This Is the Part Called Earning Our Daily Bread

132

A new mob boss from Southern California comes to town with hopes of taking over the auto theft business in Bay City. He’s got a penchant for Pekingese but ice in his veins when it comes to fellow humans. If he’d kill one of his own, what chance do two of BC’s finest have?

 

Artwork by Helyn Highwater.

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“That was some movie last night. Funny to see that again.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hutch said as they drove to pick up some lunch. “If you ask me, the plot lacked a little depth.”

Starsky chuckled. “Hutch, when’re you gonna get over it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“It wasn’t a great movie, but it wasn’t that bad. They can’t help it if they left your scene on the cutting room floor.”

“I know, I know.” Hutch sighed. “The Sheriff Rides Alone” would’ve been better with me in it. Might not have made it to TV so quickly.

“Hey.” Starsky jabbed him with his elbow. “I can still hear your famous line from that movie.” Starsky laughed. “Say it for me. Say it just once.”

“No way.” Every once in a while Starsky would try to get him to say his now infamous one line from that movie. The line that had been cut. His partner thought it was funny. No way was Hutch going to say it. Not ever again.

“Aw, you’re being a big baby, Blondie,” Starsky said, as he pulled into the parking lot of a little restaurant. “It’s the closest you ever got to fame, you know.”

They got out of the car and walked inside, sat down, and ordered. “Just say it for me once,” Starsky whispered.

“Cut it out. Why don’t you say it if you want to hear it so bad?” Hutch unfolded the little paper napkin and put it in his lap. “Tell me again why I let you talk me into this place.”

“Like you don’t know,” Starsky said, pulling another napkin from the dispenser and handing it to his partner. “Where’s the food? I’m starved.”

As if on cue, the waitress arrived and said, “Burrito especial and one chef salad.” Starsky reached for the burrito, but Hutch gave him a little shove with his shoulder.

“The burrito goes here.” Hutch motioned in front of himself and she set the plate down.

“Be careful, it’s hot,” she said, as she put the salad in front of Starsky. “Thousand, right?” He nodded. She placed two cups of coffee on the table and left.

“You really like Thousand Island dressing?” Hutch asked.

“Sure.” Starsky started to cut up the lettuce then took a bite.

“So, how is it?” Hutch asked

“What is it would be a better question.”

“Starsk, it’s just a salad. It’s not going to jump up and punch you. Chef’s salad. Good for you.” How different would he taste to Starsky? Spicy Hutchinson seemed as though it would have to be an acquired taste.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot. Last time you told me, I meant to ask you not to tell me that again.”

“Come on, you don’t hear me complaining, do you?” Hutch wiped his fork on a napkin before starting. ” What you eat is how you taste, lover. And we’re going to prove that.”

“Why should you complain?”

“Starsk, I can see why you used to have chronic heartburn. This stuff is… It’s–”

“Hey, you watch it. A very accomplished and talented chef prepared that dish.”

“Y’know, sometimes I wonder about how you classify chefs as being talented and accomplished.” Hutch bit down on something that had a strange texture, different from the rest of the contents of the burrito. He pulled it out of his mouth and looked at it. “Starsky, what is this supposed to be?” He held it up.

“Uh, looks like a…”

“That’s what it is. A bobby pin. Some special ingredient?”

“Hutch, are you so jaded that you can’t appreciate the amount of work that goes into preparing two hundred meals a day for people?”

Hutch raised his hand and waved as the waitress went by. The second time he did it she noticed and came over. “There was a bobby pin in my burrito.”

“Don’t say it too loud or–”

“Or everyone will want one?” Hutch completed her lame joke. “I’d like to get something different.” He pulled a menu from behind the condiment bottles and scanned it quickly. Starsky’s salad looked good. “How about–”

“Yeeees?” Starsky said with a suspicious smile.

“All right, all right. I’ll have the m-meatloaf.” It was hard to get that word out of his mouth. Diner meatloaf should be graded on a scale from bad to worse. He knew. Starsky ordered it all the time, and he’d sampled enough of his partner’s to know to stay away from it.

“You got it,” she said, picking up the remains of the burrito and heading for the kitchen.

 

 

As soon as they’d finished lunch and returned to the car, there was an announcement from the car radio. “Attention, all units in the vicinity. There is a one-eight-seven at the corner of Marshall and Chandler, in front of the paint factory.”

“That’s right around the corner from here,” Hutch said. Starsky turned the wheel and they headed south on Chandler. “This is Zebra Three. We are in the area and responding.”

When they arrived on the scene, they found a body, partly covered by a tarp, surrounded by a crowd of curious people. Onlookers were held back by uniformed cops and medical examiner personnel, working with and around the victim. Though the uniforms knew them, Starsky displayed his badge and ID, and they went to look at the body.

“Well,” Starsky said with a slight tilt of his head. “Joey finally got it himself.”

“Think Simon found someone better? The Knee-Tapper’s been with him a lotta years.”

Starsky looked at his partner. “Guess anything’s possible with this group.”

Looking from the body to down the street, Hutch said, “Maybe we have the fun of a full-scale shake up of the car operators to look forward to. Better not plan any vacations.”

Starsky nodded. Simon, Joey, and their gang had virtually run the car theft and chop shop world in the city for years. If somebody outside Simon’s crew offed Joey, Hutch was right. Getting Simon’s number one man was a clear message that some other organization was ready to fight for that top spot. “What’s that on the palm of his hand?” Hutch asked. “Looks like a burn.”

Doesn’t look like it’s from a clothes iron. Too long. Perfectly horizontal. A curling iron? Hutch wondered.

The coroner closed his notebook. “Maybe they’ve developed some kind of implement or tool for torture or punishment purposes.”

“How do you know this wasn’t just a cash and carry tap on the legs that went bad?” Joey was dressed nicely; he could have attracted a new-in-town punk. It wouldn’t have been unusual for criminals who dealt in this racket to kill each other off, in or outside of their organizations. Turnover was quite steady. “They even took the lint out of his pockets.” Starsky said.

Palmer and Gleason had been on the scene when they arrived. They were newer at this kind of thing, and hadn’t recognized who Joey was. Hutch radioed into the station and asked Dobey if he and Starsky should stick around. Dobey told them to let Palmer and Gleason handle it.

 

 

By noon, they were in Captain Dobey’s office. “This could be the beginning of a war for supremacy in the ‘car wars’ industry,” Starsky said. “Hutch and me lived through the last one, and I think we should be part of the team to try and prevent another one.”

“We’ve been trying to bust this car ring wide open for years.” Starsky leaned forward. “This may be the best opportunity we’ll ever get.”

“That isn’t why I called you two in here.” The captain picked up a piece of paper. “The commissioner’s been breathing down my neck about another case. He wants more men, my best men, on the homicide. ”

“Cap’n, we’ve seen the report. We’re supposed to knock off working on a case that could end up affecting the whole city if a war were to erupt, in favor of trying to find the missing mistress of a local politician who can’t keep his pants zipped?” Starsky knew he was talking too loud.

Hutch interrupted him. “It’s not that this case, this woman, isn’t important. We’re trying to say that we’re the best men for this Tinker job right now. We’ve worked too hard. We deserve to have at least some time to work on this one. Councilman Bannister’s case is not being ignored by any means. Missing persons is working on that.”

“We’re not to refer to it as ‘Councilman Bannister’s’ case. It’s not known if he had anything to do with Miss Marsh’s disappearance.”

“We’re sorry, Captain,” Starsky said. “You’re right. Guess we’re gettin’ a little bent outta shape about this because it feels like we’re wasting time here. Hutch and I ought to be out there tackling this one.”

“All right,” Dobey said, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. “Forty-eight hours.”

“One week,” Hutch said. Starsky looked at him with a bit of surprise, because Hutch didn’t usually bargain with the captain this forthrightly.

Dobey curled his lip.

“Look, Captain, the commissioner’s case’s got a good team on it already. Who knows what Hutch and I could add to that? But we feel like just the two guys to go after this car gang. Next week, we’ll be ready to tackle the commissioner’s case. ‘Til then, it’s not like his case isn’t being investigated.”

“You think you can assign and un-assign yourselves to cases? This isn’t ‘Let’s Make a Deal’!”

Hutch had been leafing through the file on Joey as they spoke. He handed Dobey the cover sheet that contained a short bio.

“Joseph Lawrence Mazula…born 1955. Not a whole helluva lot is known about this one,” Dobey said, then continued reading. “Believed that he had a sister and brother, names and whereabouts unknown. Parents presumed deceased.” He scanned a little more before handing the file back to them. “You two want to continue with this case for one more week? Really think you can accomplish something that another team of detectives couldn’t?” They nodded.

“Got the Feds hot on our trail here, too, Captain. We finish this one on our own, maybe the state group won’t be so quick to look at their city officers like we’re the Keystone Cops next time?”

When they left Dobey’s office, they called to find out which officers had been sent to check out Joey’s apartment and his car. Hutch and Starsky wanted to look at their report soon.

 

 

“Hey, Hug, that a new jacket?” Starsky asked.

“Yeah, thought I’d start out the new decade with some new threads. Like it?” He patted the front pockets on his chocolate brown leather coat as they walked to a corner table.

“It’s great. Hope the store where you got it won’t be coming back to look for it,” Hutch said with a smile.

They sat down and Huggy said, “I’m glad you called because I was gonna call you. There was this dude making the streets advertising his services. Like, anyone have any cars, car parts they wanna get rid of, want to buy a car cheap? They can bring them to us. Said they’d pay top dollar. Totally goin’ for Tinker’s business.”

Hutch interrupted Huggy. “They mention Tinker at all? They gotta know that he’s the big cheese in the area now. How many salesmen were there?”

“Nope. There was just one guy that I saw–blond, thirties maybe. Tall. He was handing out cards with a phone number. I got one of the cards right here. Saw one guy who I know, Hot’s his name, has a deal with Tinker. He talked to this guy for a while, and then Hot wrote something on a fifty dollar bill and handed it to him.”

He gave the card to Starsky. “Wonder what made him try our area?”

“Don’t know,” Huggy continued. “Lemme ask around. See what I can do.”

“Thanks, Hug.” Hutch took another drink of his beer. “Sounds like this is going to be one of those ‘let’s get him before he gets us’ jobs.” He pushed his chair back from the table.

“Oh, yeah, one more thing. Joey’s girlfriend’s still working at that club on Sinclair by the Galway Motel.”

“Good starting place,” Starsky said, as the two of them stood up and walked out.

 

 

The European Car Centre, known as the ECC, was in a nice part of town and was known for having some very wealthy customers. The owner, Simon Tinker, had made himself a visible member of the community. He was a patron of the arts and something of a philanthropist. If his customers knew he was operating an illegal chop shop and auto theft business in back, they weren’t too concerned about it. Starsky and Hutch had encountered him on many occasions. He’s a greasy son-of-a-bitch, Hutch thought as they drove to the ECC that afternoon, but this time, they had him when he was most at risk. He needed all the help he could get not to have his business usurped by these newcomers.

They entered the ECC and headed straight for the door marked ”Private.” A large man was there, between them and the door, in an instant.

“Ah, Billy, does this mean that you’re the Knee-Tapper’s replacement?” Starsky asked.

“Not necessarily, Starsk,” Hutch said before Billy could respond. “Could be that Billy’s as low on the totem pole as he ever was. Joey’s replacement is probably in there with Simon now. Passed over again, eh, Bill?” Billy’s upper lip twitched, showing them his canines. “Remember last time, Bill? Good idea to just let us by.”

Bill lunged at him like a charging moose, but Hutch was quicker, getting him in a half nelson. With Hutch’s hand in a precarious and dangerous place on the back of Billy’s neck, the thug calmed down immediately. His body sagged. “Now are you going to escort us to your boss’ office or would you like your face to meet the floor as you let out an agonized squeal?”

“Awright, awright,” Billy whined. Cautiously, Hutch released him, and they followed him through the door, down the short hallway and into Tinker’s office. “Mr. Tinker, I don’t know what happened,” Billy apologized.

When they walked in, Tinker was between his desk and the outside door, looking like he was on his way to leave. “Leaving on a vacation, Simon? Sounds good. Where are we goin’?” Starsky walked toward him. “Hope it’s someplace sunny, I’d like to work on my tan about now.”

Tinker moved to stand behind his desk. “It’s all right, Billy. Why don’t you take a little break to get your equilibrium back after your, uh, encounter with Detectives Hutchinson and Starsky?” He nodded at another goon on the couch. “Earl will go out and watch the crowd for a while.”

Billy and Earl left the room, and Hutch looked around. The sun glinted off a myriad of glass items displayed in the room. He’d forgotten Tinker was a collector of antique glass. Gary Frye, another long-time employee of Tinker’s, was standing in front of a chair beside his boss. “Well, I guess congratulations are in order, Gary. Joey’s finally outta the picture,” Hutch said. He would’ve much rather seen that Tinker had promoted Billy. If they didn’t manage to oust Tinker from the top spot now, Gary would be hell to work with.

“Whatchya mean?” Gary wasn’t quite as tall as Billy, but his build was that of a defensive back, and you never saw anything really human behind his eyes. He was like a machine, a dangerous machine. He had a twitch at the corner of his mouth that accentuated a scar that went from his nose to his jaw line.

“It’s all right, Gary,” Tinker soothed. “The detectives are just having their little fun.” He sat back down behind his desk, and Gary sat back down as well. “Gary, why don’t you go out there and see what’s happening? Make sure the operations are going well.”

Gary left the room toy-soldier like, stiff and straight, not so much as a glance back.

“Interesting choice,” Hutch said from across the room, where he’d been looking over some of Tinker’s glass pieces.

“Are you referring to Gary or to the new Lalique?”

Hutch didn’t answer, but picked up a glass bowl and turned it over. “Signed, too. The real thing. Bet this set you back a bit.”

Starsky caught on right away. He walked over, took the glass bowl from Hutch, and passed it from hand to hand as he spoke. “It’s like this, Simon. We could bring you in on a whole lotta things right now. Not the least of which would be suspicion of the murder of Joey Knee-Tapper. Been lookin’ the other way too long. You haven’t been keepin’ up your part of our bargain.”

When Simon stood up from his chair, Starsky pretended that he was about to drop the bowl, causing Simon to reach out to save his precious piece of art. Instead, it was passed to Hutch who spoke as his partner took a seat on a leather couch before taking the bowl back from Hutch. “You can see how easy it’d be for me to let this bowl slip outta my hands and crash to the floor. Well, that’s nothin’ compared to how easy it’d be for Starsky and me to take you and your little dark, sleazy world here and do the same thing.” He went to where Starsky was sitting. “We got you where we want you, Tinker. You play ball this time or…” Starsky threw the bowl to Hutch who caught it but then held it up precariously, looking at the light through it. “Hey, Starsk, I ever tell you about the time I thought I’d try and make a career for myself as a pitcher for a minor league team in St. Paul?”

