay at a hotel.

He wondered if Simonetti had ordered surveillance on the two, and was disappointed to realize he had not. Why wasn’t anyone assigned to keep an eye on them? If Carlson was still in charge of the investigation, he’d have a whole team working and the two detectives would be under a microscope.

Realizing he’d learned all he could from the files, he shut everything down and left his desk. It wasn’t yet light out. Even though he knew that realistically, there was little to gain by staking out Starsky’s hotel, he felt compelled to drive over there. Starsky and his blond partner would be trying to find some way to eliminate Starsky from being the primary suspect. They might try to make an early morning visit back to Hutchinson’s. It wouldn’t hurt to scope out the hotel.

Maybe he’d get lucky. And maybe Starsky would get unlucky.

~~~

Some time after five am, Carlson pulled into a parking spot outside the small Hilton hotel where Dobey had put the two detectives. He sat back in his seat, pleased with the good vantage point he’d managed to get near the hotel’s entrance. Pulling out his document folder, he started leafing through the files he had printed out.

As he kept an eye on the entrance while reviewing his notes, he continued to jot down any new thoughts that came to mind. He was dying for some caffeine and wondered if it would be safe to jog across the road to the Starbuck’s for a cup of coffee. He decided against it. He couldn’t risk having one of the two detectives spot him on the street from their hotel window.

Early morning rush hour traffic was starting to pick up, but there was still ample parking on the street when a big black Chrysler Jeep Grand Cherokee double-parked in front of the Starbucks.

Carlson shook his head. People are so damned lazy. Someone wanted a coffee as much as he did and couldn’t be bothered parking.

He was surprised when he recognized the two men who emerged from the car. Mob enforcers, both of them. He recalled them, linking them back to cases involving one of Tony Durniak’s local lieutenants. I guess even mob goons need coffee in the morning.

He tried to go back to concentrating on the hotel entrance while continuing to skim his notes. However, a mounting resentment at the injustice of the system distracted him from doing either task properly. Here he was, a respected lieutenant in his Department, having to resort to slinking around, to keep at least some surveillance on a likely dirty cop. He truly hated that he was made to feel like this, while types like the mob scum he had just seen were free to walk the streets.

Double-parking on a busy street to get coffee — what smug bastards.

“What the hell!” Carlson jumped, his notes spilling to the floor as he forgot all about his internal rant.

The two enforcers exited Starbucks and started walking back to their car, not with coffee, but accompanied by Starsky and the man Carlson knew was Starsky’s younger brother — a New Yorker with a record of petty offenses, according to what Carlson had learned from his research. He forgot all about his dropped notes and rested against the seat to watch the scene play out.

Neither of the men were being handled as they left the Starbucks with the two thugs. He saw no gun, no evidence of force. Obviously, Starsky’s brother had arranged a special meeting with some members of Tony Durniak’s mob. Vanessa had gone to Starsky because of his relationship with the Durniak family. Carlson believed Starsky’s connection with Tony Durniak was the linchpin to this case, but no one else was investigating that. And now he was witnessing proof that Starsky was connected with the Durniak family.

As the SUV with Starsky and his brother pulled away, Carlson hurriedly bundled up his notes and threw them on the passenger seat, then started his own car. He’d have to be cautious; experienced mobsters would spot a tail if he wasn’t careful, and, no doubt, they’d change cars at some point. He’d make sure they wouldn’t spot him. He could at least document Starsky’s apparent cooperation as he followed this new trail.

~~~

Hutch hadn’t been at the precinct long before he knew it was a useless exercise. They had nothing new.

As Hutch entered the squad room, Dobey was coming out of his office.

Dobey nodded in his direction. “Glad you’re here, Hutch. The Homicide team and Simonetti are ready to start the meeting. I’d like you to join us.” Without waiting for him, Dobey returned to his office.

While Hutch resented having to shift his own attention awy from the search for Starsky, he knew Dobey was right.

“Hey, Hutch? You coming to the meeting?” Hutch turned to see Minnie Kaplan, a sympathetic expression on her face.

He felt comforted by her caring, knowing she understood how he felt. However, even Minnie could do little to break through his concern. “I can think of better ways to spend my time than looking at Simonetti.”

“So can I.” Minnie rolled her eyes, and then showed him a manila folder. “I managed to get some details on that contact in New York that Vanessa told Starsky about — Jake Webster. I‘m bringing that information to the meeting.”

“Has he got a record?”

She shook her head. “No criminal record. However, he’s not in New York anymore. He landed at LAX two days ago. We’ve even got his hotel thanks to his phone records.”

“Really?” Hutch snapped out of his slump for a moment to pay attention to the piece of information from Minnie. So Starsky’s theory might well be right. This Jake guy could be the one who trashed his balcony in search of the meth. “Has anyone brought him in for questioning yet?” Hutch asked. “The New York police just passed him over.”

“Not yet. I only got the details about fifteen minutes ago.” She gave a shrug. “That’ll be up to Dobey.”

Hutch nodded, walking with her into Dobey’s office. As Dobey acknowledged his presence at the doorway, Hutch’s cell buzzed. “Excuse me, Captain,” he said, retreating a few steps and putting the phone to his ear.

“Hutch,” Starsky said, “it’s me. I’m fine. I’m back at the hotel.”

“Thank God!” Hutch closed his eyes briefly with the surge of relief. “Was it Durniak?” He kept his question brief.

“Yes. I’ll tell you more when I see you.”

Hutch turned back to Dobey. “Captain! It’s Starsky. They’ve released him. He says he’s okay. He’s back at the hotel.”

While the other officers talked among themselves, Dobey got on his phone to inform the investigators of Starsky’s safe return.

“Starsk!” Hutch said while struggling to control his voice in front of the others, “Are you okay — really?” He moved away slightly from the gathering, turning and lowering his voice.

“Yes.” Starsky gave a forced laugh. “Really, I’m okay. Where are you?”

“I’m at the station,” Hutch told him. Going out of my mind with worry for the past few hours. “Along with everybody else, trying to track you down.”

“I’m sorry, Hutch,” Starsky said, as though he could hear what Hutch had left unspoken. “I would have phoned you the moment I was out of the car but — they took my cell phone. I s’pose you already know that.”

“We’ve got your phone here. I’ll bring it to you. I’m…uh…in a meeting right now.”

“Can you come back?” Starsky’s voice dropped, the last word catching a little in his throat. “I — I really need to see you.”

Hearing the naked need in Starsky’s voice, Hutch wanted to bolt, but knew he couldn’t leave without clearing it with his captain. “Let me talk to Dobey — “He glanced up, saw Dobey waving at him to leave with an exasperated expression. “Okay, Dobey’s releasing me. See you shortly, partner.” Severing the connection, Hutch gave a nod of grateful thanks in Dobey’s direction, and then left in a rush.

~~~

Carlson eased back in his seat as he again parked near the Starbuck’s. He’d successfully followed Starsky without being spotted, even after they changed cars. Carlson had waited patiently outside of the upscale office building where Durniak’s people brought Starsky. Eventually, Starsky emerged with the same thugs, but without his brother. There was nothing to suggest that he had been roughed up and he was walking under his own steam. Carlson could only assume Starsky had been in a meeting with Tony Durniak’s people.

Looks like the whole family is deep into Durniak’s organization.

Carlson wondered about Hutchinson’s involvement, though. He always acts so by the book, but if his partner’s dirty, how clean can he be? Carlson knew too well their reputation for being the tightest team in the department.

He then followed the mob car as it brought Starsky back to Starbuck’s. Starsky immediately went into the hotel after leaving the car.

Carlson assumed Hutchinson was up there waiting for him. Once again, he parked his own car to wait for the next development. It was not long after that he was startled when Hutchinson’s less than classy vehicle sped past and turned into the hotel garage. He wondered if Hutch had been at the station.

Following him discretely, Carlson drove into the garage in time to see Hutchinson park his sorry excuse for a car. Managing to find a slot with an unobtrusive view, Carlson slipped the car into the bay just as Hutchinson darted from his car, slamming the door before sprinting toward the elevators. The man was definitely wound up, slamming his hand impatiently against the button. When the doors opened, Hutchinson moved inside and disappeared.

Carlson couldn’t risk following Hutchinson up to the hotel room, but wasn’t sure what he was hoping to gain by waiting. Still, his efforts so far had been fruitful, so he might as well.

~~~

“Starsk!” Hutch called, as he unlocked the hotel door, shoving it open.

Starsky was there instantly, his arms already reaching for Hutch. Grabbing Hutch’s shirtfront, Starsky pulled Hutch hard against him. “God, Hutch, I need to hold you so badly right now.”

Hutch moved with him. He buried his face in Starsky’s hair, breathing against its thick softness while he gripped the back of Starsky’s neck with both hands, keeping him trapped against him. “Starsky…you’re safe. Thank God you’re safe,” Hutch whispered before turning his face to graze his lips over Starsky’s forehead, then down his nose toward his mouth.

Hutch moved his hands from Starsky’s neck down his shoulders, back, and hips, cataloguing the parts he knew so well, checking for any injury. Once assured that his partner was real and whole, his hands changed their tempo from careful touching to feverish urgency. Plowing his fingers deep into Starsky’s hair, Hutch tugged his head back and tilted Starsky’s face toward his. But Starsky was already lifting his face, his lips already open to find Hutch’s. They moaned into each other’s mouths, sealing their reunion with a long, heated kiss.

“Starsk,” Hutch said, stopping only long enough to draw a jagged breath, “when I saw them put you in that car — I thought – I thought they were taking you to –”

“It’s okay, babe. I’m okay. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I should have gone with you this morning — if only –” Hutch was stopped suddenly by Starsky’s rough insistence as Starsky pulled him back toward his mouth, his fingers digging into Hutch’s jaw as he shook his head at Hutch’s guilt ridden tone.

“Don’t you start that shit with me, babe. No way do I want to hear you do that to yourself.” Then he gentled the move with his tone. “I was so worried that I wasn’t going to get back here to this — to you. Come here, babe. Come close to me; that’s all I need right now. Let me have more of you.” His words were breathy as he spoke against Hutch’s lips.

Then Starsky’s efforts slowed, the pressure of his kiss easing. Hutch felt him move away from his mouth to place small kisses against Hutch’s cheek, then his nose, then moving up to his forehead. Hutch felt Starsky’s tongue as it found a few errant strands of Hutch’s hair where it fell over his forehead. Starsky’s wet tongue moistened the fine hair even more, moving it off Hutch’s forehead so Starsky could press his lips softly to the furrow between Hutch’s eyes. It was always more pronounced when he was worried — like he had been all morning.

Hutch sighed, easier now in Starsky’s arms as Starsky’s kissing went from wild and desperate to soft and slow. His hands were no longer bunching Hutch’s shirt in a death grip, but slipping beneath his collar to stroke soothingly along his jawline.

“I think we both needed that.” Hutch laughed unsteadily. The extended kiss left him light headed and loose.

“How the hell are we going to survive being at work all day without locking lips if we nearly eat each other up after a few hours?” Starsky smiled back, lifting one hand from Hutch’s waist to rub his own swollen lips.

“Ah, but these were extenuating circumstances,” Hutch rationalized, still not ready to draw away from Starsky’s hold. “We get bonus kissing time when one of us thinks the other is in danger.”

“Well, if that’s the case, we’d better get a different line of work, partner, because I don’t think a day goes by when one of us isn’t in danger. I can’t believe how much I wanted to hold you,” Starsky said sincerely. “It’s almost frightening how much…”

As the tension finally lifted, Hutch moved away from Starsky. “Let me look at you. I can’t believe that asshole didn’t leave marks on you. ” Hutch scanned Starsky’s body. Seeing dried blood on the front of Starsky’s shirt, his heart clutched. He touched the stain. “What’s this? You said you weren’t –”

“And I wasn’t.” Starsky shook his head as he covered Hutch’s hand. “It’s not mine.” He grimaced. “It’s Nicky’s.”

It was then that Hutch realized he hadn’t given one thought to Nick. Still, he couldn’t summon an ounce of guilt.

“Is Nick -?” Hutch searched Starsky’s eyes. Was Nick hurt badly or –? But all he saw in Starsky’s expression was resentment and hurt.

“Nick’s alive.” Starsky sounded dispassionate. Detached.

“The blood?” Hutch asked. “Did Durniak’s men beat him up?”

“No, Durniak didn’t beat him up.” Starsky sighed and walked to the small fridge as if the effort to do so was too much for him. He turned and looked Hutch. “I did. Nicky sold me out. He sold his only brother out to Durniak.”

Although Starsky’s admission shocked him, Hutch made no comment. He waited as Starsky pulled out a can of Coke from the fridge and drank from it before speaking again.

“That’s one part of the story. The rest you need to hear. I wanted the chance to talk about what happened so we can decide how to handle Durniak’s–” Starsky paused, seeming to hunt for the best word, “proposal.”

“And Nick? He’s still with Durniak?” Hutch asked, placing his hand on Starsky’s shoulder.

Now that the initial need for each other had been met, Starsky seemed drained. Hutch realized that whatever had gone on with Durniak had really shaken him up.

“Oh yeah, Nicky’s with Durniak — but not in the way he imagined he’d be.” Starsky’s mouth twisted. “My little brother has been working with Durniak the whole time he’s been here. In fact, he’s probably been in Durniak’s pocket for quite a while.”

“I see,” Hutch said. So his concerns about Nick were on the money. No real surprise for Hutch, but it was a kick in the heart for Starsky to finally reach the same conclusion.

Starsky nodded. “You always have, Hutch. Seems I’m the only one who’s been blinded by family loyalty.”

Hutch tried to think of something to say that might possibly ease Starsky’s terrible disappointment. “Well, maybe Nicky was just trying to –”

“Don’t.” Starsky held up his hand, cutting off whatever Hutch was going to say. “Don’t even try to pretend just to protect me; you’ve always known that Nicky was what he is. You’ve known it long enough — I’ve just refused to listen to you for too long.”

Hutch nodded, then said quietly, “Okay, I won’t. So what now?”

“Now — well, now I’m truly fucked. Thanks to Nicky, Durniak’s put me in a corner — one I can’t see my way out of.” He sounded tortured as he crushed the empty Coke can, squeezing it so hard that his forearm pulsed. “A really tight corner.”

Hutch took the can from Starsky’s grip and placed it on the desk, his movements calm and measured. He was trying to bring his partner back from the despondency overtaking him. “I thought I lost you this morning, Starsky. Lost you.” He stressed the word with all the pent-up emotion he felt. At the same time, he gently unfurled the hand that Starsky had used to crush the Coke can. “So you feel like you’re in a corner? Hell, corners we can deal with, partner – as long as we’re in them together.”

Starsky caught Hutch’s fingers in his own hand, bringing them up to his lips and kissing them hard, as though they might hold back any mounting negative emotions he couldn’t contain. “I hope you’re right, partner, because I’m not feelin’ too good about my prospects right now.”

“Tell me what happened,” Hutch said, not letting his fingers leave Starsky’s face, “and we’ll take it from there.”

~~~

Carlson had just begun to settle back in his car seat after seeing Hutchinson enter the elevator when movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He had been aware another car had driven into the garage not long after Hutchinson’s, but had paid it little attention. He heard a car door slam.

He noted a person moving across the garage. Only vaguely aware of the figure, he didn’t focus on the man until he approached Hutchinson’s car. Carlson narrowed his gaze and shifted lower in his seat to minimize being seen.

Why would anyone be interested in Hutchinson’s car? It wasn’t exactly a prize — nondescript, middle of the road, and far from flashy. Not even powerful.

The man was Caucasian, seemed to be around thirty, maybe five ten, and wearing a good quality grey suit without a tie, a baseball cap pulled down low, and dark glasses. Carlson couldn’t get a good look at his face. But he was definitely zeroing in on Hutchinson’s car.

Glancing around him, the man circled the vehicle, checking it out. He spent some time looking in through each window, holding his hands against the glass to help him see the interior better.

He can’t really want that car? Carlson thought again as he watched the man first try the door handles on the driver side.

Next, the man moved to the trunk, testing it quickly before pulling a short crowbar from under his jacket. Wedging the bar beneath the lip of the trunk, he began working to pop the lock with short quick motions.

Carlson now had a problem. This wasn’t just a civilian’s car this idiot was breaking into. It was a police officer’s car. Police officers often carried extra weapons secured in their vehicles, especially their trunks, and with Hutchinson being a Homicide detective, Carlson thought the odds would be high that he would carry one.

But if Carlson was forced to bust this guy, he’d have to explain to his superiors what he was doing here in the first damn place — and there was only one possible explanation. The admission would be enough to get him reprimanded or even disciplined. And it would destroy any chance of him investigating this case further.

For the time being, Carlson decided to stay put. Maybe the jerk would move on to another car; maybe Hutchinson would materialize again and deal with him in his own way.

The man paused for just a moment and looked around the garage again, making sure no one else was in the vicinity. Seemingly reassured, he slipped off the dark glasses that were probably limiting his vision in the dim garage. That allowed Carlson to get a better look at his face.

Carlson blinked, staring at the man. What were the chances? Carlson realized that he was watching Jake Webster, the man Minnie Kaplan had traced from New York to LA. He’d only first seen that face less than two hours ago at the station. So, this wasn’t a random car theft. Webster had to have tailed Hutchinson from the precinct, waiting for an opportunity to get to his car. Otherwise how could he have shown up so quickly and known where Hutchinson’s car was at this particular point in time?

And why?

What was he hoping to find in the car — or at least in the trunk?

The way Webster was going at the trunk of the car he must surely know, or at least think, that there was something important in Hutchinson’s car. Could he actually think Hutchinson was stupid enough to store the meth in his car?

Carlson continued to watch Webster while trying to decide what to do.

He felt the dilemma of his situation. He was a cop, driven by well-honed instincts and reactions. He couldn’t ignore a crime being committed right in front of him. And he knew Dobey wanted a crack at talking to Webster, just as much as Carlson was starting to want the same opportunity. This guy might turn out to be an important link between Starsky and Vanessa Hutchinson. But apprehending Webster would reveal that Carlson had been watching both Starsky and Hutch.

Christ, did he really need this right now? Or — should he look at it, despite all of the problems it would cause him, as yet another opportunity that was falling into his lap? No, not luck, but the pay off for good solid police work, keeping suspects under surveillance. He was the one doing what Simonetti wasn’t — following Starsky and Hutch. So, he was the one getting the leads that IA was missing.

Hutchinson’s trunk gave way and opened. Carlson leaned closer to get a better view of Webster’s actions.

Webster leaned into the trunk and started ransacking the contents. He pulled out the cover on the spare tire, leaning it against the edge of the trunk. Then he checked out the spare and whatever must have been around it. Even if the meth was in the trunk, it would have to be in a sizeable package, and so far, there was no sign that Webster had found anything like that.

Carlson let him continue.

Webster seemed agitated. Suddenly, something in the trunk grabbed his attention. He picked up the crowbar and started working hard on an object that seemed to be secured to the bed of the trunk.

Dammit! Now Carlson had no choice. That could mean that he had found the assault weapon case for sure, as it would be welded or bolted to the floor of Hutchinson’s trunk. If he didn’t act now, he would be allowing a criminal to steal a dangerous weapon.

Carlson took out his gun and exited his car quietly, advancing on Webster, who was too preoccupied to notice.

Carlson shoved Webster hard against the open trunk, knocking him off balance. At the same time, he grabbed the hand with the crowbar and yanked it roughly behind Webster’s back.

Taken by surprise, Webster yelled in pain as he lost his grip on the crowbar and it clattered to the concrete floor. Carlson shoved Webster’s face against the exposed spare tire, and held his body down, restraining him.

“Police. Freeze!” Carlson shouted, handcuffing the arm he’d secured behind Webster’s back, then grabbing Webster’s other flailing hand and cuffing that as well. “You’re under arrest, moron.” He grabbed Webster by the collar of his jacket and jerked him roughly to his feet.

Then Carlson spotted what had captured Jake’s attention. He was right – Webster had been trying to pry open the metal locked gun case in Hutchinson’s trunk. It no doubt held an assault weapon Hutchinson could be called on to use in special circumstances. If Jake had had more time, he could have eventually pried it open. Did he think the meth could be in there?

Carlson patted the man down quickly, before removing a wallet from Webster’s back pocket. “Okay, on your knees, then on the ground.” He didn’t give Webster a chance to argue, forcing him to lie down on the garage floor. Carlson pulled plastic ties from his pocket and used them to secure Webster’s ankles. Webster cried out as the hard plastic bit into his bared ankles.

With his suspect secured, Carlson flipped the wallet open to confirm Webster’s identity “You, Mr. Webster, are under arrest –”

“Just for jimmying a trunk on this heap?” Webster protested feebly.

Carlson rolled his eyes. “You have the right to remain silent,” he started before Webster could say anything else. He wasn’t about to blow this arrest on a technicality, and finished Mirandizing the man. “You’re under arrest for breaking into a police officer’s vehicle and for attempting to break into his locked gun box to steal his weapons — which makes this a felony burglary, genius.”

Webster jerked his head up from the ground, his face turning to Carlson, white with shock. His eyes flickered over Carlson’s badge. “But I wasn’t –” he began haltingly before stopping suddenly, no doubt realizing he was better off saying nothing.

Carlson needed to call this in and get a black-and-white to take the suspect to the precinct. But before he did that, he took the opportunity to inspect Hutchinson’s trunk. The contents were in disarray, overturned, or pushed aside. Hutchinson had typical police paraphernalia — blankets, a first aid kit, some flares, some literature — and the locked gun box that was pretty beat up. Nothing else out of the ordinary. No concealed package that could contain the amount of meth in question — in fact, no packages at all.

“You want to tell me what you were looking for in here, Jake?” Carlson asked him, tossing his head toward the interior of the trunk. “That is, besides a police officer’s weapons?”

Webster faltered at the mention of weapons but didn’t answer. Apparently, he’d actually listened to the Miranda warning.

“Obviously, you weren’t out to steal the car because you only tore up the trunk.”

Webster still said nothing.

“Do you know who owns this vehicle?”

Again, Webster offered no response.

“I think you do, Jake,” Carlson said as he continued to look through Jake’s wallet. “I don’t think it’s an accident that you broke into this specific car. I think you came all the way from New York to do it. I think you were watching for this car’s owner at the Metro police station where he works. Since it was impossible to break into the car in the police parking lot, I think you followed the car from the precinct just now, and waited for the driver to leave. It’ll be easy enough to prove. Lots of cameras around the police station and along the streets where we can track your rental car.” He waved the receipt from the rental company from Jake’s wallet at him. Information on the receipt would help them find the car to ID it on the precinct’s cameras.

Webster attempted to look indifferent. He failed miserably.

“Okay, if I’m wrong about that then, the only other assumption I can make is you wanted to get your hands on a high powered police weapon. That works, too. It’s a serious enough charge to keep you in jail for quite a while. Congratulations.”

Webster looked nervous all over again. “I want a lawyer.”

“You’ll have plenty of time for that after you’re booked.” Carlson tried not to think of what this arrest could cost him professionally. Somehow, he had to find the way to turn it around. He thought about Jake staking out the precinct lot, waiting for Hutch…

Considering his next move, Carlson pulled out his phone and called for a black-and-white to collect his suspect. With that taken care of, he made his next move.

“This is Lieutenant Carlson,” he said to the dispatcher. “I need to speak to Captain Dobey. It’s urgent.”

After a moment, he heard the Captain’s voice. “Dobey here.”

“Captain, this is Lieutenant Carlson. I’m in the parking garage at the Hilton Hotel near the Ninth Precinct. I’ve apprehended a suspect who broke into Detective Hutchinson’s car while it was parked in the garage of the hotel.”

“I don’t understand,” Dobey said.

“When I was on my way to work this morning, I spotted a man acting suspicious in the Metro parking lot. He seemed to be staking out Detective Hutchinson’s car where it was parked in the precinct garage. When Detective Hutchinson left the precinct, the man followed him. So, I followed the suspect, who continued to tail Hutchinson to the hotel.”

“Is Hutchinson there with you and the suspect?”

“No. After Hutchinson parked and left his vehicle, this man attempted to break into his car and succeeding in jimmying the trunk open. He seemed to be searching for something. I apprehended him before he broke into the locked gun box in Hutchinson’s trunk. His identification says he’s Jake Webster from New York.” Carlson let this piece of information register with Dobey.

“Jake Webster?” Dobey suddenly shouted into the phone. “You’ve arrested Jake Webster at Hutchinson’s hotel? He’s an associate of Vanessa Hutchinson. We’d very much like to question him.” Dobey paused, and Carlson suspected Dobey’s surprise was masking any doubts he had about the validity of Carlson’s story.

“Have you spoken to Hutchinson since you’ve secured Webster?” Dobey asked.

“Not yet. I thought it might be best if you contacted him about this. I’m still on the scene,” Carlson said. “I’ve called a black-and-white unit to take him to the station and I’ll stay here with Hutchinson’s car until –”

“No.” Dobey said it with some finality. “Bring the suspect in yourself and have a uniform stay with Hutchinson’s vehicle. I’ll talk to Hutchinson myself and arrange for the car to be dealt with after we talk.”

Carlson kept his tone deferential, even though it irked him. He was in for a hard enough time without questioning Dobey’s decisions. “Yes, Captain, I’ll do that.”

Carlson ended the call and waited for the squad car. He had a bad feeling busting Webster was going to work against him. He wondered if he had just set himself up for further discipline, or worse, aided Starsky and Hutchinson by apprehending Webster.

Wouldn’t that be just his luck?

 

Chapter Fourteen

Hutch stayed quiet while he sat on the bed beside Starsky in their hotel room and listened to him recount what had gone on with Tony Durniak that morning.

When Starsky had finished talking, he looked at Hutch searchingly. “That’s the gist of it. I think that when Nicky showed up here in LA, he was hoping to somehow find the meth in our possession and get it to Durniak himself. It would have earned him a good position in Durniak’s organization.”

“Well, it makes sense now why he was scouting out my place yesterday and grilling you at Huggy’s – for sure.” Hutch hesitated. “Maybe Nick was trying to help you in his own misguided way. Maybe he thought that if he got the meth and handed it back to Durniak, getting it out of your hands, he’d save you the pain of being implicated in the stolen drugs?”

Starsky looked at him. “What? You can’t seriously believe Nicky was acting altruistically on my behalf? Now I know you’re just trying to soften the harsh truth about my loser brother. It’s okay, Hutch. I finally get it – Nick is a bastard to the core.”

Hutch tried another angle – and while he knew Starsky was right, he was trying to make it just that little bit better for him. Finally having the ugly truth about a traitorous brother shoved in your face was a lot to deal with on top on everything else Starsky was going through. “You know, Starsk, when you think of it, by Nick selling you out to Durniak, he has actually opened up an opportunity for us to get you out of this mess.”

“Opportunity? You really believe Nick did this to provide me with some sort of opportunity?”

“Well, it has opened up a possibility at least -”

“Yeah, sure. You know even better than I do that Durniak has me at the end of the plank on this one. Possibility? Face him off or death by water.”

“I know it feels like that to you – especially given that he now has Nick but – ”

“Nicky? Why are you so hell bent on trying to make this sound better for him than it really is, huh?” Starsky jumped up shouting, cutting across Hutch’s words. “Forget Nicky! I couldn’t give a shit about the loser. He’s had his last chance with me with this. His last.”

Tough words, hard emotion, but I’m not sure you really feel that way, Starsky. This is your hurt talking, your heart, not your head. Can you ever really let go of holding on to this little brother of yours and hoping that he will one day come through for you?

Hutch held up his hands to calm Starsky down. “Fine, we’ll forget your brother. And as you’ve said, you know what I’ve always thought about him. I just want you to be sure about how you read the situation so that you don’t carry around a sack of guilt if something goes wrong with -”

“If something goes wrong then I’ll deal with it just like he’ll have to deal with it. Nicky’s made his bed; now he has to lie in it. The moment I learned the truth of how he sold me out to Durniak was the moment I let him go in my mind. Now for my sake, can we leave Nicky out of this? He’s not worth the breath it takes to say his fuckin’ name.” Starsky slashed his hand in the air as though severing the very thought of Nick from his mind.

“Alright. Let’s leave Nick aside for the moment then.” He went on quickly to push past the deep hurt he knew was eating at Starsky. Damn Nick to hell and back.

In truth, he felt no sympathy for the younger Starsky and doubted there was anything governing his actions other than greed and hunger for self-advancement. When Hutch had learned what Nick had done, he had struggled to quell his rage over Nick’s ultimate betrayal of his older brother. But it served no purpose to unsettle Starsky by venting his anger, so he had kept quiet and focused on Starsky’s needs. It didn’t stop him from entertaining fantasies of what he would do to Nick when he saw him again. If he saw him again. The stupid fool could end up as another statistic at the hands of the mob. That reality was all too clear to Starsky, but he was doing his best to shove that fear down so he didn’t have to face it.

“What are your thoughts on pulling this deal off then?” Starsky asked him, having moved on from the issue of Nick.

“I don’t think it’s an impossible situation. If Durniak can get those men – if he can, in fact, deliver them — then it’ll be all you need to remove you from suspicion,” Hutch said. “We just have to get the meth.”

“Oh sure, just get the meth,” Starsky said bitterly. “It’s not goin’ to be easy… legally.”

Hutch tried not to react. He hoped that his determined partner wasn’t considering doing anything that might land him in even deeper water with the law than he already was. “However we look at this, we’ve got to have Dobey involved.”

Starsky remained pensive. “I don’t know…it depends.”

“What do you mean?” Hutch frowned. “We go behind Dobey’s back, like setting up a meet to do the deal without backup — we’re dead. Durniak will come heavily armed.”

“Of course he will,” Starsky answered.

“Then what do you mean?” Hutch asked again.

“I’m not sure I even know what I mean. That’s the damn problem here, Hutch,” Starsky said, punching the mattress in frustration. “I’m still tryin’ to work this whole thing out myself. There’s so many ways it could all go to shit. What Durniak wants from me is something I don’t know I’m even prepared to risk giving him, even if it gets me what I need.”

“But,” said Hutch, “it’s the only way he’ll give you those men…”

“Two drug pushers in exchange for a huge load of drugs.” Starsky let out a harsh chuckle laced with disgust. “Does that balance out? Does that justify taking the risk to clear my name?”

“It’s not that black and white, Starsky,” Hutch said quietly, understanding the guilt that was gripping his partner. “There’s a hell of a lot more that could be gained from doing this deal apart from just clearing your name.”

“Yeah – but handing Durniak that concentrated meth…”

“I know.”

“Still,” Starsky said, “I can’t show up with a fake load of meth. Once he realized it’s not real, it’d likely get me a bullet in the head.”

Hutch grimaced at Starsky’s imagery. It wasn’t lost on him that while talking about the possibility of meeting Durniak, Hutch used “we,” but Starsky kept referring to himself alone.

Hutch nodded. “I’m sure Durniak can recognize his own product. The drug is worth too much to him. He thinks he knows what extent you’re prepared to go to clear your name. He probably thinks he has you so far against the wall, you’ll deliver.”

“I’ve got to take in the real meth.” Starsky paused. “So? What are our chances that Dobey will give me permission to use the meth?”

“Will you stop with the ‘me’,” Hutch snapped. “We’re in this, not just you.”

“If Dobey won’t let me have it then that makes it a lot harder…” Starsky said, ignoring Hutch’s comment completely.

“Damn right it will,” Hutch said, rubbing his temple. “Handing Durniak that huge parcel of meth could wind up blowing up in our faces if something goes wrong and he gets away with the stuff. Christ! Imagine putting that amount of shit back into his hands?”

Starsky looked stricken at the thought. “You’ve got it. I’ve done nothing else but think of that since I left his place. Save my own ass at the price of fuckin’ up the lives of hundreds of others and giving Durniak the potential to grow his dirty empire even more. What sort of cop, what sort of human would that make me, huh?”

“Starsky – I didn’t mean it like that. Just that -”

“I know that, for God’s sake, but the fact is, Hutch, if I – if we screwed up and he did get away with the meth, it would be my fault. I couldn’t live with that – especially knowing I did it for selfish reasons.”

“That’s why we need Dobey in on this, Starsk. He might have to bring in the Feds. This might be their best chance to bust Durniak.”

Starsky looked thoughtful. “Durniak will make sure he’s covered.”

Hutch sat back. “But if Durniak thinks you’re prepared to deal with him and bring him his meth, you wouldn’t be doing it with the knowledge of the Department. If he thinks you’re risking jail for illegally obtaining the drug, as well as being a suspect for murder, he’s not going to worry about you being wired.”

“That’s true,” Starsky said, mulling over Hutch’s logic.

“Which is why,” Hutch said, “Durniak will also accept that I’ll be at your side.”

Starsky’s head shot up. “Hutch – ”

“Stop right there, Starsky. Like I’ve said, I’ve heard you refer to only yourself when you’re talking about meeting with Durniak. But it won’t be just you. No way. I will be there too, right beside you, or you won’t be going in at all.”

“What are you going to do? Try to stop me? Stand in my way of taking the only chance I have to clear my name?”

Hutch was a little shocked that Starsky put it like that. “I won’t let you risk your life by going in alone. That part is non-negotiable. We have to work out the details with Dobey before we know if we’ll even be able to pull this off. But whatever he agrees to, I’m right beside you.” Hutch fixed Starsky with an obstinate stare, stopping himself from driving home the point with a jab of his forefinger. He knew how that particular habit pissed Starsky off.

“Okay – you’ve got it,” Starsky said, giving in. “We walk in together.”

“Good,” Hutch said, not wanting to show how worried he was by Starsky’s quick capitulation.

Hutch cursed as his cell phone rang, cutting him off. He looked at the incoming call and then back at Starsky. “It’s Dobey.”

“I thought he was going to give us some time…” Starsky said as his partner took the call.

Hutch paced away toward the window as he listened to his captain’s voice. The call was brief. He finished the call and pocketed the phone.

“He wants us in there now, right?” Starsky surmised.

“You got it,” Hutch said as he opened up Starsky’s overnight bag and pulled out a clean shirt before holding it toward him. “Here, you’ll need to change out of that bloody shirt before we go in, otherwise Dobey will be asking questions you might not want to answer,” Hutch suggested gently.

Starsky looked down at the splotched dried blood as though he had forgotten it was there. “What’s happened? You looked surprised at what he said.” Starsky began unbuttoning his soiled shirt.

Hutch watched him as he did, thinking again about how the blood had gotten there. Because of Nick. Because of what Nick had done to Starsky. Hutch shoved his anger away again and came back to the moment to see Starsky waiting for an answer. “Jake. Jake Webster, Van’s friend from New York. He’s being brought in for questioning.”

“Yeah? So Dobey tracked him down?”

“No. Carlson did. It’s Carlson who’s bringing him in,” Hutch said, bracing for Starsky’s reaction.

“Carlson! Why is Carlson still on the case, dammit?” Starsky growled as he shrugged into the new shirt. “I thought that was taken care of – pulling him off it.”

“Apparently Webster was down in the hotel parking garage breaking into my car, and Carlson caught him.”

“What? Why the hell was Carlson -?”

Hutch was already at the door waiting for Starsky to join him. “Seems that Lieutenant Carlson has a problem with following orders from his superiors. Obviously he’s still shadowing us.”

Starsky grunted as he grabbed his own jacket, tossing it to Hutch while he buttoned his shirt. “Damn IA, always sniffin’ round, like bloodhounds for a kill.” Starsky joined him at the doorway. “Maybe they can hold this guy long enough to get something out of him that might help my case.”

“We’ll have to take a taxi – unless there’s a spare squad unit down in the garage with my car. Let’s go down and see.” Hutch closed the door behind him as they began walking toward the elevator. “So if this Jake was breaking into my car, it’s a good guess he was trying to find the meth.”

Starsky pressed the elevator button. “Let’s be certain of one thing, Hutch.”

Hutch waited for the doors to open. “What’s that?”

“There ain’t no way anyone would want to break into your car to steal it or any part of it. So, yeah – I’d say we could be absolutely certain he was looking for the meth.” Starsky threw back the taunt before he slipped into the elevator just marginally avoiding the heavy shoulder jab by Hutch.

Inside the elevator, the brief moment of levity left them as they both fell quiet.

