Death Before Dishonor

114

Starsky and Hutch try to look into a neighborhood issue as a favor to Minnie, only to find themselves embroiled in a Covert Ops betrayal.

 

Artwork by Virginia Sky.

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Starsky leaned into the caress as Hutch watched him trying harder to wake up. Hutch stretched forward over his partner and trailed his tongue lightly through his chest hair and down toward his sleep-warmed abdomen. Hutch smiled when he felt the skin under his tongue quiver. Starsky’s long-fingered, graceful hands twitched slightly and made uncoordinated movements as they attempted to find some purchase. Hutch retracted his tongue, wetting it again, and continued his tickle lower. Starsky’s cock was getting harder with every breath. It filled and stretched, rising from its relaxed position on his thigh, to twitch and crawl its way toward his navel where Hutch’s face now rested.

Hutch blew a cool stream of air over the approaching erection and chuckled as he saw Starsky’s cock zero in and point directly at him. He felt his lover’s breathing change and Starsky was at full staff now. No doubt about it. With a groaning stretch and a husky clearing of his throat, Starsky came fully awake. Hutch accepted a little of his weight on his own elbows as he felt Starsky stretch beneath him, hearing the crack of Starsky’s vertebrae as they realigned.

His smile widened as he felt Starsky’s fingers sweep into his hair and urge Hutch’s mouth lower. And he went, engulfing Starsky’s length in one slow sweep of his mouth. A groan from the general vicinity of the pillows at the top of the bed matched the slow curl of Starsky’s toes, where Hutch could see his leg lying outside the covers.

Hutch sucked and tongued the hard shaft in his mouth for all he was worth. And if the wiggles under his hands and the panting moans coming from his lover were an adequate barometer, he was doing a fine job.

He rolled Starsky’s balls between his fingers, feeling them puckering and drawing up.

“God, Hutch…too good. I can’t…no, wait…oh, shit! Ohhhhh…” Starsky’s groan turned to a growl of completion as he flooded Hutch’s throat.

After a moment of breathless silence, Starsky found his wits and voice enough to comment. “What a wake-up call.”

“Liked that, did ya?” Hutch said from where his head rested on Starsky’s stomach. “I wanted to make it up to you for crashing and burning last night. You sucked me dry, and I only meant to recover for a few minutes then return the favor, but, hell…you put me out.”

Hutch kissed Starsky’s growling stomach a little shyly, then moved up to lie next to his lover on the pillows.

“We were both beat with all the stake-out hours. I probably fell asleep seconds after you did.” Starsky drew Hutch closer inside his hug. “Besides, nobody’s keeping score, Blondie,” Starsky whispered with a soft kiss to Hutch’s temple. “But I’m not complaining about being woke up like that, in case you need that information for future reference.”

“I’ll file it away,” Hutch played along.

Starsky’s stomach growled again loudly, and Hutch’s answered it with an even louder one of his own.

“That’s a call for breakfast if I ever heard one,” Starsky commented as he turned over to get out of bed. Hutch stretched with a grunt of agreement, watching his lover’s ass as Starsky padded toward the bathroom, naked. Hutch felt his cock jump at the tight roll of the muscular butt presented as Starsky left the bedroom.

“Later,” he promised as he got out of the warm bed himself, quickly throwing the covers back up to make it. His mind flashed back to the beautiful sight of naked Starsky, and Hutch relaxed into the warmth of it briefly as it played before his mind’s eye. He honed in his mental image to the great ass, purposefully eliminating everything else. He shut out most of Starsky’s back as he gave himself pause. Starsky had a great body…all of it, then he realized. The scars on Starsky’s chest were healed and well covered with his body hair. Hutch could forget about them, pretend they weren’t there…pretend it had never happened. But a glimpse of his back was always another matter. Starsky had been very self-conscious about the scars when they’d first become lovers. That seemed to have disappeared now. Maybe for the same reason, Hutch mused. Unless you looked at the brutally marred smooth skin of Starsky’s back, you’d never see them. How often does he look at his own back? No wonder I focus on his ass, Hutch thought. “It’s a protection mechanism, has nothing to do with sex,” he reasoned. “Well, almost nothing,” he said with a small laugh, as his mind easily provided him with the mental picture and the memory of exactly what Starsky could accomplish with those perfectly rounded, strong and firmly packed luscious twin mounds of ass.

“Maybe I should’ve let him return the favor this morning, after all,” Hutch mumbled as he tied his robe closed around him and headed toward the shower. A water-beaded apparition wrapped in a white towel and a smile soon followed the sound of water stopping as he approached. “I love you,” Hutch whispered toward his lover, and his heart felt to the point of bursting.