“You’re listening to my partner, aren’t you?” Starsky asked without looking at Tinker.

“O-Okay, okay. Just don’t drop that bowl.”

Hutch put it on the table and poured the remainder of Tinker’s cup of coffee into it.

Tinker looked at the detectives. “You two don’t have any respect for the finer things of life, do you?” It was his last gasp, his last attempt at maintaining his pride, his last snarl. He looked down at the bowl. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

 

 

As they were headed back to the station, a call came over the radio–an auto theft at a house out near the beach. They weren’t too far away, so they responded. Another unit was on the way, and this wasn’t a call they would have normally taken, but since this was an auto theft, it could provide some insight into their case.

Cathleen Lawsa lived in a large home in an exclusive part of town. She was standing in her driveway, along with two uniformed officers, as Starsky and Hutch approached. “Are you the police, too?” she asked as they got out of the Torino.

“Yes, ma’am,” Hutch said. “Plainclothes.” Starsky, equipped with pad and pen, joined them, and they walked over to her garage.

“It’s practically brand new. I don’t know what my husband is going to say. It was locked securely in our garage. Not like it was parked on the street with the keys in the ignition. I don’t know what my husband is going to say.”

“Can you describe the car, Mrs. Lawsa?”

“It’s not Mrs. Lawsa. I kept my own name. Business purposes, you understand. My husband’s last name is Abraham.”

“And who is the legal owner of the car?” Starsky asked. Pencil twitching between his fingers, he was ready to get this going and write something.

“I am. My name is on the title.”

“Okay, Ms. Lawsa. Can you tell us what kind of car it is?” Hutch walked into the garage and looked around, as Starsky wrote down the information.

“It’s a Chevy Monte Carlo SS. Blue. Metallic blue. It’s less than a year old. Um, bucket seats. I have the license plate number in here someplace.” She talked as she sorted through her purse and wallet. “Air conditioning, tinted glass–”

“Comfortilt steering?” Starsky offered.

“Yes. That as well. Okay, here it is.” She handed it to Starsky, and he wrote it down. “Oh, good, and here’s a picture of it. Taken about two months ago. Look, I’ve already told all this to the other officers.”

“Got it. Can we keep the photo for a while?” She nodded. “And when’s the last time you saw the car?” he said, handing back the slip of paper with the license number.

“Just this morning–”

“Hey, Starsk.” Hutch called.

“Will you excuse me for just a second, Ms. Lawsa?” Starsky joined his partner.

“This isn’t an electric garage door. Couldn’t have been another opener. What other possibilities do we have? What else have our friends in the car theft business been using to get new merchandise recently?”

Ms. Lawsa walked up to them. “Is there any way we can catch these people?”

“Well, there’ve been a lot of car thefts recently, where the thieves get a bunch of different models of garage door openers. They walk around neighborhoods and try the different openers on different doors.” Starsky looked up at the ceiling of the garage. “You don’t have an electric door.”

“No, I don’t.”

As they talked, they walked just outside the garage. Starsky went and looked at the lock. He motioned for Hutch to join him. “Take a look.” Starsky pointed and Hutch looked up. “No, no. Look. Look at my finger.”

“You want me to look at your finger?” Hutch said softly, watching Ms. Lawsa out of the corner of his eye. She seemed to be trying to listen to what they were saying.

“The lock was sticky. Smells. Here.” Starsky offered him his finger. “You can smell it, too.” Now Hutch understood. And the smell was still there. They returned to the woman.

“I think, Ms. Lawsa, that we have a pretty good guess how they got into your garage. Pretty brazen of them to do it in broad daylight.” He glanced at Hutch, who took up the explanation.

“You’ll probably be getting a message from the company who sold you this lock for your garage. Thieves somehow figured out that if they sprayed a common window cleaner, like Windex, into some garage door locks like these, that something would be tripped and they could open the door.”

“You’re kidding me. Windex?”

“Yup,” Starsky answered. “They’ve got a lot of tricks they use. This one should be covered in the local media pretty soon, too. And, yours is one of the types of cars that’s being stolen a lot these days. There’s a pretty good rate of return on stolen cars right now, and if we’re lucky, we ought to find it and get your car back to you relatively soon.”

“Not soon enough for me,” she said solemnly. “If I get an electric garage door, they’ll get into that, too, like they did my neighbor’s. What are the police doing? Why aren’t they trying to stop this crime wave?

“We’re doing the best we know how, Ms. Lawsa. We realize that it shouldn’t happen to anyone, but we learn more about how these criminals operate on every call we make. Excuse us, please. We’ll let the other officers take over now.”

Hutch usually handled situations like these. Starsky didn’t like calls where witnesses or anyone became argumentative. One reason he disliked it so, was that it happened all the time. He just had a slightly harder time camouflaging his dislike for it than his partner did.

The uniformed cops took over again, and the detectives went back to the Torino, where they could talk. “Could be Tinker’s crew. They’ve worked this neighborhood before.”

“Could be these new guys,” Hutch said.

“Could be a gang of high school punks who decided to cut class and wanted to go on a joy ride this afternoon. Cheap way to steal a car,” Starsky said.

“Yeah, but someone had to have real balls to do this in the middle of the afternoon on a residential street. Some of these people are home during the day, or they have maids, whatever, who are. People look out windows.”

Starsky looked at the photo. “Even had Comfortilt steering.”

“Had what?”

“Hutch, your lack of knowledge about cars is overwhelming.”

“I bother to learn what I need to know, buddy.”

They stopped back at the station briefly and made a few phone calls. One was to Huggy, another to Dennis Waldby, a colleague in San Diego whom they’d talked to recently. He had been telling them about a sharp increase in car thefts in their area. The calls didn’t take long, and in less than an hour they were back on the road.

 

 

Joey’s girlfriend was a dancer at the new Rub-a-Dub Club on Hudson–someone’s bright idea to put strippers in bathtubs and soak them with water and suds. The wet t-shirt contests held at other clubs paled in comparison. After trying her apartment, they found that she had gone to work, so they went to the club and were escorted into a back room, where she was surrounded by a few other dancers in various states of attire. Hutch sneezed as they walked into the back room. “Like a locker room with perfume and hairspray,” he said under his breath.

“Yup, how hard they work means how high their tips are,” Starsky said. “Sweat and perfume and all the rest.”

He and his partner found themselves once again in a room full of jostling costumed strippers, tasseled breasts at eye level, long fragrant hair moving beside their faces. This wasn’t by any means a daily occurrence, but between arresting call girls, shutting down porn studios, meeting informants at go-go clubs, and investigating violence at strip bars, they weren’t deterred by any of the sights or sounds. Of course, there were still temptations, but their relationship was solid, and all that had been discussed and played through months ago. Kid stuff, where they were concerned. Appetizers they no longer needed before the real meal. This didn’t mean that one or the other wouldn’t take advantage of his partner’s hard-on, no matter what caused it–it just meant that more often, the formidable hard-ons came from one specific source. And that was the very source who would help relieve them of the condition.

“Sylk?” Starsky asked as they were entering the room.

“Sylk with a ‘y’,” she said, turning around to see who it was. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Kinda surprised to see you back working so soon. Boyfriend hasn’t been gone that long.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not really working. I’m just here to get my check. Get moral support from my friends. Y’know?”

Quite a skimpy get-up to just be here to pick up your check. Something flew through the air and landed just inside Hutch’s jacket. He picked it up immediately. He laughed. It was a sequined pastie.

“Is there someplace we can go and talk alone?” Starsky asked Sylk, as Hutch handed the silver-dollar-sized costume piece to a smiling dancer who’d walked over to retrieve it.

“We could go into the costume room.” They followed her into a room with several large tables, sewing supplies, and various types of material. Starsky sat down on the corner of a table; Hutch and Sylk remained standing.

“I hate this new gig,” she said. “All the suds every night, they’re ruining my skin.” She turned to them. “Look, I’ve already talked to the other cops. I don’t know anything. Joey didn’t talk to me about his business.”

“One last time, Sylk,” Starsky said. “Hutch and I will decide what’s important.”

“Well…” She seemed apprehensive.

“Sylk.” Hutch put his hand on her shoulder and spoke in a soft, soothing tone. “You want to help us find out who did this to Joey, don’t you? He’d want you to tell us what you know. It’s to help Joey.”

She exhaled and sat down in a chair. “Yeah. What can I tell you?”

Starsky began with the questioning. “How long’d you been going out with Joey?”

“About three years, I guess. On and off.”

“Did you live with him?” Starsky continued.

“On and off. I was living with him, but I still had my apartment. Joey’s place was a lot nicer than mine ‘cuz he could afford better.” She brought forward some of the blonde hair that had been resting on her shoulder and began to braid a small portion, looking at the hair rather than at them.

“Anything you can remember that was unusual the past couple months or so? Did he say anything–was he changing anything at work, did he meet anyone new, start coming home later, anything like that?” Hutch pulled up a chair and sat beside her.

She puckered and unpuckered her lips a few times as she thought. “Ummmm. Does it have to be something bad?”

Both detectives said no.

“About a month ago, Joey was telling me about how something was gonna happen. Something good. He was gonna buy me this bracelet that I saw in the window of this jewelry store in Woodland Hills.”

“He was going to come into money?” Starsky leaned forward.

“Yeah, but not just that. It was like it was something more. Like his life would change somehow.” She leaned her head back, and her hair fell down her back. “He didn’t tell me if it was a work thing or what.”

Hutch rubbed his chin. “Has Joey said anything like that in the past?”

“Not that I can remember.”

Starsky glanced at his partner. They were thinking the same thing. “Before he said this, did it seem like he was havin’ trouble at work?”

“Like how?” She turned to look at Hutch when he continued.

“Like maybe he was worried about keeping the position he had. Maybe there were other applicants for his job or something.”

“Hey, I don’t remember all this stuff, y’know?” She sniffled a little and gave a quick rub to one of her eyes with her finger. How she missed scratching her eye with one of those two-inch red painted claws Hutch didn’t know.

“Sorry, Sylk. We know how close you and Joey were. We didn’t want this to be too hard on you.”

“It’s not that.” She sighed then looked up at Starsky. “It’s just that…I was just thinking about that bracelet. I’ll probably never get it now.” She pulled a curling iron out of her bag and plugged it in.

Starsky gave her a little tap on the arm before he and Hutch thanked her and got up to leave. Starsky grabbed Hutch’s sleeve. “Watch your step.”

Hutch hadn’t even noticed that they were inches from descending a flight of stairs.

As they got into the car to head back to the station, Hutch slammed his door.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“I just keep asking myself what’s the world coming to? Guys, criminals, yeah, but people who’ll sell their right-hand man to the highest bidder. Friends who can’t remember your name when you’ve got a problem. Lovers who stay with you for the nice apartment, the jewelry, and that’s what they miss when you’re knocked off.”

“Hutch” Starsky slid a hand onto his partner’s knee. “This isn’t new. We’ve seen it before.” Hutch started to argue, but Starsky interrupted. “And…” He squeezed a denim-covered thigh. “And we both know that that isn’t everybody. If that was everybody, then the world wouldn’t be worth savin’. We could stop carin’ and chuck it and take off to a villa in Bolivia.”

He could see that Hutch was trying to stay irritated, trying to keep a straight face, but he was unsuccessful. He laughed. “What is it with you and Bolivia, anyway?”

Starsky laughed, too. “Just always sounded like a good place for you an’ me to retire to. Buy a little place. Fix it up.”

“Right,” Hutch said sarcastically. “You can’t even drive a nail straight.”

“There’s no end to the possibilities of what I could do, partner.” Starsky turned and pulled up in front of the police station. He smiled when he discovered his fingers were trapped between those two powerful thighs. “Wanna walk in, me with my hand between your legs?”

“Sounds good to me,” Hutch said, but relaxed his legs so Starsky could park the car.

He got out, walked around the car, and opened Hutch’s door. He smiled. “Wanna sit here for a minute; let ‘im deflate a little?”

Hutch reached out to grab his partner’s waist, but Starsky evaded capture. As Starsky turned to walk toward the building, Hutch pulled out his jacket and slipped it on. Camouflage. Starsky slowed enough so he could walk alongside him. They finalized some of their plans as they walked. “We make like we want to do business with them…”

Starsky interrupted. “They’ll wanna do business with us. We’re tops in our field.” He smiled.

“Right. We worm our way in, get to the top man. It’s like something we did a few years ago with…Coyle was it?”

“No,” Starsky said. “Can’t remember exactly, but I know the time you mean. We can go in there and get ’em when they’re most vulnerable.”

 

 

The squadroom was bustling with activity. Plainclothes and uniformed officers walked from desk to desk. There was hardly a phone in the room that didn’t have a cop on the end. Captain Dobey opened his office door, just as they reached their desks.

“You wanna see us in your office,” Starsky said.

“On the double,” Hutch added, as he followed his partner inside and shut the door behind them.

The captain asked them about their progress. They knew they’d have to ease their way into asking to go on an undercover job with practically no time for preparation and absolutely no help. “All right, time is short here. Where do you stand on this chop shop case?”

They filled him in on the events up to the present. “We dealt with Tinker, and he’ll be able to help with some credentials when these new guys go out askin’ about us. Tinker’s boys can spread the word, give us a reputation, make us out to be the kind of men that anyone would want on their side.”

“You know we’ve been trying to bring down Tinker for years now. Who else knows as much of the background in this case? This is the only time we’ll be able to get two for the price of one. Won’t take that long for this new bunch to know who we really are, to get settled, get contacts here. Then they’ll be harder to get rid of. Waldby from San Diego says these guys are real bad, once they’re in your city, they’re like a virus, they contaminate everything, make bad things worse, bring guys on the edge down into the slime with ’em. One of them’s suspected of killing a cop out there. They’re just too slippery to make it stick.” Hutch glanced at Starsky, who picked up where he left off.

“I’m tellin’ ya, Cap’n, we can get Tinker to bargain, work with us. He’s scared of us; we got him by the short-and-curlies. And he’s scared of this new clan. They have a rep for forcible takeovers. Tinker will owe us big time. It’ll be like takin’ apples off a tree. How many undercover assignments have we been on in our time? This’ll be an in and out job. Catch them in the act; find out who the head man is. Huggy tells us they’ve sent a front man out here to scout things out.