~~~

Captain Dobey had left directions for Starsky and Hutch to wait for him in his office while he dealt with Carlson and Jake Webster. He didn’t keep them waiting long. When he arrived, he found Hutchison pacing near the window, talking in low tones to Starsky who sat on one of the two chairs. Dobey closed the door behind him and took a seat behind his desk. As he passed by Starsky, he laid a hand on his back, reaffirming his safe return.

Hutch left his place near the window and perched on the arm of Starsky’s chair. Hutchinson’s actions didn’t surprise Dobey. He’d become used to them sharing a chair even when three or four others were available.

“Starsky. Good to see you’re unharmed, son.”

“I’m fine, Cap’n.”

“You had us all worried for a while. Your partner here,” Dobey pulled his pencil from behind his ear and waved it at Hutch, “was coming dangerously close to making sure the whole tech department would never work with him again.” He meant it only half jokingly. Hutchinson could be a formidable force when he was worried about his partner.

At another time, on another day, Dobey might have expected Starsky to take the comment and make light of it. Starsky was always looking for a way to rib at his calm blond partner. But Starsky only gave Hutch a fond look. “It was understandable that Hutch thought the worst when he saw Durniak’s thugs take me and my brother,” Starsky said. “For a while, I wasn’t sure Durniak would let me walk out alive, either. With men like him, you just never know -”

Dobey watched the two of them watching each other – sizing up their body language and unspoken dialogue. Both men were pensive and strained. It was clear what a toll this crisis was having on both of them.

“Can you tell us anything about Jake Webster yet?” Hutch asked.

“Not yet. Carlson only just got him in here and booked. Once he’s processed, the Homicide boys will question him. We’ll see if his prints match the few they managed to lift from your greenhouse last night. If that’s the case, we’ve got him on the car and breaking into your apartment. It means we’ll have a better chance of getting him to talk to get himself off the hook.”

“Do you think he will?” Starsky asked.

“Initially, he told Carlson he wanted to lawyer up,” Dobey said, “but the Santa Monica detectives said he may be willing to deal. His lawyer was arriving as I came in here.”

Starsky made a spluttered sound midway between a snort and a scathing laugh. “No surprise there. I bet Carlson pushed his buttons enough to make him ask for one.”

Dobey chose not to comment about Starsky’s opinions of the IA lieutenant. “I don’t think the Homicide team will spend too much time with him. He is not a suspect in Vanessa’s murder since he was in New York at the time. I think Simonetti wants a crack at him, especially since he was picked up breaking into Hutch’s vehicle.”

“What reason did Carlson give for being in the hotel garage in the first place?” Hutch asked. His expression told Dobey it wasn’t so much a question but a way to emphasize that Carlson was still stepping on their toes and going against procedure.

“Don’t worry about that for now.” Dobey waved his hand at the question, remaining non-committal. “Let me handle the lieutenant – and IA in general, for that matter. We’ve got more to talk about then Carlson’s intentions. Either way, his being there has resulted in a new lead. We’ve got Jake Webster in a position where we can hold him and hopefully get him to open up. It could be enough to buy us some time. Carlson might just have scored one for you, Starsky.”

Starsky swore. “I’d bet my last dollar that helping me was the last thought in that bastard’s mind when he busted Webster. More like he thought it was another opportunity to incriminate me. Sneaking around after us like some –”

“Starsky!” Dobey snapped. “Enough about Carlson. Let’s move on.” Dobey leaned forward, thumping his hand in frustration on the arm of his chair. He was determined to bring the focus of the meeting back.

All it got him was a scowl from Starsky. Dobey looked at Hutchinson for assistance.

“The Captain’s right, Starsk,” Hutchinson said in an attempt to pacify his partner. “Carlson doesn’t matter right now. Put it away till later.”

Hutchinson’s soothing tone quickly settled Starsky, who nodded and managed to look contrite. “Sorry, Cap’n…I’ll shut up about him,” Starsky said, more calmly now. “The guy just really unnerves me.”

“And I’m sure the Lieutenant has the same feeling about you. But it’s time to put that aside. Now, what happened this morning? And,” he fixed both detectives with a discerning look, “give me the whole story.”

Once more, the two men looked at each other rather than at him. Dobey could sense Starsky was trying to decide how to open the discussion.

“Starsky, I need you to level with me,” Dobey prompted, his tone a warning.

“You’re not going to like it, Cap’n,” Starsky answered, closing his mouth in a firm line.

Dobey let out a sigh. ” Starsky, this is no time for the two of you to hold anything back from me. I’ve got enough to deal with over the meth I impounded from you last night.” He waited while the two men nodded in acknowledgement.

“We do, Cap’n, and we’re appreciative -” Hutch said.

Dobey cut him off. “Starsky’s got enough to contend between IA and Homicide, and so far we have little to go on.”

“I know that too, Cap’n,” Starsky said flatly.

Dobey could see the physical evidence of fatigue and stress around his eyes and in the rigid set of his jaw. “Hutch told me your brother didn’t return with you when Durniak let you go this morning.” Dobey watched Starsky carefully as he was caught up in a two-way silent exchange with Hutchinson. Dobey often felt he was privy to only fifty percent of their communication, shut out by their non-verbal interplay.

“Nicky stayed with Durniak,” Starsky said and left it at that.

“Under force?” Dobey asked.

Once again, Starsky looked quickly at his partner who gave a small nod. “They have – a quasi-working relationship. Believe me, it doesn’t sit well with me…” Starsky’s eyes couldn’t hide his resentment.

“Is your brother all right?”

“He was when I left Durniak’s office.”

“So it’s a complicated situation,” Dobey said, starting to get the picture. “I hear that. But what impact does it have on what Durniak wants from you; why did he set up this meeting?”

“Nicky has become collateral. He’s added more to Durniak’s bargaining power,” Starsky said. “Durniak negotiated a deal with me. He says he’ll hand over the two men who were responsible for Vanessa’s death. He claims he can get them and – persuade them to confess. Without them, I’m fucked. I know that and he knows that. ”

Dobey played with the pencil as he frowned in consternation. “I see. So he’s offering you enticing bait, which with his power, resources, and threat potential, he can deliver.” Dobey was already figuring out the details of Durniak’s proposal. Obviously, he’d withheld Nick Starsky to add incentive. “So, he wants a trade. In return for your brother and your ticket out of a murder conviction – he wants you to hand over the meth, which he thinks you have,” Dobey stated as he looked at both of them.

Hutchinson’s expression told him he was right.

“You’ve got it, Cap’n,” Starsky said, grim-faced.

“We think Durniak isn’t sure where Starsky stands in all this, ” Hutch expanded. “He probably thinks Starsky is prepared to break the law to get out of this murder rap.”

Dobey exhaled, easing into the depths of his chair. “Has he given you a time limit?”

“He said he’d contact me when he had the men,” Starsky answered. “I don’t think it will be long. He wants to get back his drugs.”

“I’m sure he does,” Dobey said, “but I also think he wants you to do something that could ruin your career. You go into that meeting without backup, you’re putting everything on the line.”

“Then I guess I’m his big incentive to show up, aren’t I?”

Dobey was taken aback by the offhanded way Starsky made the remark. Hutchinson’s strained expression told Dobey he was more than shocked. He knew then that Starsky was prepared to walk the line with this whole thing and, knowing the duo like he did, imagined Hutchinson would walk right into the fire alongside him if need be.

Dobey tried to turn the conversation away from Starsky’s cavalier assertions. “You so sure Durniak himself will show up at the meet? Why wouldn’t he just send a couple of his men? You realize without Durniak himself accepting the drugs, there’s nothing to hold him on.”

Starsky shook his head. “No – he won’t do that. If he says he’ll show up, he will. He’s a man of his word. And besides, he wants to see me hand over the meth. Don’t forget, he had no qualms about being there in person to meet with me this morning. He wants to be there for this. Front and center.”

“And as Starsky said, Cap’n,” Hutch added, “Durniak will expect Starsky to also keep up his end of the deal. Starsky and I agree that we’ll need the -”

“The real meth, not a dummy parcel,” Dobey finished. “You sure don’t ask for much.”

“Sorry, Cap’n.” Hutch winced.

“We’d rather leave you out of this, Cap’n,” Starsky said, and Hutch nodded.

“Leave me out of it?” Dobey pitched his voice just below a shout. “How in hell’s name do you propose to do that?” He looked at each of them in turn. The look on their faces, particularly Starsky’s, concerned him. “No. Don’t even tell me what you mean. I don’t want to hear it.” Dobey felt the blood suffusing his face. These men would be the death of him.

“But if you get involved with helping us use the meth, it could mean trouble for you, Captain,” Hutch said.

“You know I can’t just hand you the drugs so you can set up your own sting. This whole thing is bigger than just Durniak and you, Starsky. Durniak is a minefield. The Feds will have to be in on the chance to take Durniak down. They’re already aware of the link between the murder investigation, Durniak, and you.”

“Look, Hutch and I have talked about this, Cap’n. Of course, we’d like to go in with backup…and even have the Feds as part of it to make sure we pin Durniak down,” Starsky said. “But – at the same time, it could mean we blow the one chance I’ve got at getting clear of this whole thing. I don’t want to chance that. I won’t.”

“You don’t want to chance what? Getting clear of a murder charge? But you’re prepared to risk getting convicted for illegal drug dealing?” Dobey heard his own incredulous tone. He was disturbed by Starsky’s stubbornness.

“That’s right,” Starsky fired back. “It’s a massive risk, I know. But if I don’t take it, what have I got? Durniak can make those men disappear. Then it’s just me, the only suspect – to say nothing of a large stash of stolen drugs to bolster my motives for killing her. That would leave me with no chance whatsoever.”

“You talk as though you get a say in how this will go down, Starsky. Not just a say, you want to call all the shots,” Dobey told him, feeling his blood pressure creeping up. “This doesn’t just concern you, but the Feds and the -”

“I don’t give a shit about the Feds!” Starsky growled.

“Starsk…settle down,” Hutch placated him smoothly. “The Captain just wants to go through our options  -”

“I don’t have any fuckin’ options but to do this one thing, and you know it as well as I do, Hutch! I know it’s a risk and a long shot, but it’s something. I won’t forgo this opportunity just to make it all nice for the Feds. It’s not their head on the chopping block. They’ve got nothing to lose except a big play to take down a mob boss.”

“Alright, Starsky, if you don’t care about the bigger picture in taking down Durniak,” Dobey turned in his seat and waved his pencil at Hutchinson, “what about your partner here?” He tossed his head toward Hutchinson. “I assume Hutch will be with you at the meet? There’s no way he would allow it to happen otherwise. Am I right?” Dobey didn’t wait for an answer but went on quickly. “So tell me, do you care about him? Hmm? Does it concern you that going into a meet with someone like Durniak solo, without backup or legal sanction, leaves the two of you risking ruined lives, if not death?”

For one moment, Dobey thought Starsky might either bolt or charge at him, he wore such a look of pained fury.

He watched his rationale affect Starsky, who bit his lip, closing his eyes as though trying to sort out his priorities.

“Of course, I don’t want to risk Hutch in anyway – if I could exclude him – ” Starsky started to say.

“Captain,” Hutch interrupted forcefully, raising his hand toward Starsky as if he could hold back whatever he was going to say. “Say it does work. Say we do make this meet and clear Starsky. Then it’ll be worth the risk. For me, it’s more than worth it. Getting Durniak is a bonus. My aim is to get my partner free of suspicion so he can get on with his life. So we can get on with our lives.”

Dobey leaned back in his chair, considering the possibilities. They had so much to lose, on all fronts. But the biggest risk his two men had to face was the very real possibility of losing each other.

~~~

The Santa Monica Homicide detectives were leaving one of the interrogation rooms when Carlson approached. They both nodded, acknowledging him in passing, but said nothing. He was still rankled that he was cut out of anything having to do with Vanessa Hutchinson’s murder investigation. It particularly irked him that they had just been interrogating Jake Webster – his collar, a man who could be of considerable interest to the investigation.

Carlson bided his time in the corridor outside the room where Simonetti conferred with the Santa Monica detectives. Simonetti told him he would share whatever developed from the Homicide team’s interview before he began questioning Webster himself. Webster and his lawyer were still in the interrogation room.

When Simonetti finally walked out of the room, he greeted Carlson.

“They’ve finished with Webster then?” Carlson asked.

Simonetti nodded. “He’s not under suspicion for the murder since he was in New York at the time of the murder. He’s more use to us in determining if Starsky or Hutchinson had any involvement in the theft of Durniak’s meth – in particular, Starsky’s motives in meeting with Mrs. Hutchinson on the night she was killed.”

“You think he’ll talk?” Carlson asked.

“Yes, I do. He and his lawyer were happy with the deal we were able to offer them.”

“Are you going to question him now?” Carlson knew his eagerness to be a part of the interview was evident and had been since he’d arrived at the precinct with Webster in tow.

“You know I can’t let you question him, Carlson.” Simonetti shook his head. “Dobey has taken this up the ladder to make sure you’re out of the case.” Simonetti’s tone was not sympathetic, but at least he sounded as if he understood. Carlson was grateful for that much.

“I know…I know,” Carlson said. “I just think this guy is the key to pinning down Starsky’s involvement with the stolen drugs and Hutchinson’s ex-wife. The fact that Webster was tearing Hutchinson’s trunk apart means he must know something about where they stashed the stolen meth.”

Simonetti looked uncertain. “Look, you know there’s little point in speculating until I question him. I’ll fill you in as soon as I’m done, so hang around if you can.”

Carlson was pleased that Simonetti was still prepared to keep him in the loop despite his being taken off the investigation.

As Simonetti left to return to the interrogation room, Carlson resigned himself to wait. Making his way to the nearest vending machine, he’d bide his time with some sugar and maybe put in a call to Clare. He’d been guilty of neglecting her since this whole thing had started, and knew she resented it. She resented, too, that this had dragged Starsky back into her personal life.

~~~

Less than half an hour later, Simonetti found Carlson back in his office. Carlson was just finishing up his phone call.

“Must have made short work of that, or else you hit a brick wall with him?” Carlson said.

“The former,” Simonetti said. “He’d calmed down considerably from when you’d apprehended him. He was co-operative. But, like I said, we gave him a good deal. He can walk away from the whole thing.”

“So?” Carlson asked impatiently as he tried to read Simonetti’s body language.

Simonetti rubbed the muscles at the back of his neck. “Well, it seems Starsky’s on the level about what he told us.”

Carlson ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said angrily before he could stop himself.

“According to Webster, Starsky had nothing to do with the stolen drugs or Vanessa Hutchinson. Webster was definite on that point.”

“You mean there was nothing personal going on between him and Hutchinson’s ex? Nothing sexual you mean or -”

“No – nothing at all. Not even prior contact. According to Webster, she intended to try to convince Starsky to use his relationship with the Durniaks to help her. She was sure that if she got him to hear her story, he might feel so worried about how it would look for his partner that he would help her. Webster said Vanessa believed Starsky would do anything to help his partner, even going back to his childhood roots to make contact with Tony Durniak. Putting Hutchinson in a precarious professional position was what she planned to use as her main card to get Starsky to co-operate.”

“And when did she tell all this to Starsky and request his assistance? Had they met up before the night she was murdered?” Carlson asked.

“No – Webster said that was the first and only time Vanessa met with Starsky by herself. The last time Webster spoke to her was after she had arranged the meeting with Starsky. She phoned Webster a few times after the meeting was set. She sounded unsettled about the meeting – not sure that Starsky would be receptive to her, especially since she was going behind Hutchinson’s back to see him. Apparently, Starsky had never liked her…even years ago.”

“And you’re quite sure that until that meeting Starsky knew nothing about the real reason she was in LA? That he new nothing about the stolen meth?”

“Yes, Webster was certain of that. It seems that Starsky’s only intention to meet her was to hear what she wanted to say.”

Carlson shook his head in disbelief. “I find that hard to believe…”

Carlson didn’t miss the flare of frustration in Simonetti’s eyes. “Nonetheless, that’s what Webster claims. He states there was no intent on Starsky’s part to meet with her for any reason other than that she requested it,” Simonetti stressed. “And there’s nothing to indicate any intent on Starsky’s part to commit any crime, let alone kill her.”

“Starsky is still the only suspect and the only person who was with her at the time of her death,” Carlson pointed out. “Webster hasn’t changed that. Until there’s proof of the two men Starsky claimed were responsible for the murder, nothing has changed. Did Webster say whether or not he knows anything about these two men?”

“He doesn’t know them, but did hear of them through his friend, Marco, the guy who originally stole Durniak’s meth. Marco was the connection between Webster and Vanessa Hutchinson. He’s giving the stenographer whatever details he knows about them now. At least we’ve got their names, which is more than we had before.”

Carlson paced across the width of the office. His certainty that Jake Webster was the key to uncovering Starsky’s guilt was quickly fading. Still, he couldn’t concede so easily. “So, tell me, Simonetti? Are you buying this? That Starsky is innocent of this whole thing? That he was just stuck in the middle of a messy situation that got a woman killed?”

“Carlson,” Simonetti said, “look, I’ve been where you are. I know how you feel.”

“What do you mean?”

“My dealings with Starsky and Hutchinson have never been smooth. Everyone in the department, including you, knows we have history.”

Carlson laughed sharply. “Of course I know that – but that’s endemic with the whole department. Name me one cop who likes us. IA hardly win prizes in popularity.”

“I’m not just talking about IA’s stigma,” Simonetti said. “I’m talking about how I viewed Starsky and Hutch – personally – for a long time. I wanted nothing more than to pin something on them because I was certain they were playing both sides of the field. Their profiles, arrest records, relationships with informants, and connections on the street – I thought it meant that underneath all the heroic glitz they were bad. But over the years I just couldn’t prove my suspicions. I’ll even admit that when this case landed on Starsky, that this time I might finally be proved right. But Webster’s statement has just shown me again how wrong I could be.”

“We don’t know enough about how the two of them might be involved with him. How can we be certain that Webster is not somehow connected to Starsky?” Carlson heard how pathetic he sounded, clinging to a hope that he still might prove Starsky’s guilt.

“Oh, come on! There’s nothing connecting them at all, and Webster has no conceivable reason to lie about Starsky. What would it get him?” When Carlson didn’t respond, Simonetti continued. “I’ve faced it – and now you have to as well. Starsky and Hutchinson are not what you want them to be. They aren’t dirty cops. Unorthodox? Sure. Loose with the rules? Certainly. Risk takers to the max. But in the end – they’re good, solid cops. You just have to accept that, like me, you were wrong.” Simonetti paused. “I hope you can do that, or you’ll be digging your own grave.”

Carlson was still mulling over Simonetti’s words when he realized Simonetti had walked away from him, headed back to the interrogation room and Webster.

“Good, solid cops.” The phrase played in Carlson’s head long afterwards. It was how he had always considered himself and his commitment to the Force. The realization that Starsky and Hutchinson might also be worthy of that label was sitting like a rock in his stomach. It would be a while before he’d be able to swallow that truth. However, one thing was becoming very clear. If he wanted to keep his job and the label of ‘solid cop’, he’d have to. No matter how hard it was to swallow.

~~~

As Hutch pressed a light kiss to Starsky’s forehead and rolled away, he knew that sleep wasn’t going to come easy to either of them. They were sharing a bed but, despite the physical proximity, Hutch worried about the emotional chasm between them. It had been steadily widening since they’d left the hotel and met with Dobey. Afterwards, the gap increased. Starsky made sure of that.

After the initial relief of being reunited that morning, Starsky had increasingly grown distant. Hutch continued to feel Starsky drifting away from him as the day progressed and they planned how to handle the meeting with Durniak.

It was as though Starsky believed that until this was over, he could not allow himself to be too close to Hutch. Hutch felt like Starsky was pulling away, preparing himself for an inevitable sharp separation. Even last night when they finally crawled into bed, Starsky had been withdrawn and short. Hutch knew why – better to cut himself off from Hutch before reality did it for him.

Hurt, but understanding Starsky’s twisted logic, Hutch resigned himself to rolling to his own side of the bed, seeking solace in the fact that at least his lover was beside him. In the early hours of the dark morning, he woke to the soft slide of a warm hand over his hip and then a firm arm encircling his waist, his neck tingling from his sleeping partner’s soft exhalations as Starsky nuzzled his chin into the crook of Hutch’s shoulder. Hutch allowed himself to relax into Starsky’s embrace, consoled that in sleep, at least, Starsky couldn’t help but reach for what he truly wanted.