“We got a line on where to find this guy, their front man, where he lives. Get connections to the rest through him. We’ll get points with the Feds if we put a dent in this new group’s operation. Maybe if more cities were able to slam the brakes on these guys before they even get started, they’d run out of places to operate in. We’ve already got detectives on that case, how much difference could the two of us make in just a few days? Just a few days, Cap. That’s all we ask.”

“And the two of you want me to authorize your going into an undercover assignment without any more than a day’s preparation? It can take more than that to get wires requisitioned.”

“Uh, Cap’n,” Starsky began.

“I know I’m not going to like this, whatever it is.” Dobey rolled up the sleeves of his plain gray shirt.

Hutch spoke up. “Captain, we respect your reservations, and we also respect the fact that you know our track record. We’re not rookies, here. We’ve been at this long enough and we have a good enough record that we could go out, do this, and have it be done.”

“What Hutch is tryin’ to say is that we don’t wanna wear wires.”

Dobey’s jaw clenched.

“Captain, we can go in with guns. The guys who deal in cars like this would have revolvers at least. But we can’t risk wearing wires. If they discover them, we’re in much more danger than we would be if we went in there without them in the first place.”

Starsky spoke next, obviously trying to change the subject slightly. “We’ve got their number. Gonna call today, try to make a meet for tomorrow.”

“And how long were you expecting this to take? We have other officers who could take over if… I mean, I’m standing firm here. I said you had until–”

“Until Friday. We know.” Hutch finished the captain’s sentence for him. “Starsky and I think we might be able to have this wrapped up by then.”

“You think that the two of you can do two, three undercover jobs and wrap up an assignment that we, the SDPD, along with the Feds, have been trying to crack for months?”

“It’s not ego, Cap’n,” Starsky assured him. “We’re not taking credit for it, but we just got lucky this time. Joey’s murder was all this comin’ to a head. We have to be there to finish ’em off. Catch ’em in the act, bring some of them in, ship some of them back to the San Diego PD. It’d take what, three, four hours to get to San Diego, get the necessary mug shots and other info, then get back here?”

The captain okayed the assignment. He gave them until Friday. Now it was up to them to show that he’d made the right decision.

 

 

Out in the hall, Hutch picked up the pay phone to call Kirby from San Diego’s Records Department. The phones in the squadroom were tied up with officers trying to calm down members of the media who were anxious for news about Congressman Bannister’s case. The phone rang quite a while, he was transferred to a series of incorrect departments, and put on hold repeatedly. Starsky went to the machine to get a candy bar, and Pete Verducci, another plainclothes man, walked over. “Starsky, how’s it goin’?”

“You know how it is, Verducci. Hutch and me are tryin’ to bust up these chop shops.”

“Yeah, heard about that. Dobey might end up recruitin’ Ingebretsen and me for that one, too. For now, we’re still workin’ Vice.” Starsky had all but a nickel needed to buy the candy in the machine. Verducci reached into his pocket to get some change, but Starsky found one in his own pocket the same time that his friend had. Hutch, who was about to toss him some coins, returned those to his pocket and told the SDPD operator that he didn’t mind holding again.

“Thanks, anyway.”

“Hey, Chris and I are having a barbecue next weekend. Think you could make it? Hutch, too.”

“Sounds good. I’m not doin’ anything. And I think Hutch’s free, too.”

“Well, just let me know before next Saturday, so we’ll know how much food to get. Chris has just redone the kitchen and is anxious to show it off. We haven’t had a party in a while, anyway.”

“Thanks. Hey,” Starsky said, “Chris ever gonna have that baby or what?”

Verducci laughed. “She’s workin’ on it. Won’t be any too soon for her. I’ll tell her you were asking about her.”

Starsky thanked him again and slapped him on the back, before getting his candy and walking into the squadroom where Hutch was writing out a list on a legal pad. “Got invited to a barbecue next weekend. Verducci and Chris.”

“Yeah? Sounds good. Did you ask if we could bring anything?” Before Starsky could answer, Hutch continued, “It’s okay. We’ll ask before next weekend.”

 

 

Finally, he was able to use the phone at his desk again. Hutch straightened and focused when a voice answered the phone. “I got this number from a guy called Hot. Is he there?” Where are they now? Still at work?

“Not right now. Can I help you?” the man asked.

“Not sure. I’m callin’ about a business proposition that this guy was talkin’ about.”

“Right. I can help you with that. I take it you understand that we’re in the automotive business. Are you in a similar occupation?”

Hutch waited before answering. “Yeah. My friend and I’ve been workin’ in one outfit for a while now, but we’re lookin’ for greener pastures, I guess you could say.”

“You work for Tinker?” the voice asked, and there it was. Just the jackpot they were hoping for. They didn’t have to mention any names, and the name the man on the other end had mentioned said it all.

“Yeah. But we hear good things about your outfit, and we’re sorta fed up with not gettin’ any respect in our current situation. Is there somewhere we could meet?” Starsky, who was sitting beside him, handed him a pencil.

The man sounded impressed, probably by their association with Tinker. “Good idea. We can see what each other has to offer. I think you’ll like our, uh, fringe benefits. I work at a salvage yard. We could meet there.” It was clear by his tone of voice and his interest in seeing them that he’d bought their story so far. “Say about nine tomorrow morning?”

Hutch was glad the man had suggested a relatively public place. He wrote ”9:00 a.m.” with a question mark after it, and Starsky nodded. “That’s good for us. Where are you located?”

“On Madison and Fourth. Called Rob’s Autobody. Just ask for Carlos.”

“‘Kay, Carlos. My name’s O’Keefe, and my associate’s Sacks. We’ll see you there at nine tomorrow.”

“That wasn’t too hard,” Hutch said, as he wrote down the details on their calendar. “Rob’s Autobody?” He scanned a list before his finger tapped on a line. “Yup, here it is. Been on our suspect list for a while now.”

“Carlos what?” Starsky asked.

“Dunno. He didn’t say. Hopefully we’ll get a chance to meet this Hot character. Gotta tell Dobey; get ready.”

 

 

Hutch made dinner that night. Enchiladas for himself, and for Starsky he made rice and a salad filled with sunflower seeds, slices of roast beef and turkey with a plate of cantaloupe slices so thin they should dissolve on his tongue. “I want to make your mouth very happy tonight, lover. Bring you some new sensations.” Hutch said before leaning in for a deep kiss.

“An’ what do you have planned for tonight?” Starsky asked after they’d stacked the dirty dishes in the sink.

Hutch laughed. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.” They walked into the living room.

“Oh, yeah.” He rubbed his fingers along Hutch’s chest and flashed one of his best crooked grins. “My favorite.” He undid what few buttons on Hutch’s shirt were still buttoned.

Hutch smiled and dropped onto the couch. He took his lover’s hand and Starsky joined him. Hutch used a fingertip to draw abstract designs along Starsky’s arm, moving up to his shoulder. He smiled. “I like your Torino shirt.” His fingers traveled along the red fabric, reaching the white stripes at the elbow.

Hutch dipped his head and ran his tongue along his partner’s shoulder. Hutch gave a throaty laugh, tilting his head backward, as Starsky’s lips encircled one of his nipples, tongue tip tapping at it like a miniature jackhammer. “Damn, Starsky. Where’d you learn to do that?”

Starsky raised his head. “Where I learn to do everything.” He ran the back of his left hand over his mouth. “You teach me.” The kiss that followed was deep and slow. Afterward, Starsky began to taste his way down his partner’s body. Hutch pulled him up for another kiss. He positioned himself so he could best torment his partner’s body, at first by rhythmically shaking his thigh against Starsky’s genitals, and then fingers massaging his balls through the fabric of his cut-offs.

“Are you gonna do it?”

“Do what? Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Hutch, w-work on my balls.” By now, Hutch knew exactly what he meant. Starsky liked a good amount of ball play, and tonight he was really in the mood. They went into the bedroom.

Both having had more than a little sexual experience before going into this monogamous relationship, each was always particularly pleased when he found and could introduce his partner to a new technique–a fresh sensation that was theirs alone. They undressed one another. Hutch liked rolling the hair-covered mounds in his hand. He held the essence of Starsky, and they fit in his palm so well. Quickly, he learned that he could move them between his fingers and get a whole spectrum of responses from his partner.

Hutch moaned, urging Starsky on, urging him to let himself go.

“Oh…. Oh, yeah. Hold me, Hutch. Yeah, boy. Do it.”

He loved being treated to this private show. They were on the bed facing one another, Starsky essentially on Hutch’s lap, his legs around his partner’s waist. Hutch was doing his best to keep his body still, all but his hands, that is. Starsky was operating by instinct–wild, with complete abandon. Hutch knew that there remained that added extra of his performing for his partner, performance masturbation, something they weren’t strangers to. It was time. Starsky was about to lose it, go for it himself, secure in his partner’s hands. He leaned back as Hutch held him, as though he was trying to pull free from Hutch’s grasp. The rapture on his face told Hutch that wasn’t the case. It was the stretching that was turning his partner on. Starsky put one hand on Hutch’s shoulder and twisted the other arm over his head like he was riding one of those mechanical bulls. Hutch said to him, “Yeah, baby. Ride it, cowboy!”

Perspiration soaked Starsky’s hair; shining, dark curls whipped around as he tilted his head back. When Starsky’s slippery ass shoved right up into his crotch, Hutch shouted and then felt his teeth chattering.

“Don’t stop…don’t stop, babe…don’t stop…oh, shit…” It was a whisper, but the words were urgent and Hutch’s heart beat double-time.

As they rocked together, Hutch brought his own cock into the mix, holding it tight against his partner’s sweet, darkening balls. Starsky’s movements served to stretch Hutch’s cock as he stretched his own body. Hutch feared he’d dissolve, fade away until nothing but sensations remained. Visually and aurally, in every way, it was a feast. This was his idea of Comfortilt steering!

Starsky leaned forward and Hutch let go, rubbing his partner’s thighs. With a shout of delight, Starsky came in thick spurts for what seemed like forever. Shortly after witnessing this, Hutch came as well, his world shaking in the joy of orgasm.

 

 

“I’m hungry.” Though they’d had breakfast fewer than two hours ago, Starsky shifted in his seat as he drove.

“You’ve got a whole bag of chips right there.”

“This packing material you mean? If it tasted like nothin’, it’d be better than this stuff. Practically does taste like nothin’.”

“They’re not that bad.”

“Hey.” Starsky looked at him at a stoplight. “I’ve been knocked on my face in the dirt. Rocks in my mouth tasted better than that.”

“Well, I see some rocks out there. Why don’t you pull over and scoop some up?” They drove on for a few minutes before Hutch continued, “Besides, those chips are good for you.”

“I’ll let my stomach be the judge of that. This week almost over or what?”

“Y’know, you should take this as an opportunity to expand your culinary horizons.”

“Expand my what?”

“Starsk, I’m telling you, your body is going to thank you.”

“Hey, I’m doin’ this, goin’ through this, for one reason. Don’t worry, I’m not a welsher. I gotta have a reason for doin’ something like this. There’s gotta be a prize.”

“Well, thank you.” Hutch smiled. The thought of being considered a prize was nice.

“Don’t get too proud of yourself now.”

“I still think you snuck a little taste last night.” Hutch gave him a play punch in the shoulder.

“A little taste, huh? Of mine or yours?” They laughed. “You got any evidence to back that up with, Sergeant?” He turned a corner. “Look, we made a deal, right? What makes you think I’m not looking forward to this just as much as you are? It was my idea, after all.” Starsky was smiling as he drove.

“Oh, yeah? Was that before or after I burned my lips?”

“You may’ve burned your lips, but I didn’t see you turning down a second helping.” They laughed again.

“I know I’m looking forward to tasting some pure Starsky!” Hutch waggled his eyebrows at him. “You getting ready to burn your lips?”

Starsky was still smiling as he went through a red light. He didn’t even seem to notice that he’d done it. That was enough of an answer for Hutch.

 

 

The coroner gave them a folder that contained his report, including enlarged photos of Joey’s injuries–the burns on his back and hand, the oddly shaped cut on his face. “Horizontal burn, 3.5 centimeters, on his back; and a similar burn, 1.5 centimeters on the palm of the left hand. Second-degree burns, made with an unknown object, probably some kind of heated metal.” Hutch looked up from the paper. “Great bunch of guys, eh?” He went back to reading. “Face and tongue reddened, appeared to be swollen apart from results of the beating. Skin showed eczema and rash, hives. Redness of the sclera, whites of the eyes.”

“His eyes were red? Drugs?” Starsky wondered aloud.

Hutch went on with the report, reading silently and aloud here and there. “They found an elevated antibody, particularly IgE, level.” When his partner looked at him questioningly, he read a little farther to where it reminded him of what the IgE level showed. “White blood cell count, it says. There was an excess in his body. These symptoms, when combined, suggest an allergic immune response associated with a severe allergy attack.” He held the folder out to his partner. “So they took someone who was wheezing and coughing from some kind of allergy, burned and beat him, then shot him.”

“Wait a minute,” Starsky said, looking at the photo of the cut on his face.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Hutch pointed at the photo. “Yeah, we’ve seen this before.”

“Two years ago, San Bernardino.”

“No, Starsk. It was last year, Palo Alto.”

Starsky ran his hand down his partner’s arm. “Last year. But it was San Diego. What are we? Test market number two for these guys? And it was–.”

Hutch finished the thought. “It was a guy in a suspected auto ring offing. Fight over who’d get the car theft biz in the area.”

“We should get that picture. It was the same kind of wound.” Starsky picked up the phone and called the Records and Cold Case Files Department downstairs. Hutch thought how lucky he was that he didn’t have to try and contact anyone in the San Diego Records Department. Within the hour, they had a photo of an injury sustained by an individual in a line of work not unlike Joey’s. The injury–a cut to the side of his face–was also not unlike Joey’s.

Starsky sat looking at the images side by side. Hutch stood behind him. “Same implement made both those wounds. No doubt in my mind.” Starsky handed him the coroner’s report for the San Diego case. “Same depth, same dimensions.”

“I don’t think it was something being used as a weapon, though.” Starsky turned the photo around 180 degrees. “More like maybe something in a car–a utensil, a tool of some kind, like the report said.”

“That’s just what I was thinking. This little flesh wound could be part of the puzzle we’ve been trying to put together. Whatever hit this guy in San Diego is now here in our territory and slammed Joey in the face last week, too.”

They shuffled through all the photos and papers on Joey. “Says that none of it, the cut, the burns, the allergy attack were what killed ‘im.” Starsky pulled out a picture of a gunshot wound in Joey’s chest. “Here’s the fatal wound. They probably could’a beat him to death, but someone decided to play guns, too.”