~~~

The coffee was black and strong with just a hint of sugar to blunt the edge of bitterness. Just the way Tony Durniak liked it. He had always been an early riser. Over the years he found that it often gave him the upper hand. He quite liked to consider himself something akin to the proverbial bird – getting in first to feast on unsuspecting prey.

His men had finally found the two men who had once worked for him – the two that Starsky needed so badly. Of course, he had set his men the task to track them down some days earlier when he’d first become aware of their nefarious activities. Their possible involvement in a murder case was a secondary consideration, and only of consequence if it led the police back to him. However the unexpected development of his childhood acquaintance, David Starsky, being thrown into the mix, had added an unexpected bonus.

Now, not only would the men be punished for their stupidity of betraying the hand that fed them, but also Durniak would receive a double benefit of being able to trade them for the meth they had initially stolen from him. Not only would he get his meth back, he would finally get the opportunity to watch David Starsky sink lower than low. When Starsky brought the meth back to him, it would prove he was willing to throw away his career and his morality just to clear his name.

It would be one of the highlights of his life. Anticipating the imminence of that moment, Durniak swallowed the last of his coffee and reached for his cellphone to make the call.

When the first call went unanswered, Durniak’s mouth thinned with annoyance. Maybe he was expecting too much – expecting that his prey would be feeling cornered and apprehensive, waiting, hoping….sweating for his contact. He had imagined Starsky would be living on raw nerves, jumping at the first sound of a call. It was how he wanted him to be.

He waited a beat and hit the call button again, frustration mingling with anticipation, unfurling inside of him.

Wake up, David Starsky. I need you to dance for me.

~~~

“Oh God no… Too early…. Man…is that really my phone?” Starsky mumbled, his voice sleep tinged and husky as he rolled toward the side table and made a futile stab for the vibrating cell. In his semi coherent state, he knocked the phone to the floor where it landed out of reach. The clattering sound as it hit the floor confused him. A hard floor? Wooden floor. The hotel had carpeting not wood.

The ringing stopped.

Rubbing his whiskered jaw and his eyes, he began to make sense of his whereabouts. He squinted at the far wall and ceiling. Not the hotel at all, but Hutch’s bedroom alcove. They’d checked out yesterday evening. He remembered now.

It couldn’t be more than seven in the morning judging by the sunlight and the sound of traffic. They had returned to Venice Place last night after a full day at the precinct. They were both exhausted – mentally more than physically. The recall of their moods was coming back to him as he continued to wake up. There had been tension between them. Hutch was not pleased with him. There had been a definite distance between them as they had prepared to settle for the night. He remembered that much. As each moment passed, he was remembering more.

He and Hutch were together in bed – they’d gone to sleep beside each other. Physical distance caused by emotional distance. God, he was so tired…there was too much in his head.

Then as full wakefulness came to him, reality flooded in.

Durniak. Durniak, meth, and Nicky. Meeting with Dobey. Hutch pissed off. More discussions with Hutch. Planning and scheming… Hutch getting more frustrated… with me… frustrated because he thinks that I have begun to pull away from him.

His cell phone began to ring quietly again on the floor. He was awake now and made a sudden reach for the phone.

“Shit, shit!” He fumbled clumsily over the bed to snag it in his hands, keeping his voice low out of consideration for Hutch still sleeping beside him.

“Starsky.” He spoke into the phone while keeping one eye on Hutch who appeared to be still deep in sleep, his eyes hidden by his upper arm, his blond hair mussed on the pillow. Waiting for the caller to speak, he twisted away from Hutch, shifting carefully to the side of the bed to create as little disturbance as possible when he stood up.

“Good morning, Detective, I have a present for you,” the caller said.

As he answered the phone, Starsky stood and moved away from the bed, not entirely sure why he did so. Maybe he was unconsciously putting some distance between the caller and the still sleeping Hutch? Nonetheless, as he’d known it would be, it was Tony Durniak on the phone. When he heard Durniak’s voice, Starsky looked down at his still sleeping partner. Hutch seemed so peaceful and beautiful, his long body stretched out in repose, seemingly resistant to the chaos that was crowding Starsky.

~~~

Hutch waited for Starsky to finish the call. The phone had woken him, but he’d still been drowsy as Starsky had answered. He’d become wide-awake at the tight sound that came into Starsky’s voice as he left the bed. Hutch knew then who the caller was.

The call had come far sooner than he had anticipated, and way too soon for him to feel prepared. Could Durniak already have his half of the deal ready?

Hutch hated this, and hated especially how Durniak was driving a wedge between him and his partner. But Hutch knew that his partner was as taut as a trip wire and would stay like this until this thing was over.

He heard Starsky stop talking. Heard him go into the bathroom. Heard the water blasting in the basin, the toilet flush, the water blasting again before he finally emerged.

Starsky’s body was as naked as his expression, but Hutch could read it all from his side of the bed. “I’m not going to like what you’re going to tell me, am I, Starsk?”

“You knew it was going to happen. It’s just happening a lot sooner than either of us expected it would.”

“He has the men?”

“Says so.”

“Fast worker.”

“Like Dobey said,” Starsky came closer to the bed, “he has the power to be.”

Hutch pressed his lips together and nodded, understanding everything Starsky hadn’t said.

“Did you tell him about the meth?” Hutch asked.

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure he’ll show up himself?”

“I told him that was the condition, but I know he will anyway.”

“Because he wants to make you sweat.” Hutch sat up now, his anger and anxiety making it impossible for him to stay still.

“I guess he’s waited a long time to see me like that. He tried too many times when we were younger, but I always stood my ground.”

Hutch felt his anger build more. “Did you tell him I’ll be with you?”

“He said he looks forward to meeting you.” Starsky laughed wryly.

Hutch wore a twisted smile. “I can’t say that the pleasure is mutual.” He pulled himself up higher in the bed and held out his arm. “I think you know I’m more than worried about how this will go down.”

“I know.”

“I’m also worried about how this is making you feel.”

Starsky closed the distance between them and reached out to take Hutch’s arm, unresisting as Hutch pulled him onto the bed.

“I know that, too, and I’m sorry. My mind’s twisted up, and until it’s over -” Starsky said quietly.

“I understand that, babe. But I don’t want you to drift away from me like you did last night, like you did yesterday. You cut me out and even though I know why, I can’t let you do that to us.” Hutch was pleased when Starsky allowed himself to be folded firmly into his arms. As Hutch held him, Hutch could feel some of the tension leave Starsky’s body. “I just want it over, Starsk. Over, and behind us. Only then can I have all of you.”

“You will, Hutch,” Starsky told him, turning to reciprocate the embrace. “We’ll have that – and lots more.”

“And so it’s all arranged?” Hutch could barely ask as he tightened his hold on Starsky’s warm body. He just wanted a few more seconds of this perfect closeness.

“It happens tonight,” Starsky said, almost bluntly, something fatalistic sounding in his words.

“How the hell did Durniak bring it together so quickly…?” Hutch wondered.

“Does it matter?” Starsky held on tighter, sliding his naked skin along Hutch’s, melding their bodies into one warm loving tangle. “Either way it ends tonight, Hutch.”

 

Chapter Fifteen

It was the orange glow of the cigarette tip that gave Starsky away. Otherwise Hutch might not have noticed him, half hidden as he was with his dark head and dark clothing blending into the gloomy half-light of nightfall. He was sitting on the ground, back against the balcony wall with his legs pulled up against his chest, his arms propped on his knees, cigarette held loosely in his hand.

Hutch made his way over to the figure in the dark and eased down to sit beside him. Before he had a chance to talk, Starsky leaned over to the side to flick the falling ash into the top of the cigarette packet’s lid. He took another long drag on the smoke before resting his head back against the trellised wall. He didn’t look at Hutch as he spoke.

“If you came out here to nag me about smoking again, you’ve got lousy timing. If ever I needed a cigarette, it’s right now.”

“No, I came out here looking for you,” Hutch said truthfully. The cigarette and the fact that Starsky still needed the nicotine hit was neither surprising nor a priority.

“Didn’t hear you get back,” Starsky said, his voice a little dull. “Thought you’d be longer. Did you get it all organized?”

“Yeah. It’s done,” Hutch answered. “The meth is inside.”

Starsky looked over toward the doorway into the apartment at the mention of the meth. Hutch could see the tension build in his shoulders as he did, before taking another quick desperate drag of his cigarette and then stubbing it out hard before turning to him. “Is Dobey okay with all this, do you think? With the way I want it played out?”

Hutch shrugged. “He’s accepted it. How he feels, I don’t really know. Probably just as worried as I feel about it…all that could go wrong, and what could happen to you as a result.”

Starsky shook his head, a glimmer of a smile on his face. “No – nobody can be as worried as you, Hutch. You are my designated number-one worrier. Some days I wonder how you can carry so much worry about me around in that head of yours.”

“Years of practice, I guess,” Hutch said drily. “You give me plenty of opportunities to perfect it.”

“Well, after tonight, I want you to take a holiday from it, okay? After tonight, I want you to promise me you’ll take a full month’s break from worryin’ about me – about everything.”

Hutch wanted to say he’d like nothing better than to be given the chance. But, after tonight, there were no guarantees how anything would be – for either of them. It was far easier to simply go along with Starsky’s light humor. “A month of rest from my worry duties? So generous.”

Starsky was watching him, clearly understanding what was really going through his mind. “You know?” Starsky moved his hand over to squeeze Hutch’s thigh, “I got a gut feelin’ this thing will go down alright for us.”

“God, I hope you’re gut is right on this one, Starsk…”

“You know my gut rarely lets me down.”

Hutch chuckled, feeling better that Starsky had offered him a chance to lighten up even as the most dangerous part of their plan was close to beginning. “I could say many things about your gut, Starsky, but not one of them includes it being a reliable source of prediction. Still – I’ll take it on good faith.”

With that, Hutch snatched up Starsky’s wrist and squinted in the dim light at his watch. “It’s nearly seven. Time we made a move. You feeling ready?” Hutch stood up, holding out his hand to pull Starsky up to stand beside him. They faced each other.

“Ready? No,” Starsky answered, and Hutch heard the depth of honesty in his voice. “But I want it over. That’s all I know for certain.”

Hutch nodded. “Then that’s enough. Let’s get this show on the road. We’ve got lives to get on with it.”

~~~

They drove to the meet in silence. Part of it felt familiar to Hutch, having Starsky in the driver’s seat, his beloved Mustang finally back in his possession and out of impound. And partly it felt as if the whole experience was surreal. They might have been on their way to any of the many busts or call outs they had attended over the years, and yet, there was something different about this night. Hutch knew a cold calm was barely holding Starsky together while a gripping dread coursed through his own body – any number of things could happen to make this end badly. The success of this meet would determine Starsky’s chance at being exonerated of a murder charge.

And what of Nick? Hutch was worried that Starsky had made little or no mention of him except in the negative… Starsky’s reticence about his brother, and his bitter anger whenever his name was brought up, concerned Hutch no end. Sooner or later, the issue of Nick’s betrayal would have to be faced – but that depended on Durniak keeping his end of the bargain and handing Nick over along with Samuels and Bendetti, the two men named by Jake Webster who were actually responsible for Vanessa’s death.

Starsky navigated through the wet slicked streets. It had begun to rain earlier and, although it was a light rain, it reduced visibility and added an ominous layer to the whole atmosphere. “There’s the airfield gate up ahead. Maybe the rain will fuck up his plans to fly out after the meet,” Starsky said suddenly, his first words since they’d hit the road.

It made Hutch jump. “Let’s hope we’ll have him before he tries to take off. Rain or no rain. The aim is to take the bastard before he climbs into that plane,” Hutch said harshly.

Starsky didn’t answer him, just drove on towards the airfield gates. Once inside the main gates, Starsky slowed the car, each of them looking for signs of the hangar where Starsky had been directed to meet Durniak.

“His men said it was the one at the end of the main road,” Starsky said. “That’s it ahead, with the blue doors.”

Hutch peered through the rain and saw two sleek sedans parked alongside it. “He’s inside and waiting for us.”

Starsky pulled his Mustang to the side of the building. They both checked their guns and holsters. Starsky leaned behind him and picked up the oversized briefcase that held the parcel of drugs. “I’ve got the meth. The side door over there is the one he described to me. There’ll be a man waiting to let us in; at least, that’s the plan.”

Hutch nodded, his adrenalin pumping. From the glow of the bright hangar spotlights, he saw Starsky watching him with the slightest hesitation before he moved to open his driver’s door.

As he did, Hutch reached across and snared his arm. “We’re going to do this, partner. Okay?” Hutch gripped his arm even harder. He wanted to hear the same conviction in Starsky’s reply – he needed to hear it before they went in and faced whatever awaited them.

Starsky looked out through the wet windshield. “We’ve done this plenty of times – nothin’ new for us,” he said. “But this time, if the deal goes sour, it’s me who goes to jail, not the bad guys. So yeah, I’m countin’ on the both of us to do this.”

“Good. Then let’s get it over with.” Hutch pushed opened his door.

They stepped out of the car and into the dismal drizzle before jogging across the concrete expanse toward the side door. Halting at the door, they turned in sync towards each other. Through the rainy gloom and the light bouncing off the wet concrete, the two of them faced each other. Starsky gave a little nod and swallowed. Hutch heard his own heavy intake of breath, something between a shudder of despair and resignation. The surge of blood pounded in them both as they gave a quick and last-minute look at each other as if to voice their silent message to take care and do their best to stay in one piece. But this time, there was something added to the risk. This one was personal on so many levels.

Hutch went to raise his hand to knock on the door. Before he could, Starsky grabbed his hand mid-air and held it tight, still aloft, suspended. Then in one quick move, he brought his head down close to Hutch’s face. Taken off guard, Hutch turned his head, their faces only a breath apart.

Starsky leaned so close to his ear Hutch felt the movement of his lips as he spoke. “Can’t do what I want to do, but I need to say it at least. You know that I love you, Hutch, don’t you?”

Even as Hutch reveled in the deep sincerity of Starsky’s words, he refused to allow himself any outward reciprocation. To do so would only leave them both too distracted to proceed.

“Talk is cheap, buddy.” Hutch gave him his best fraternal clap on the shoulder in a forced effort to hold back his brimming emotions. “Show me what you mean when this is over. Now,” he turned and faced the door, holding up his hand to rap against the metal, “better not keep this bastard waiting any longer.”

~~~

Inside the hangar, Nicky was sweating buckets. He stood sandwiched between Rico, a thickly accented first-generation Italian, and Lou a big dark, smooth-skinned Nigerian – two of Durniak’s longest standing soldiers from the East Coast. Nicky knew them from New York and had, at one point in his brief career in Durniak’s employ, considered them to be, if not exactly friends, at least on friendly terms. Now they were his jailors.

He’d been put in a corner with these guards while Durniak stood about twenty feet away in front of him in the middle of the expansive hangar. Durniak was flanked by another two heavyweights. Those two were the same men who had nabbed him and Davey from Starbucks, both distinctly threatening because of their facial marks. One had a long puckered scar on his face and the other a mashed-up nose and distorted eye. Nicky recalled Davey referring to him as the “the Boxer” when they rode in the elevator to Durniak’s office. Nicky thought it was a miracle the Boxer didn’t put his own fist into Davey’s face for saying it. But that was his brother. Always ready to say whatever he felt like, especially if it antagonized someone he didn’t like.

Even thinking about Davey left Nicky feeling like a stone had been dropped into his gut. Davey left Durniak’s thinking the worst of him. Thinking he was a sellout, a traitor to his own brother. It had never been so bad between them. Nicky hoped that in some way he could make his big brother feel differently about him.

He wasn’t sure of their actual names but it was the two men with Durniak that Nicky feared the most. He’d figured out they were part of Durniak’s LA organization and free with their fists as Nicky had learned in the past twelve hours. His body was sore and bruised. The Boxer had certainly lived up to the name that Davey had pinned on him. He took an almost professional interest in the art of using his fists.

The Boxer and his partner were holding the two men, Samuels and Bendetti, who had supposedly killed Hutchinson’s ex. They both seemed resigned to their fate. Samuels, the taller of the two, was fair-haired, and his austere good looks reminded him of Hutchinson; maybe that was why Nicky had taken an instant dislike to him. Bendetti’s dark hair fell low on his shoulders, straight and sleek. They certainly didn’t look like criminals, let alone drug pushers or murderers. When Nicky heard them talk, he could tell they were educated. He remembered what Davey had told him about their connection to Vanessa’s dead boyfriend, and how they’d all been involved in the financial industry. Now they were either looking at a long jail sentence or death at Durniak’s hands.

Durniak’s light airplane was parked behind them, near the back of the building, close to the wide hangar doors, ready to take Durniak away as soon as the exchange was completed. When they’d first come into the hangar, Durniak had spent some time quietly discussing something with a small, squat man who’d moved about the plane, checking out the engine and the wheels while Durniak talked to him. Nicky realized he must be the pilot. He’d never seen him before. It was a big space for only one plane, but Nicky assumed Durniak had kept the area clear for his own purposes. Every small sound echoed and bounced off the metal sides of the structure and the high roof above, the concrete floor making the cavernous atmosphere even more hollow and cold.

Nicky had been taking in the layout of the hangar for the past ten minutes, noting three rows of heavy steel shelving off to the side, along with work benches, storage cupboards, and hanging racks that housed small machinery, repair tools, and plane parts. There were more storage and large machinery pieces behind him as well. The smell of the hangar was thick with diesel fumes, which was making Nicky’s head throb even worse than it had been. He was still dealing with the effects that Hutchinson’s fist had left on his jaw when Durniak’s men thought it would be fun to layer up the damage.

Although not privy to Durniak’s plans, Nicky had figured out what might go down if Davey turned up and handed over the meth. The waiting seemed endless though they’d only arrived half an hour ago. Nicky considered the whole ordeal a hardship. The stress and fear was more than he could take and cold sweat pooled at the base of his spine. Would he and Davey get out of this? And if they did, would his brother ever want anything to do with him again? The worst of it was that his freedom all hinged on Davey.

No matter what his brother thought of him, or how Hutchinson could see only the worst in him, he really had been trying to look out for his big brother. He’d kept telling himself that over and over since Davey had turned a look of pure disgust on him during the meeting with Durniak. Davey just didn’t get the full picture of his intentions and was still being influenced by Hutchinson’s prejudiced view of him. Nicky knew that since the very beginning, Hutchinson had taken a dislike to him and now – well, now he knew that the blond hated and mistrusted him.

Davey needed to let him plead his case – without Hutchinson around. The fact that Davey was his brother really did matter to Nick. Sure, he wanted to get on Durniak’s good side in the process, maybe score a lucrative job by helping him get his meth back. Hell, a man needed to secure a livelihood, didn’t he? He stood little chance of making it in the world without using some shortcuts to earn quick money.

If he could’ve persuaded Davey to give him the meth, he’d felt confident he could get it back to Durniak, make himself a name–and some money–and save Davey from getting caught with it in his possession. When Nick came to LA, he was convinced his brother was holding the meth – no doubt seduced by Hutchinson’s bitch of an ex-wife into helping her. If Hutch had kept his big mouth and fists out of it, Nick might have found a way to convince Davey to give him the drugs and then all would have been sweet.

Now, it was far from sweet. It was shit. His life was in danger and so was Davey’s – well, if not his life, certainly his career. Once he handed over the drugs to Durniak, Davey would be toast. Durniak would get away with the meth and bring Davey down for his involvement in the dirty deal. Nicky was damn certain of that much.

~~~

“They’re here, boss!” Franco, a heavyset Hispanic posted at the hangar door, alerted Durniak. “You want us to let them in now?”

Durniak raised his head at Franco’s call. He’d assigned him to the door because he was neither smart nor fast, just big. At six foot four, the young Hispanic was the tallest of the crew he’d handpicked from his LA operation, and seemed the obvious one to plant at the doorway as the sentry.

“That’s what I’m waiting for, you fool!” He turned quickly to Rico and Lou who were holding Nick Starsky. “Bring him up closer so his brother can see he’s unharmed.”

He then turned to address Bendetti and Samuels, fixing them with a contemptuous look. Idiots. Traitors. Stupid or audacious enough to think that they could steal from him and live to reap the benefits. Just because they had brains enough to earn college degrees seemed to make them think they could outsmart someone with his power. If he didn’t need them to trade with Starsky, they wouldn’t have lived more than five minutes after his men had dropped them at his feet. “You two say and do nothing unless I direct you to, understand? If you do – and this goes for you, too, Nick,” he motioned toward the younger Starsky, “my men will stop you with a bullet.”

Bendetti and Samuels looking uneasy and nodded their assent.

Nicky, however, the most stupid of the lot, braved a response. “I’ll stay put as long as you don’t hurt Davey.”

Durniak smirked, amused by the tenacity of the man. “Courageous words from someone who hasn’t shown an ounce of courage through all of this. Just keep your mouth shut, Nick – if you can.”

Durniak watched as Franco led Starsky and his blond partner toward the center of the hangar. The detectives walked side-by-side, close and in synch. They walked slowly, purposefully, their eyes scoping out everything, and yet Durniak had the feeling that two sets of blue eyes never left his face as they made their way towards him. Durniak’s jaw twitched under their intensive scrutiny.

Starsky’s blond partner made no attempt to cover his holstered gun, pushing his jacket to the side, as if ready to use it. Hutchinson was already trying to break him down and he hadn’t even said a word yet. Both of them wore serious expressions, but of the two, Hutchinson’s look bordered on predatory. Durniak had no doubt the blond wanted to put a bullet in his head. The man was a study in suppressed violence. The tick in Durniak’s jaw became an ache as tension built in his neck.

Despite his unease, Durniak felt drawn to study the blond detective. He couldn’t help but be impressed. There was something regal about this man. Starsky wore his hostility differently, like a caged animal about to leap. Hutchinson, in contrast, reminded Durniak of a gentleman walking toward a duel at dawn, dispassionate and cold-eyed.

The detectives halted about twenty feet from him, both of them disregarding Franco’s direction to stop earlier. Starsky darted around Franco before the big man could react, putting himself closer to Durniak. Clearly, Starsky wanted to be difficult, in contrast to Hutchinson’s more subtle display of menace.

When Franco attempted to take action, Durniak waved him away. “Leave them, Franco. It’s not important. Let Detective Starsky flex his muscles if he feels the need.”

Durniak turned to Starsky’s partner. “Detective Hutchinson, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you before. I’ve known your partner for many years – we – ah – share history.” Durniak looked back briefly at Starsky who stared at him with unconcealed contempt. “Perhaps you should advise your hot-headed partner that his behavior could be construed as threatening. Franco, or any of my men, could take exception to it.”

Hutchinson shrugged, unperturbed. “You hear that, Starsky? Franco found your behavior threatening.”

“Then I suggest, Durniak, that you keep Franco and everyone else out my face,” Starsky said, looking down at the bulky briefcase he’d carried in. “I came to do business, not bow and scrape.”

“Yes – the business at hand then,” Durniak said agreeably. “You have the meth, obviously. I trust it is the actual parcel stolen so stupidly, by -” Durniak glanced at Bendetti and Samuels behind him, “these treacherous employees. Let me see it.”

Starsky lifted the briefcase, and Hutch held it level so Starsky could open it, displaying the contents.

Durniak turned briefly and motioned to the tall, dark-skinned man next to Nick. “Lou, you were the one to parcel this batch up – take a look.”

Lou nodded and stepped up to where Hutch held the case. The tall Nigerian examined the packaging and contents, then nodded at his boss. “It’s the same package, Mr Durniak. Doesn’t look as though the seals have been tampered with.”

Hutch shut the briefcase, and Starsky once again held it at his side.

Durniak noticed then how Starsky’s gaze turned to Samuels and Bendetti and remained fixed on the two men, studying them, before glancing sideways and raising an eyebrow at his partner. Durniak could see Starsky was already forming questions. “Are these the two?” Starsky asked flatly.

“Yes, of course. My two very stupid and disloyal former employees,” Durniak answered.

“How do I know these are the men who broke into my apartment and killed Vanessa? They both wore masks that night.”

“Go ahead,” Durniak said levelly. “Do whatever you need to confirm it. I didn’t expect you to settle for my word.”

“Step forward,” Starsky directed them and waited as Durniak nodded his assent.

The two men came closer as did the guards flanking them. Starsky’s gaze settled for a moment on his two LA guards. “Starsky, I trust you will remember my men from yesterday, Amadio and Costa,” Durniak asked him.

“Who could forget faces like those?” Starsky said. “Pull them back so I can talk to these two. I don’t want them breathing down their necks while I do.”

“Amadio, Costa – step back for now. I don’t think Detective Starsky is stupid enough to do anything rash with these two. Bendetti and Samuels are his ticket out of jail.”

Starsky took his time looking at the two men in question. Samuels, the taller fair-haired one, surveyed Starsky with his own interest while Bendetti affected a casual indifference to the measuring up Starsky was giving him.

“Mark Samuels and Rick Bendetti – meet David Starsky,” Durniak waved his hand toward Starsky and Hutchinson, “the cop who’s been taking the heat for your untidy fuck-up. And this man,” he indicated the stony-faced Hutchinson, “is Detective Hutchinson, the man whose ex-wife you managed to leave bleeding out on Starsky’s apartment floor.”

Durniak felt a rush of satisfaction when Hutchinson flinched and looked like he was struggling with himself not to move forward.

Starsky’s mouth drew into an even tighter line as his hand brushed his partner’s arm, obviously not missing Hutchinson’s reaction. “Ignore it,” Starsky said softly as he turned his attention back to Samuels and Bendetti. “Describe what happened that night,” Starsky ordered.

Bendetti looked at Samuels quickly before he began outlining the events succinctly: how the two of them broke in, what they wore, and in what colors. Starsky nodded slowly as he listened to their recount, but said nothing that suggested he was convinced.

“Something else you can tell him? I’m afraid Detective Starsky looks a little doubtful,” Durniak said to Samuels and Bendetti.

Then Samuels looked at Starsky pointedly, lifting his forefinger up as though to demonstrate the point. “Yeah. We thought you were Vanessa’s husband-Marco told us about him. You played along and pretended to be him – but now we know it was this guy here.” Samuels indicated Hutchinson, and Durniak saw Starsky give his partner a small nod, then relax a little. Obviously, this information was a key piece of proof for him.

Bendetti spoke up again. “Vanessa panicked and tried to run. You told her to calm down; you knew she was starting to lose it. She should’ve just cooperated, but instead, she tried to wrestle my gun away…. The gun went off while we struggled. Got her in the chest. I finished her off – she was three quarters gone anyway. Stupid woman – if — ”

Hutchinson made an anguished sound and tensed, his right hand moving closer to his holster. Bendetti realized his mistake and took a step backwards, his eyes on Hutchinson’s gun. Again, Durniak was surprised to see that one light touch from Starsky and nothing more than a soft “Hutch” had the blond settling immediately.

“Have they given you enough?” Durniak asked in a clipped tone.

Ignoring his question, Hutchinson gritted his teeth. He stared hard at Bendetti and Samuels. “You’ll testify to all of this?”

Both men nodded. “Mr. Durniak explained the terms. We know what we have to do,” Samuels said.

Durniak clicked his fingers at Costa and Amadio, and they pulled Bendetti and Samuels away from Starsky.

“So?” Starsky fixed Durniak with a direct stare. “How do you want to do this? I won’t hand over the stuff till you give me the men, and Hutch can secure them.”

Durniak nodded, considering the situation. “You haven’t asked about your brother, Starsky. You still want him thrown in as a bonus?” He indicated Nicky behind him.

Hutchinson moved closer to Starsky. When Starsky said nothing, just looked coldly toward his brother, Hutchinson answered instead. “Nick comes with us – as agreed.”

“Doesn’t seem like Starsky cares either way,” Durniak said with a smirk.

“Keep your opinion to yourself,” Hutchinson barked.

Durniak smiled. He had hit a sore point obviously.

“Alright,” he said, looking at the two witnesses. “You can cuff them, but they stay in the hangar until you hand over the meth. Once it’s in my possession, I’ll give you Nick.”

Starsky and Hutchinson looked at each other again and nodded. “Send them over,” ordered Starsky. “One at a time.”

Samuels walked toward them, as Hutch stepped forward and snapped a pair of cuffs on his wrists, frisked him, and then attached manacles to his ankles, which also attached to the cuffs. Only then did Hutch nudge him towards Starsky. “Now Bendetti.”

Hutch repeated the process. When he was finished, he looked towards Nick and the guards bracketing him. “Once Starsky has handed you the meth, let Nick come to us.”

Durniak was surprised when Nick blurted out, “Don’t hand it over, Davey. Don’t do it!”

Starsky, after ensuring they’d secured the two men, moved towards Durniak as though he hadn’t heard his brother.

Nick tried again as Starsky stood in front of Durniak, ready to pass the briefcase to him. “I wanted to help you, Davey, but you wouldn’t believe me. I would’ve helped you if you’d just cooperated. Now look what you’re doin’.” Nick’s voice was rising in desperation, as Starsky still showed no reaction – but Durniak could tell Hutchinson was.

He didn’t like the electricity sparking off the blond detective who was closer to him. His guards also noticed, growing wary, their eyes flicking from Durniak to the two detectives and back. He glanced behind him quickly and saw Rico was keeping a grip on the squirming Nick.

Starsky held out the briefcase. “Here, take your damned drugs. I wished I’d never set eyes on them, let alone have to deliver them to you.”

Durniak accepted the briefcase. He was surprised to feel so little of the excitement he had anticipated at finally getting the valuable stash back from Starsky’s hands. He’d expected to enjoy much more this unexpected opportunity to force Starsky to compromise his values and his career. But his reaction was actually overshadowed by his relief at having the meth returned.

“This is my property, “Durniak said to Starsky. “I’m the rightful owner. Think of yourself as doing a good deed – returning a stolen item back to the person who lost it.”

“Vanessa wouldn’t have died, or her boyfriend, either, and I wouldn’t be a murder suspect, if it wasn’t for this stuff,” Starsky argued. “These drugs will destroy countless lives once you put them on the street.” His repressed emotion was clear in his voice.

“Stand on your moral high ground, Starsky, but people make their own choices. Eventually they pay the price for those choices,” Durniak said, staring Starsky in the face. “Who are you to take such a principled stand? You’re profiting by the same transaction, getting what you need by trading my property back to me. I’m making money; you’re guaranteeing your freedom. Either way – you’re doing it at a cost to others, just like you’re accusing me of doing.”

That gave him the first real buzz of triumph as he saw the effect his accusation had on Starsky, this man he’d resented ever since his youth. “What’s wrong Starsky? You almost look ill,” Durniak said, laughing.

Starsky took a step back; Durniak was almost certain that he heard Starsky choke on a sound of anguish before Hutchinson interrupted.

“Starsky! Don’t listen to him.” Hutchinson moved closer to his partner, dragging the two-manacled men with him. “Look – go secure these two in the car. I’ll finish up here and get Nick.”

Durniak could see indecision on Starsky’s face. He obviously didn’t want to leave his partner, but he could also see that what he’d said made sense.

Hutchinson gave Bendetti and Samuels a push towards Starsky, nodding at the side door that the two of them had used to enter the hangar. Starsky said nothing but turned, herding their prisoners to the exit. Franco went with them and opened the door, allowing all three men to leave before shutting the door behind them.

Hutchinson watched until his partner was outside. As soon as Starsky left, Durniak was taken off guard at how suddenly and unexpectedly Hutchinson whipped around and jabbed his finger at him. “You’ve got what you wanted, so why waste time trying to fuck with my partner’s mind? Now send Nick over and let’s be done with this.”

Durniak was quietly savoring Hutchinson’s anger when he heard a cry from behind him.

“Wait! Wait one god damn minute. Hutch!”

Durniak turned to see Nick struggling with Rico and Lou. “You’re gonna let my brother do this? I can’t believe it!”

“Keep out of it, Nick,” Hutchinson warned.

“You’re s’posed to be his partner, and now you’re helping Davey throw away everything?” Nick persisted despite the almost violent warning Hutchinson shot him visually. “Those guys- Samuels and Bendetti – don’t you think they’ll testify that Davey gave Durniak his meth back before they’ll testify to killing Vanessa? You must be idiots if you think this is goin’ to help him…”

“Nick – shut up!” Hutchinson hissed.

Nick strained against Rico’s grip. “I won’t let Davey do it.”

Durniak faced Nick. “Hutchinson is right. Shut your mouth, Nick, or I’ll have my men shut it for you. I can’t stand the sound of your whining.”

“Durniak,” Hutchinson said quickly, “we’re done here. Send Nick across to me like you agreed.”

“Let the idiot go,” Durniak ordered without making eye contact with Nick. He turned to Lou who was nearest him. “Open the main hangar doors and let the pilot know I’m ready to taxi the plane out.” Lou nodded and moved away from Rico and Nick to do as he was ordered. He walked over to the electrical controls that housed the mechanism for the main hangar door.

Durniak moved aside to let Rico walk past with Nick towards Hutchinson.

Durniak couldn’t resist a parting shot. “Here he is, Detective. The fool’s your responsibility now, so -” he never finished as suddenly he was knocked violently to the side, almost losing his balance completely.

Nick had shaken off Rico’s hold and careened heavily into Durniak shouting, “Fucking asshole! You’re not getting that shit back!” In the chaos, Durniak lost his hold on the briefcase, as Nick lunged and seized it roughly from his hands.

Hutchinson’s booming voice rang out. “Nick! No!”

Nick, gripping the briefcase, pushed Durniak back harder, this time succeeding in knocking him to the ground. Putting his head down, Nick tucked the case under his arm as though it were a football and made a dash for the rising hangar door with all the zeal of a running back seeing a gap on the field.

In the mayhem, Durniak heard a couple of his men arming their guns. Still disoriented, he watched Hutchinson draw his own gun at the same time.

“Nick!” Hutchinson roared while watching all the guards.

Rico had run to assist Durniak but Amadio and Costa reacted quickly by pulling out their guns.

Hutchinson yelled at Durniak’s men, “Wait – don’t shoot! I’ll get him to -”

Durniak scrambled to his feet, brushing off Rico’s assistance. He shouted at the same time as Hutchinson, overriding him. “Don’t shoot in here! Hold your fire! You could damage the plane, for Christ’s sake! Just grab him!” As he got his footing under himself again, Durniak saw Nick running in panic.

Franco, closest to the side door, sprinted towards Nick, flanking him. Unable to reach the yawning exit, Nick was forced to change directions abruptly, and bolted for the back of the hanger.

Hutchinson ran after him, calling his name.

Durniak knew the exit door back there was locked, but the rear hangar was used for storage. Nick would be able to hide among shelves and equipment, delaying everything. Durniak wondered if he should send one of his men to fetch Starsky who might talk some sense into his idiot brother.

Nick weaved around a large bank of steel storage shelves, heavily stocked with engine and body parts, which provided a solid wall of cover. He disappeared from Durniak’s sight as Franco continued to pursue him. Evading Franco, Nick emerged farther down the line of shelving, trying to get closer to the rear hangar door. He ignored Hutchinson’s frantic calls completely.

This had gone on long enough. Deciding against bringing Starsky into it and slowing things down even more, Durniak made eye contact with Lou, who stood nearest the plane. There was no sight of the pilot and Durniak cursed, wondering if the man had run when the action started heating up. He was a civilian and not connected to Durniak’s mob directly.

“Where the hell has the fucking pilot gone?” Durniak called out to no one in particular, but needing to vent his frustration.

Nick had drawn the other men farther away from the plane. Durniak could see that Lou had the best and clearest line of sight on him. Lou lifted his gun, drawing a bead on the scrambling Nick, but his plan was foiled when Hutchinson leaped toward him from around the other side of the plane. The blond detective slammed into the big Nigerian with a full body tackle. Despite their comparative size difference, Hutchinson seemed to have little trouble in sending Lou down, knocking him heavily to the floor.