Looking at the image of the wound, Hutch cringed a little.

“Hey, if we leave now we can grab some lunch on the way and take a look at the location of the meet,” Starsky said.

 

 

As they drove, they took a short detour. Rob’s Autobody was just down the street from a nickel-and-dime car lot. Hutch adjusted his gun. He was wearing a holster he wasn’t used to–something that was easier to get and used by criminals, not the police. Something was digging into his armpit, and it was a little less annoying when he rested his arm over the back of the seat. He always preferred to test out his undercover gear before going in. Hutch began to go over a mental checklist.

“Kinda wish at least one of us could wear a wire. Record it. Broadcast it back to home base.”

“This’ll be preliminary, right? We know he’s gonna test our metal. Give us an assignment or something,” Starsky said, tapping his fingers on the doorframe as he sorted things out in his mind.

“The faster we can get Carlos and Hot to take us on, the better for us finding the one who killed Joey,” Hutch said. There was a fleeting tightness in his chest. “It could all hit the fan in the next few days.”

“This is turning out to be bigger than we could’a predicted,” Starsky agreed. “Bigger’n just Joey gettin’ knocked off. We could finally make a dent in the car thefts and chop shops around here, and at the same time, get hold of this new outfit just as it’s worming its way in–when the new and the old, the two biggest outfits, are at their most vulnerable.”

 

 

“So, how’re we gonna know this guy?”

“You’re the one who told me,” Hutch said. They walked onto the lot, looking as though they were a couple guys scoping out the place. Hutch pushed a fender from a ’76 Ford Pinto aside with his foot. “Sure got a good assortment of merchandise.”

“Glad you think so,” a voice behind them said. If he was out to sneak up on them, he was successful, having found the one moment that their attention was otherwise occupied. Neither Starsky nor Hutch gave him the satisfaction of appearing to be startled.

“Mr. Sacks?” he said to Hutch.

“I’m O’Keefe. He’s Sacks.” He motioned to Starsky.

“Happy to know you both. I’m Anderson. We spoke on the phone. Please call me Carlos.” They all shook hands. He was about forty, wearing a polo shirt and slacks. The shirt was unbuttoned, showing off an elaborate medallion of some sort, which he wore on a gold chain around his neck. It looked almost like an abstract fox or wolf biting its own tail.

“Real nice layout, ‘specially since you guys haven’t been in town long.”

Carlos smiled in reply to Starsky’s comment. “We’re expanding all the time. This will be our third major city in California. We’ve heard some good things about the two of you.”

“Well, then, looks like we’ve done some homework on each other,” Hutch said, his manner and tone of voice intended to convey suspicion, cynicism, and not a hint of friendliness. They were supposed to be a couple of guys who’d been successful, innovative and good at what they do, unworried about finding work. It would be necessary for Carlos to give them as much information about their operation as possible. The more they tried to impress and woo Sacks and O’Keefe, the deeper the hole they dug that they’d face in court in the weeks to come.

“So, how come we aren’t dealin’ with that guy who came ’round last week drummin’ up business?”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Carlos said. “You’ll be sure and deal with the right people. No second fiddlers here.” They shook hands. Carlos’ grip seemed to challenge rather than welcome him.

“Don’t suppose you’d know anything about Tinker’s main man gettin’ put out a few days ago? Somebody’s playin’ pretty rough,” Starsky said.

Not a muscle in Carlos’ face flinched. “What can I say that I haven’t said already? We take care of our own, you can count on that.”

The guys walked around with Carlos Anderson. He told them about the kind of cars his customers preferred.

“Got connections in other states? Outside the country?” Hutch asked. “Bay City’s a good location to ship out cars to anxious buyers in Mexico, even South Africa.”

“Yeah,” Carlos said. “Insurance fraud’s always big, too. Our San Diego branch is tops in that arena.”

“My friend, here, and I have developed some, uh, techniques that the others don’t know yet.” Hutch smiled. “Can get you a primo sports car, for instance, using nothing on the car but a tennis ball. Heard’a that?”

“You kiddin’?” Carlos asked.

“Nope.” Starsky said. “Hardly anything to clean up on a job like that. Parts are gonna be a problem soon ’cause of that VIN act that the car makers passed.”

“We know about that,” Carlos said. “Doesn’t take much to get rid of a VIN number. Probably less work than filing off the serial number on a gun, and we had that process down years ago. I’m even teaching my kid the trade.”

“We got people who can strip a Corvette in an hour. Chop some lesser cars in twenty minutes.”

“That’s good. Nothing goes to waste here. We even shred the shell. Use as scrap.”

“Don’t worry, we can supply the goods; we can even inventory them for an extra fee.” Starsky adjusted his sunglasses. “Just tell us what you need. Make. Model. Year. You do the reselling, installing?”

“You got it. And we can dispose of the rest, melt it down for scrap if we have to,” Carlos said, running a hand through his graying hair. The gold in his bracelet caught a glint of the sun. “Why don’t we start with you showing us what you can get?”

“Tinker wouldn’t’ve kept us around for so long if we weren’t good,” Hutch said.

He looked like he was on the defensive now. That was good. “Believe me when I say that I understand that and I respect it. Surely you can see our desire to see what you can bring to our organization.”

“‘Kay. And at the same time, you’ll be able to show us what you’re willin’ to pay for our services. We supply quality stuff, puttin’ ourselves in danger to come up with it. We expect to be paid well. Heard you might do better than Tinker. ‘Course, if that doesn’t turn out….” Starsky was playing it cool.

“Gentlemen, I can assure you that my organization will beat any price you’ve been paid in the past by Mr. Tinker. We appreciate quality merchandise, and we have much farther reaching expertise, ways of handling and distributing the inventory. Tinker’s outfit was good for what it was, but their time is over. Good that you’ve seen fit to play with the big boys now. Whatever you need, health care, Christmas bonuses….”

“Want we should fill out W-4 forms?” Hutch laughed, actually taken aback by the benefits in this new group.

Hutch pulled out a black spiral notebook. “We’re ready. What’re you looking for? Anything in particular? Older cars are easier to get, as you probably know. Mostly turned into scrappers, selling off to guys who wanna do what they gotta do in an inconspicuous car. Can’t be traced to them.”

“Sports cars are always popular. Always seem to be needing parts, too.” Hutch smiled. “So, when do we meet your boss? Nothing personal Carlos, but we’re used to dealing only with the main man,” Starsky said.

“Lookee here. I think this little beauty might’ve fallen off Dobey’s car.” Hutch nudged a bumper with his foot. “Think it was a donation or a runaway?” he asked, still speaking softly. They both laughed. On the periphery of the yard, Hutch spotted a right front passenger side door from a ’70-something Ford. “Think this’d match my car?” he asked.

“Y’know what one of your problems is, partner? When it comes to your car, you’re always lookin’ down, looking in the dirt at some low-life’s salvage yard for some bent up piece of metal to throw onto your heap. You need to raise your standards. Look up for a change, out of the dirt.” They climbed into the car and drove off. “One’a these days you’re gonna trade in that squash, replace it with somethin’ decent looking, and you’re gonna thank me ’til the cows come home.”

“Right.” He watched the salvage yard get smaller and disappear from the side mirror. “You didn’t buy a word of Carlos’ generous offer, did ya?” Hutch asked.

“What’re you talkin’ about, Hutch? I got a warm feelin’ right here…” He motioned to his chest. “…for Mr. Carlos back there.”

 

 

When they went to check Hot’s apartment, they were ready with a search warrant and cover stories should they be found there, but they weren’t really too worried about that. The search didn’t turn up much. Hutch pulled open a desk drawer and took out a pair of scissors. He was looking at them, when Starsky walked up to him. “They’re for lefties,” Starsky told him. “See?” He took the scissors and used them to cut into the front page of last Sunday’s paper.

“I’ve never seen any like that. You have a pair?”

“Nope. Actually I’ve had to use the other kind for so long, not sure I could use these anyway. Wonder what other lefty toys he has around here.” As Starsky moved from the desk to the kitchen, Hutch went into the bathroom.

Starsky joined him, carrying a soup ladle made for left-handers. “This guy ever has a garage sale, I wanna go,” he said. “Whatchya got?”

Hutch motioned toward the open medicine chest. “Pills. Allergy pills.”

Starsky squinted at the labels. “Oh, yeah. I know that one. You’ve got that one, too. Think you two are allergic to the same things?”

“Could be,” Hutch said. “Not necessarily, of course. Looks like our left-handed friend here is allergic to a helluva lot more than I am. Stuff here for food, animal allergies, dust. You name it, he’s probably allergic to it.”

“So he was walkin’ around doped up all the time?”

“Nah,” Hutch said. “These look like they’re safe, and he has the same doctor’s name on all of them. If you took them the right way, the right times, you could function okay. Maybe only feel a little dopey around the beginning of spring.”

 

 

The dispatcher on the car radio informed the partners that Huggy wanted to meet with them. They stopped by The Pits, ordered a couple of beers, then sat at a table. Huggy came and sat with them shortly after the waitress brought them the beers. “Didn’t expect to see you so soon. The police having a Welcome Wagon week or something?”

“Yeah,” Hutch said. “We’re going to all the drinking establishments in town, welcoming them to the neighborhood.”

Starsky took a long swallow then set his glass back on the table. “Whatchya got, Hug?”

“Got a little more info on that Hot guy you’ve been scopin’ out.”

“You found him?” Hutch asked.

“Nah. There are too many stories circulating about where he is.” Huggy took a drink of his coffee. “And why.”

“So, what is it?” Starsky asked, leaning forward. “This guy with Belanger?”

“Yeah.” Huggy nodded. “And it looks like Hot Cocoa brought a lady friend with him when his outfit moved from San Diego.”

Hutch cocked his head and pursed his lips before taking a swallow of beer. “She part of the business?”

“No. That’s the good part. Word is she might not even know exactly what her Hot date does for a living. Looks like she came out here on a cloud of promises that her boyfriend would rehabilitate himself, so she must’a known that whatever he was doin’, it wasn’t all that good.”

“Don’t suppose you have anything on this lady friend? A name, address?” Starsky wiped some foam off his mouth.

“Hey, does the Great Huggerino ever let his favorite boys in blue down?” They smiled at him and he continued, “I got both for ya. Name is Nancy Stenson. Lives on Prospect, 1427. She’s working as a teller over at Surety National Bank downtown. I hear she’s taking some time off right about now, though.”

“Got it.”

“There are a lotta guys who work for Belanger, his outfit, who’ve never met him, don’t even know his name.” Huggy leaned in closer. “Big tip here, and don’t say I never gave you anything. Here it is: Pekingese.”

“What? He’s shipping cars all the way over to China?” Starsky asked.

“No, no. I’m not talking cars here. I’m talking canines, pooches, Pekingese dogs. Belanger’s crazy about ’em. Hmph.” Huggy sighed. “Man would kill another person without thinking twice, or have them killed at least. Not just cold, this guy is like ice. But then if you’re one’a these Pekingese dogs, he’ll treat you like a king. Breeds ’em. I’d say, you give a good word to the dogs, you might score some points with the head honcho. Might grease your way a little.”

Hutch looked at Huggy, who appeared to be serious, maybe slightly worried. “And what’s the bad news?”

“Word is Belanger’s out to hit the market in a big way. People who don’t sign on with his party are apt to wake up dead tomorrow. Nobody ever got him for the cop he had done in down in San Diego. Well, I hear that he’s planning on making his presence here known to the police–pronto, too. His boys’re letting it be known that if a cop takes him on, that cop had better be ready to fight to the death, and that ain’t no cliché in this case. I’d say you’d better alert your brothers and sisters in blue about this–one very bad dude. He needs an officer or two in his hip pocket ASAP. Figures he gets a cop, one way or another, nobody’s gonna put himself on the wrong side of Mr. B.”

“But ya see, Hug, Hutch an’ me want to get in his way. We wanna shake ‘im up, make him start wonderin’ who he can trust, how to make this town. Making him mad at us is safer than him gettin’ mad at someone else. We plan to make him regret ever stopping here to set up shop. And you can’t do that by getting on his good side.”

Hutch nodded, downing the last of his beer. “That, and there’s a cop’s widow in San Diego who needs to have something done in honor of her husband, too.” He exhaled, paused a minute then pushed his glass forward. “Huggy, you’re worth your weight in gold, my friend.”

“Just remember, Christmas isn’t that far away. Wouldn’t mind a gift subscription to the Steak of the Month Club. Add a little to my golden weight.”

They got up. “Steak of the Month Club?” Hutch said to Starsky.

“Partner,” Starsky said, opening the door for them as they left The Pits, “your ignorance about fine dining is overwhelming.”

Hutch laughed as he got into the Torino and Starsky took off.

 

 

Nancy Stenson’s apartment building was in a nice section of town, not ritzy but respectable, with a low crime rate. They rang the doorbell at number 1427.

“Who is it?” a woman’s voice asked through the door.

“Police officers, ma’am. We’re looking for Miss Nancy Stenson. Is that you?” Hutch asked.

After a moment, she spoke once more. “Hold your badge up to the peephole.”

Starsky did, and she opened the door a little, the chain still in place. “What’s happening? Why do you want to speak to me? Is something wrong with…?”

“With Frank?” Starsky said, calling Hot by his real name, Frank LaCoca. She frowned and he showed her his badge once more. “Can we come in, ask you a few questions?”

She unchained the door and let them in. They sat down in her living room. “This is about Frank? Has something happened to him?”

“Miss Stenson, we’re looking for him, too. We can’t tell you anything about his current state because we don’t know ourselves.” Hutch stopped talking for a second and tilted his head slightly toward the coffee table. On it was a framed photo of Nancy Stenson with a man. The photo had been taken outside, probably in the winter, as they were both wearing heavy coats and hats.

“Is this a photo of you and Mr. LaCoca?” Starsky said, motioning toward the photo.

“Yes, it was taken last Christmas. We were on a trip to Colorado.” She wiped her nose with a tissue. “I don’t know what I can tell you. I haven’t seen him, heard from him, in almost a week.” Next to her chair was a paper shopping bag, half-full of used tissues.

“That appears to be the last time anyone saw him.” Hutch spoke with compassion, realizing her plight. “We’re trying to get some basic information on him. Maybe we can track him down.”

“Why? You think he killed that man in the newspaper? He didn’t kill that man, and I don’t want to help you track him down so you can accuse him of killing someone.”

“Miss Stenson,” Starsky said, leaning toward her and speaking in as soothing a voice as he could. “The only way we can find out if he did or didn’t have anything to do with this crime is if we find him and ask him.”

“If he’s being framed, he’s not helping anything by running. It doesn’t look like the action of an innocent man. Maybe you can help give us some information that we can use to find him, to find who really killed that man.” Hutch took out a pad of paper, and Starsky handed him a pen.

“Okay,” she said with some hesitancy. A tea kettle in the nearby kitchen began to squeal and she went to tend to it.

“Think we oughtta search the place?” Starsky whispered.

“Don’t know. So far, doesn’t seem like we have to. Wait and see.”

As Hutch finished speaking, Miss Stenson returned to the room with a cup of tea.

“I should offer you both a cup. I’ve been living on this stuff for the past few days.” She took a used teabag from a small saucer on the table and dunked it into her cup of hot water. “What do you want to know? I’ll see if I can tell you anything that would help at all.”

“Okay,” Hutch began, “how long have you and Mr. LaCoca been together?”

She sighed. “About four years now. We met in San Diego. Both just moved up here a month or so ago.”

“And why did you decide to move here?” Starsky leaned back in his chair.

“Well, Frank thought he had a good business opportunity here. He said that he would be going completely legit….” She bit her lip and tilted her head back. “Damn. I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Stenson. We know all about Mr. LaCoca’s work over the past few years.” In a way, Hutch was lying, but there was enough truth in it to put Nancy at ease. What they didn’t know were the specifics.

“See, he promised me that if we moved here, he’d find a real job. We’d get married. I wouldn’t have to wonder where he was so much, when he’d call.”

“Has he ever been gone like he is now? For an entire week?” Starsky asked.

“No. But he knew that I didn’t like the people he worked with. I only met two or three of them, but I don’t like them. If he’s working on something special…I don’t know.”

“Right,” Hutch said. “Now, can you think of anything that may have been different about how he behaved, things he said in the couple weeks or so before he dropped out of sight?”

“It’s not like I haven’t tried to come up with something like that myself.” She closed her eyes for a minute and her head dropped forward. She was still looking down at her lap when she resumed speaking. “Well, we haven’t been here all that long. He was telling me how he planned to get out of the business he was in…”

“Excuse me,” Starsky said, “but what business was he in?”

“It was some kind of automotive thing. They weren’t entirely ethical, from what I understand. Frank felt worse and worse about it. He knew they weren’t being honest with their customers. I know he told me that he saw them take a part out of a car, paint it, then put it back in and charge the owner for a new part. Things like that.” Starsky nodded for her to go on. “I know that he was really under a lot of strain. Carlos, his friend at work, went over to his place a lot. Frank said he was trying to help make him feel better.”

“Did you and Carlos get along?”

“No, not really. I just don’t like that, um, that type of person. He’s really aggressive. Stupid sense of humor.” She moved a bowl of hard candies on the table. “For one thing, he wears more jewelry than Sammy Davis Jr. He’s just sleazy.”

“But Frank liked him?” Hutch asked.

“Frank thought that he was trying to help. There’s been a lot of stuff going on since we came to Bay City. Different people, new people were around. One time we were at a restaurant, and these two guys walked in and Frank said that we had to leave. I’d never seen those men before, but when I asked who they were, Frank said he didn’t know.”

 

 

They got back home none too soon for Hutch. He was tired. Starsky walked into the living room. “C’mon, Hutch. Say it! Come on! You can say it.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Say it for me.” Starsky sat down beside him, his fingers teased Hutch’s thigh. “Say it once and tonight you’ll find an extra goodie in your stocking.”

“Give me a break, will ya? The whole thing is something I’d rather not think about, okay? You’ve been bugging me about it for days now. Let’s just leave it on the cutting room floor.” Hutch was reading a book about Pekingese dogs. “Their ears are supposed to be heart-shaped,” he said and took a drink of his beer. “Right.”

Starsky took the book from him and read aloud: “Pekingese dogs, often called the Lion Dog, and with its flowing mane and pear-shaped body, he does resemble the king of the forest.” He looked at the cover. “That a Pekingese? Looks like one of those crafted up Kleenex boxes my ma used to sell at the temple rummage sales.” He grimaced and handed the book back to Hutch, who set it down and headed for the shower. Starsky joined him a few minutes later.

They were both under the spray, Hutch rinsing off, Starsky going for the initial lather. After one of their customary we’re-in-the-shower-together kisses, Hutch leaned against the wall, out of the water, and watched Starsky.

As he ran his fingers through the suds in his hair, Starsky glanced at him. “Hey, we wrap this case up and I bet we can get ourselves a three-day weekend. Nothin’ to do but tiptoe through each other’s tulips ’til Tuesday morning.” He leaned over and gave Hutch a lathery hug. “Doesn’t get much better than that.”

“You think so, huh?”

“Sure.” He rubbed the bar of soap over his chest. “We’ll have enough rations to allow us to hide away in here. What do we need? From what I can see from here, you got all I need for a terrific weekend.” He blew a little kiss in Hutch’s direction. “Don’t know of anything else that could make it any better.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hutch said with a smirk.

“I don’t believe it. You can’t tell me there’s anything we forgot. Raw oysters…” He rolled his balls around in his hands, giving Hutch a preview of pleasures to come. “We’ll take the phone off the hook….”

“Well, Starsk, as always, it could probably be a little better if we had…um…if we had a puppy,” he said this with a totally straight face.

Starsky laughed and turned toward Hutch. He got on his knees and panted.

“Nice doggie.” Hutch patted him on the head. “I’m your new master. You like me? Think we’ll get along okay?”

Starsky rubbed the side of his face against Hutch’s thigh. He proceeded to sniff loudly around Hutch’s groin area and went on to lick his skin. When Hutch started to laugh, Starsky said, “I thought I was the one who was ticklish!” But Hutch wasn’t only laughing because it tickled. At first, Starsky went in long, slow laps from the front of his thigh toward the inside. Then, as Hutch leaned his pelvis forward a little and separated his legs more, Starsky’s licking got faster. With just the tip of his tongue, he tormented his partner’s balls, front and back.

“Y-You’re a real nice doggie,” Hutch managed to say.

Starsky reached up, patting his ass, then stood and rinsed off. He returned to his partner, leaving the water running. “Woooof! Woooof!” he barked, got back down on his knees, and went to lick some more. But something unexpected happened. When he put one knee on the floor on either side of Hutch’s left leg, his wet cock and balls rubbed succulently against his partner’s calf.  Starsky jumped, as though he’d been jolted by an electric shock, but a good one, shooting through his system. After a little laugh mixed with a howl, he said, “Yeah, I’m your nice doggie.” He wrapped his arms around Hutch’s thigh and went to work, humping Hutch’s calf. Displaying a breathless, excruciating pleasure, Starsky let out an occasional yip or bark.  Their wet flesh, along with the added slipperiness provided by his soaking wet body hair, made him harder and brought him to the edge in no time.

Hutch held his leg stiff and leaned over, hands slowly stroking Starsky’s back. As Starsky squatted down, wrapped around him, Hutch’s leg between Starsky’s knees, Hutch could feel his lover’s balls pressed up against him, and the heavy, engorged cock sliding to the right or left of his calf.

Starsky’s knees were practically touching behind Hutch’s leg, chest and cheek rubbing against his lover’s slick body with every thrust.  Hutch wondered for a second about Starsky’s bad ankle, how it was feeling, but his partner’s moans and increased motion answered that. Hutch’s fingers tightened around his shoulders, and he heard him say in his most sensuous, urging voice, “Come on, boy. Bring it home for me.” When Starsky looked up at him, Hutch wondered if he could see him at all, or was he only feeling him at this point?

It didn’t take much more. Starsky nearly fell backward when he came, but Hutch steadied him as they came simultaneously. He hoped he hadn’t been squeezing Starsky’s shoulders too hard. Much of his own emission marked his partner’s back, while Starsky’s went on to mingled with the moisture on Hutch’s legs. The result of their love, more liquid than usual, somewhat diluted, dripped off his flesh as the water sprayed nearby. Starsky repositioned himself on his knees, but remained on the floor before Hutch. With the small amount of strength he could muster, Starsky took one last, long, slurping lick across one of his partner’s thighs. He moaned as he tasted the newly released product of Hutch’s love for him, which clung to his skin.

 

 

Hutch was behind the wheel when they drove the 1980 Trans Am in to Carlos’ yard. He and a few flunkies came over before the partners were out of the car. They looked at the car for a while, then walked and talked. Negotiating. Getting to know one another.

“This baby top of the line?” Carlos asked.

“You better believe it,” Starsky assured him. “We’re talkin’ your Class A model here. Just off the line, newest of the new.” Starsky stroked the hood. “Turbo, O-rings, posi-traction, cast aluminum wheels, T-top, even the embroidered Firebird logo. Pretty sweet, eh? Oh, yeah.” He opened a door. “Power door locks.” He laughed and shut the door.

“I gotta test drive it. Put it through some paces. But I think you boys will fit nicely into our little family here.”

Hutch handed him the keys, and the three of them got in.

They drove down Hudson, past the massage parlor, up Fifth Street. No one did much talking.

“We goin’ somewhere?” Starsky asked, noticing that they seemed to be taking a particular route to a destination.

“You guys said you wanted to meet the boss. Mr. Belanger wants to meet you. Not everyone gets to meet Mr. Belanger.”

They seemed to be heading right for Hot’s apartment building. This made Hutch a little uneasy.

“Need the A-okay from the boss?” Hutch asked, sending a quick glance over in his partner’s direction.

“Somethin’ like that.” Carlos looked at Starsky in the rearview mirror.

“That’s good. Shows you’re all taking the proper interest in us,” Starsky added.

When they pulled up outside Hot’s building, Hutch’s mind and body went on hyper alert. Carlos parked the car and unlocked his door. “Get out.”

They exited the car and followed him into the building. Would Belanger be waiting for them in Hot’s apartment? Hutch glanced at Starsky, who seemed to be as concerned as he was, though no one else would be able to see it. When the elevator passed Hot’s floor, Hutch didn’t know if he should be relieved or more concerned.

They got out on the seventh floor and followed Carlos down the hall. The carpeting here was more plush than it had been on Hot’s floor.

Starsky gave Hutch a glance that said, “I’m ready,” as they walked into apartment 709. It was similar to Hot’s, but it was larger and the furniture was newer, more expensive.

Carlos shut the door behind them, and they were noticed by a man grilling on a barbecue on the balcony. He shut the lid on the grill and came in to greet them. “Mr. O’Keefe and Mr. Sacks. Finally, we meet. I’m Charles Belanger.” He offered Starsky the same limp handshake he’d just given Hutch. He was about fifty, white hair set off the navy blue polo shirt and slacks he wore. “Carlos tells me that you boys have been in the business around here for several years.” A couple of goons went up to them. Clearly they were going to be frisked. Hutch and Starsky sped up the process by simply handing their guns to Belanger, who placed them behind him on his bar. The detectives had been through this sort of thing before.

Belanger nodded, and Carlos walked over and started to pat down Hutch. “What is this, huh?” He pulled away. “We gave you our guns. What else do you think we got on us?” Hutch asked.

Belanger apologized. “Can’t be too careful these days.”

Hutch and Starsky exchanged a small glance, conveying relief that they’d decided not to go in wired. There’d be trouble, and the case would fold, too.

Belanger motioned for them to sit down. A high-pitched sound emerged when Hutch sat down, causing him to jump right back up. Belanger chuckled. “Sorry about that. The dogs get everywhere and so do their toys.” Hutch stood, holding a rubber squeaky ball in his hand, which Belanger took from him. Finally, they were all seated soundlessly. It seemed odd that this man had instigated this personal meeting, when they’d only approached Carlos the previous day.

“My contacts speak highly of you both. I hear that you’re interested in maybe joining my organization.”

“We might be,” Hutch said, taking a mushroom from a tray that had been set on the coffee table in front of them.

“Let’s be plain, here, Belanger.” Starsky took the lead. “O’Keefe and me have worked with Tinker for a lotta years. He’s been pretty good to us, y’know? We wouldn’t be out shoppin’ for another organization, but a friend of ours told us about this guy who’d been out spreadin’ the word. Made your outfit sound pretty nice.”

“Can I get either of you something to drink? Beer okay?” They nodded. Carlos had taken on the role of butler now. Butler and brain-dead muscleman. He brought them each a beer, and opened the bottles in front of them.

Hutch took a drink. “Good beer, Charlie.”

“We like it. And, uh, please, I’d prefer to go by Charles.”

Hutch nodded. “In that case, Charles, I’m Don, and my friend here is Lou.” Pekingese puppies and the dog that was probably their mother walked, ran and tumbled around on the floor. He felt a sneeze coming on. Man, these dogs are like live powder puffs–fuzzy allergy attacks on four stumpy legs. He was able to suppress the sneeze.

“I’ve heard that Pekingese dogs are sometimes called lion dogs, because their flowing mane makes ’em resemble the king of the forest,” Starsky said, getting a nod and a look of snobbish agreement from Belanger.

“That’s very good, Sacks. Of course, you wouldn’t expect me to be in here with a Dobie.”

Dobey? What was going on? For a minute, Hutch was taken aback by the mention of their captain’s name. Then he relaxed. Starsky gave him a quick, ‘will you calm down?!’ glance.

“Uh, pleasantries aside, maybe it’s time we talked a little business.” Starsky suggested. Two Pekingese puppies ran over to where they were talking. One jumped onto the couch and laid its head on Starsky’s thigh. He scratched the puppy’s head, and continued, “My friend and me have been doin’ this for a while now. We got access to the best neighborhoods, we got methods a lotta guys ain’t even dreamed of yet. So, we’re wonderin’ what you can do for us. Where’s that guy who was makin’ the streets, recruiting for you?”

“Oh, that was Hot. He’s, well, he’s on a little vacation right now. We had him working pretty hard and thought he deserved some time off. Good that his efforts brought the two of you here, of course. Anyway maybe you could tell me what kinds of goods you could provide me, and tell me what Tinker’s paying you. I think we could make a deal.”

 

 

Belanger put his hand on Hutch’s back and led him into the kitchen. “You see this dishwasher?” The cycle was ending; the machine was getting ready to turn itself off. “Newest model they had. Hear that?”

“I don’t hear anything,” Hutch said.

“Exactly. Silent.” He opened it and pulled out the top shelf. “And you see here. You put your silverware on the top. It’s better that way. I can afford to have the latest appliances, and why? Because this business has been very good to me.” He closed the dishwasher. “And it can be much better than it has been to you and your associate.” He motioned for Hutch to sit down, and they sat across from one another at a small table. “I can tell that you’re the brains in your little partnership, so I wanted to talk to you privately. Thomas…” He looked over Hutch’s shoulder where one of his men had appeared. “…get our guest another beer. Would you like another beer?”