~~~

Hutch moved quickly after tackling the man who was about to shoot Nick. He wasted no time in pistol-whipping him once, knocking him unconscious, then darted back around the plane and headed for the shelving. “Nick, take cover!”

Nick slunk back behind his shield of shelves as Hutch put himself between Nick and Durniak’s other armed men. Pulling at his collar urgently, Hutch hissed into the tiny microphone planted there like a button, knowing Starsky would hear the call, too. “EVERYONE IN! NOW, NOW, NOW!”

A commotion sounded outside, proving that Dobey and the SWAT team had heard Hutch’s call.

Durniak and his men now turned their attention to the wall of police cars rapidly lining up outside the open hanger. Durniak cried out, “You bastard, Starsky! You set me up!” Hearing the shocked anger in Durniak’s voice made Hutch realize how little this man from Starsky’s past really knew about his partner.

Of course he set you up! You think for one moment that Starsky would allow you to walk away from all of this, even if it meant clearing his name of murder?

Dobey’s voice boomed through a bullhorn over a background of squealing tires and sirens. “This is the police. You are surrounded. Give up your weapons and come out with your hands on your head.”

Hutch could hear Nick close by, still hidden. He knew any sudden action could draw police fire, which could make the place erupt into a shooting gallery.

“Stay put, Nick,” Hutch called. “I’ve called for backup, so don’t make any stupid moves till we get the all clear.”

As Durniak’s men were diverted by the influx of police, Hutch heard Nick scrabbling to move. “Nick! Where the hell are you going?”

Suddenly, Nick darted out past the cover of the shelves and ran toward the rear of the hangar. Did he know there was a rear door? Was he trying to get to that?

“Nicky! Nicky! What are you doin’?” The sound of Starsky’s voice around the open hangar door shook Hutch’s concentration. He could see Starsky had drawn his gun, but he could only take cover around the doorframe, which was not much protection.

“I’m not letting you fuck up your life, Davey!” Nick screamed across the hangar. A wail of sirens drowned out Nick’s voice; there was no way Starsky could have heard it. Hutch, however, could not only hear what Nick cried out but also the desperation in his voice and realized how fragile Nick’s emotional state was.

“For Christ’s sake, Nicky…” Starsky yelled, fighting to be heard, “if you want to help me, then drop the briefcase, and get down.”

Hutch could see Durniak’s men turning to him. His orders about not firing near the plane had left them confused. Costa seemed rattled and trigger-happy, and the one called Amadio looked desperately at Durniak.

“What do ya’ want us to do, boss?” Amadio yelled, but even as he did, Costa opened fire on the SWAT team thundering through the entrance. Clattering gunfire was deafening in the vacuous space. The hollow airfield structure amplified the crack and spit of the semi-automatics and the shouts of men. Bullets pinged off the metal structures and the cartridges bouncing off the concrete floor reverberated in the large cavernous space.

Nick was now completely out of sight, somewhere in the back of the hangar behind the plane. Hutch crouched, making his way toward the rear as well, feeling safer now that the action was confined to the front of the hangar. Then, suddenly, to his left he caught a blur of movement. Durniak was making a break for it in the same direction as Nick, having left his men, who were held down by the cops.

“Shit! Durniak…” Hutch swore softly to himself at almost the same time that Starsky’s voice rang out.

“Hutch! Watch out – Durniak – ” Starsky sounded frantic, his voice coming from further inside the hangar.

Hutch whirled around, catching a glimpse of Starsky as he moved efficiently from cover to cover, trying to get over to the bank of shelving where Hutch was positioned.

Then Nick was suddenly running back toward Hutch and he forgot all about Starsky as he roared at him, “Nick! Nick!”

“Fucking door!” Nick cried. “They locked the fucking door.” He continued running toward Hutch, the briefcase still in his arms.

Just then, Durniak sprang forward, his gun up, clearly surprising Nick. Nick backpedalled as Hutch leaped toward Nick, sending them both sprawling onto the concrete floor and crashing into the steel racks. Hutch tried to shove both of them between a gap in the shelves for cover. But Nick, still gripping the briefcase, smashed his elbow into Hutch’s face, stunning him. Hutch fell backward as Nick bolted away again.

Lurching unsteadily to his feet, Hutch was aware of Starsky yelling as he ran toward them. “HUTCH!! NO! NO!”

Hutch didn’t hear the shot that hit him. He felt its impact though, a white-hot burn on his right side, searing through muscle and flesh. He buckled under the assault and fell to the floor, dropping his gun.

“HUTCH!” Starsky screamed.

Nick stumbled, careening into the shelves when he must have realized Hutch was shot. “Hutch! Jesus, Hutch!”

Hutch looked in the direction Nick was staring, and saw Durniak with a smoking gun. Had Durniak shot him?

Durniak took aim and fired again. The bullet hit Nick squarely. He fell back against the steel racks with enough force to rock the structure. The briefcase fell, but didn’t land far from Nick’s body.

Stunned and wounded, Hutch couldn’t move as Durniak rushed forward to grab the briefcase, while kicking Hutch’s gun further away. Expecting Durniak to put another bullet in him, he was surprised when, instead, he fled toward the back of the hanger. Hutch could only lay motionless, staring at Nick as his blood pooled on the floor.

The front of the hangar was thick with sound, yelling and gunshots, but through it all Hutch could hear Nick’s moans as he tried to move his hand.

“Nick – Nick – hold on,” Hutch called. Turning his head, Hutch tried to keep his eyes on Starsky in spite of the pain.

Starsky darted around the SWAT team as they swarmed into the hangar. As he ran, Starsky swiveled to the side and put a bullet in Costa as the guard was taking aim at him. Starsky ran past the rest of the men, heading for the rear.

Starsky skidded to halt, dropping to the floor next to Hutch and Nick just as the gunfire abruptly stopped. He looked panicked as he leaned over Hutch, frantically trying to assess the damage. “Jesus, Hutch…how bad is it?” He didn’t wait for an answer, his head craning back to call out, “Get those paramedics in here NOW!” A paramedic unit had been part of the team; they’d be in the hanger in seconds now that the shooting had abated.

Hutch gripped Starsky’s leg. “I’m okay,” he gasped. “Nick-” he motioned as best as he could to where Nick lay on the concrete, “grabbed the briefcase from Durniak. He didn’t know we were wired. He thought he was saving you – your career – by stopping Durniak from taking the drugs. Starsk…he risked everything for you…”

Starsky rocked back on his heels, turning to look at his brother who lay a few feet away. “Nicky?”

Hutch could see Nick’s shallow breaths and heard his whimpers of pain. The pool of blood beneath him was widening. “Starsk, go to him…. I’m okay. ”

Starsky seemed unable to move, his one hand still on Hutch, his other gripping his gun, his eyes flickering between Hutch and his brother.

“Nick,” Hutch gasped, “needs you.”

As Starsky crawled toward his brother, Hutch heard Nick mutter Starsky’s name as blood bubbled around his mouth. “Starsk… I got the meth away from Durniak. You’ll be okay now.” He forced out the words as his bloody hand tried to grip Starsky’s sleeve.

Starsky nodded and looked back at Hutch, stricken. “You did good, little brother. Hutch told me what you did for me.”

“Hutch? Hutch did?” Nick mumbled.

“Yes. He told me how brave you were. You got the meth off Durniak.” Starsky leaned in close to his brother. “You…you saved me, Nicky.”

Hutch could only hope that Nick heard Starsky. Hutch realized by Starsky’s expression that those were his last words to his brother.

“Oh, Nicky,” Starsky moaned, as he lifted his brother’s lifeless hand. But Starsky’s grief could only last a moment before he had to scan the area around him. Pulling himself away from Nicky, he returned to Hutch’s side.

“Durniak?” he asked, as he touched Hutch’s face.

“He went out the back – there’s a door, I think…. Nick tried to get through it, but it was locked.”

Starsky looked toward it, and then back down at Hutch. “I don’t want to leave you like this -” He was interrupted as the paramedic team arrived wheeling two gurneys.

“I’m fine – see – ” the unmistakable sound of a team of paramedics rolling in a gurney and equipment echoed from the front of the hangar, “help is here. Durniak — he’s got the meth. Go, Starsk. Don’t let the bastard get away.” Hutch put all his force into the order.

Starsky pushed the damp hair away from Hutch’s forehead, then jumped to his feet and headed toward the side entrance, running parallel to the mayhem going on in the front of the hangar as cops arrested the living and covered the dead.

As the paramedic’s hands replaced those of Starsky’s, Hutch let his body sag, praying his partner wouldn’t do anything stupid if he managed to corner Durniak.

~~~

Durniak scowled. Nick, the idiot, had the right idea about escaping out the rear of the hangar. But he was wrong in thinking Durniak would be stupid enough to leave it unlocked. He was also wrong in believing that if, by chance, he made it through the door he could get very far on foot with the briefcase.

Durniak, on the other hand, had the keys to the door. Now that he’d put a bullet in Hutchinson and more than likely killed Nick Starsky, he had incentive to get the hell out of there. Not that he had any regrets. Nick had it coming, and putting one in Hutchinson was less than Starsky deserved for fucking him over on the trade.

He fumbled with the keys to get the rear door open. He’d be damned if he’d give up without a fight. The car he’d ordered be left behind the hangar near the equipment sheds would have to fill in as his exit strategy.

~~~

Being crouched behind a patrol car at the rear of the hangar was not Carlson’s preferred position. An aching stiffness was creeping into his bent legs, and the damp drizzle slid under his collar and inside his shirt. He tried to flex his quads to free the ache in his muscles and pulled his rain jacket up higher.

Carlson looked sideways at his partner, Simonetti. So far, the two IA men had said little to each other, as Carlson tried to stay attentive to what was happening. “Either I’m getting too old for this shit, or I’m still too young to be missing all the action, being stuck out here in the rear,” Carlson said as he angled one leg out and shook it while keeping his eyes on the hangar’s rear door.

Simonetti made a grunting sound back at him. “You should be satisfied that Dobey had the courtesy to allow IA here in the first place  – especially since you’re officially barred from this case,” Simonetti said, crouched at the other end of the car. “Someone has to cover the exits, and that car parked over there,” he glanced at a car parked near some big sheds close by, “might be a get-away vehicle in case something goes wrong with the plane. With this rain – perhaps they’re not too keen to fly out.”

The light downfall reduced visibility despite the glaring spotlights suspended above the hangar.

“I wonder what the hell is happening in there…” Carlson popped his head up a little higher to look over the car’s trunk, his gaze directed toward the side of the hangar. “They went through the front door a good ten minutes ago, didn’t they?” He did’nt really expect Simonetti to answer. His eyes roamed the misty airfield, his mind still working through his new perspective on David Starsky. Just as well, he supposed, that he was out here as back-up and not on the front-line because he really was distracted.

His deliberations were cut short by a sudden explosion of gunfire coming from the front of the hangar and shots fired inside the structure. Dobey’s voice boomed out over the speaker, and Carlson heard the SWAT team fighting their way inside. Radio reports were brief and sporadic but things were obviously falling apart inside the hangar.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Simonetti said.

“Too much gunfire,” Carlson agreed. “Durniak’s men are fighting back.” Carlson looked longingly toward the front of the building and the action he couldn’t see.

“We have to maintain our position,” Simonetti said, crouching behind his vehicle.

Carlson, beside him, held his gun ready and pulled his attention back to the rear door. “Damn it! I hate sitting here while there’s a firefight raging out in front. And –”

He broke off midsentence as the back door suddenly began to rattle. Both men glanced at each other and the uniformed officers crouched behind the car next to theirs. The uniforms had seen it also.

The doorknob rattled some more, they heard two or three hard thumps from inside, and then nothing.

“Whoever it was can’t get the door unlocked,” Carlson said, keeping his voice down as the scrabbling at the door stopped.

Simonetti nodded and then tried to get some information over the radio, but no one was able to respond.

As they waited, focused on the back door, nothing happened for several moments, and then the door knob began to move again. This time, however, there was no frantic thumping, just the clearly defined sound of a lock tumbling. Whoever was behind the door this time was managing to unlock the door.

The two cops looked at each other as the door opened outward, the metallic grate of the hinges screeching. Tony Durniak was backlit as he emerged from the hangar. He was carrying the briefcase Starsky had brought to the meet. And a gun.

Durniak seemed to be adjusting to the dark and getting his bearings before deciding which way to move. He was looking away from the police vehicles. Then he focused on some nearby equipment sheds.

Before he could take a step, Simonetti called out from behind the cover of their car. “FREEZE! This is the police. Drop your gun and the briefcase, and get on your knees with your hands on your head.”

Durniak swung around, dropping to the ground and firing off two rapid shots in the direction of the IA officers. Then he was up, moving fast sideways to take cover behind a steel dumpster aligned next to the rear wall of the hangar and at the corner of the building away from the open door. He darted behind the end of the dumpster and sandwiched himself half behind the back corner of it.

Simonetti and Carlson fired back as their car absorbed Durniak’s the bullets. Carlson took aim but missed Durniak, the bullets smashing into the concrete and throwing up chips as Durniak retracted his body again behind the dumpster.

“You’ve got nowhere to go, Durniak! Put down your weapon now!” Carlson warned him.

Durniak fired again at Simonetti who had popped up to get a better bead. Simonetti jumped, barked a cough, and fell backward, clutching his shoulder, sinking behind the car.

Carlson shifted to catch his partner and ease him down behind the car as the two uniforms continued to fire.

Blood seeped through Simonetti’s fingers. “That was my fault,” he gasped. “Been out of the field too long.”

Carlson helped Simonetti into a sitting position, propping him against the car. As soon as he did, he fired two more rounds toward Durniak who had taken refuge behind the dumpster. He was well protected behind the cover, but pinned down. He wouldn’t be able to move easily to anywhere else without getting out in the open. As Carlson radioed their situation, Carlson knew they needed to keep Durniak in place until help arrived.

“Give yourself up, Durniak. You can’t walk away from this,” Carlson shouted toward the dumpster that was aligned against the back wall of the hangar.

Durniak laughed. “I’ve already taken down Hutchinson tonight and Starsky’s brother. A few more cops will be a good night’s work!”

As Durniak mentioned Hutchinson’s name, Starsky suddenly emerged, coming around the side nearest the cops, but furthest from the dumpster. He moved decisively, almost brazen about his exposure, his gun in a two-handed grip. Without hesitating, Starsky approached the metal door that was swaying in the breeze.

One of the uniforms called out, “Sergeant Starsky! Wait! The suspect is armed!”

Distracted, Carlson watched Starsky crouch low and start moving toward the hangar’s open back door, his gun steady and unwavering. What the–?

Carlson kept talking, trying to draw Durniak’s attention. “Throw down your weapon, Durniak.”

“Durniak!” Starsky shouted at the outwardly opened back door, drawing a bead on it.

He thinks Durniak’s behind the open door, Carlson realized. He didn’t see him run out and take cover behind the dumpster. Starsky’s out in the open!

“Durniak! My partner’s not going to die. But maybe you are, you sonofabitch,” Starsky shouted.

He sounded nothing like himself, Carlson thought. Starsky was primed to attack. Durniak had shot Hutchinson, so Starsky was — Not thinking clearly!

Starsky fired then, the flare of his shots sparking in the darkness as it hit the semi-opened back door again and again.

It was too tempting for Durniak, who crept out behind the dumpster to get a clear shot at Starsky.

“Starsky! Get down!” Carlson jumped up, abandoning his cover behind the police car. He ran full tilt at Starsky, hearing gunfire erupt from the uniformed cops to cover him. The bullets hit the dumpster hard, distracting Starsky as Carlson threw himself on top of the detective.

“What the–?” Starsky, flattened to the concrete, struggled under Carlson’s full body tackle. “Get the fuck off me–!”

“He’s behind the dumpster, Starsky!” Carlson yelled in his ear. “Not in doorway of the hangar!”

Starsky stilled instantly as he must’ve realized he was directly in Durniak’s line of fire.

The uniforms continued to lay down a heavy barrage of gunfire, as other cops, no longer needed around the front, joined them.

Carlson grabbed Starsky by the shirt and hauled him back none too gracefully towards the police car.

Once they were secured behind the heavy-bodied police car, Starsky turned to Carlson. He still looked half-crazed. “Where is he?”

Carlson hesitated, unsure how Starsky might react when so out of control. Clare had told him enough about Starsky’s tempter to give him pause. “He’s surrounded, Starsky. Your job here is done. SWAT’s lining up now to–”

“That dumpster? Is that where he is?” Starsky didn’t seem to register Carlson’s warnings, barely sparing him a glance. He pulled back to stare at the dumpster and the empty space between the police barricade and Durniak’s hiding place.

This time Carlson reached out and pulled Starsky’s arm. “You’re not listening to me–”

Starsky stared back, nearly snarling. “Get out of my fucking way, Carlson. That motherfucker killed my brother… he killed Nicky!”

“Starsky– I… I’m sorry… I didn’t know…” Carlson stuttered.

“He shot him dead. And Hutch…” Starsky sucked in a jagged breath, shaking his head as though trying to work something out.

“Hutch –  Hutch is going to be okay, isn’t he?” Carlson asked carefully, acutely aware that Starsky’s control was still tenuous.

“I don’t know. Hutch is–” Starsky wavered, turning his focus back on the dumpster.

In an attempt to distract Starsky from focusing on the dumpster, Carlson said sharply, “Did Durniak give up the guys who can exonerate you? Do you have them?”

Starsky blinked as if he had to think about it. “Uh… yeah. We’ve got ’em. I secured ’em in the car before everything fell apart.”

“Okay,” Carlson said. “So it’s official. You had nothing to do with Vanessa’s murder. We know that now. We have proof.”

“But Durniak still has the meth,” Starsky said, suddenly focused again.

“He’s not going anywhere, Starsky! He’s pinned down, while you’re free. Don’t do this – your brother -”

“I told you, Nicky’s dead,” Starsky said dully.

“–wouldn’t have wanted you to endanger yourself by going after Durniak. And what about Hutch?”

Starsky looked sideways at Carlson for the first time. Carlson saw confusion in his eyes.

“Hutch has been shot. He’s -”

“He’ll need you. He’ll need his partner – the two of you, as a team. Two good solid cops.” Carlson was surprised by the depth of sincerity in his own voice when he used the term that had been echoing in his head since Simonetti had said it earlier. “He wouldn’t want you to needlessly endanger yourself.”

Starsky looked startled by Carlson’s statement, but he recovered quickly. He looked around at the scene. Then he turned to Carlson and seemed to come to a decision. “You’re right. He’d want me to use my head. Durniak’s pinned down. But he could make a break for it behind that building and we could lose him. And the meth. The cops are keeping him occupied. We could sneak behind the barricade of cars and get behind that building. He wouldn’t hear us. And we could take him down and end this.”

It was Carlson’s turn to look startled. “Are you kidding? With all this gunfire?”

“Hutch would do it,” Starsky said, and, crouching low, gun drawn, began moving quickly behind the line of police cars towards the equipment sheds that flanked the dumpster.

Carlson had a choice: let him go alone, or back him up. Weren’t you just complaining about missing the action?

The two of them moved swiftly behind the police car barricade toward the equipment sheds, motioning to the other cops to watch out for them. They finally took cover behind one of the sheds and used it to come up behind the building flanking Durniak’s dumpster.

Carlson could see Durniak taking cover behind the dumpster, his back to them, occasionally firing out at the cops who were shooting at him.

Then he realized Starsky was taking a bead on Durniak’s back. In shock, he grabbed Starsky’s shirt and pulled him back behind the building. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

Starsky jerked away from Carlson’s grip. “He killed my brother. He shot Hutch. He’s firing on a whole troop of cops. What do you think I’m gonna do? It’s justified!”

“How would your partner feel about you shooting a man, even this man, in the back?” Carlson asked. “If Hutch were here, what would he say if he found out you were thinking of doing this?”

It was the slap Starsky needed. He let out a ragged breath. “He would… he would -” His gun hand dropped lower, his intent to kill drained.

“We can do this the right way,” Carlson said.