“No. Thanks. I’m fine.” He was playing it casual, but was very interested in what Charlie was going to offer.

“Well, I’ll have one anyway.” Thomas brought him the beer and opened it for him. “O’Keefe, as you must know, I’ve done some checking up on you. It’s not often that a couple of enterprising young men like yourselves are brought to see me before deciding to work for my organization. Typically, my men handle things like this.” He took a drink. A dog whined at his calf, and he picked it up so it could sit on his lap. Hutch felt his nose getting itchy again. God, they were ugly. “But my sources assure me that the two of you are very well thought of in the community. You’re going to go far.”

“This is all real nice, Charlie…”

Belanger scowled.

“I apologize. Charles. This is all real nice, but I’ve yet to hear an offer. My associate and I have told you that we can deliver the merchandise you need. Do I sense an offer coming?” Despite his best efforts to control it, he sneezed. Belanger handed him a paper napkin. “Thank you.” He wiped his nose, crumpled up the paper, and tossed it into a trash can across the room. “As I said, you’ve seen what we have to offer. What do you have for us?”

Belanger chuckled. “I like a man who knows what he wants.” He raised his voice a little. “Knows what he deserves, and goes after it.” He reached over and opened a drawer. Hutch tensed and his eyes lit up. What’s he doing? He pulled out a teaspoon and shut the drawer again.

Hutch never let his expression change, serious, casual, and maybe a little impatient.

“All right, O’Keefe. To the point. I’d like the two of you to work for my organization. We have a lot to offer. Working with me would be more lucrative than your current agreement with Mr. Tinker. It won’t be long before Tinker’s out of business anyway. Trust me on that. Better for you to get in my camp now, rather than waiting until you’re in need of employment.” Belanger put the spoon into the slice of foie gras that was on the table, scooping some out. He then held it in front of the dog’s mouth and the dog began to lick at it.

“Would you like some foie gras, Mr. O’Keefe?” Hutch thought his lunch would come back up from his stomach at the question. “No. No, thanks. Belanger, my associate and I would do fine on our own. We’re not with Tinker because we need to be.” The sound of the dog’s licking up the liver was threatening to make him ill. Every lap of the dog’s tongue seemed to hit him right in the lower intestine. “We’re there because it’s easier for us if he takes the stuff off our hands. What we do best is going out and getting it. It’s easier for us if somebody takes it from there.”

Again, Belanger laughed. “Mr. O’Keefe, there won’t be many independent operators around here either. It’s, um, easier for me that way.” Condescending bastard, pure, thick ego; thinks everyone is his inferior. He fits the criminal boss profile exactly.

Stay calm. “Okay, enough. What are we talking in dollars and cents? We brought you an ’80 Trans Am. 1980.”

Carlos returned, handing the keys to the Trans Am to Belanger.

“You should think about what I’ve said.” He put his hand on Hutch’s back and led him toward the door. “That’s all. I won’t keep you any longer. Just wanted us to start to get to know and understand one another. The next time you see your associate, I believe that the two of you will decide to come work for me. Oh, and, uh, please do extend our apologies to Mr. Sacks. He asked to go home unexpectedly, much sooner than planned.”

“He asked to go home? And why was that? Why should I apologize? What game are you playing, Belanger?”

“Oh, Mr. O’Keefe. It’s not a game. I can assure you of that. Never a game.”

“Where’s Sacks?”

Someone handed the pair of revolvers to him. “Here are your guns.”

“You’re giving me both of them?”

“When Mr. Sacks left, his piece was still back here at my apartment.” Belanger was trying to suggest that Starsky had left and not even asked to have his gun back.

Carlos opened the door, and Belanger continued talking, “You have too little faith. But once we’ve been working together for a while, I’m sure that you and Mr. Sacks will become more, uh, a part of the team. Thank you for stopping by.”

Hutch stopped and looked between Belanger and Carlos. Examining their faces. What would he accomplish hanging around and trying to get more information on where Starsky was when they were trying to shove him out the door? If Starsky wasn’t home, he’d know where to find them. He decided not to risk his cover and left.

Hutch put his gun back in the holster, slipped his partner’s gun into his belt, and walked to the car. Starsky didn’t ask to go home. They must’ve done something to him. About to open the door, he stopped. He worked fast, but performed what was, he hoped, a thorough check of the vehicle for any kind of booby traps they could’ve planted. If it wasn’t thorough enough, he didn’t care. Still, he’d be no help to Starsky if his ass was blown off the pavement. In the last close call they’d had years ago, there was a bomb under the dashboard. Nothing there now. Before leaving, he pumped the brakes. Working okay. He wasn’t used to this kind of car. It lurched out into the street and he was nearly hit by another car. Quickly, he figured the fastest route from here to Starsky’s place and was en route. The light at Collins and Fifth was lasting longer than usual. This was fast? The hell with it. He just went. Anyone following? No. Didn’t look like it. There weren’t any cars. He parked outside, hardly having turned off the ignition before he got out, dug the keys from his pocket, went to the door, and let himself in.

“Starsky!” No answer. The place was silent. “Starsk?” Could he be on the couch? No. He stuck his head in the kitchen before checking the bedroom. He wanted to find him here. The closet? The patio? Bathroom? No, no, and no. Nothing was out of place. The newspaper he’d been reading while Starsky got his stuff ready to spend a few days at Hutch’s was still on the table. Starsky wasn’t there. Home, Hutch thought as he paced for a couple seconds behind the couch. Could they have taken him to Venice Place? Back down the stairs he went, this time fumbling for the key to the Torino. He got in and headed for home. Damn, this car. It wanted to tell you how to drive it.

Hutch radioed the station, asking to be patched through to Palmer, another sergeant in their department, whose desk was near theirs. “Hey, tell me, is Starsky there? He was on his way over there, I forgot to tell him one thing before he left. Could you ask him to contact me? Thanks.” As he spoke, he grabbed, released, and then squeezed an old paper napkin, crumpling it, holding it tight in his fist, releasing it, squeezing it again. He signed off, put the mars light on the roof and let the siren rip, speeding to Venice Place. No one seemed to be following still.

After taking the stairs two at a time, he tried the door. Locked. He grabbed the key off the doorframe and let himself in. “Starsk!” Once in the kitchen, he was overcome by a feeling of being watched. “Who the hell is in here?” he yelled. Silence. No one in the bathroom or the bedroom. None of Belanger’s thugs. No Starsky, either. Again, nothing looked out of place. A piece of paper, white against the dark wood of the living room coffee table, caught his eye. He darted to it and nearly tripped over his guitar, which had been leaning against the couch. “Shit!” He shoved the guitar aside, and it landed a couple feet away with a discordant thud. He snatched the paper.

Starsky’s handwriting. He squinted and tilted the page, making it easier to read. Salami, it looked like it said. He took a deep breath. His racing heart was interfering with his vision. He read further. Root Beer. Hutch squeezed the paper in his fist and looked to the ceiling. It’s his shopping list from last night. The page, now in a ball, was tossed onto the floor. It rolled under the table. There was a hurricane raging in his chest. Where was Starsky? He checked the closets, the greenhouse, even under the bed, moving aside the blankets that were hanging precariously from their shelf.

Where’s Starsky? No notes. No sign that he’s been here recently. The guns. Were they…? Yeah, right where we left them. Our police IDs, too. Everything we left behind before going undercover. He returned to the Torino. He had to get back on the road. Where is he?

He started out along Ocean, turning on Broadway, not headed anywhere in particular. About a mile from Venice, he pulled over to think. “Damn it!” he said aloud and slammed the palms of his hands on the steering wheel. Where am I going? Think, Hutchinson. Think! They said they brought him home. They would only know where home was if Starsky’d told them. Where else would they have brought him? Were we made? Did Belanger tag us as cops? There was at least one dead cop in San Diego, thanks to Belanger. Big. Belanger liked to make big statements. He didn’t usually hide his victims too much. Left them out in the open. Wanted people to find them. Wanted to have them be lessons….

An idea. Maybe they could’ve taken him… The thought, so repugnant, burned in his gut as he spun the car 180 degrees and took off south on Broadway. It was the first thing that had come to mind. The alley. The alley where they’d found Joey’s body. Joey Knee-Tapper, beaten, shot to death, wrapped in an old tarp, his body tossed in amongst the litter and filth on the ground. He won’t be there, part of him decided. No way. Doesn’t make any sense. They wanted us to work with them. We aren’t any kind of threat to them at this point. Why eliminate people who can bring money in? These guys aren’t like Tinker’s disorganized group. They wouldn’t make the kind of mistakes Tinker’s bunch did. Somewhere along the way, Belanger had lost any feeling of empathy for human life. Huggy’s warning of the day before tormented his brain. They might kill a cop. Belanger might’ve wanted to kill a cop.

He shook his head, pushed the sunglasses back on. The radio, turned down low, emitted a steady stream of unintelligible static, calls from the dispatcher and other officers. He leaned back and felt something jab him in the chest. That’s where Starsky is. Hutch knew he was in that alley.

After driving south, he turned onto Marshall. “Get the fuck out of the road!” Hutch yelled at a guy in a U-Haul truck in front of him, who was trying to learn to back up. He honked the horn. “Move it or you’re under arrest!” he shouted above the siren. The U-Haul jutted forward and drove off.

Entering the alley, light dropped abruptly into shade, and the change shocked Hutch’s eyes for a second. He turned off the siren. He had to think. He had to have quiet to think and to search the area. He needed all of his senses. He saw boxes piled up. Old newspapers on the ground. He heard nothing but the wind, cars on the streets nearby. Nobody was in– He eased the car forward. What’s that up there? Could be somebody. Probably a bum. Probably somebody… Holy shit! He stopped the car and ran out, his worst fear realized. A man lay on the ground with his back to Hutch. The leather jacket, the curly dark hair. It was Starsky.

He clutched his partner’s shoulder and jumped over his body to squat in front of him. “Starsk?” he said softly, maybe a little shakily. Some blood on his face was already drying. A bruise was forming. Hutch moved his hand down his partner’s arm and took his hand, his fingers wrapping around the wrist.

He coughed, sucking in a breath of air suddenly, his relief jolting him and buzzing his system, almost as much as the fear of the last many minutes had. There was a pulse. A strong pulse. Thank God, thank God. He let go of his partner’s arm and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. “Starsk?”

Starsky started to come around. He moved his legs, brought his hand to his face, coughed. And then he went into automatic pilot–jumping up, moving away, fists in front of him. Hutch jumped up, too. “Starsky, it’s me.”

His partner shook his head, as though shaking the real world back into it. “Hutch?”

Quickly, Hutch glanced around. Were there any windows above them? No one. “A-Are you okay? I mean, can you walk?”

Starsky nodded. “Help me….” Hutch helped him into the passenger side of the Torino. For a minute he just stood there, a hand on his partner’s shoulder, listening to Starsky’s breathing, his eyes surveying the scene. “I am so sorry, babe.” Hutch said, as he looked for something, anything that could be used to prove that Belanger, Carlos, and the lot had something to do with this.

“They didn’t leave anything,” Starsky said. “Come on. I wanna go home.”

Hearing Starsky say those words, after having heard Belanger tell him that’s what Starsky said to them…. Hutch squatted down beside his partner and looked up at him then pulled a hand over his face. This time he was the one who had to get reacquainted with reality. “Yeah, partner. Time to go home.” He gave Starsky’s thigh a little rub, shut the door, went around and got behind the wheel. He reached over and took Starsky’s hand.

Starsky squeezed his hand. “Let’s get home. We’ll talk at home, okay?”

“Sure,” Hutch said softly, swallowing his questions. He leaned back and something dug into his back. “Oh, yeah. Think you might’ve lost this.” He handed Starsky his gun.

At the next intersection, the driver in the car behind them honked his horn. “They probably figure you should go when the light’s green,” Starsky said with a grin. Hutch had been looking at him. He was safe. He was going to be okay. They continued driving until they reached Venice Place. Hutch got out and went around to open Starsky’s door, but his partner was too quick for him, getting out and locking the door himself. Hutch started to say something.

“Upstairs,” Starsky said. Hutch nodded and followed his partner.

“Finally changing that habit?” Starsky asked, when Hutch pulled the key out of his pocket rather than getting it from above the door.

“Guess so,” he said.

Hutch’s arms went around Starsky, and he was rewarded in kind as Starsky’s arms wrapped around him. After a gentle squeeze to get reacquainted, Hutch let go a little. “Damn it, Starsk. I let ya down. I’m so sorry.”

“Jesus, Hutch. Will ya quit beating yourself up? We don’t usually go into an undercover situation and stay joined at the hip. That’s one way to get ’em to smell set-up right away. This one snuck up on us. It’s part of the game. You were feelin’ out the boss’ intentions, and I was gonna show ’em the car. So what? Getting two things done at once.” Starsky walked into the kitchen, got a glass of water, and returned to the couch. “Part of the plan’s to portray different enough personality types so there’d be a chance that one of us would get information out of ’em. Nine times outta ten nothing would’a happened. This time something did. And this time I had three of them to contend with. It was an ambush. They were out to scare us, put us in our place. And I’d like to think that we didn’t come off as total wusses either. I got in a few good kicks, for instance. How the hell do you predict that you’re gonna get roughed up on your first meet with somebody, when you’re there to help him?” Starsky smiled.

“What is it?” Hutch asked.

“Oh, nothin’. Just that you’re sittin’ there trying to think of a way to argue with me. You’re trying to think of a way to insist that you screwed up.”

Starsky was right. Hutch went to the bathroom and returned with a tube of antibiotic cream. He knelt to tend to Starsky’s cuts.

“They said they could see that I was the one who knew about cars. Asked if I’d go down with them and show ’em why the one we had was better than some others we could’a brought them. Our man, Carlos, was the one getting in all the shots. His boys just came along to hold me for ‘im.” Hutch’s grip tightened convulsively. Cream shot out of the tube. “Let it go for now, buddy,” Starsky said.

Hutch nodded and wiped up the mess with a napkin. “Okay. You’re right.”

“Look. If you’d been there with me, and you didn’t try and help… If you’d seen ’em toss me in the car and you just sat there, then maybe I’d agree with you.” He came over and sat beside Hutch. “Then, I’d be here talkin’ loud, askin’ where you were. But this…?” Starsky was still making sense, and he seemed to be enjoying calming Hutch down and being the rational one. “We played it like we always play it. If we wanted easy, if we wanted it to always be safe, we could become schoolteachers or mechanics or somethin’. Am I right?”

“Starsk.” He wanted to come up with something clever, something a little more than just nodding and agreeing, but when his partner was looking at him, waiting for a response, all Hutch could think of was to nod and agree.

 

 

“Easy, there. Easy.” Hutch helped Starsky off with his shirt. I wish they’d done this to me instead. I should’ve been there. Starsky hissed when Hutch pulled down the right sleeve. “Yeah, you’ve got bruises on your wrists, all right.” He turned on the shower as Starsky climbed out of his jeans. His partner gave him an “I could’a done that” look, as he folded the grungy jeans in half and set them on the corner of the sink. As Starsky got into the shower, Hutch picked up the discarded clothes and threw them in the hamper. Only the underpants missed the dark wicker basket. He’d toss them inside later. Starsky was just rinsing the shampoo out of his hair.

“Need some help in there?” Hutch said hopefully, looking in the shower.

“Uh, yeah,” Starsky said, and he grabbed Hutch’s arm pulling him in alongside him.

“Starsky!” Hutch’s irritation faded quickly as he pulled off his t-shirt, jeans and underwear, and tossed them out onto the bathroom floor.

“I don’t know how high a mark I’d give ya for that underwater striptease,” Starsky told him.

“I promise to do better next time,” Hutch said, taking a washcloth and nudging Starsky to turn around. Softly, he ran the warm, wet cloth over his partner’s back. He was glad to see that any marks were superficial. The bruises, however, angered him, as any injury to Starsky’s body always had. He did his best to keep that hidden.

“They weren’t out to hurt me really. They wanted to scare us.” Starsky reached back and patted Hutch’s side.

“Yeah, looks like it.”

“I kinda like this pampering stuff. Think you could do the front half, too?” Starsky turned around and they embraced.

Hutch smiled slightly. This is my partner. He was beaten and knocked out just a few hours ago, and now here we are in the shower together, wet cock to wet cock, ass groping like nothing ever happened.

“Ow!” Starsky yelped when Hutch gave his ass a little slap.

“We hafta learn to be more prepared, partner. Learn to expect the unexpected. We didn’t see this one coming.”

Starsky kissed his partner’s neck, loudly slurping up any water that was there. He looked Hutch in the eyes. “You got the nerve to use the word ‘coming’ at a time like this? Have you no heart?”

“Don’t do this, Starsk,” Hutch said, his desire threatening to take over his will power.

“Don’t do what?” Two strong hands were suddenly holding his buttocks apart. “Don’t scrub off all the dirt that I was rollin’ in? Don’t get you clean?”

Hutch felt helpless to move or do anything. “What about our teetotal agreement for tonight?” He smiled to himself. They’d agreed to abstain for the night, as tomorrow night would be the big taste test. How convincing was he being, saying one thing, while it must’ve been obvious to Starsky that he was loving having the washcloth do its thing between his ass cheeks?

“I know, I know. You brought me home, got me cleaned up, an’ I’m just paying you back for your hospitality.”

Hutch laughed. “And the fact that you haven’t washed anything but my ass has nothing to do with anything, huh?” His sarcastic remark was rewarded by a wet finger making its presence known. He jumped. “Starsky.”

Removing the finger, Starsky sighed. “Well, this is a fine kettle of fish. What’m I supposed to tell…?” Starsky motioned to his erection.

Hutch motioned to his own. “Tell him…” He kissed his partner’s lips. “Tell him that tomorrow night Detective Hutchinson is going to take him to the moon.”

“Hey, look, they wanna play together,” Starsky joked, as their two wet cocks nudged one another between their bodies.

“They always do,” Hutch said, and he reached to turn off the water.

Once out of the shower, they dried off somewhat, each man wrapping a towel around his waist. “That’s a nice hidden weapon you got there,” Hutch teased his partner, referring to the bulge under his towel.

“We got a matching set,” Starsky responded. He held his hands in front of him. “Pretty little bruises, aren’t they?” Hutch motioned for him to come into the kitchen and Starsky followed. “Come on,” Starsky said. “Think about Belanger’s place. Anything there?”

Hutch thought for a moment. “Oh, yeah. Yeah. There was something. How tall did the report say Joey was?” Belanger’s barbecue grill. He’d said he did a lot of grilling. Could Joey have backed up against that?

“How tall?” He pulled a hand through his hair. “I dunno, I don’t remember. Why?” When he looked into his partner’s eyes, Hutch felt certain Starsky was thinking what he was thinking.

 

 

That night they watched a little television, but both wanted to get to sleep early. It had been a long day. “Is there anything I can get you?”

Starsky smiled and shook his head. After they got undressed, they walked toward the bed. “There is one thing you can do. Sit there. Open your arms….”

Hutch was more than happy to take his partner into his arms for a warm embrace. They got into bed together, and Hutch reached over to turn off the light. Starsky immediately turned onto his side against his partner, unabashedly looking for some spooning. His hair smelled so good, Hutch kissed the top of his head.

“Tomorrow I’m gonna beat that Carlos’ ass,” Starsky said.

“Yup.” Hutch nodded and pulled the soft, firm body closer.

 

 

“Starsk.” Hutch nudged him to stand up, and then brought him to the men’s room. “Look at this” He pointed at the mirror so Starsky could see the side of his face.

“Damn, that looks like–”

“You’re right,” Hutch said. The same mark that was on Joey’s face. “What was it, Starsk? What’d they hit you with? Could you tell?”

“Nothin’. Didn’t look like anything. It was just his fist. Maybe he’d palmed… Hey, wait.” Starsky put his hand on Hutch’s forearm. “It was that damned ring, that ugly dolphin ring or whatever it was. ‘Member, Hot’s girlfriend said that Carlos wore more jewelry than Sammy Davis? It was true, right? I remember feeling that. I thought it was a fingernail.” For a minute they just looked at each other, and then they walked back to their desks.

“Any of the rest of ’em wear rings like that?”

“Nope. And Carlos was the only one who hit me.”

“Well, whad’ya know? He gave us a piece of evidence on a silver platter. Enough to bring him down.”

The phone on the desk rang. “Starsky,” he said, picking up the receiver. He listened for a moment. “Who is this?” He motioned for Hutch to pick up the extension. Hutch listened in.

“Don’t you know? This is Charles Belanger. You and your partner visited me at my home yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah. Lookin’ forward to thanking you for my little field trip. What’s this all about Belanger?”

“I thought you might like to know that I have Mr. LaCoca and his lady friend with me now. If you have any interest in their remaining alive, you might like to come and meet with me. Just you and your partner, of course. We’ll be checking to see that you come alone. None of us can handle more than two police officers at a time.”

“How do we know you’re telling the truth? How do we know this isn’t just a set-up?”

“Maybe Miss Stenson can convince you.”

The next voice he heard was undeniably that of Nancy Stenson. “Detective Starsky? I don’t know what happened. Frank was supposed to meet me–” She yelped a little and Belanger came back on the phone.

“Now do you believe me?”

“If we agree, we wanna find two healthy people there. Not two corpses. Not two beaten, battered hostages. Understood?” Hutch nodded at his partner from where he stood listening on the extension across the desk.

“I am personally affronted that you would even suggest that we might harm either Ms. Stenson or Mr. LaCoca.” Starsky grimaced. “Of course, they’ll be released in the same condition they were in when we picked them up. They’re just a sort of insurance policy. You and Detective Hutchinson come alone. Work with us. Our two friends here are free to leave. Although I don’t think you’d want to let Mr. LaCoca get too far. Who do you think killed Joey? You see, Officer, I’m offering you your murderer. I said that we could probably do business together, and so we shall.”

“Where and when?” Belanger gave him the address of a warehouse in the manufacturing district.

It turned out that one of their new hires was Short Steve, a thug Starsky and Hutch had busted a few different times for various auto-related offenses. Steve had seen them get out of the car with Carlos and later identified them to Belanger.

They left the information on Dobey’s desk.

 

 

The warehouse was forty minutes away. They made it in half an hour. They stood on either side of the doorway, and checked to see if it was unlocked. Starsky pushed the door open with his gun, each man standing with his back to the wall. If it was booby trapped, they wouldn’t get the worst of it this way.

“Please, gentlemen, don’t be frightened. You see? I’m here. A sign of good faith. I could’ve been on my way to a vacation in Mexico by now.” Belanger was walking slowly into a patch of sunlight as he spoke. “It seems that I am on solid ground for making a deal with you, Officers.”

Hutch could see that there were at least two more of Belanger’s men in the warehouse. He could’ve had quite a few scattered here and there. Carlos was standing beside him.

“What kind of a deal?” Starsky yelled out. He and Hutch made eye contact, agreeing to split up. Each moved silently and lithely to other locations.

“I have your murderer. I’m willing to hand over Mr. LaCoca so you can close your murder investigation.” Nancy Stenson started to scream, and Carlos slapped her. Hot’s wrists were bound behind him by a rope, but he tried to kick Carlos and swore at him.

“Well, ya see, Charlie,” Starsky shouted from another area in the warehouse, “we agree that you have our murderer.”

Hutch continued from a new location, as he’d moved while Starsky was talking. “We just don’t seem to agree on who it is.”

Hutch could see them clearly. Carlos raised a hand and looked like he was about to speak, but Belanger shushed him. “I’m not sure what you mean, Detectives.” His men were fanning out, looking for them. There seemed to be three of them, along with Carlos who still stood beside Belanger. “I don’t know what further evidence you need. Joey could’ve overthrown him, usurped his position in our company. Then what need would I have for him? And, of course, he ran right after the murder. How many innocent men do you know who do that?”

“We’re just not so sure that Hot ran after the murder.” Starsky threw something to divert their attention. As Belanger and Carlos were looking to the right, Hutch was given the opportunity to move to the left.

“We think that another one of your boys killed him, Charlie. And we think you orchestrated it yourself,” Hutch yelled.

“I don’t know what makes you think that–” Belanger spotted Starsky. “Doesn’t matter, though.” Starsky stood up. “You boys can either deal with me or….” Hutch noticed Starsky’s posture shift. “Or else you aren’t going to be getting out of this warehouse alive.” Hutch aimed his gun at Carlos. “When you see Joey,” Belanger said to Starsky, “be sure and ask him how he died. You may find that you and he have a lot in common. What’s it going to be, Detective?”

“We agree to deal and you won’t ice us? How do we know you’re not just out to kill us here and now?” Starsky was stalling.

“Look at the facts, Officers.” As Belanger spoke, he held open his jacket, showing that he had no weapon, at least there. Hutch was confident that Belanger still couldn’t see him, but he certainly knew that he was there. “If we dispose of you, they’d just send others to investigate us. And the others would be much more upset with us than you are today. I think there are ways we could help each other.” Belanger pushed Hot and his girlfriend out to the center of the floor. “Mr. LaCoca and Miss Stenson’s lives are hanging in the balance.”

This was the first time they’d ever seen Hot in person, and he was a carbon copy of Joey. In his mug shot, he’d had a beard, and longer hair. Hutch was surprised. Ideas began turning in his mind. “Plain terms, Charlie. What’re you offering?” Hutch yelled. He was close to them and wanted to be sure they knew that.

“A simple trade-off. You gentlemen lighten up on my operation, forget about contacting San Diego, and in return, the two of you, Mr. LaCoca, and Miss Stenson walk out of here free as birds.” Belanger rubbed his brow. “You know, don’t you, that Joey Knee-Tapper was Mr. LaCoca’s brother? Shame that Hot didn’t do anything to help his brother, just ran out like that.”

So that was it, and somehow Hutch knew it was true. Belanger must’ve been trying to take away any thoughts they might’ve had of trying to rescue Hot.

Hutch glanced around at the situation quickly. He and Starsky were going to have to simultaneously keep track of Belanger and his boys, while getting the hostages out of the line of fire.

“You’re talking like you think we give a shit,” Starsky said. Hutch knew he was trying to keep Belanger guessing.

“You fellows lack couth. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“An’ you’re crawlin’ with it. Doesn’t sound like something me and Hutch are in the market for, Charlie,” Starsky said. Hutch knew Starsky was baiting Belanger’s ire. Starsky was standing tall and proud.

There it was. The first flinch, the first, seemingly involuntary, grimace contorted Belanger’s face. His posture stiffened, and the air in the warehouse seemed to become stuffier. Oh, yeah, he and Starsky were also going to have to prevent getting themselves killed. Starsky shot him a glance directing him to look at Hot. He knew Belanger’s temperament and strategies well, and he looked–pinched lips, thoughtful expression–as though he was planning some kind of action. If the hostages tried any recourse without being directed by the police, that would only complicate matters. Something had to happen. And it had to happen now.

“You strike me as being the type of officers…” As Belanger was busy talking and Carlos listening to him, Hutch ran forward, pushed aside the hostages, and started toward Belanger. In an instant, the atmosphere changed from having a quiet, tense, almost slow-motion quality, into the chaos of physical fighting. Thomas, another of Belanger’s thugs, surprised Hutch by jumping him, squeezing him around the middle. It knocked the air out of him, feeling like he’d just done a belly flop. In a perfect act of symbiosis, Hutch turned and took on Thomas, while Starsky was only too ready to go after Carlos.

“Think you can take me one-on-one, Carlos, or do ya need a bunch of pals to help ya?” Starsky sneered at him. They exchanged punches a few yards away.

Block that punch. Divert his attention, then hit him where it counts. Hutch’s thoughts became like a series of commands. Do it to him first. He gave Thomas a slam to the chin and was sure he heard his teeth rattle.

Hot was pushing his girlfriend out the door, and she was trying to pull him with her. She must’ve untied his wrists. Go! Get out of here! Who knew what the hell Hot would do if he came back in and joined the fracas? At this point, he was a hostage, and they’d been freed. If he were to return to the fight, Hot could turn into an adversary; he could interfere and screw up what had to be done.

There was a pain in his eye. His vision went blurry. Liquid dripped down his face, and when it reached his mouth, he knew it was blood. Hutch retaliated by getting Thomas in the stomach. Thomas made a sound like a combination choke and burp. This was good. It got him off keel; he had the upper hand now. Ready to lose his lunch, Thomas struggled to defend himself.

The last thug, a tall redhead, whom Hutch recognized from the salvage yard, jumped Starsky, seemingly to help Carlos. Starsky turned to take on the redhead.

The next thing Hutch saw out of the corner of his eye was Hot sneaking up on Carlos, who was going back to get Starsky. Hutch and Hot made eye contact. Hutch felt solid enough with it to divert Carlos’ attention, while Hot pounced on him, taking him off guard and pushing him off balance. The beating Hot went on to give Carlos was unmerciful and excessive. Subduing and capturing was what Starsky and Hutch’s training and fighting was all about.