He took a position on the edge of the building, aiming his gun at Durniak. He nodded at Starsky, who moved around him to take a flanking position on the side of the dumpster. They both drew a bead on Durniak, who had just fired off another shot at the police out front.

“DURNIAK!” Starsky shouted over the din. “DROP THAT WEAPON!”

Reacting in surprise to the voices behind him, Durniak spun, looking shocked. As if he’d contained himself as long as he could, Starsky leapt across the few feet and slammed his full body weight into him, knocking Durniak back against the dumpster.

As Carlson signaled to the squad of police to stop firing, Starsky punched Durniak hard in the face. The blow snapped Durniak’s head back and his gun clattered to the ground. Starsky repeated the blow while gripping Durniak’s shirt. His nose took the full brunt of Starsky’s fist. Durniak groaned and slumped heavily in Starsky’s grip.

Starsky was pulling back his fist for another shot when Carlson intervened, grabbing his arm. “Enough, Starsky! He’s out for the count.”

Starsky shoved Carlson back, but the roughhousing seemed to snap him out of his uncontrollable rage.

Carlson pulled out his cuffs and leaned over Durniak’s prone form to secure his wrists. “Holster your gun, Starsky. You took him down. It’s your collar.”

Footsteps and voices drew nearer. It was over. What had felt like an hour to Carlson, but was probably only minutes, seemed so long he didn’t know how to let the tension go.

Starsky was looking down at the dazed and bleeding Durniak who dimly regarded him through swelling eyes. “Is this,” Durniak said to Starsky, as a pair of uniformed cops pulled him to his feet, “your payback for killing your brother and shooting Hutchinson?”

Carlson sucked in a breath, keeping a grip on Starsky. He started worrying all over again whether he should have demanded Starsky’s gun.

But Starsky seemed to have regained his composure. “No,” Starsky sneered, “consider that payback for all the times you got your thugs to rough me up as a kid. Your payback for Nicky and Hutch is coming – for years and years in federal prison.”

Starsky holstered his gun as the uniformed officers led Durniak to a police vehicle and loaded him inside.

Carlson released his hold on Starsky as they watched Durniak being driven away. Starsky looked back at Carlson, his face grim. “Go on,” Carlson said, “go check on Hutch. He’ll be waiting.”

Starsky started to leave, then paused. “Carlson,” Starsky looked back at the dumpster where Durniak had taken refuge and he had come so close to losing all control. “Thanks for backing me up. And…and -” He struggled to speak.

“Forget it, Starsky. I know what you wanted to do to that bastard, but — this way we get the chance to put him away,” he said. Then he added, “A bullet was too easy for him.”

“Maybe -” Starsky sounded as though his nerves were stripped raw, “but you have no idea how much I wanted to do it, and will continue to want to do it for a long time to come.”

Before Carlson could even react, Starsky turned and ran toward the paramedic wagon and his partner.

 

Chapter Sixteen

Dobey found Starsky where he guessed he’d be.

With his living partner and not his dead brother.

Emotional triage, Dobey supposed. Attend to those with a chance before those with little or none. In this case, attend to the living before the dead. Except, Dobey’s gut gave him the notion that if the situation were reversed, if it were Nick who was being loaded into the ambulance and Hutchinson whose cooling body was waiting to be place into the next body bag – that Starsky would still be with his partner. Despite blood, despite family and loyalty, Hutchinson’s central role in Starsky’s life meant that he took priority. Dead or alive.

That was just how it was and had always seemed to be between his two detectives. A bond like no other Dobey could ever remember seeing. It was disquieting in its depth and intensity. Frightening, because what it would mean if one were taken from the other.

Starsky stood at the rear ambulance doors, keeping vigil as the paramedics did their last checks on Hutch before loading him into the back of the van.

As Dobey watched, Starsky spoke to the paramedics, nodded, frowned, nodded again, and then leaned down toward his partner to share something with him. He could make out Hutchinson, who was semi-conscious from a combination of pain relief and the adrenalin crash after what had gone down inside the hangar, trying to lift a shaky arm. Dobey saw Starsky take the wavering hand and tuck it beneath the light sheet, his face strained and emotional in the white light of the airfield’s spotlights.

As the medics moved in to lift the gurney, Starsky took a few steps back, waited for them to do their job, and then with another word to the medics, jumped inside the back of the ambulance quickly. The overly bright interior lights of the ambulance seemed too intrusive on the interplay between the partners. Dobey felt the need to turn away as Starsky said some final words to Hutchinson before he shimmied back out of the van.

As the ambulance drove off, Starsky waited unmoving, his eyes following the strobe lights until they disappeared down the main road of the airfield. He stayed like that, his back to the activity behind him, rooted to the spot, his body still, his back a little stooped. Then he turned and looked over at the coroner’s wagons parked twenty feet away.

Two of Durniak’s men’s bodies had already been bagged and loaded, with an empty wagon waiting off to the side. Dobey knew it was earmarked for Nick Starsky.

Starsky turned his attention to the last gurney being wheeled out from the hangar, its cargo sealed inside a black bag, its plastic surface shiny and sleek under the big lights. It seemed, by the way Starsky gave the gurney his full attention, as though he must have known this last bag held his brother. Dobey wondered briefly whether he had missed the transaction between his detective and the coroner’s attendants, or whether Starsky was working on intuition alone.

Starsky approached the gurney, his steps sluggish, all of the urgency displayed in attending to his wounded partner gone. What would be the point anyway, Dobey thought? His brother was dead; the ominous body bag was a gruesome symbol that any emotional overtures were too little, too late. When Starsky did grieve the loss of his only brother, Dobey sensed it would not be in public.

The captain didn’t know the full story about his detective and his wayward younger brother, but he knew enough. Enough to know that what had gone on before this tragic finale meant his detective would have a considerable amount of psychological adjustment to make. The death of a family member was never an easy road, let alone such a senseless and violent death like Nick Starsky’s.

At the side of the gurney, Starsky said nothing to the attendants, but they stopped in their tracks nonetheless. The Coroner’s attendants, recognizing he was a cop, let him take his time beside the gurney. He stood rigidly beside the form in the bag before drawing down the zipper to display his brother’s face. As the attendants turned their own heads discreetly to the side, allowing the officer a quiet moment, Dobey did the same. He would offer his condolences and support later. Right now, Starsky would want some space.

Dobey walked off toward the rear of the hanger to find how the injured Simonetti was faring. Although it had been a full night already, he still had hours of work ahead of him before he could go home to his wife and family.

~~~

If someone told Dobey two weeks ago that he’d walk into a hospital waiting room, or any room on the planet, and find David Starsky sitting beside Lieutenant Carlson as the older man shared some quiet words with him, Dobey would have questioned that person’s mentality. Yet, when he rounded the corner of the OR waiting area, here the two men were. Starsky had his head down, forearms on his knees as he leaned forward, listening to Carlson.

A couple of officers from the precinct and another detective from IA were standing in the corner of the room, sharing coffee and talking amongst themselves. Obviously, they were waiting on news of Hutchinson and Simonetti. From experience, Dobey knew that the other men from his squad, although keen to show support for Hutchinson, would know to leave the space around Starsky clear. Of his two homicide detectives, Starsky always seemed to fare worse in the hospital waiting room at the best of times, let alone when the waiting was for his partner. How the hell must he be feeling at that moment, Dobey wondered, with Hutchinson on the operating table and his brother in the morgue?

Before he moved toward Starsky and Carlson, Dobey went up to the other officers and had a quick word with them. Carlson, more attentive to his surroundings than Starsky, looked up as Dobey left the small group of men and approached.

“Captain,” Carlson greeted. His face, although showing the strains of the night’s dramas, expressed an openness and ease that Dobey was not used to seeing in the reserved IA lieutenant.

As he realized Dobey was now in front of him, Starsky raised his head, “Cap’n,” he said dispiritedly, “we’re still waiting.”

Dobey stretched out his hand and let it rest firmly on Starsky’s shoulder. “It won’t be long now, I’m sure. Hutch is in good hands.” Dobey’s comment was conjecture. Still, it was a comforting thing to say to a man who looked like he could use every ounce of comfort that he could get.

“Nothing on either of them yet,” Carlson said, “though I had a chance to talk to Simonetti before he was taken in. He was in good enough spirits. Hutchin — Hutch,” Carlson corrected himself, “had already been taken into pre-op before we arrived at the hospital.”

Dobey didn’t miss the clear shift in Carlson’s attitude toward his two detectives. He looked at his watch. “I’m sure the doctors will be out soon.” It had been more than two hours since the two wounded officers had arrived at the hospital.

Starsky said nothing, and Dobey suspected he must resent Dobey’s attempts to pacify him. Dobey didn’t know why he forced out these pathetic platitudes in these situations. Over the years, he had simply run out of material to spin to his officers as they endured the lonely wait. Every cop feared being the one left in the waiting room, watching their injured partner disappear behind the emergency doors.

“Dave,” Dobey tried again, “is there anything you want me to do for you regarding your brother? Arrange someone to contact your mother or –”

“No. I’ll take care of it. I’ll deal with — with him and my family.” Starsky’s expression seemed blank as he referred to his brother.

Carlson cleared his throat and looked at Dobey sympathetically — no doubt sensing his discomfort.

Before Dobey had a chance to wonder whether Starsky had had a chance to contact his mother, Starsky shifted the subject. “Durniak?”

“He and his men who survived the bust are being processed. When I left the station, his lawyer was already with him.”

“I want to be kept informed of any developments with Durniak, okay?” Starsky said. “As soon as it happens.”

“I understand,” Dobey said. “My staff will contact me if anything changes, but I don’t see much happening until tomorrow morning.”

Starsky grunted, using his posture to end any further interaction.

“Starsky?” Carlson asked, looking up at Dobey quickly, “can I get you a coffee?”

Starsky shook his head and leaned forward on his elbows, his thumbs pressing the sides of his temples. He barely seemed to register that Carlson had stood.

Carlson gave Dobey a slight nod, and at the cue, Dobey said, “I could use one myself. Excuse us, Starsky.”

The two men left the waiting area to move to the small anteroom nearby that held various vending machines.

Once out of the waiting room, Dobey lowered his voice. “I appreciate what you did for Starsky tonight, Carlson. I heard from a couple of the uniforms that you pulled him back from what could have easily been ah –” he cleared his throat before choosing the word, “an emotional reaction when Starsky had Durniak cornered.”

“He’s a mess. I’ve tried to draw him out — even said I’d stay with him while he called his mother, but he didn’t seem ready to cross that bridge yet.” Carlson pressed buttons on the coffee machine.

Dobey’s mouth set into a grim line. “He won’t relax until he sees Hutch. That’s his only focus right now. And Hutch is the only person who’ll be able to help him with losing his brother — so that makes it doubly hard on him.”

As the machine filled Carlson’s cup, he asked, “Is it always this — this strained? With Starsky I mean?” Or is it just because it’s me –”

“No, this time it’s not you,” Dobey said. “Trust me, the way Starsky has been the past months, if he still felt you were the enemy or didn’t want you around, he wouldn’t be allowing you anywhere near him. It’s just the way it always is with him — with the both of them.”

“Yeah. I feel like I’m sitting next to a ticking bomb.”

Dobey sighed and nodded. “Doesn’t matter which one is out here waiting, or even if the situation isn’t dire — until they can see their partner and know that they’re okay –” Dobey paused, “it’s hellish to be around either of them.”

“I’m finally getting an idea of how tight they are. Clare told me often enough, but I just didn’t get the extent of it. No wonder everyone told me that if IA ever took on one of them, they took on both.” Carlson smiled but it quickly faded.

“It can be both a good and bad thing — this level of closeness between partners. Every day they hit the streets, they run the risk of being separated — permanently.”

“Well — let’s hope today is not going to be one of those days,” said Carlson.

They’re both listed as each other’s legal next-of-kin and have power of attorney. So Starsky will be the first to get news, good or bad, about Hutch’s condition. But until Starsky gets to see him, he won’t drop the brick wall.”

“Have you got any news on the two men who are supposedly going to testify for Starsky — what were their names again?” Carlson sipped some coffee.

“Bendetti and Samuels,” Dobey provided. “I think their testimony is solid. Fortunately, they don’t know Durniak has been taken into custody. I made sure they were removed from the airfield as soon as Starsky got them out to the cruiser. They were gone before the action went down. They had already given their statements when I got back to the precinct — before there was any chance of them getting wind of Durniak’s changed circumstances. And we still have the recordings that included their confessions in the hangar.”

“Thank God for that,” Carlson breathed. “Without them, Starsky would still be left in a precarious position with the case.”

Once again, Dobey was surprised by the lieutenant’s changed attitude.

“Even when they realize Durniak’s not free, I don’t think they’ll backtrack,” Dobey said, as he accepted the Styrofoam cup from Carlson. “Durniak will fulfill his part of the deal, even though things fell apart for him. His honor demands it.”

“With everything we recorded and overheard at the hangar, we’ve got more than enough to clear Starsky,” Dobey said.

Carlson and Dobey returned to the waiting room just as a doctor in green scrubs surveyed the waiting area.

“Maybe we got lucky,” Dobey said. “Maybe that’s the surgeon with some news about one of our men.”

Suddenly, Starsky became alert as he noticed the surgeon. Dobey and Carlson moved across the room to be beside Starsky.

“Are you Sergeant Starsky?” the doctor asked as Starsky came to his feet.

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“I’m Doctor Harris. I operated on Mr. Hutchinson. I understand you’re listed as his next of kin. Please. Stay seated.” The doctor sat and Starsky resumed his chair. The doctor glanced at Dobey and Carlson hovering over them, and looked questioningly at Starsky.

As though realizing he was waiting for introductions, Starsky indicated the other two. “Uh, Doc… this is Captain Dobey, our commanding officer, and… Detective Carlson… who’s a friend. You can speak freely in front of them.”

The doctor pulled off his cap. “Mr. Hutchinson’s surgery went well. The bullet passed beneath his diaphragm and above the hip. Fortunately, it missed all the major blood vessels and organs. His prognosis for recovery is good. He’ll have some necessary aftercare, of course, and you’ll be given instructions on how to follow up with his personal physician. He’s in recovery, right now, and still sleeping, but you should be able to see him in the morning. We’ll have a better idea of when he can be released tomorrow.”

Finally, the worst of the tension seemed to leave Starsky and he managed a small smile.

“Have you any word on Officer Simonetti — the other wounded officer?” Carlson asked.

“He wasn’t my patient, and I don’t know if his family’s been notified. You may have to check with them. But I do believe he’s also in recovery.”

Dobey felt relieved as Starsky offered Carlson a comforting pat on the shoulder. Carlson smiled back at Starsky.

“How long before I can see my partner?” Starsky asked again, his impatience making a fresh return.

“Considering he’s still in recovery and the late hour, probably not before morning. You’ll be able to find out what room he’s in then.” The surgeon stood and moved back toward the OR doors.

“I saw Simonetti’s wife talking with some of the other IA detectives waiting in the emergency room,” Carlson said. “I’ll go talk to her to see if she’s heard from his doctor.”

“I’d like to have a word with her as well,” Dobey said. “After that, I have to head back to the station. With a little luck, I’ll make it home before dawn.” He turned to Carlson. “After we talk to Mrs. Simonetti, we can give the other men the news about the surgery.”

Carlson turned to Starsky. “You should take a break, get something to eat. It’ll probably be hours before they get them moved.”

“No — I — I really need to make some calls,” Starsky said, pulling out his cell phone. His expression made it clear what the phone calls would be about.

Not at all surprised that Starsky had declined to join them, Dobey said, “Give Hutch my best when you see him, and let him know I’ll visit him in the morning.” He and Carlson walked off to find Simonetti’s wife, while Starsky stayed where he was.

“You sure he’s going to be okay?” Carlson asked dubiously.

Dobey raised an eyebrow. “You asking me that as an IA Lieutenant or as a fellow cop?”

“Neither.” Carlson didn’t hesitate. “I’m asking it as a man who recognizes another man in pain, and because I can see how in touch you are with your men.”

Dobey grunted. “Then here’s my answer. He’ll be okay. As long as Hutch recovers.”

~~~

Starsky didn’t watch his captain and Carlson leave. He just wanted to be left alone to work through what had happened. He couldn’t do that while Carlson and Dobey were on top of him, as well meaning as Carlson now was.

The hours of waiting, even with Carlson hovering over him, had given him too much time to review his behavior over the past months. As he did, he found it harder and harder to confront all the shit that had gone down around him and Hutch. That he had been the instigator of most of that shit, with his moods and teetering emotions playing havoc in both their lives, didn’t help one bit. He’d become a self-centered bastard to everyone since he’d begun to feel sorry for himself. Sorry for losing Clare, who he never really wanted, and not nearly sorry enough for throwing away every woman after her, all of whom he definitely hadn’t wanted.

He was especially sorry for not being brave enough to ask for the only person he ever really wanted and offering him the love Starsky kept hidden. Yeah, all of that self pity had made him short-sighted about other people’s needs.

He felt bad for Simonetti; he really did — even though the man had been the least likely person to endear himself to Starsky. He was still a cop. A good one. A trustworthy and brave one. He had stood up against Durniak, just as Carlson had done in the end. So, in Starsky’s estimation, Simonetti was okay in his books, as was Carlson.

But when Carlson had tried to share the burden of waiting for news of their respective partners, Starsky still couldn’t get objective enough to think beyond his own terror that he had come too close to losing what he’d only just found with Hutch. Carlson, as well intended his empathy was, could never comprehend the differences in the experiences each of them was having in that OR waiting area.

Hutch could have died! That very night! Only hours ago — just as — just like —

Starsky remembered skidding back into the hangar and facing a scenario of Hutch, a wild Nicky, and a cornered Durniak —

Then Hutch was down and bleeding, and Nicky… Nicky was…

He shoved the memory away. Not forever. Just for now. He wouldn’t be able to hold it at bay for too long, but it was too soon to work through it. He needed Hutch as a safety net for when he would crash.

The possibility of losing Hutch had always been Starsky’s worst nightmare. It would destroy him. Hutch had been the center of everything for Starsky for so many years. He probably loved him even before he understood the extent of what Hutch really meant to him. Loved him as a soul mate, the best friend any man could ever hope to have. That love just got stronger and more resilient with each passing year. Starsky didn’t think that the depth of it couldn’t increase further – until it did. The difference now, of course, was the progression of their relationship. They had taken the step into intimacy, and that had changed the entire playing field of their relationship. Starsky hadn’t figured on how loving Hutch in a different way could amplify the fear of losing him, tenfold. Had Hutch figured that out as well?

Suddenly he had to ask Hutch that very question.

He looked down at his cell phone and refreshed the screen. The contact for his mother was still sitting there — he’d opened it over an hour ago. The number reminded him how much his mother loved to call him using the new iPhone he’d given her as a birthday gift. But he still couldn’t make himself call. Once she heard his voice, it would be all over before he could find the words to soften the pain. How could he tell her that her baby boy was dead?

He turned the phone to vibrate and pushed it into his pocket.

Not yet. Not just yet.

Not enough time had passed for Hutch to have been transferred to a room, but Starsky was done with waiting. The pull to be near Hutch, his emotional center, was overwhelming. Hutch was a gunshot victim, and a cop. Starsky would flash his badge, insist they’d just been told Hutch had been threatened by Durniak’s organization, and until further notice, Starsky was responsible for his protection. With a little push, he’d probably be able to see him in recovery. Now that he had a plan, Starsky made his way to the elevator.

~~~

Hutch had come around briefly in the recovery room — long enough to answer an amorphous, shadowy figure leaning over him about his level of perceived pain, long enough to feel the pneumatic blood pressure cuff inflating and deflating, but not long enough to figure out anything else. Soon after, his tenuous awareness dimmed.

The next time information penetrated his fuddled brain; he was able to make out voices. But he heard something meaningful to him in the background. He wanted that to come to the foreground, but couldn’t hear it any clearer. He heard the voice, felt the familiar touch, but his eyes wouldn’t open. Still, he needed to ask something important. He struggled to say something, not sure if he succeeded. “Nic — Nick — he — Nick, shot.”

The familiar voice finally came closer. “Sssh — leave it. Let it go, Hutch. Let it go.”

“Stars — Starsky.” Opening his eyes with an effort, he could see Starsky’s worried face. “Nick’s dead. Couldn’t stop him – so sorry. ”

“Don’t talk, Hutch. Rest. Close your eyes and get some more rest.”

“But I have to tell you — Nick -”

“No. No, Hutch. I don’t need to hear it…. Please, just sleep.”

Exhausted, Hutch gave up trying as he lost consciousness again.

~~~

The next he woke, he felt something pressing against his lips. Soft, light, and very real.

“Starsk?” he croaked, as his lips moved beneath a warm mouth.

“Hmm?” Starsky’s voice came back.

“Are — are you giving me mouth-to-mouth?”

He felt the lips on his smile before they pulled back enough to form words. “Well, I’d like to call it lips-to-lips, but mouth-to-mouth works, too. You are a patient, after all.” Starsky might have grinned, but Hutch couldn’t see clearly enough yet to know for sure.

“Ah…” Hutch shifted a little, squinting up at the heavily whiskered face hovering above his. “Why?” Hutch tried to focus on the face he knew so well.

“‘Cause I can hardly give you tongue-to-tongue, can I? Wouldn’t be right.”

Hutch had to think on that for a while. “Because we’re in — I’m in a hospital? And at any time a nurse or a doctor might walk in and – ”

“Nah.” Starsky dismissed such a notion with a sweep of his hand. “You think I give a damn about that? Christ, I nearly lost you — again.” He moved back enough for Hutch to see his dark blue eyes, tired, but dancing with a mixture of relief and joy and a hint of teasing. “No, I meant that it wouldn’t be right with you being so weak and all after your surgery. I couldn’t take advantage of you like that, Hutch — but I just had to — had to kiss ya.”

Hutch lifted his arm up from the bed; pleased he could so, and pleased even more when his hand found its own way to the dark curly head, his fingers twining in the thick softness. “I can’t think of a better way to wake up from surgery,” Hutch whispered, his throat constricted with emotion.

Hutch closed his eyes again and tried to align himself with the room around him and the feelings of dull pain coming from his lower chest and side. “Oh God, this — is always the worst part.” He bit off the words as he squirmed to find a better position. “The part where you have to swim back to the surface and figure everything out.”

“You don’t have to figure anything out just now,” Starsky said. “How is it? The pain?”

“Not too bad — not yet anyway,” Hutch said, though he felt a tightness above his right hip, which was starting to hurt like hell. He suspected Starsky realized he was in pain, too. “Durniak?”

Starsky sighed. “I thought I said stop tryin’ to figure things out. Relax.”

“I can’t relax until I know what happened.” Hutch tried to read Starsky’s eyes to figure out what he might be hiding. “Last I remember, he was running for the rear of the hangar. Did he — did you–?” For a few seconds, Hutch recalled his fear that Starsky would do something to Durniak after Nick and he had been shot. But even with his sluggish thinking, he figured that Starsky wouldn’t be in his hospital room if he had killed Tony Durniak. He’d still be filling out paperwork at the station, or would be waiting on the review board.

“Don’t worry, Hutch. Durniak’s fine. So, rest easy.”

Hutch frowned. “So he is — he’s not hurt?”

“Told you, the bastard’s fine,” Starsky growled.

Hutch knew he wouldn’t get the whole story until much later, but he was too tired to pursue it.

“He’s in custody,” Starsky said, “lawyered up, but he’s not goin’ anywhere. I don’t know much more than that. It’s late and I’ve been preoccupied with something more important.” Starsky let his hand rest on top of Hutch’s softly.

“What about you? How are you — coping?” He tried to hold Starsky’s gaze long enough to see for himself, but predictably, Starsky looked away.

“Well, after spending two hours with Carlson waiting for you to come out of OR, I have to tell you, I’m doing remarkably well,” Starsky said with a lightness that told Hutch he didn’t want to talk about himself.

Then Hutch realized what Starsky had just said. “Wait? Carlson? Carlson and you?” Hutch frowned. Was Starsky joking?

“He’s my new best bud,” Starsky said, surprising him with a smile. “You’d better watch your step, partner. I just might have myself a new wingman.”

“I’m missing something…” Hutch wrinkled his brow.

“You missed a lot, babe.” Starsky touched Hutch’s injured side carefully. “Don’t worry — I’ll fill you in later. It’s not important now. What’s important is making sure you do whatever it takes to get better.”

“Starsk — I mean it,” Hutch tried again, swatting at Starsky’s hands. “I want to know how you’re doing. I’m worried about you.”

“What’s new? When have you ever not worried about me?”

“Have you spoken to your mother yet? About what — about -” Hutch grappled with the question, “Nick?” he finished awkwardly.

“You can say his name, Hutch. I’m not going to break down if you do.”

“It’s not easy for me to –”

“I know it isn’t. It’s all so fresh and raw — for both of us. ” Starsky jumped in cutting Hutch off. Whether he did it to save him from a difficult moment or to divert him from his concern about Starsky, Hutch didn’t know. Hutch let it go. “No, I haven’t phoned Ma,” Starsky admitted to him. “Not yet. She’ll know soon enough, alright?”

When Hutch didn’t reply, Starsky cursed softly, just loud enough for Hutch to know that his concerns were valid.

“Don’t give me that look, Hutch. I can see that you’re already building up a head full of worry. I’m not about to lose it. Really, I’m not. Ma will know what’s happened. I just had to make sure you’re all right first.”

“Starsky? I — I know I’m groggy and a little confused — but, I’m here if you want to talk about it.” He knew Starsky could leave if he pushed him too hard. His partner was still putting Nick’s death in the no-go zone. Starsky wanted to be here with him now, but maybe only on his terms.

He attempted to move to get the pressure of his side, causing a sharp pain to flare across his midriff. He hissed.

Starsky was instantly alarmed. “Damn it, Hutch, lie still, will ya? You want me to buzz the nurse?”

“No.” Hutch grabbed Starsky’s wrist as he reached for the call button. “It’ll pass. No more drugs just yet. I want you to know I tried to stop Nick, but he was crazy, trying to get the meth away from –”

“Hutch. Please…” Starsky sighed. “Don’t do this – to yourself — or to me — not yet.”

“But I need to, Starsky….” Hutch was getting tired, but felt driven to get this out. “I’m worried that you won’t talk about Nick. To anyone…I think you need to — to at least try.”

“I’m doing what I need to be doing. Being here with you. Now leave it be.”

Hutch continued to look at him, but didn’t say anything else.

“Look –” Starsky went on, “I’m havin’ a hard enough time dealing with you in a hospital bed as it is… seeing you on the floor of that hangar, knowing Durniak did that to you. It’s enough to get through that.”

Hutch decided he’d do what Starsky wanted. He’d pull back. Leave the heavy stuff till he was feeling stronger. He didn’t want to push Starsky away. “Alright. I’ll leave it. But soon? Promise me that, Starsky.”

“Okay. Deal,” Starsky said.

Hutch would have to be happy with that. He looked around the hospital. “All of it still feels so far away, Starsk,” he said, fatigued, “like I might have imagined everything about tonight. It’s hard enough to process all of it without thinking through a haze of narcotics.”

“Then just stop, Hutch.” Starsky tapped his finger on Hutch’s forehead. “Shut down that brain.”

“One last thing. The two men we traded for the meth? Will it come together? Their testimony?”

“Yes. Dobey says it’s in the bag.”

“Thank God. That’s wonderful news, Starsk.”

“Yep. But, if you want to talk about the details, it won’t be tonight.”

“Did the doctor say anything about when I could get out of here?”

“Get out?” Starsky jerked his head back in disbelief. “You only just came out of a freakin’ operation, for God’s sake.”

“Well, I hate it here already,” Hutch grumbled.

“I know you do, babe,” Starsky cajoled. “But if you do what your doctors tell you, you’ll get better real fast, so you can come home to me.” Starsky stroked Hutch’s short hair.

Hutch leaned into it for support as he turned toward Starsky’s voice.

“Because I’ll be there,” Starsky said, “waiting for you, wanting you, needing you…”

Hutch nuzzled Starsky’s open palm cupping the side of his face. “When I woke up and felt you against my lips, it was like a beautiful dream. That’s what you are. My dream come true.” His voice cracked as tears threatened.

Starsky rubbed his thumb against Hutch’s cheek. “Hey? Don’t cry, babe,” Starsky said, worriedly.

“You make me so damn happy. Having you here, like this, loving me… it’s all I’ve wanted for such a long time, Starsky.”

“Well, maybe tone down the happy feelings a bit? I hate seeing you cry, Hutch. Even happy tears are too much for me to take right now.”

“All right. I’ll do my best to not let you make me so happy.” Hutch smiled through damp eyes.

Starsky sat back, but kept his hip nestled close to Hutch’s bed. “Can I tell you something?”

“Tell me…”

“While I was sitting here, waiting for you to wake up, I kept thinking of all the other times I’ve sat beside you like this. When you’ve been hurt and in a hospital bed asleep — or at home, after you’ve been sick or knocked around and you’ve been out of it — and –” his face was soft with love, “well, I thought about all those times and how I just wanted to bend over your beautiful face and kiss you awake. Just like I did before. Kiss you better, take that pain away from your mouth and around your eyes, and fill you up with love instead…”

“Damn it, Starsk,” Hutch squeezed his eyelids hard against fresh tears.

“But I didn’t ever do it, Hutch. I didn’t let myself do what I was aching to do. All those times, all those — all those months and — fucking years — I let you lie there like that, with me watching you and wanting you, with you probably wanting the same thing –” He shook his head. “All that wasted time when I didn’t have you like I so badly wanted and needed you.”

“Those years weren’t wasted, Starsk. We still had each other. You were still there whenever I woke up, and you always cared for me, loved me. Always you. You were the first person I always saw when I woke up and the only one I wanted. It was just different, different but incredibly important to me to have you in my life. I wouldn’t take a moment of it back, not even to trade it for what we have now. ”

Hutch reached out and he clutched Starsky’s hand as firmly as he could. “What we have now is where we’ve been heading. It took us a while to get here, but we did. All those times we shared were as important to me as you are now.” When he’d finished, Hutch let his head fall back against the pillows, exhausted from his efforts to convey his feelings.

“I love you, Hutch.” Starsky swallowed, as if fighting against tears himself. “Deeply. When you woke up, I wanted to show you, to make it clear — especially after everything that’s gone down between us in the last weeks – this life of ours…” He paused and Hutch knew he was thinking of everything they ran the risk of losing every day they holstered up and hit the streets. “We have to take what we can before it takes us. So, no more watching you and wishing I’d done what I hadn’t. From now on, I get the urge to kiss you, I’m damn well goin’ to do it!”

“You would?” Hutch asked, feigning shock.

“Damn straight, Blondie.”

“Even in here, Starsky? Inside a hospital room in a busy ward when someone — anyone — might walk in on you taking advantage of me like that?” Hutch said it with just the right amount of provocation to break the emotionally laden mood.

Starsky narrowed his eyes and shuffled even closer. He moved his hand lower down Hutch’s face until his fingers found Hutch’s lips and parted them gently. Teasingly. “You are so obvious, Hutchinson! Even when you’re injured, you’re hot for it. You want me to ravage you? Then you’ll have to wait till you’re all better. But this –” he lowered his head once more and repeated the gentle kiss he had planted on Hutch’s lips earlier. “I can offer you this all night long.”

Hutch took a much-needed breath against the protracted kiss. “Then I’m going to need an oxygen mask!”

“I’m always available for mouth-to-mouth, remember?” Starsky winked.

“Oh yeah, that’s — that’s- right…” Hutch closed his eyes against a sudden wash of pain. “My own personal lifesaver.”

“Time for me to buzz that nurse now?”

Hutch nodded.

Starsky leaned over and pressed the call button. Smoothing his fingers over Hutch’s brow, he dropped a series of kisses over his partner’s frown lines.

“Um, Starsk?” Hutch relaxed into the sensation, despite the background pain. “The bit about all night long…”

“Yeah?” Starsky extended his line of kisses to Hutch’s temples.

“…sounds great, but that door is going to open any second…”

“I don’t really care.”

“You don’t?” Hutch asked.

“No, and you know why?” Starsky finally pulled back to look down at his partner. The depth of sincerity in his eyes struck Hutch in the heart.

“Because you’re mine, Hutchinson. You’re mine and you’re worth it.”

 

Chapter Seventeen

Hutch’s cell phone buzzed just as the nurse was hanging his chart’s clipboard back on the end of the bed. He picked up the phone and noted the caller. Looking at the nurse, he waited a few rings to answer it. He was giving her a pointed expression that meant he wanted privacy — damned if he was going to have a personal conversation yet again in front of another stranger.

“We’re done here anyway,” said the nurse. “I’ll leave you in peace to take your call.” She withdrew from the room, closing the door behind her.

“Starsk?”

“Hey there. You free to talk now or have you got someone with you?”

He welcomed the sound of Starsky’s familiar voice in the quiet of the hospital room. It was the next best thing to having him near, even if Starsky was on the other side of the country in New York.

While Hutch was in the hospital, Starsky had arranged to have Nicky’s body flown home. Although Starsky hadn’t commented on it, Hutch knew that while making these difficult arrangements he also had to dodge the press. Journalists were hot on the scent of a good story involving an LA homicide detective and his dead brother. Since the dramatic arrest of the infamous Tony Durniak, they were determined to get some comment out of Starsky. Hutch had learned from the hospital staff that Starsky had left strict instructions to prevent reporters from getting near Hutch.

Starsky seemed to be holding the fort for the both of them while Hutch was recovering. While he fooled other people into thinking he had the situation in hand, Hutch knew differently. It was much harder than it seemed for Starsky.

Durniak’s bullet meant he couldn’t help Starsky at a time when he needed him most. The situation would be different if he’d been available to help his partner after the shootout. They always were there for each other following major events that left them shaken mentally if not physically.

“No. I can talk,” Hutch said hurriedly. “Starsk, how are you? Is the funeral over? It’d be about five in New York now, so I guess it is.”

“We left the cemetery over an hour ago and, yeah, we’re back at the house,” Starsky answered.

Hutch tried to catch his mood. Starsky sounded tentative. “I’ve been thinking of you all morning,” Hutch said.

“I knew you would be,” Starsky said. “I was going to call you earlier, but it just didn’t seem appropriate till now.”

“Of course. I didn’t expect you to. How is your mother holding up?”

“Better than I thought she would be. She’s a strong woman, Hutch.”

“She’s had to be strong over the years, Starsk. But she’s got you, and I’m sure that’s helped her through this.”

“She’s also got a strong community around her, which I’m pleased about. Right now there’s a living room groaning to capacity with friends and relatives and more Jewish food than the whole of Brooklyn could manage to eat.”

“I can imagine. I’ll never forget that time you took me to your mother’s place, and one of your father’s sisters visited with that dessert — what was it? Ham –”

“You mean the Hamantash from Aunt Hannah.” Starsky chuckled lightly. “Yep, I thought you were going to be sick after she plied you with the third serving.”

“Don’t remind me. It took a month for my blood sugar levels to drop back to normal!”

“Then you probably don’t want to know that she’s already told me she wants me to take a big batch home for you.”

“Oh God help me…” In the background, Hutch could hear light street traffic. “Where are you? It doesn’t sound like you’re inside.”

“No, I’m out on the street,” Starsky said, slipping into a more serious tone. “I needed to take ten minutes, and I needed to talk to you.”

Hutch had a mental picture of Starsky crouched slightly over, his hands cupped around a cigarette as he lit it. He really had hoped that Starsky would have slowed the habit down by now. Or, better yet even kicked it cold turkey. Still, he supposed if there were ever a time his partner needed a drag, it would be the day of his brother’s funeral.

Maybe he had been quiet too long because Starsky’s irritated sigh brought him back to the moment. “And no, I’m not.”

“No, you’re not what?” Hutch asked, surprised.

“I’m not out here sneaking a smoke behind Ma’s back.”

Hutch couldn’t hold back a soft laugh. They knew each other too well. “Even if you were, I’d say enjoy it today while you can, because when you get home, I’m going to do serious battle with you over that dirty habit.”

“You might have to talk to Ma about your first line of attack. She’s done nothing but chase me down every time she sees me pat down my pockets. Even five blocks from her house, she’d smell it and hunt me down,” Starsky said in a pained voice.

“Good. I’m glad to hear my favorite mother-in-law is looking after the most important man in my life.” Hutch couldn’t help having a fond smile for Mrs. Starsky.

“Likewise, she hasn’t stopped asking after her son’s favorite man. Even in the midst of Nicky’s funeral, I swear she was worrying about you as much as she was me.”

“Damn it, Starsky, I should be there with you.”

Starsky took a breath as though struggling for patience. “Hutch, we went over this already. There’s no way you were ready to leave the hospital to come with me.”

“Well, that was up for debate –”

“One that the doc and I won so quit griping.”

“Alright — it’s too late now anyway, but make sure to tell your mother again, how much I wish I could have been there with you both today.”

“Hutch –” Starsky sounded as though he was humoring him, “She got the picture after I described the performance you put on when I said you couldn’t break out of the hospital to come with me. I got a smile out of her when I described the tantrum you threw when the doc backed me up.”

“Maybe it was for the best that I wasn’t able to make it there for the funeral. I was thinking about it after you left, Starsky. It might have been hard being with your mother with how things are between us now,” Hutch said. “It might not have been the best time to disclose our relationship while she’s coping with losing Nicky. There’ll be a better time to tell her.”

“I think she probably has a good idea about us anyway. Even though you aren’t here, I get the feelin’ that she’s already figured out something’s different. She’s made a few comments. Looked at me in that way mother’s do…”

“Yeah?”

“She can tell I’m missing you — needing you,” Starsky said quietly.

It lit Hutch up inside to hear Starsky acknowledge the progression of their relationship. “And I’m missing you too, Starsk. Did it ever feel this bad when we were apart before?”

“Not quite in the same way as this time.” Starsky’s tone changed as he said it.

“I know,” Hutch agreed softly, before changing the subject. “Seriously Starsk, how are you doing — I mean, really?”

“To be honest, I’m feeling better. The worst part is over. I was — dreading today. Not just for me, but for Ma, while wondering if I could let go enough of my resentment of Nicky to support Ma through it. She doesn’t need to know about how things ended between Nicky and me.”

“And how did you get through it?”

“I got through it by knowing you were there for me. Even though you weren’t there physically, I felt you there. Feel you here now.” The emotion in his words was strong.

“That’s right, babe. I was there. Thinking of you every moment. And I’m here now. Thinking of you and waiting for you to come home to me.”

“I know it sounds wrong, Hutch, but today in the synagogue — all I could think about was you. You and your touch.” Starsky’s voice pitched lower. “How you feel lying against me, on me… in me. The thought that I could have you again soon. It kept me going. I’ve become conditioned to it — to you, Hutch. Needing you when my world is upside down or fucked up. Only you can make it right again. Make it better.”

Tears threatened in Hutch’s eyes from Starsky’s husky endorsement of his importance. “Starsky, please–” Hutch gripped the cell phone tightly, “–stop, will you? It’s killing me that I can’t put my arms around you.”

Hutch could imagine Starsky smiling, happy that he’d been able to convey the intensity of his feelings to Hutch. “It’s so fucking strong, isn’t it, Hutch? Needing, wanting each other?”

“God, yes. Way too strong at the moment, babe.” Hutch all but groaned into the phone, casting a furtive glance at the door as his shifted in the hospital bed, his groin tightening beneath the sheets.

“Just as well you’re not here with me, Hutch. If you were… I don’t think I could stop myself. God, if you were, do you know how much I’d wanna take you upstairs right this minute? Lie down beside you in that narrow bed I’m sleeping in, pull your long, warm body right up against me….”

“Would it be so wrong?” Hutch asked softly. “I could burn away all the pain you’ve felt in the last few days…”

“Burn? I’m burning up for you here on the sidewalk. I wonder if everyone livin’ on this block can feel the heat coming out of me,” Starsky said.

“Was it only two days ago you flew to New York, Starsk? Feels like a week. Like a month! I know your responsibility is to your family at a time like this, but God, selfishly I want you back.”

“Just another few days, Hutch. Seems like a lifetime to me, too, but I gotta be here for Ma. She needs me to tie up everything for Nicky — his apartment, his finances — all his stuff. I’ll get it all sorted. Then I’ll be on the first plane back,” Starsky said. “In the meantime, your job is to concentrate on getting healed. By the time you leave the hospital, you should be feeling a lot stronger.”

That gave Hutch the opportunity to deliver his news. “I’m going home tomorrow.” Hutch waited for Starsky’s response.

“What? Tomorrow? Last I heard, the doctor talked about another two days –”

“Starsk, I’m ready to leave. I’m feeling fine. I’m moving around a lot more freely and only taking pain meds every six hours or so.”

“And the doc approved this?” Starsky sounded dubious. “You didn’t give him a hard time did you? Demanding to be discharged?”

“No, I didn’t.” Hutch rolled his eyes. “He agrees with the plan.”

“But I’m not there for you. I won’t be at home to watch you….”

“Starsky, it’s all taken care of. Don’t worry. You sort out your family business and be there for your mother. Huggy’s going to pick me up and get me settled. I’ve already given him my keys so he can stock the kitchen.”

“I don’t like you being home by yourself, Hutch. Why can’t you wait till I get back?”

“Starsky,” he said impatiently, “cut it out. It’s arranged. Stop worrying.”

“I guess…” Starsky relented.

“I can’t wait to get home to my own bed and get some undisturbed sleep. How are hospitals supposed to be places of recovery when I’m never left alone? There’s a constant stream of traffic through my damn room.”

“Maybe you’re just everyone’s favorite patient, blondie,” Starsky said lightly. “You are kinda lovable.”

A tap on the door interrupted Hutch’s response. “And speaking of traffic –” Hutch sighed.

When the door opened, a physical therapist smiled, and asked if Hutch was ready for a session.

Hutch held the phone away from his ear. “I’ll be with you in a second, Jeff.”

“Jeff, eh?” Starsky said, obviously having heard. “A male nurse?”

“No, a physical therapist. Jeff’s been helping me improve my mobility,” Hutch told Starsky as he levered himself off the bed.

“Well, don’t let Jeff work you over too much, blondie. I want you in one piece when I get my hands on you,” Starsky joked seductively.

Hutch hoped the instant heat he felt spreading up his chest and neck was not obvious. “Don’t you think it’s time you went back inside?” Hutch admonished. “They’ll be sending out a search party soon.”

Starsky laughed, no doubt enjoying the effect he was having on Hutch. “Okay, I know I’m gettin’ you all flustered. I can just see your face — I bet you’re coloring up nicely.”

“I — I’ve gotta go… Jeff’s waiting for me,” Hutch muttered, thankful Starsky’s mood seemed lighter.

Starsky laughed. “Okay, but I want a call as soon as you get home from the hospital. Promise.”

“I promise, now go.” Hutch ended the call and tossed the phone on the bedside table.

~~~

Starsky decided to rent a beach house the morning after Nicky’s funeral. He was enough of a pragmatist to believe that surrounding himself with the right environment could only help the healing process. He and Hutch needed something to help them transition into their new life after all their pain and loss. They’d been through so much, waited so long, and risked it all in the showdown with Durniak. Now it was time to give their fledgling romance quality time and space to grow. Starsky felt their partnership had already taken a back seat to everything else in their lives.

Located about four hours drive north of LA, south of San Jose, the bungalow fit the bill. The photos on the web page showed a house with a picturesque location on the beach, with steps down to the sand from the back deck. If the house were even half as good as portrayed, he’d be happy.

He wanted alone time with Hutch, with the rest of the world outside their inner private sanctuary. They needed this break before going back to their daily lives. The next few days were important to him. Important to Hutch. And it was crucial for their new relationship.

Starsky had left his Mustang (finally back from the police impound) at the airport in the parking garage. He planned to collect his bag, head up the coast directly from LAX, and hit the road for the beach. Of course, there was one problem with that plan. Hutch. The object of the planned trip at the beach house as yet had no idea what Starsky had in mind for them.

He wanted to wait until the day he flew out to spring his plan on Hutch. However, since he was scheduled to arrive in LA early in the afternoon, he soon realized his problem. Leaving the unveiling of his surprise until he boarded his plane meant, because of the time zone difference between LA and New York, he’d be calling Hutch at some ungodly hour in the morning. Still, he wanted Hutch to be ready so they could get to their destination before dark.

Considering Hutch’s need for recuperative sleep, Starsky had waited until the last moment before his plane boarded to call and wake his partner.

Hutch’s sleep filled mumble was barely intelligible. “Star — zat you?”

Starsky winced, instantly guilty for having disturbed his still-healing partner. “Sorry, babe, sorry. I hate to have to wake you. I know it’s early there.”

“Sum — sumthin’ wrong?” Starsky caught the tinge of alarm in Hutch’s voice.

“No, Hutch,” Starsky said firmly. “Nothing’s wrong, but I’ve gotta get on a flight in about five minutes and needed to speak to you.”

“Oh? ‘S’kay — was worried,” Hutch sounded clearer as he roused himself. “But we — you called me last night. Told me you’d call when you landed –”

“Yeah, well, that was because I didn’t want to tell you something till closer to the time.”

“Oh, Starsk,” Hutch’s voice flattened, “you mean you can’t come home yet… but…wait. That can’t be right.” He sounded clearer. “You said you were getting on the plane?”

“I am. I’m still coming home, and I’ll be in LA after lunch-time just like I said in the text. Should hit your place, depending on traffic, around two pm at the latest. I want you ready and waiting with a packed bag.”

“Good, because I’ve been looking forward to –” Hutch stopped, apparently registering what Starsky had said. “Wait? You want me to pack a bag? For you?”

Starsky laughed, loving the sound of Hutch’s sleepy confusion, imagining his tousled blond hair and bleary blue eyes. “No, not for me, Blintz — for you. You won’t need too much stuff. Just some casual clothes, a sweater or jacket for the night, throw in your sun screen lotion and swimming trunks — and — ah, damn it — that’s right –” Starsky cursed, “mine, too, if you can find them, or a spare pair of yours if you can’t — and — yeah, whatever book you’re reading at the moment. Be ready to hit the road. We’ve got no time to waste, lover.”

“Starsk?”

“You better water those green things of yours enough to last a few days and — well — no — on second thoughts it might be better if you can ask that nice neighbor of yours to take care of them just in case. I don’t want the few you’ve got left dying after the rest got trashed when that guy ransacked your rooftop –”

“Starsky?”

“Yeah?” Starsky asked, breathless from his monologue and distracted by the announcements coming from the departure gate near him.

There was a small pause and Starsky could imagine the deep puckering in Hutch’s brow as he tried to make sense of the conversation.

“What are you talking about?” Hutch sounded completely lost.

“I’ll call you again when I leave LAX. You’ll be clearer headed by then. Go back to sleep babe.”

“Wait — but –”

“Gotta go — time to board. God, I can’t wait to see you, babe.”

“Starsk?”

“Yeah? Still here — just.”

“Go. Don’t miss that flight or I’ll — I’ll –”

“Or?”

Hutch’s breath was heavy. All drowsiness was gone from his voice. “Just get on that fucking plane, will you?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Starsky said, the innuendo full of feeling as he ended the call.

He slipped the phone back in his pocket, picked up his carry-on bag, and made a dash for the gate. Within hours, he would be back in LA with Hutch. His smile was plastered all over his face.

~~~

The drive from LA up the coast seemed less than the four hours it took. Starsky put that down to the atmosphere between them.

Before he picked Hutch up, he’d resolved to keep their conversation light and neutral. He’d had enough of heavy for the past five days. Hoping Hutch would take his lead, he was pleased when he did. They discussed what Dobey had told them about Durniak’s case, how Hutch’s recovery had progressed, and how they planned to spend their time before going back to work.

As Starsky drove, Hutch used his cell phone to log onto the site where Starsky had booked the house. “It looks too good to be true, doesn’t it?” Hutch said.

“Exactly what I thought when I was deciding whether to book it or go with a better-known hotel,” Starsky said, keeping his eyes on the busy highway. “But I thought you’d prefer a small place away from the crowds.”

“You got that right. Well, if it’s half as good as it looks, we’ll be lucky.”

Their first view left them awestruck.

Starsky let out a whistle as his car crested the top of the sloping driveway. The drive swung around the front of a very private stucco house painted a soft blue with white trim. The afternoon sunlight bounced off the big glass windows and doors. “Holy shit,” he said, “get a look at this place.”

The sturdy house was perched on the shoreline, surrounded by native grasses and shrubs. There were other houses, but they were at a distance and shielded behind sloping, wide dunes. The house was blanketed from the sounds of traffic.

Using the instructions he’d received, Starsky located the keys in a coded box. He unlocked the front door and they walked in, stopping in their tracks to gape at the magnificent view. Across the room, the open floor plan showed them two large sliding glass doors framing glinting blue waves and miles of white sand.

Relieved he had hit the mark with the booking, Starsky did a quick tour of the house while Hutch headed toward the doors that opened onto the deck. Looking around inside, Starsky realized the web page undersold both the house and its location.

Hutch obviously agreed. “It’s magic, Starsky. Simply perfect.” Hutch’s smile, as he stood on the wooden deck, was as dazzling as the ocean stretched out beyond him.

“It is, isn’t it?” The simplistic beauty of the house stunned Starsky. He stood at the threshold of the double doors, scanning the living room, kitchen, and stretching coastline outside. “Wait until you see the master bedroom. It has a balcony with a staircase down to the beach.”

“I’ll go look when I can tear myself away from this view. God, it’s lovely here. The beach goes for miles.”

“Shame I couldn’t have ridden my Ducati up here,” Starsky said. He eyed Hutch for his reaction, keeping the smirk off his face. “The motorcycle would love these big open roads on the coastline. It’d be wild to open her engine up at top speed.”

The look Hutch shot him was far from impressed. “And what was I s’posed to do while you were riding like the wind on your damn death-machine? Putter along behind you in the car?”

“Well, the bags would have been a problem…” A sheepish smile escaped when he said it. “Maybe another time when you’re well enough to drive the distance.”

“Count me out on any plans you have to use your Ducati to scream up and down coastlines. I only just got out of the hospital. I don’t want to have to go back in for a nervous breakdown.”

Starsky laughed. “I’m never going to get you to like it, am I?”

“Nope.”

They leaned over the railing of the deck to admire the beach and the sound of pounding waves and rustling reeds. “So is this enough nature for you, country boy?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow after I get you up at dawn to do a five-mile walk along the beach.” Hutch managed to keep a straight face as he said it.

Starsky moaned loudly. “You can’t do that. You’re an invalid remember? You should be taking it easy, not running all over the countryside.”

“I did say walk not run, didn’t I?” Hutch arched his eyebrow. “But, you’ve got a point. I can’t go unsupervised. I could fade out half way. That means you’ll have to come with me.”

“Now wait a minute, this is meant to be a break. Gettin’ up at dawn is not my –”

“Good, I knew you’d be up for it.” Hutch clapped him vigorously on the back. “It’ll be a great way to get those clogged up lungs of yours clear again. Lots of exertion and deep breathing to pink up all those tiny airways stained by toxic gas and starved of fresh oxygen. Rejuvenate yourself.”

“Christ, Hutch,” Starsky said, making a sound of disgust. “Did you really just say that?”

“Say what?” Hutch asked him, with such innocence Starsky wanted to flick his ear.

“That crap. That dribble that just came out of your mouth.”

“You didn’t like it?” Hutch pretended surprise.

“It sounded like a cross between an anti-smoking campaign and a Hallmark card.”

“Get used to it.” Hutch set his mouth in a hard line. “You’ll be getting a lot more of it from me if you aren’t serious about staying off cigarettes.”

“I told you on the way up here, I haven’t had one since Nicky’s funeral, and I don’t intend to. Smell for yourself.” He leaned in sideways, close enough for Hutch to breathe him in.

Obligingly, Hutch made loud sniffing noises as he snuffled at Starsky’s hair and collar. “Yes, I have to admit, there’s more of your scent than tobacco…” Hutch breathed in deeply again, screwing up his nose theatrically. “Maybe a bit too much of you.”

Starsky pulled back, affronted, tugging his shirt up to smell. “Cut it out. I do not stink. Even after sittin’ cooped up for six hours in a flying sardine can with two hundred and fifty or so other sardines squished next to me.”

Hutch obviously thought that was worth a chuckle and another exploratory smell. “I would have said more like five-day-old tuna sandwiches, not sardines.”

“Now you’re just asking for it, Blondie,” Starsky growled as he jabbed his elbow lightly at Hutch’s ribs. “If you weren’t incapacitated, you’d be down by now.”

Hutch smiled again and caught Starsky’s elbow. He turned Starsky toward him, wrapping his arms around his neck, letting his forearms rest on his shoulders. He stopped smiling as his eyes turned serious. “I can’t think of a better surprise than arranging this house for us. Thank you, Starsk.”

Their banter dropped away. Starsky knew they could both feel a flush of anticipation.

Hutch moved first, uncertainty on his face as though he wasn’t sure what to do or say next. “Well, what now? Unpack the car? Or do you want to explore the beach while it’s still light enough? The car can wait, I suppose — there’s nothing perishable until we stock up. I saw that small grocery beside the main road — we could go there –” Suddenly, Hutch stopped.

Starsky could tell he was trying too hard to fill the silence. “Neither,” Starsky said decisively. “Before we do anything else, I need to get a few things off my chest.” He frowned, trying to change the conversation to something more serious. “There are things I didn’t deal with when you were shot. Then there was the funeral, and — being there for Ma. It was easier to leave it all that stuff alone till I found a better time to face it. Now, it’s all still there. I need to move it aside to make room for us.”

“Okay.” Hutch sighed and waited.

“I wanted this time here with you to be just for us, Hutch. Not about anything else that’s dominated our lives for the past weeks — just us.”

“God, Starsk, I want that, too. So much,” Hutch said.

“I know we can’t pretend that what happened to Van and Nicky hasn’t happened, and we can’t forget about it. But, for these next few days, we need to focus on our relationship. To start on that, I need to clean up the space between us that’s cluttered up with stuff in my head. Stuff about Nicky and me.”

“Go on,” Hutch encouraged him. “I’m listening.” He pulled up a deck chair and sat down in the warm afternoon sun, waiting as Starsky mirrored his actions.

“I’ve been actin’ like a hard ass since Nicky got — got killed. I suppose even before that — when I realized how he’d sold me out to Durniak. I know that. And everything you kept sayin’ to me about not wanting to deal with it is true. You’re right. I haven’t wanted to talk about it.”

“Do you want to tell me now?” Hutch asked with a concerned smile.

Starsky sat back and looked at his hands. “It was hard going home and facing Ma, knowing what I did about Nicky, about what he’d become, and what he’d done. Ma doesn’t know a fraction of what he’d gotten up to in the last few years. Sure, she has some ideas about his lifestyle. Some worries and suspicions. But, I don’t think she’s wanted to look too closely. She’s too tired and too old to face the truth about Nicky.”

“That’s understandable. What would be the point, anyway? Nick was hardly going to change.”

“No — I don’t think so. It was too late for him. He’d been heading down that path for years, ever since he’d first watched me show him how it was done.”

Starsky could see that surprised Hutch. “You’re nothing like Nicky. You and he were worlds apart.”

“Not really. At least, not when we were both young. On my worst days, in my worst moments since Nicky was killed, I keep thinking that if it hadn’t been for me, he wouldn’t have been in that position. Put himself into a life where it ended the way it did — with him bleeding out on the hangar floor. I feel like I showed him the way.”

“Whoa, wait — wait, Starsky,” Hutch leaned forward in his seat. “Back up and tell me how you reached this conclusion?”

“I led him to Tony Durniak,” Starsky said. “Then I acted surprised and disgusted when he followed the trail I’d laid out for him.”

“No, you didn’t. You showed him that Tony Durniak was your enemy. You showed him that you didn’t agree with Tony’s ways or his philosophy,” Hutch pointed out. “It was Joe you’d respected, not Tony. Nick would have seen that, known that.”