Hutch gave Thomas a pop, getting punched in the stomach in return. It bent him over for a fraction of a second, but Hutch exhaled and bounced back throwing a jab to Thomas’ stomach. He dropped an arm to guard himself, and Hutch was right in there with a jab to the forehead, knocking his head back and popping his chin up. Quickly and powerfully, Hutch threw a straight right to his chin. He channeled all of his power into his fists.

Starsky was grappling on the ground with the redhead. The bad guy pushed his partner’s face into the floor.

Thomas lay on the floor, and Hutch was taken on by another one–a blond this time. A punch caught him in the stomach, and he really regretted the El Grande hamburger he’d had for lunch. A sucker punch, the son-of-a-bitch. The bad guy’s back was to the window, and with Hutch facing into the light, he became little more than an outline, a hulking shadow. Damn! That punch was close! Probably could’ve taken off my ear! The guy was grinning at him, and that just pissed him off more.

Hutch imparted three quick and successive punches to the guy’s jaw, stomach, and nose. The blond hit the floor with a thud. Glancing at the writhing Thomas a few yards away, Hutch felt a slight glow of pride, he’d beaten them both. His attention went to his partner.

Starsky spun around, grabbed the redhead’s lapels, and with one strong yank, pulled the jacket down off his shoulders. He used the material to form a straight jacket, with Starsky pulling it tight in front of the thug just above the man’s elbows. The redhead couldn’t use his arms at all.

Holding the fabric tightly in his right fist, Starsky pulled back his left, aimed, slammed his fist into the other man’s head. Even Hutch heard a snapping, but it was only the snap of cartilage. As a southpaw, Starsky often had an advantage in fistfights. The bad guys didn’t expect what he was able to dish out. And in this case, Starsky was a lot faster on his feet than the redhead. A trickle of blood flowed from the thug’s nose. “That’s just so you don’t think’a using those cowboy boots’a yours for anything else but walkin’.”

Gunfire erupted; Hot was shot in the arm by Belanger.

Hutch turned and Thomas was back, out of thin air. It seemed to take all of his remaining strength to aim his gun. Hutch reached forward to disarm him, but just before he got to him, Thomas grunted and fell to the floor. His partner, dirty and bloodied, had not only knocked Thomas out, but was standing there holding his gun. That was all of them. Thomas, the blond, and the redhead were on the ground. Belanger tossed his gun to the floor and held up his hands. Hot was in a corner seated on the floor, with Nancy cradling him and crying. The sirens were getting closer.

“Well, Charlie,” Starsky said as he cuffed him, “this just doesn’t seem to be your day. Looks like you just lost your second right-hand, number one man this week.”

“He was so busy taunting you that he gave me time to get into position and attack him from behind. Not too bright. That’s what happens when you get too full of yourself, Charlie, you start thinkin’ you’re invincible.” Hutch shoved him forward.

Starsky pulled Carlos to his feet. Other cops were swarming in to get the rest. “Congratulations, you may have won a one-way ticket to San Diego!”

 

 

After Belanger, Carlos, and their assorted flunkies were taken away by the other officers, Starsky and Hutch walked over to where a paramedic was tending to Hot’s gunshot wound. Hot must have noticed the scowl on Hutch’s face.

“Hey, I didn’t kill him. I didn’t participate at all. He could’a… I-I stalled….”

“But you didn’t do anything to prevent it, did you? You ran away and let it happen.” Hutch was disgusted. This was betrayal. How much worse would it have been if Hot had committed the murder himself? “How can you have a clear conscience? Whatever went down, you were still family. I don’t know how people can kill each other anyway, but …”

“It’s not like we grew up together or anything,” Hot said, as he was bandaged and taken off. “I mean, we didn’t even know each other.”

Starsky put a hand on Hutch’s shoulder and sort of leaned against him. Finally, Hutch was able to relax, the pent-up breath escaped from him. There was no need for Starsky to echo his partner’s sentiments, though they felt exactly the same way. Kicking a dead horse accomplished nothing, and the less he said, the sooner they’d be out of the presence of this whole group.

 

 

“Your knowledge of allergies helped in this case,” Captain Dobey said to Hutch.

“Right. No way could Hot have been in that apartment, even that many days ago, and not still be showing the effects. His allergies were worse than his brother’s. Who knows how long they worked Joey over in there, but being in the presence of those dogs, was hurting him at the same time be was being beaten.”

“Wonder if they pushed him against the barbecue on purpose?” Starsky said. “He might’ve gone over the railing, fallen to the sidewalk.”

“He was pushing himself away, off of the barbecue. That’s how his left hand got it. A rotten way to die all around.” Hutch stopped and sort of smiled. “As if there’s a good way.”

“Do I have to tell you that you should’ve told me what happened when it happened? You should have told me what happened to Starsky before this.” He glared at them, one to the other. They couldn’t argue with him. “Why do I always find out about these things after they’ve happened? Do you know what kind of danger you put yourselves in? And by doing so, you were risking further investigation and action on our part toward Belanger’s group.”

“We’re sorry, Cap’n.”

That night they showered together again, but neither had the energy for any play. When Hutch got to bed, Starsky had fluffed his pillows for him. He also saw that Starsky seemed to be asleep already.

 

 

They got their three-day weekend, and by Saturday afternoon, both were feeling better. They had an early dinner. Starsky had a salad and spoke of little more than how much he looked forward to having a beef burrito smothered with onions the next day. After they rinsed the dishes, Hutch went into the bedroom and fell onto the bed. He threw his arm over his eyes. Starsky joined him and when Hutch opened his mouth to speak, Starsky sprang like a cat, one hand around the back of Hutch’s head, the other cupping his chin and drawing him close. He captured his partner’s succulent tongue with his own. After the initial kiss, Starsky pulled off his shirt and lay back down. Hutch removed his shirt as well. Soon, Hutch was becoming lost in just stroking his partner’s warm flesh.

“What are you thinking, babe?”

“All the times we’ve been to the park, sitting on a blanket. How nice the grass feels, soft between my fingers.” Hutch continued to slowly stroke the hair and let it slide between his fingers.

Starsky just smiled and continued watching him.

“I was thinking about how good this is. How we can just lie here. How soft you are.” Hutch rubbed his partner’s chest, the firm muscles hard beneath his palms. He leaned forward. “How good you smell.” He kissed Starsky’s chest, his collarbone first, moving the necklace of coins, already warmed by body heat, out of the way. The hair tickled his nostrils. He could hear his lover’s heart beating beneath his lips. And then Starsky shifted, his left hand caressing the side of Hutch’s face. Hutch felt the calluses on his fingertips. They were developing since they’d both been playing the guitar more often. And Hutch continued to languorously kiss his partner’s chest.

Hutch closed his eyes, moving his hands down, caressing his partner’s sides. Finally, he just rested his cheek on Starsky’s chest, the aroma of his partner growing stronger. “Your heart sounds like a drum,” he said.

“And your hair looks so white. It always seems so bright this time of day.” Starsky’s fingers massaged his scalp.

It was then that Hutch realized there was a sweet, erect nipple just inches from his lips. It was partly hidden by the dark curls, but it beckoned him. As he lifted his head, Starsky’s hand slid down to his neck, but the contact continued. It took three fingers to draw back the hair and expose the reddened bud. Starsky drew in a deep breath, and Hutch set a light kiss over the entire areola.

“How do you do that?” Starsky asked.

“Do what?”

“Make it like my whole body, every last nerve ending, is right there, right where your lips… Uhhhhh.” Another kiss, this one drawing, for the first time, participation from the tip of his tongue. “S-sss.”

Starsky didn’t have to say the word. Hutch knew, and he sucked on the small bud, occasionally drawing his tongue across it. He glanced down to see his partner’s fingers clutching at the bedspread, the silver rings tight around his finger. He could feel, before he heard, a guttural low sound rumble from Starsky’s chest. The hairs around the nipple were wet now, and he fingered it as he shifted his head to give some attention to the right side. “Your body tells me what you want.”

Starsky was squirming now, his groin pushing up against Hutch’s, the pipe in his pants certainly threatening to bust the seams. Finally, as Hutch torture-kissed the right nipple, Starsky’s left hand slid in between them, fumbling until it managed to unbutton and unzip Hutch’s jeans.

Hutch could feel a new moisture when their bare stomachs collided, as Starsky went to work on opening Hutch’s jeans. It didn’t take him long to do it. Starsky was panting now, and Hutch raised his head. His lips were wet. The need in his lover’s eyes made him dizzy. As he leaned forward for a kiss, Hutch could feel his restless erection snap out of its cloth encasement. It was happily gathered alongside Starsky’s in his partner’s hand.

Oh, God. Hutch bucked his hips, thrusting into that hot, strong hand, grinding as best he could against his partner’s remarkable rigid cock, each angry, seeming to jerk involuntarily in Starsky’s firm grasp. Wetness increasing, mingling, making the mutual rubbing simultaneously easier, but tougher, as the two hard cocks slipped to and fro. They tried to align themselves and merge into one wet, hot, humping entity. Hutch loved the feel of his cock against his partner’s, the pure energy and power there threatened to cause an overall meltdown.

Hutch’s nipples stood up straight and stiff and enjoyed the rubbing against Starsky’s sweat-dampened chest. Both men knew the moment was nearing. They jumped up from the bed just long enough to tear off any remaining clothing. Starsky’s hand hadn’t let go of the precious duo easily. Back on the bed, they looked into each other’s eyes, chests heaving, sweating. They reached a silent agreement and Hutch pivoted on one knee, turning 180 degrees. Starsky was trembling, and that pleased Hutch so much.

In no time they were ready, Hutch on his left side, Starsky on his right, face to cock. Starsky’s erection was tight, upright against his belly. Hutch had to pull it into his hand, pull it forward as it pulsed, when he pulled the dark, hot head into his mouth. The moment his tongue first settled on the crown, he felt his partner take him into his mouth, Starsky’s soft lips strongly suctioned around the shaft, his ferocious wet tongue claiming him. Here was the moment they’d waited a week for, the grand experiment about to pay off–as though the promise of a mouthful of Starsky’s rich cream were not enough, tonight they also had the excitement of the climax of their flavor challenge. Would he taste the undiluted Starsky, warm and rich and untouched by spices and preservatives? Unsullied, straight from David Starsky’s core.

The flavor was milder, a little sweeter with its usual salty creaminess. It was definitely different. A level of spiciness was gone, allowing a clean, rich flavor of the man to shine through. When would he taste like this again? Hutch wondered. It was heaven, and at the same time, it didn’t matter.

Starsky looked up at him, licking his lips.

“Different?” Hutch asked him.

“Oh, yeah. My lips are burnin’, man!” He climbed up and they had dessert–a long, deep kiss. The combined flavors were so similar to their usual combined flavors. It was such a turn-on for Hutch; he wanted to climb into his partner’s mouth to experience the tastes and scents more fully.

Hutch shook his head, startled. “Damn! Did you…?”

“I know! I tasted it, too!” Starsky said, and they continued with the kiss. Starsky’s tongue was like a ripe piece of fruit that Hutch wanted to capture and suck on to draw out all it had to offer.

“Gotta admit, babe, that was worth the wait, worth the effort.” Hutch nodded. It was all he could do for the moment. “How ’bout this?” Starsky said, throwing a sweaty leg over his partner. “Next time, let’s go for something a little less painful.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking…” Hutch rubbed his top lip against Starsky’s belly and played with the hairs on Starsky’s thigh. “How would you feel about…?”

Starsky was clearly intrigued. “Yeeeeees?”

Hutch got up on one elbow. “How would you feel about growing a mustache? I’d like to get a furry partner every once in a while. Not just when we’re on vacation.”

“Yeah?” Starsky asked. They held each other and negotiated their next experiment.

“Maybe we should bring some salmon steaks to grill for Verducci’s barbecue?” Hutch laughed. “So what’s the first thing you’re going to eat, now that you don’t have any restrictions?”

Starsky smiled and put his hand on the back of his partner’s head. “I’d tell ya, but I think you might wanna get up and run for the Tums just hearin’ about it.”

“You’re probably right.” Hutch tilted his head into his partner’s hand and kissed his palm. They lay there together, not saying much at all. Hutch let his fingers drift along Starsky’s thigh. After a while, Hutch noticed that his partner was hard again. He reached down and grasped Starsky’s cock. He rubbed the balls gently and played with the hair between his legs. Starsky laughed at first, but then moaned and thrust into Hutch’s knowing touch. A thumb smoothed over the tip, spreading the pre-cum that had leaked out.

He rotated his thumb and forefinger firmly around the blushing ridge just under Starsky’s swollen glans, and Hutch’s cock began to pulse hard. Hutch slipped his free hand under the small of Starsky’s back. Starsky’s legs slid wide apart, and he pulled his partner on top of him. Hutch spiraled a finger up the head of Starsky’s cock.

Starsky pulled Hutch’s right hand to his lips and kissed it, then sucked Hutch’s fingers into his mouth, coating them well. Starsky’s eyes narrowed, just a hint of their azure color appeared, but he was intently focused on Hutch’s eyes. Hutch felt like he’d jump out of his skin any minute. His left hand went for the drawer to get the lube, but he couldn’t reach. Starsky let his partner’s wet fingers slip out of his mouth, as he retrieved the prize they were after, opened it, and offered it to Hutch. “Oh, God,” Hutch moaned, as he felt the cool substance drip into his hand. He wasn’t about to waste those sensuously coated fingers, and his hand moved down between his partner’s legs without hesitation. The first finger that entered him met little resistance. Hutch’s left hand joined the right, and he quickly began to coat both his partner and himself. As his fingers did the walking, he leaned forward and licked the coins on the cord around Starsky’s neck. God, he wanted to make them jingle. “I-I can’t…” he whispered.

“Do it, babe. Fuck me, I need you in me,” Starsky said. And that was all it took.

He leaned back and spread those dark legs wider, and rammed himself into that tight tunnel. His breathing got harsher. His hands started digging into Starsky’s shoulders, hips banging against the back of Starsky’s thighs, the thrusts getting deeper and deeper. He could feel Starsky’s strong thighs pulling him closer. Damn, it was good. He pulled his fingers through the sweat-drenched hair on his lover’s chest.

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Hutch saw sparks of white light flash as he buried his cock deep into Starsky. A couple more thrusts and Hutch could feel his muscles tensing as his climax began to pound him. He could actually feel Starsky’s balls contract, as he got closer to shooting. He froze, balls pressed tight against his lover’s ass. “Starsk!” His partner’s half-open eyes shifted to his face, and Hutch said quickly, his voice nearly failing him, “Starsk! Here comes McCoy now!”

 

 

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