“You know what I’m tryin’ to say here –”

“Yes, I get the picture. Trouble is, Starsky; it’s a picture you’ve created for yourself. I was there don’t forget. Inside that hangar with him while you were outside with the two witnesses. I was right beside your brother when it happened. I heard and saw everything he did and said. You’re not in my picture of Nick’s murder at all, partner –”

“I’m not just talking about the moment Durniak shot Nick. Sure, you were there, Hutch. You were also there those last days when Nicky came to us and tried to wheedle his way into finding the missing drugs. But that’s just the last scene of the play. Plenty of other things went on before you came into my life.”

Starsky saw a flash of hurt on Hutch’s face. “Doesn’t matter.” Hutch shook his head. “I know you.”

“You know the ‘me’ you’ve always known. You didn’t know the person I was before we became so much a part of each other’s lives.”

Hutch tipped his head back and looked at the roof of the house in frustration. “I think I know all of you, but I can see you’re determined to prove me wrong.”

“I mean, you didn’t know me when I was young. A brash kid from Brooklyn who liked to hang ’round the worst parts of the neighborhood. A kid Joe Durniak took a shine to. I thought I was invincible. I thought I could rule my little world on the streets. Hold my own against the other punks, be somethin’ — someone more than just a fatherless boy from a low income Jewish family. I liked to run with the crowd on the fringes of Joe’s mob, dabble in their games and wield a little of their power.”

“You’ve told me too many times how you pulled away from the corruption and violence. Are you trying to convince me that wasn’t the case? That you supported the mob’s methods?” Hutch demanded angrily. “If you are, don’t expect me to believe it.”

“No, I’m not saying that. Everything I told you before about how I worked to right a lot of the wrongs I saw getting done is true. Still, it didn’t stop me hangin’ around the whole scene for a few years. And I’m not proud of that.”

“You never became one of them, Starsky. I know that. I know you.” Hutch leaned closer to add emphasis.

“So you keep sayin’.” Starsky frowned. “And as I keep sayin’, you didn’t know me back then. I liked the feelin’ of power, Hutch, and I liked the money Joe’s sidekicks could put in my hand. After Pa died, Ma needed that money, and I wanted to give it to her anyway I could get it. It gave me a certain amount of status in the ‘hood, too, being successful even on a small scale. I liked that.”

“Naturally. But how does that make you such a bad person? Any kid would feel the same with the opportunity to make some cash and look cool.”

“That’s true, but it doesn’t change the fact that the whole time I was doin’ it, I didn’t pay attention to my kid brother. Ma expected it of me, and Pa would’ve, too. As the older brother, Nicky was my responsibility. Ma was out tryin’ to make a livin’ to feed and clothe us. She worked herself to the bone — and all she expected of me was to go to school and watch over Nicky.”

“And you don’t feel you did?”

“Only in a half-assed fashion. I was too busy carving out a place for myself in Joe’s crowd. After Pa died, I had nothin’ left, Hutch. I wanted something back. And Joe Durniak was there to lead me to the wrong track. All the time I was working out a niche for myself, Nicky was left with nothin’ and no one. Ma was at work or tired and worn out, and Pa was dead. And me? I wasn’t there, or didn’t notice he was trailing around, watching me, takin’ it all in. He idolized me, Hutch. I was his big brother, his protector. And what did I do? I fucked up his whole life.”

“If Nick’s life was fucked up, it was from his own doing, not yours, or anyone else’s,” Hutch said. “We determine our own behavior, Starsky. You know that. You’ve said it to me enough times before.”

“It depends on what opportunities people get, too, Hutch. He took up the life I introduced him to. The kid had nothin’ else to fill his life. And he wound up with Tony Durniak, a man who always hated me.” Steepling his hands in front of his face, Starsky rested his forehead against his thumbs. “And it got him killed.”

“You’ve been away from Nick and New York for a long time, Starsky,” Hutch said calmly.

“Nicky watched me for years, his big brother, brushing shoulders with scum, running the streets, acting like some tough shit who could survive around them. After I left New York, he still got to hear about me — long after he’d seen me in action,” Starsky argued.

“That’s overstretching your influence by a hell of a long way. You’re giving yourself too much credit for how Nick turned out.”

“Nicky picked up where I’d left off when I came to LA, leaving him all alone. No wonder he thought he could do the same. He only wanted to prove to me that he was capable of making his own way. He’d always resented me for leaving. I know that.”

“You were only a kid yourself when you left. Younger than he was when he started doing the bigger, shadier stuff. He made those choices as an adult, not a kid like you were.”

“That doesn’t matter. Nicky emulated me. I did a great job of showing him how to get into that life.”

“He also saw you walk away and leave it behind you. You made a choice to turn your back on it, Starsky. Nick didn’t.”

“No, Hutch. I didn’t walk away from it. I had no say in being sent away,” Starsky said. “You know that. Ma and her brother made those decisions for me.”

“I don’t give a shit how it happened, Starsky. You still left it behind!” Hutch yelled, his frustration with Starsky growing. “LA was just another big city when you arrived, with as much potential for criminal activities and poor life choices as New York. You could’ve just as easily taken up where you left off in New York. But did you?”

“No, but –” Starsky started to say.

Hutch didn’t give him a chance. “No, you didn’t. You got your shit together instead. You finished school, enlisted, served in the Army, and decided to be a cop.”

“Hutch –”

“Shut up,” Hutch growled. “Let me finish.” He growled again when Starsky smiled. “You became a cop. A damn fine cop, a fucking great cop. You got your Sergeant’s stripes; you made detective, and you racked up an excellent record.”

“Okay — I get –”

“Be quiet.” Hutch jabbed his finger toward his partner. “You’re nothing like the kid who left New York. And, you sure as hell don’t have any responsibility for whatever your brother did with his life while you were making a success of yours.”

Starsky started to open his mouth again, but Hutch cursed. “I thought I told you to shut up and let me finish–”

“You mean you haven’t?” Starsky laughed. “I can’t take much more of this flattery.”

“I’m not trying to flatter you — though I mean everything I’ve said. I’m attempting to convince you of something you need to see. I know you’ve been walking around with this chunk of cold rock in your gut since Nick died. I thought it was because you didn’t want to face the pain of what had happened to him. I didn’t realize you’ve been sitting on a festering case of misguided guilt.”

“I can’t believe Nicky did what he did. That he went to Tony Durniak — to use me. It just showed me what a mess he had gotten into. You’ve always known what Nick was capable of doing. I just never faced it till that moment.”

“In the end, Starsk, Nick did try to help you, remember?” Hutch reminded him. “He genuinely believed we were going to hand that meth to Durniak to get you off Van’s murder charge. Despite whatever motivated him earlier, when he thought you were in danger of ruining your career, he chose to protect you.”

Hutch stood and walked over to him, holding out his hand. “You showed him how to do that, partner. You taught your brother what it means to stand up for the ones you love. He’d seen it happen with the two of us. It made him jealous, I’m sure, but I think it also taught him what you valued. Trust and loyalty, qualities he knew were important to you. Your brother died knowing he’d fought for you.”

Starsky reached to take Hutch’s hand and stood to move into the circle of Hutch’s arms. “If that’s true, and I hope it is, he learned that not just from me, but from watching the two of us. You and me, Hutch, over the years.”

Hutch nodded. “Nick made the decision to do that for you. You have to take comfort in that, and drop all that self-blame.”

“While I’m letting that self-blame go…” Starsky started.

“Might as well confess now. Clear the air,” said Hutch.

“I thought you were dead, Hutch. When I ran into that hangar, heard the gunshots, saw you and Nicky go down — I thought you were both dead. I couldn’t have — I couldn’t have gone on if Durniak had killed you. Is it wrong for me to think like that? I had to face it at the funeral — Nicky was dead, but I was so relieved that you hadn’t died, too… Not, you Hutch….”

“How can it be wrong for you to love me? You didn’t get to choose, Starsky. You didn’t get to make a decision. Nicky died, and I lived. I could be feeling as bad as you do for being the one who lived. But I’m damned if I’m going to feel that way. All I feel is grateful and overjoyed. I get to live. I get to be with you.”

Starsky felt something easing up inside him. Hutch was right. It wasn’t as if Durniak gave him a choice — his brother or his partner. Nicky died because of his own actions.

Starsky looked out at the lengthening shadows across the beach, shaking his head. “This is pretty heavy stuff for a conversation on the deck of a beach house. Sort of ruins the ambiance, doesn’t it?”

“We needed to get it out of the way,” Hutch said. “You think you’ve managed?”

“Well, I think you’ve been doing most of the heavy lifting.” Starsky smiled. “And in a debilitated state, only days out of the hospital. You shouldn’t have been carrying anything except a beer and a book.”

“Consider it therapy for both of us,” Hutch said lightly. “Practice for what lies ahead before we can be cleared for work.”

The mention of therapy made Starsky rub his forehead. The thought of it aggravated him. “Did you have to remind me? You know how much I hate doing that sort of stuff. I do better just talking to you. You’re better than any shrink, Hutch, and a hell of a lot easier to open up to.”

Hutch chuckled. “You wouldn’t be biased, now, would you?”

“Maybe — just a little…”

“Until we get back to the city, let’s not think about it.”

“I’m sorry, Hutch — I didn’t want to spoil things as soon as we arrived, and I think I might have with all this stuff.”

“You haven’t spoiled anything, Starsk. In fact, I feel better now that you’ve finally broached the things that were bothering you.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got enough of your own issues to confront — losing Vanessa, just like I lost Nicky.”

“Oh Starsk, my relationship with Van was different than yours with Nick. I came to terms with losing her long before she was killed. Of course, I was derailed by what happened to her, but I’ve faced those issues. Until just now, you hadn’t been able to do that with Nick.” Hutch looked at Starsky with a serious expression.

Standing close to his lover, Starsky rubbed his hand down the length of Hutch’s arm. “Thanks for always being there for me.”

“Hey,” Hutch answered softly, his hand covering Starsky’s like a warm blanket, “no problem. It’s my favorite place to be.”

“So?” Starsky cleared his throat. “You were saying before I detoured us into my private therapy session — what should we do now? Take a walk on the beach, unpack the car, drive out and get some provisions or –”

“None of those interest me right this moment,” Hutch said quickly, sounding much like Starsky had when he’d said almost the same thing when they’d first arrived.

“What then?” Starsky asked curiously. “You want to go some place else around here before it gets dark?”

Hutch didn’t answer straight away. Finally, he smiled. “No. I want to stay exactly where I am. I want to be in my favorite place.”

The quiver he felt at the words became a jolt when Hutch took his face and framed it in his big hands.

“You mean–” Starsky swallowed, his belly clenching as Hutch’s fingers moved around to caress his nape.

“That’s right.” Hutch pulled him closer. “I want to be with you, Starsk. Now that we’re finally on the other side of this nightmare. Just you and me. I’m sorry, but I just can’t wait any longer.” The hold on Starsky became more insistent, his thumbs branding hot imprints beneath Starsky’s jawline. “I’m — I’m aching for you.”

“Damn –” Starsky could feel the instant response his body was making to Hutch’s ferocious need. Still he hesitated, holding back a little. His hands touched the area around Hutch’s wound. “But, your side? Is it –”

“I’m fine. It’s healing well. What I’ve got in mind won’t be any problem for me –”

“And what is it you’ve got in mind?” Starsky smiled as Hutch’s hands began to move from below his neck and jawline to explore the open neckline of Starsky’s loose shirt.

“Oh… for me to undress you slowly, to touch you soothingly, to lay beside you skin-to-skin so that I can feel you, inhale you, taste you….”

“I see…so nothin’ too strenuous?” Starsky shifted uncomfortably as pressure built in his groin.

“You’ve heard of slow cooking, Starsk?”

“Huh? Well — yeah I guess –” Starsky stammered. Hutch’s husky question had disarmed him in more ways than one. He was still learning the depth of his new lover’s skills of seduction.

“Slow cooking takes time, Starsk. Lots and lots of time. And in the end, it creates sensual tastes and experiences in the mouth. So with us, being here now, totally alone, totally private, we’ve got a lot of time. I’m thinking of slow loving. No rush, no urgency, all the time in the world. We haven’t had time yet to do any of that, have we? And this place by the sea seems like the ideal setting to do a lot of that together.” Hutch’s voice was as mellow as the afternoon glow around them and it was doing incredible things to Starsky’s libido. “You like the sound of that, babe?”

“Oh God, yeah.” Starsky enjoyed Hutch’s mouth as it pushed aside his curls to nip gently at his earlobe. His own needs were mounting at an alarming rate and his body wanted more than gentle foreplay and slow loving moves.

Hutch, however, seemed to be setting a different pace, like warm, melting butter and honey coalescing on low heat. There was no rush to his actions, just languid sliding hands and moist lips moving over Starsky’s skin.

Giving into Hutch’s control, Starsky allowed himself to be walked backward through the deck’s sliding doors into the house’s interior. As Hutch guided him around a layout he wasn’t familiar with, Starsky stumbled a few times against furniture he couldn’t see. Each time, Hutch’s steady grip righted him. In contrast to Starsky’s heat, Hutch seemed to be the model of cool. Cool and calm and in control.

“Master bedroom? Left or right?” Hutch asked quietly, still keeping his grip on Starsky.

“Who cares? They’ve both got beds in them, and even if we end up in the single bedroom, or the bathroom, it’ll be fine by –”

“Bed. I want a bed. A big wide bed.” Hutch punctuated his needs by stopping in a doorway and grazing his teeth like tiny needles over Starsky’s bared neck. “I need to lie down beside you. To hold you,” Hutch said, choosing a doorway and propelling them both inside. He nudged Starsky backward some more, still suckling on his neck.

By the time the back of Starsky’s legs made contact with the mattress, Hutch had made good progress on loosening Starsky’s shirt from his waistband. Hutch eased him back on the soft, wide bed, the sheets cool and smooth with the scent of fresh laundering. It was the perfect backdrop to Hutch’s slow, seductive moves.

“First these,” Hutch pulled Starsky’s casual loafers off and tossed them to the side of the room before returning his energies to Starsky’s shirt. “Now this.” With careful precision, Hutch pealed the unbuttoned shirt away from his chest, pushing the fabric to the edge of his shoulders, laying the bare skin open to him. He paused only long enough to gift Starsky with a smile so beautiful that beneath it Starsky swore he could actually feel the warmth of its radiating heat. But, under the warmth there was something else in the light blue eyes above him. Perhaps a touch of sadness? .

Starsky lifted his hand to touch the generous curve of Hutch’s lips. “What ya thinkin’ in that beautiful head of yours, blondie?”

When Hutch sighed, Starsky knew he had sensed it correctly. “All the while I was in the hospital, I thought about when I might be able to do this with you. I was so damn angry that I was laid up and couldn’t be there for you, with you. Just like this. To hold you and kiss you, to love you the way I’ve been wanting to love you.” He ran his thumbs beneath Starsky’s eyes, along the top of his cheekbones. “I remember when we stood outside the hangar, before we knocked to be let in. You looked at me with those dark eyes, Starsk, and told me –”

“Told you that I loved you,” Starsky finished, taking Hutch’s hand and kissing the palm. “I remember. I remember how I felt at that moment.”

“At that moment and all the other moments before we’ve charged into something dangerous.” Hutch watched him carefully as he spoke. “That night, though, for the first time, it felt so much more frightening. Because of what we’d finally admitted to one another. I know that’s what you were thinking when you looked at me and said it.”

Starsky nodded. “It hit me, standing there. Outside that hangar. Just how much more we have to lose, how much more we’ve got on the line.”

“And then I went and got shot, Nicky got killed, and — I never got to be with you after it was all over like I’d been waiting to be.”

“What would I do if I had lost you that night, Hutch?” Starsky whispered against Hutch’s cheek.

“You didn’t lose me. I’m here now. I’m with you and I’m going to love you the way I’ve wanted to since the day I met you, Starsk. Will you let me have that?”

“Christ, yes. I –” The words were lost when Hutch’s mouth descended on his to take it in a slow possessive kiss. The contact was soft and gentle, Hutch’s lips pressing against his own, caressing more than plundering, no insistence, no urgency. For long moments, Starsky was lost in the depths of the sensation.

Hutch raised his head just a little. “Let me love you, Starsk, like I wanted to after that terrible night was behind us. Like it’s our first time and we’ve got all the time in the world to enjoy it.”

The unbuttoned shirt was removed first; with Starsky lifting a little for Hutch to pull it from his shoulders and back. Dipping his head to Starsky’s bared shoulders, Hutch covered each one in series of kisses before moving more centrally toward his chest hair. Hutch busied himself at each nipple, dividing equal time between the two stiffened nubs, twirling his tongue slowly through the coating of thick hair.

When the soft lapping tongue on his nipples was replaced by tiny bites, Starsky was unable to suppress squeaks of pleasure interlaced with little shafts of exquisite pain. “Damn — damn!” He squirmed beneath Hutch’s grasp, driven to escape the sensations, but at the same time compelled to get more of them.

“You want me to stop?” Hutch looked up, a little amused.

“No — God, no. Just not sure whether I love it or hate it. But I want more of it.”

Hutch’s eyes took on a heavy look. “Then I’ll give you as much as you want, babe. I’m going to make it my business to know every part of your body and how each part reacts to my touch.”

Starsky’s hand automatically reached down to slide between the place where Hutch’s pelvis pressed down on his. But Hutch quickly and deftly returned Starsky’s hand to its place, pinned down firmly by Hutch’s own insistent hand. “Uh — uh. Slow, remember.”

“Not so sure I can wait, Hutch.”

“You’ll just have to. I’ll make you wait. I’ll make us both wait.”

He pulled back smoothly, only far enough to get his fingers on the button of Starsky’s jeans and then his zippered fly. “I want you naked now, babe. Want your body laid out for me.”

Frenzied enough by Hutch’s deep tone, Starsky had to try hard not to rush the slow, graceful dance of Hutch divesting him of his jeans, then shirt. Lying as he was, spread out on the sheet and wearing nothing but his snug-fitting briefs, Starsky burned with anticipation. The depth and quality of Hutch’s penetrating gaze made him feel vulnerable, but oddly, also more powerful. “I love the way you’re looking at me right now, babe. It’s like your eyes are telling me how much you — you –”

“How hungry I am for you. I’m hungry for you, Starsky. I’m starving for you,” Hutch finished for him and Starsky felt his libido soar. When Hutch’s eyes zeroed in on his growing hardness, Starsky shamelessly tilted his pelvis upwards, further accentuating the heavy mound beneath his briefs.

In the quiet room, it was impossible to miss the sharp intake of Hutch’s breath as he brought both hands down to cup Starsky’s bulky mound, pressing it lightly before stroking it firmly. Starsky found the hot friction through his briefs an incredible turn on, but it was nothing to how he felt when Hutch’s hands disappeared beneath the elasticized cotton band. When Hutch’s fingers grazed the top of his cockhead, Starsky nearly jackknifed off the bed.

Hutch’s long fingers burrowed beneath the soft fabric to capture the full weight of Starsky’s balls and erection in their grasp. The feel of fresh air on his genitals and the press of the elastic across his hot penis told Starsky that his insistent erection was trying to free itself of its entrapment. Hutch seemed more than willing to help release it, peeling off and discarding the briefs. Even the second that took him had Starsky whimpering for the loss of Hutch’s touch.

“Beautiful.” Hutch looked down at his hands cradling Starsky’s erection, his face glowing in appreciation. “Beautiful and all for me to enjoy.”

As Hutch’s stroking picked up tempo, Starsky’s own hands grappled on Hutch’s forearms. When he contacted the thick bands of muscle, he sank his fingers in hard, translating to Hutch a fraction of the intensity he was feeling. Waves of pleasure undulated through his thighs and pelvis. “Hutch. Hutch. Get naked will ya? Just the way you’re looking at me is going to get me off if you don’t hurry up.”

“No hurry, Starsk. We’ve got all the time we want.”

“Not if I can’t wait –” he gasped out, pressed his willful cock even harder into Hutch’s magic hands. “It’s been — too long — I need –”

“You need what, babe?”

“You. I need you, Hutch.”

“You’ve got me. Never going away. Never, babe.” Hutch’s voice was cream and cinnamon, comfort and love. But his strong hands were busy sending other messages to Starsky’s groin and brain. Nothing soft about them. Each sweep of the big palm and long fingers over Starsky’s sensitive flesh was like a branding iron of fire, lust and sex. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to scream with sexual excitement or get misty eyed with the emotion that Hutch could so effortlessly bring out in him.

“Then how about you start proving that by lettin’ me at your body,” Starsky said, tugging urgently on his lover’s shirttail. “Come on, babe, I want to feel you against me. This ain’t fair — denying me like this.”

Hutch shook his head, scowling a little at him in false reprimand. “One of these days, Starsk, I’m going to get you to delay gratification.” But he looked far from disapproving as he quickly stood up and began shedding his clothes.

Trying to calm his searing sex down, Starsky concentrated on watching Hutch undress. Now it was his turn for some serious visual appreciation as Hutch’s leanly muscled body was revealed as his divested clothes slid to the floor. “Why delay enjoying something you just promised me I’ll always have. Not like I’m goin’ to use it all up. Got you whenever I want you, haven’t I?”

Hutch, finally all naked and sleek, crawled back onto the bed toward Starsky. “Yes, whenever and however.” Bracing himself above Starsky, Hutch was being careful as he lowered his weight gradually onto the body beneath him.

Even though he did, Starsky sucked in against the quick shock of the still new sensation of having the solidity of a male body on top of him. It was all still so new and different, thrilling and yet daunting.

Hutch was already fully aroused. Just as hard and ready as Starsky. The physical evidence that his lover wanted him so badly made Starsky even hotter and harder.

“Slow, hey?” Starsky grinned as he savored the full view of Hutch’s engorged cock. He held his hand, just hovering over the big erection. “Nothing about this part of your body says we’re going slow here.” Taking his own turn to tease and excite, he swept one finger down the impressive expanded shaft. He thrilled again at the immediate groan and jump his touch elicited.

Hutch cursed once, caught Starsky’s hand in his yet again, and shifted his body so that he lay next to Starsky and not on top of him. “Ah Starsk, you know I can’t resist you. Never could.” He said it as he brought his mouth down on Starsky’s, greedily seeking entry with his tongue. The kiss was deep and grinding, and mirrored almost exactly the same movements Hutch’s crotch was making against his own. Finally, Hutch came up for air and Starsky licked at the taste of him still on his lips while he continued to rub his cock hard against the concrete rigidity of Hutch’s.

Lying face to face, their bodies were so close that Starsky could feel every bit of Hutch’s damp skin against his own as their body hair rasped across each others’ flesh, and their moist cocks slipped over their thighs and bellies. Transfixed by the lustful wanting in Hutch’s beautiful eyes, Starsky felt as though their crystal clear color was guiding his core toward some exquisite end point. Only Hutch held the power to take him to that point.

“Hutch?” he managed, his plea quivering in that one word.

His answer came in the form of Hutch’s broad palm. It wrapped right around his need and Hutch’s own erection too, engulfing the two columns of rigid flesh side by side. The big palm, calloused in some places, smooth in others, formed a sensually textured tunnel for the two pulsing erections. The press of Starsky’s cock against his lover’s, skin on skin, throbbing heartbeat on heartbeat, all jammed inside a warm, tight hand was agonizing ecstasy.

Gliding his palm back and forth, Hutch was making sure that they both received the same sensual input. Alongside him, Hutch tensed and arched in synch with him, their breaths labored and shallow. They traded guttural sounds and words of hot desire — some intelligible, others just snatches of broken syllables.

Their frenzied sounds and ruptured cries were cut off when Hutch’s lips closed over Starsky’s mouth. But even during the kiss, Hutch still made noise. His desperate animal groans drove Starsky crazy, spurring him toward his own end. Just as Starsky felt himself teetering on the edge, he felt Hutch shudder violently beside him.

“I’m so close — Starsk!” Hutch tore his mouth free of their open-mouthed kiss to call out.

The tortured cry of his name as his partner writhed against him was too much for Starsky. No way did he think he could hold it back. Then, there was an unexpected wash of warmth and wetness, which he realized hadn’t come from him. Hutch had come first, but, even in the after throes of his ejaculation, he selflessly kept stroking Starsky’s cock. Only a moment separated the timing of their orgasms as Starsky quickly plummeted over the edge to join him in his own thundering climax.

Several long ragged gulps of air later, Starsky rolled to the side. As the final aftershocks wracked his body, Starsky waited for lethargy to wash over him.

Beside him, Hutch panted heavily against Starsky’s shoulder.

Starsky levered up on one elbow and looked down at his spent partner. Hutch was opening and closing his eyes in rapid succession, squeezing them tight and then opening them wide like he was trying to make sense of his awareness.

Stunned. Wiped out. Starsky knew what Hutch was experiencing. Well versed in the after effects of a great orgasm — this one had been momentous for both of them he was sure. Hutch was struggling to come back to earth and as Starsky watched, his lover’s expression changed from dazed to floating. Deep now in his own post coital bliss, Starsky loved the sight of his big tough partner equally mellow and soft.

“Holdin’ a big gun ain’t the only thing that hand of yours is good at,” Starsky joked, trying to bring enough life to his own boneless limb to reach toward Hutch’s face. Instead, his muscle-fatigued arm gave up well short of its target, smacking down on Hutch’s damp chest. He decided it was a good as place as any to leave it.

“My hand was custom fit just for you.” Hutch smiled, his face relaxing.

“Sorta like Cinderella,” Starsky mused dreamily and didn’t have the energy to explain why. He didn’t have to. Hutch would work it out. He always did when it came to Starsky’s oblique thought processes.

Hutch rolled to face Starsky, the gentlest of smiles curving his mouth. He held up his fingers in front of his own face, examining it lazily. “Except I hope it’s a lot more comfortable than a glass shoe,” Hutch said, proving that he had indeed “got it”, even though he looked on the verge of falling asleep.

If possible, Starsky loved him just a little more for that. “Oh yeah, that’s for sure.” Starsky seized the offered hand and pressed it to his chest. “And, a whole lot more fun than a stupid slipper.”

Hutch’s eyes were closing.

Starsky gave the hand still draped across his chest a gentle caress. “So Hutch?”

No answer. Just a squirm as Hutch buried deeper against the mattress.

“I guess that makes you the Prince.”

Hutch didn’t answer.

Definitely asleep, Starsky thought.

The afternoon light was disappearing, the room cooling. Starsky snagged the bedclothes and pulled them loosely over them. Hutch was already snoring softly when Starsky rolled in closer to press his face into the feather-soft blond hair. Sleep was close for him too, but he wanted to savor the moment before he fell into it. Lying as he was with the scent and feel of Hutch up close and in his personal space, Starsky recognized this feeling. For the first time in months, maybe years, he was finally adrift in a sense of perfect calm and self-contentment. He nuzzled even closer to Hutch’s sleeping body, feeling happy, feeling fulfilled.

“Thank you, Hutch,” he whispered and then, just because it put a smile on his face to say it, and Hutch was not awake to rag him about it, he added softly, “my Prince.”

~~~

Starsky’s Apartment, Santa Monica. A month later

“I’d forgotten how long a normal work day is. God, I’m beat.” Hutch pulled off his jacket, unclipped his holster and dropped onto the sofa so he could remove his boots. He threw a scowling glance at Starsky, who was in the kitchen pulling beers from the fridge. “And look at you — fresh as a daisy. No one could guess you’d just pulled a twelve-hour shift.”

“That’s because I actually enjoyed the chance to do my job again instead of sitting opposite a shrink or being cross-examined by another pin-striped IA suit. The past weeks have been filled with one too many tell-me-about-it-Detective-Starsky scenes. I’m just glad to be an overworked, underpaid cop again. Not a freakin’ subject to be analyzed.”

“Now, that’s a surprise. I would have never guessed being processed by IA and the department psychologist wasn’t high on your list of favorite things to do,” Hutch said with a poker face, still extricating his foot from his boot. “As for me, I’m wondering why I hassled the doctor into clearing me for regular duty a week earlier than he wanted to.”

“Not goin’ to say I told you so.” Starsky slammed the fridge door with his foot.

“Yeah, well, I thought I was ready. I didn’t think we’d pull overtime on the first day.” Hutch tugged at the second boot.

“Oh, no. Stubborn Hutchinson wanted to push it all the way,” Starsky admonished as walked over with drinks in hand. He smacked Hutch’s hands away from his boot and shoved a cold beer into his grasp instead. He put his own beer on the coffee table as he gripped Hutch’s booted foot. “Why you insist on wearing these cowboy boots, I’ll never know.”

“They’re not cowboy boots,” Hutch said wearily, since he had said the same thing to Starsky countless times before.

“So you keep tellin’ me. But they are. All you need are a set of spiky spurs and a pair of chaps to go with them and –” Starsky grunted as he gave a sharp tug to free Hutch’s foot from the boot. “There. I’m sure that’s better. Uncomfortable and impractical….”

“Actually they’re very comfortable and practical,” Hutch insisted, trying not to let his moan of relief sound too obvious.

Starsky’s smiled. “And very good to have off. Don’t think I can’t see that, Blondie.” Snagging his beer, Starsky moved to the opposite end of the sofa and patted his knees. “You wanna foot rub? Might as well take it. Offer runs out soon.”

“You mean there’s a time limit on it?”

“Well, tomorrow, it will be six-weeks since your surgery — so you’ll be officially out of the recovering invalid period.” Starsky said it with all seriousness as he drank some beer.

“Damn — if that’s the case, then I’m going to cash in now.” Hutch pulled a cushion behind him as he lay down and settled back while Starsky went to work on his feet. Making room on the sofa to spread his legs out straight, he picked up his boots and tossed them off to the side. As he turned to throw the boots, Hutch’s eyes were drawn to the new rug where they landed with a quiet thud.

He hadn’t even noticed it before, but at that moment, tired and a little twitchy from his first difficult day back at work, he suddenly remembered the other rug that had been there before. The rug Starsky had had to replace because — And suddenly, Hutch felt more than fatigue. The cheery rug seemed to suck him into a dark place.

Starsky must have followed his gaze. He gave Hutch’s foot a firm squeeze as if to bring him back into the room. “Hey? You okay? Look at me.”

Hutch shook his head to refocus his mood and downed a big swallow of beer to ease the constriction in his throat. “I’m sorry. Sorry it happened here in your own home, Starsky.”

“And I’m sorry I couldn’t save her,” Starsky said, echoing Hutch’s tone, sounding as though he was just as reluctant to go there again. “Seems like a long time ago now. So much went wrong in such a short time,” Starsky said in a hollow voice. “I thought about selling the place while it was closed for the crime scene, but — hell — no. I’m not giving it up. I love this place, love being across from the ocean, love the big windows and the airiness of this room. I won’t give it up.”

“If you’re comfortable here, that’s all that matters. You can make new memories. Better ones, happier ones,” Hutch said sincerely. “I’d like to think we could make some of those good memories together.”

“I like the sound of that.” Starsky brightened. “Starting now. Starting tonight.” Visibly happier, Starsky put his beer aside and went back to massaging Hutch’s feet.

“Starting with my feet?” Hutch chuckled. “Great.”

Giving Hutch a devilish look, Starsky slid his hands from his feet to the back of his calves, kneading them deeply as he moved up toward his thighs.

“Well, so far you’re heading in the right direction.” Hutch let his head fall back on the cushion and hummed with pleasure. “We can see where this goes.”

“Now, that’s the best idea you’ve had since I took your boots off, cowboy.”

Hutch scratched at his face frowning to himself. Something had nudged in his memory. “I seem to recall something about another one of your shoe fantasies?”

“Huh? What d’ya mean by that?” Starsky looked perplexed.

Hutch clicked his fingers. “Oh yeah — the glass slipper thing.”

“Oh that? When my — well my –” Starsky grinned like a schoolboy, waggling his eyebrows at Hutch’s hand before looking down toward the region of his crotch, “ah, impressive manhood, fitted perfectly into your hand. Just like Cinderella’s foot in her glass slipper.”

Not surprisingly Hutch felt his fatigue lifting. Starsky’s playful sexual innuendo was just what he needed to re-energize him. “Cinderella, eh? Well that’s a long way from cowboy boots and spurs.” Hutch chuckled. “You’ve got a wide range of imagination, Starsk, I’ll give you that.”

“I read that it’s important to diversify when it comes to sexual fantasies. Keeps the spice in relationships and fights unhealthy boredom and tedium in the bedroom.”

“Boredom and tedium? Jeez, Starsky, we’ve only been lovers for a couple of months.”

“We can’t afford to get complacent about this stuff, Hutch.” Starsky’s face was poker straight.

It left Hutch feeling a little unsettled. Seriously? Is this how Starsky’s thinking already?

“You can’t be –” Hutch started, then stopped abruptly, cursing when he saw Starsky’s face break out in huge grin. “Bastard. Had me worried there for a moment.” Hutch poked him hard in the ribs with his toe. “I was thinking you might already be planning of trading me in for a newer model.”

“Nah, you’ll do for a few more miles yet, blondie — or should I say, cowboy?”

“Okay — pard-ner,” Hutch drawled in his best spaghetti western accent. “You want to fixate on the western fantasy, then how about you take off my chaps as well and see where that gets us?”

Starsky chortled.

Hutch tipped his head and dug his toe into Starsky’s belly. “You going to share what’s got you so amused?”

“Well — I just had a mental picture of you dressed in cowboy boots and spurs and a set of chaps — and ahh — nothin’ else.” Starsky continued to grin.

“You mean no jeans? No pants? Oww.”

“You’re gettin’ the idea — bare-assed rider.”

“Sounds like it’d be painful when I jumped astride the horse.” Hutch winced, bringing his hand down to cover his groin as if to shield it.

“Lucky horse –” Starsky’s voice dropped in timbre as he watched Hutch’s hand settle between his legs. “All that bare skin against his back, all that power in your legs pressing around him. All that friction. All that sliding back and forth –”

“So damn sensitive. I can almost feel it.” Hutch let his legs fall apart and his hand moved from covering his groin to cupping his balls and cock. His eyes flickered down to his hand, then back up to Starsky’s eyes. Blatantly provocative. Unmistakably suggestive.

Starsky turned from sitting sideways on the couch so he could face Hutch, his expression growing crafty. Drawing his legs into a crouch, he sat momentarily above Hutch, his thighs spread, before dropping to kneel astride Hutch’s legs.

Hutch could feel Starsky’s excitement kicking in, a perfect match to his own racing pulse. The sight and the feel of Starsky crouching over him made his blood rush.

“What does it feel like?” Starsky asked. “Tell me, Hutch. How does it feel to have your cock and balls pressed hard against a horse moving beneath you, rubbing and rocking, back and forth along your sensitive flesh?” Starsky moved up until his inner thighs were pressing against Hutch’s outer ones, pinioning his legs.

Hutch swallowed against the pressure as Starsky gripped Hutch’s hips, pressing his thumbs against the fabric on either side of Hutch’s fly. He pushed his thumbs deeper, massaging the muscle beneath. Hutch jumped, and Starsky smiled like a cat with a toy.

“Does it hurt or does it sorta feel good at the same time?”

“It — it feels –” Hutch choked, his eyes begging Starsky to do more. Inviting him, enticing him, he tried to splay his legs wider, but couldn’t. He bit his lower lip. He could feel his cock already straining for release from its zippered confines.

“Tell me, cowboy — I wanna hear. I get off on hearing. I get off on watching you tell me, watching you twist and writhe… Tell me what you want. Tell me what your cock wants.”

“It feels like it’s burning. The friction, it’s painfully beautiful. I feel like I might — like I need to rock too, to release the sensation.”

“Let me see. Maybe I can help. Maybe I can make it feel better,” Starsky offered seductively. “Do you trust me to make you feel better, cowboy?”

“Yes!” Hutch cried. “Look — please, help me. The burning — it’s too much. The pressure — oh God — hurry, Starsk.” Hutch bucked upwards in a violent shove and his energy and growl of need seemed to excite Starsky.

“Let me get this belt off you,” Starsky said. “Free you up.” He made short work of unbuckling Hutch’s belt, releasing the top button of his jeans before sliding the zipper down.

Hutch lifted up a little to help Starsky pull Hutch’s pants and belt down to the top of Hutch’s thighs.

“Better?” Starsky asked.

“A little. It’s still burning though, still feels hot — so hot.”

“What feels hot, Hutch? Tell me.”

“My cock. It’s on fire.”

“You’re on fire everywhere, Hutch. I can feel it all over you.” The fingers that scrabbled at Hutch’s shirt buttons were less controlled than the ones that had worked on his pants. Hutch could feel Starsky’s bulging mound beneath the denim each time it brushed against his belly or upper thighs.

Once Hutch’s shirt opened, Starsky pushed it to either side of his chest. He spent a moment running his hands over Hutch’s bare, sweat-moistened skin before returning his attention to Hutch’s genitals. Just the way Starsky studied the taut fabric of Hutch’s underwear and the outlined erection beneath was enough to have Hutch oozing wetness from his swollen cockhead. When Starsky traced his fingers over his jutting length, touching the small wet patch that was spreading, Hutch cried out.

“You’re wet, cowboy, and getting wetter. You having dirty thoughts about me looking down at you like this? Does it make your cock weep more when I touch you like this?” He pushed Hutch’s thighs apart roughly, as far as the narrow width of the couch would allow. “I think it’s the way I’m looking at you that’s making you wet and grind like a wild thing. Looking is powerful, isn’t it, Hutch? Show me everything you’ve got.”

Getting rougher with each move, Starsky pulled away the soft fabric of Hutch’s underwear. Suddenly freed, the full extent of Hutch’s erection sprang up to slap against his belly. Starsky’s eyes turned greedy with lust. “Big, aren’t you, cowboy? Real big. Wonder what you can do with this monster? Wonder what it likes to have done to it?”

“Fuck, Starsky — fuck.” Hutch began to buck in earnest.

“Well, naturally there’s fucking.” Starsky grinned wolfishly. “But how exactly does it like to fuck, I’m wondering? And what exactly can it do for me?”

“It likes just about anything you can offer, and it can do whatever you want it to do,” Hutch promised breathlessly. He’d promise anything, sell out his own mother, if only Starsky would do more to him than drive him insane with his cock teasing.

“Big words — but then it’s a big cock. Impressive. I wouldn’t have known a quiet cowboy like you would be hiding such a beauty. Should have told me earlier.” Starsky was in the thick of the fantasy, his facial expressions and voice deep in the role-play. “Should have made you show me earlier.”

“You should have looked for yourself,” Hutch challenged with a sudden gust of bravado. He was all for moving this little sex play to the next scene.

“There’s something you should know about me, cowboy,” Starsky said, sounding like he was leading to something dangerous, like the role he was projecting.

“There is?” Hutch didn’t have to pretend to look cornered by the man crouching over him; he felt it.

“I want to taste your cock before I use it.” Starsky said it roguishly, and followed by sliding his tongue across his lips, then stroked his finger up the length of Hutch’s penis.

“Oh — oh — hell…God…” Hutch felt as if his groin was on fire.

“Calm down, cowboy. You’re getting too excited too fast. You gonna lie still like a good boy and let me taste your cock?”

“I’ll — try.” Hutch really didn’t think he could, but he’d die trying.

“I don’t want to have to hold you down. But I’m hungry to taste you, and when I’m hungry for cock — especially one as beautiful as yours — I can get pretty rough.” Starsky winked before tapping Hutch on the chest. “You’re not going to fight me or buck me off?”

“No…no — I mean, yes. I won’t buck,” Hutch whispered, aching, his cock twitching as if begging for Starsky’s mouth.

“You think I can take this big boy in? More than a mouthful, more than a throatful, ain’t it?”

“I — yes — yes, you’ll be able to. I’ve  — I’ve seen you in action before.”

Starsky laughed when Hutch slipped from his role. “Well, if you’ve seen me in action, cowboy, you know what to expect.” And then he licked his lips, while still hesitating.

“Please.” Hutch’s cry sounded pitiful as Starsky brought his mouth down to engulf his length.

Helpless to stop, Hutch’s hips bucked upwards to force more of his cock deeper into Starsky’s mouth. When Starsky pulled his mouth off immediately, Hutch bit his lip with guilt. “I couldn’t help it. I know you said I had to stay still and take it, but I –”

“You sure don’t have a lot of resolve, do you, cowboy?” Starsky scowled, and Hutch could tell he was enjoying his controlling role. “One deep suck and you’re mine. You’re moving your hips like some wanton whore.”

“I’ll try harder to stay still this time. Just give me –”

“I’ll let you in on a secret.”

“What?” Hutch’s voice was ragged. He had to get some relief for his aching cock. Starsky was too damn good at this sex role-playing. He could stretch it out and play it to the max, where Hutch just kept losing his way.

“I actually like it when you lose it like that. You want to fuck my mouth? Come on then, cowboy. Come on. But first let me get all of this off you so I can get to you.” He hiked Hutch’s pelvis up from the sofa, pulling at his jeans, yanking them off his legs and tossing them to the side.

While he did, Hutch, half crazed with need, made his own demands. “Starsk, take your pants off, too. I want to see you and feel you brushing over me…” His hands went for the button fastening Starsky’s low riding jeans.

“No — no, later,” Starsky ground out, sounding determined. He peeled away Hutch’s hands and pressed them down on either side of the couch. “I’m so hot now, I’ll come all over you in seconds if you touch me. This is my game, Hutch. I get to ride you later. Now I want you to fuck my mouth, and we’ll both be happy.”

He pushed Hutch backward and, kneeling close to Hutch’s pelvis, Starsky lifted his lover’s long legs up, placing one over each of his shoulders so that Hutch’s cock pressed against his belly. Snagging a cushion from the floor, he jammed it behind Hutch’s lower back, propping him higher. “Now, watch me swallow you whole. Watch yourself fuck my mouth like I know you want to.” Starsky spread Hutch’s buttocks, exposing his anus. Thumbing Hutch’s dripping slit, he lubricated his fingers generously with the viscous fluid, rubbing them together for Hutch to see.

Without warning, Starsky plunged two fingers deep inside Hutch’s hole.

Hutch had only a second to jump and cry out before a swell of hot swirling pleasure surpassed the unexpected pain. Starsky’s mouth closed over his cock like a vacuum as his fingers slid past the anal muscle to explore and probe deeper to find more responsive tissue. Obviously turned on by dominating Hutch, Starsky was thrusting as Hutch grabbed roughly at his hair and rocked into his sucking mouth. The sounds of Starsky getting off from what Hutch was doing to his mouth was, for Hutch, like pouring gasoline on a fire. Starsky’s excitement had his own nerve endings screaming. He closed his eyes to intensify the pleasure, wanting to draw it out.

Hutch cursed as Starsky’s fingers massaged in tandem with his mouth’s action on Hutch’s cock. Losing himself in the fever of the moment, he released Starsky’s head before he tore his hair out. “So good, babe. I love it. I love your mouth, Starsk. I love fucking your mouth. I — fuck — too good, — too much. Fuck me with your hand — yeah… I’m going to — don’t want to — but — ohh… please — please — Starsk — babe –”

His whimpers became cries, which became yelling, then ended in a burst of howling glory. “Now! I’m coming now, Starsky, I’ve got to –” It was a clear warning but Starsky didn’t stop, keeping his mouth in place. Hutch yelled again and tried to pull out, but Starsky held firm. Losing the last vestiges of his control, Hutch jerked, his head arched up and he emptied himself into Starsky’s willing mouth.

It was a while before Hutch could catch his breath as Starsky swallowed. “I wish you didn’t make me to do that, Starsk.”

“What? You gonna tell me you don’t like me drinking you down?”

“You know I do. I love you for it, too. But –” Hutch frowned, wiping away dots of semen spattering Starsky’s chin. “One day it might not be safe — if one of us gets injured at work, knifed or infected by a perp’s blood…”

“All maybe’s.” Starsky argued as he made a grab for Hutch’s fingers and licked them off. “Hey, that’s mine. Waste not, want not.”

“You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“As long as I made you as happy as I made myself, I don’t care what names you call me.”

Hutch chuckled. Filled with contentment, he ruffled Starsky’s curls. “Happy is hardly the word I’d use for how you make me feel. Jesus, Starsk, that was mind-blowing — and cock-blowing.” He grinned.

“You made a joke! And it was sort of funny. In a dirty sort of way.” Starsky rolled his eyes before rolling off the sofa. Standing, he looked at Hutch. “You’re lying there like some golden, fair haired maiden who’s just been thoroughly worked over by her prince.”

“What happened to me being the guileless cowboy whose dick you just blew away?”

“Oh — shit. That’s right.” Starsky grinned. “Forgot which fantasy I was in.” He crinkled his nose, “Actually, come to think of it, you smell a little too much like sex and sweat to be a fair maiden. Far more suited to the cowboy fantasy.”

“Me? What about yourself?” Hutch’s hand shot out, making a playful grab at Starsky’s belt. “Not as fresh as a daisy as when we first walked in here, are you? All sweaty and hot.”

“Point taken. You did get me awfully riled up, cowboy. There’s nothing like watching you go to pieces when you climax to get me steamed up. You’re so beautiful when you scream out like you do and beg me to do more and more.”

Hutch felt himself blush. Starsky never got tired of making him feel self conscious with his racy talk. He sat up clumsily and covered his limp cock with his jeans from the floor.

“Bit late now to go all modest on me.” Starsky laughed and slapped his bare ass lightly. “I think your virtue was in tatters weeks ago, boy. Might as well let it all hang out for me to enjoy.”

“Did I tell you already that you’re incorrigible?”

“Yeah, you did, but you also called me a cock-blowing master — so it evens out,” Starsky called from the fridge where he retrieved two beers.

Hutch had to drop the clothes he held against his crotch when Starsky tossed the bottle to him.

“Now replenish your fluids, and let’s hit the shower for Act Two of Urban Cowboy — cowboy.”

~~~

They took their own sweet time in the shower, washing each other thoroughly. Starsky’s sexual appetite was growing as he struggled against his urge to pull Hutch against him and gratify himself. More than once, he had to close his eyes against the sight of Hutch’s long naked body, but nothing could stop the excruciating sensations he felt when he ran his hands over Hutch’s wet skin as trails of water slid down his lover’s smooth chest and belly.

Never ceasing to impress Starsky with his prowess, Hutch was showing signs that his sexual reserves were already restored. When Hutch pulled Starsky under the spray with him, Starsky’s hand found his lover’s erection.

“I’m trying to hold out here, Hutch, and barely managing to do that. But feeling you hard like this again so soon — it makes it so difficult not to –” Giving in to his urges, he pivoted Hutch around, pulling Hutch’s hips against his groin to rub his aching cock between Hutch’s cheeks. “Damn it, Hutch!” Starsky reached up and shut off the taps with a smack, then, pulling down a towel from the rack, he threw it at Hutch, who looked surprised.

“What’s wrong?” Hutch caught the towel, looking like he’d been reprimanded.

“You’re what’s wrong. Your beautiful body, your face, the way you look at me, your touch — that’s what’s wrong. But, in particular, your iron-clad cock is what’s wrong. Do me a favor and cover up that body for a while, will ya? I’d like to make it to the bedroom this time.”

He grabbed a towel for himself and stepped out of the shower, shaking out a burst of water droplets from his unruly hair.

Looking almost contrite, Hutch tucked the towel around his waist obligingly. When the front of the towel instantly tented despite the weight of the thick fabric, he looked at the offending sight and bit his lower lip like a guilty child. “I can’t help it if it wants you again so quickly.”

Starsky used his towel on his hair and grinned, his stern act gone as quickly as it had come. “That’s the trouble, babe. I want it as much as it wants me. I just want to last long enough to enjoy it.” Unable to resist, he took the mound of tented terrycloth in his hand and squeezed it lightly.

Hutch flinched and jumped back from the unexpected tease.

Starsky laughed and walked away, leaving Hutch hissing in the bathroom. “I’m goin’ to prepare the bedroom for the next act before I rip that towel off you.”

Luckily, they both managed to make it to the bedroom this time. Starsky distracted himself by opening the doors to let in the sound of the pounding waves from the beach.

Hutch padded out from the bathroom behind him. “I never realized how loud the surf was here,” he said when Starsky threw the big doors open to the night air.

“That’s because you rarely stay here,” Starsky shrugged. “We always seem to hang out at Venice Place for some reason.”

Hutch went to the bed, pulled back the covers, and lay down. “Used to it, I guess. I’ve been there longer. But now I know you’ve got this background sound…”Hutch watched Starsky as he moved about the room, never dropping his gaze from Starsky’s naked form.

“You lusting after me, Hutchinson?”

“Surely am, partner. Like you said. You’re all mine and I can lust after you as much and as long as my — ah — heart desires.”

“Ha!” Starsky moved over to his digital receiver, flagrantly running his hands through the hair on his chest — a move he knew turned up Hutch’s heat — not that Hutch looked like he needed any more encouragement. “Judging from that towel, it’s more than your heart that’s getting desire.”

“Huh? Oh.” Hutch looked down at his groin as though he was surprised he still wore the towel. He made quick work of tugging it free and letting it slide off the bed.

Watching Hutch’s naked form, Starsky moved to dim the lights. Muting the lights seemed to accentuate the rumble of the surf and the fluttering breeze billowed the drapes with each rush of air.

“The sound of the waves, dimmed lights, and a gentle sea breeze? You trying to romance me, babe?” Hutch asked. He was stretched out on the bed.

The mellow light emphasized Hutch’s long-limbed body, making it the centerpiece of the room. Starsky stood near the open door, the curtains brushing against his naked skin, the sight of his lover like a splendid offering. Silently, he basked in the ambiance. It didn’t get much better than this.

“Is it working?” Starsky asked huskily, his cock doubling its efforts to be noticed.

“Christ, yes.” Hutch looked brazenly at Starsky’s solid erection. “But I don’t think it’s got a lot to do with the ocean and lighting, Starsk, as much as just having you near me, looking like you do in that moonlit doorway.”

“Now who’s being romantic? I could say the same about you, babe, with that golden body all naked and desirable — and God, so ready to go again. You either find me incredibly sexy or else you’ve been swallowing Viagra on the sly.”

“Definitely the former. Just looking at you, hell, just thinking about you, makes me as hard as steel,” Hutch said, rubbing his hand up and down his shaft.

He held out his arms as Starsky walked toward him and crawled slowly onto the bed. “I want that steel in my hands when I drive my own rod deep into your gorgeous ass. You ready for me, babe, because I don’t think I can hold out much longer.”

“You know I’m ready. Aching with my need for you.”

Starsky leaned toward the bedroom nightstand. “Let me just…”

Hutch caught him about the waist as he did and pulled him on top of him, chest to chest, his clean-shaven face nuzzling into Starsky’s still damp chest hair. “No need. Already primed — ready for the steel.”

“Always prepared, aren’t you, babe? Just like a boy scout.”

“Sea scout, remember?” Hutch quipped, pulling Starsky against more closely to him.

The warmth of Hutch’s body, his familiar lines as he gripped Starsky close, the steady beat of his heart, the soft brush of his lips over Starsky’s cheeks and neck, his baby soft hair tickling Starsky’s nose filled Starsky with such an overwhelming fondness he wanted to cry from joy.

In the shadowed light of his bedroom, Starsky appraised his lover’s body objectively. Lean and lightly muscled, Hutch moved beside him with agility and masculine grace. His partner, his lover was his equal in every way.

“Hutch, I’m so…” What Starsky felt inside him threatened to choke off all meaningful speech. But he needed to say it. Before the sexual fervor swallowed them both. “Do you know I imagined you like this — so many times — just like you are now?” Starsky looked at Hutch. “The night you called me after Van left and you were so upset — remember?”

Hutch closed his eyes, showing he did.

“I had that woman with me? Lydia. I was in bed with her, Hutch, and couldn’t remember her name. That’s because I was thinking of you. It was you in my bed, you I was making love to — not her. I did that for a long time with different women over the months — hell, over the years if I’m honest. I’d close my eyes and imagine it was real. That you were real and I was making love to you.”

“Well, it’s real now, babe.” Hutch lifted his hand to stroke Starsky’s face. “I’m real and I’m here with you. No more imagining. No more dreaming — for either of us.”

“I wished I had the words to tell you how much I want you, Hutch. How much I love you…”

“Show me, Starsk. Show me now.”

“That I can do,” Starsky promised.

He lowered his mouth, hot and insistent, to plunder Hutch’s. The kiss was rough and hot, sliding from Hutch’s mouth down his neck, then nipping at his ear lobe. “Turn over for me, babe, turn over now. Gonna love you hard.”

Hutch arched against him provocatively before rolling over, spreading his legs wide for his lover. Lamplight shimmered off the glistening trail of moisture that oozed from his opening. Unable to resist, Starsky dipped his fingers in, probing at the entry with just enough pressure to have Hutch’s hips bucking against his hand. Hutch’s body electrified Starsky’s senses, driving the blood to his cock and pitching his lust to a fever point. He needed to claim it.

In the soft light, Hutch’s sleek back was a living sculpture, polished and flawless. Starsky marveled at the smooth contours as he swept his hands down Hutch’s long spine. Rising over his lover, Starsky pressed his thumbs into the indention at the small of Hutch’s back before following the curve up and over the muscular cheeks of his ass. He repeated the motion several times, mesmerized by the sensation in his fingertips and the reaction he elicited in Hutch who writhed beneath his touch. His massage quickened, his actions more urgent, harder, rougher. Hutch sobbed with excitement, becoming increasingly guttural as Starsky’s fingers spread the globes of his ass. As he did, he delivered sharp nipping kisses on Hutch’s tender skin.

When Hutch’s moans intensified, Starsky pulled Hutch closer so forcibly Hutch’s ass slapped against Starsky’s lower belly, both men grunting from the action. Grinding Starsky’s pelvis against Hutch’s ass, Starsky stiffened as his hard shaft slid against Hutch’s lubricated crack, dancing near his small dark hole.

Hutch called to him, begging him to plunge into his tight muscle. “I’m ready for you, Starsk… come on. Fuck me. Now. Give me what you’ve been teasing me with all night.”

“Not sure I can do this slowly, babe. I’m almost ready to blow.” Starsky was asking permission to do what his cock was screaming for.

“Just give it to me, will you!”

Starsky plunged in, his cock sinking in three quarters of its length before he steadied himself. The shocked pleasure strangled in his throat then shuddered out on Hutch’s gasped name. “Oh God, Hutch, Oh God — I couldn’t hold back.”

Hutch barely flinched against the sensory assault except to cry out Starsky’s name. He wrapped one hand around his own erection, his long-limbed body damp with sweat. He pushed against Starsky’s groin, impaling himself further onto the rigid pole buried half way inside him.

“Want more of you, babe… more…” Hutch hissed as he slicked up his long cock with his own pre-cum.

The feel of Hutch stroking himself was too much for Starsky to take. Part of him wanted to pull his lover’s hand away and claim the prize for himself again, but he was too turned on by hearing Hutch moan from being taken in the rear while enjoying his own rhythmic jerks.

“Take more…take more of me.” Starsky’s thrusts were more urgent now, his fingers biting deep into Hutch’s skin. “Take all of me, Hutch.” He sank all the way in; almost losing himself to the climax that was building in him with each thrust.

Sensing Hutch was also getting closer to his own climax, Starsky pulled back, pumping slowly to maximize Hutch’s pleasure. Swear words rushed from Hutch in a stream as he bucked and jolted beneath Starsky’s weight. Hutch’s jet of semen suddenly pulsed against the bed as Hutch stroked himself dry.

Starsky took one more agonizing thrust, pulling himself out enough to look down at his slicked length buried half way inside Hutch. In that one suspended moment, Starsky reached the pinnacle of pleasure. The added visual input of his cock inside his lover’s body tipped him into overload. Sucking a huge lungful of air, Starsky closed his eyes and rammed forward with all the force his body needed.

Skin to skin, joined as one, Starsky felt fused in mind and body with his lover and best friend. “This is us, Hutch. You’re mine and I’m yours.”

His one last final powerful thrust claimed ownership of the body beneath him. Ownership and belonging. He called out Hutch’s name as he climaxed inside his lover, shouting out his extreme joy and fulfillment, but the promises he murmured against Hutch’s neck were soft, filled with love and caring.

Promises for both of them.

Promises to last a lifetime.

THE END