Starsky leaned over for a kiss in passing, and Hutch felt the warm wetness amidst the tang of toothpaste. He returned Starsky’s kiss, then stepped up to the sink to brush his own teeth. He winced as he always did at the taste of the Pepsodent. God, I’ve got to bring a tube of Close-up over here. Leave it to Starsky to use toothpaste that smells and tastes like root beer.

 

 

Less than an hour had both men dressed, one cup of coffee and a shared leftover piece of banana nut loaf downed and ready to go.

Starsky licked the remnants of his breakfast off his fingers as Hutch reached to start the car. “Think we can bribe Lizzie into making some more of this stuff if we get her the bananas?”

Hutch watched the movement of Starsky’s tongue with sincere interest. “I’ll buy the bananas. If I’d known you liked it that much, I’d have saved my half for later.” Hutch readjusted himself in his ever-tightening jeans and turned his most innocent face to his partner. Starsky chuckled but still flushed as he caught Hutch’s interest in his licked fingers.

“Hold that thought for…later,” Starsky answered with a wag of his eyebrows, as Hutch pulled out into traffic and he logged them in.

“Think Halsey’s made bail yet?” Starsky asked, referring to the object of their long run of stake-out time over the last two weeks.

“Probably. He’d have made his phone call and his lawyer would come, considering what he could charge for the trip, no matter what time is was.”

“It was a long, mostly boring surveillance, but he can’t squirm out of this one unless the police photo lab blows up,” Starsky answered.

When Hutch saw a slight frown follow the statement, he looked at Starsky with questioning eyes.

“Nothing…just me bein’ superstitious. I wish I hadn’t said that out loud.”

“Afraid to jinx us?” Hutch asked.

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Not gonna happen, babe. Lizzie and Arturo’s testimony with the evidence they gathered from the dummy set of books will easily put him away for a good long time.”

Starsky seemed to relax at the assurance. “When those parents at that fancy military school get wind of how they’ve been bilked for the last few years, they’ll be coming out of the woodwork, clamoring for an audit to get their refund.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Hutch agreed, glancing in his rearview mirror and behind him briefly to change lanes.

“Why do you think folks send their kids to a school like that, huh?”

Hutch was silent for a few seconds, his memory instantly flashing to an unpleasant summer when his father had suggested just such a place. “I’d guess there are as many reasons as there are kids there in the first place. Some start acting out and get in trouble, so their folks ship them off to wait for the embarrassment to die down. Or at least be someone else’s problem in the meantime. A school with the rep that Lawndale Academy has, it’s prestige maybe. Strong college prep, ROTC, a leg up into a good school like UCLA or Stanford for pre-med.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Hutch could feel his partner’s eyes on him. Great, shithead…open that can of worms, why don’t you?

“My mom couldn’t have afforded a place like Lawndale. I guess she had to settle for Aunt Rosie and Uncle Al, when I got to be a pain in the ass.” Starsky sighed and stayed quiet the rest of the way to the station house.

At least they loved you, babe, Hutch thought. And so did your mom.

“Kenneth, your mother and I have talked, and in looking at this past academic year, it’s obvious that you aren’t being very challenged. We thought perhaps a school that offered a more rigorous curriculum would look better for your junior and senior year. A 4.0 average from a place with a standing in the academic community would go a lot farther than Duluth High School, when it comes time to apply for entrance into a program like UCLA.”

Hutch shook his head, halting the memory that always left him feeling suffocated and helpless. With a jerk of the wheel, he changed lanes again with barely enough time to get off at the next exit.

Once on the off-ramp, Hutch looked over at Starsky’s face and felt his cheeks burn slightly.

“I was wondering if you’d found a new route to work. Mind wandering, buddy, or did you go back to sleep?”

“Just thinking about the shitload of paperwork waiting. Guess I stopped paying attention to what exit was coming up next. Sorry.” Hutch’s answer sounded lame even to his own ears, and he wouldn’t risk a look to meet his lover’s gaze.

They pulled in without further incident, parking at Parker Center and going to their desks. When they entered the squadroom, there was a small light-skinned black girl sitting in Starsky’s chair. Starsky went slowly in her direction while Hutch cast a glance around the room, looking for a potential parent or other explanation. He didn’t see any and was met with a shrug from Carlisle at the next desk.

“She’s waiting to talk to you guys,” Flores whispered, as he passed Hutch on his way to the coffeepot.

“Hi there. What’s your name?” Starsky asked softly, crouching down to her eye level.

“Leslie Simmons,” the child answered, brown eyes wide and serious in her small face.

“What are you doing here, Leslie?” Hutch asked, pulling out a chair to sit across from her.

“I want to report a murder.”

Starsky and Hutch exchanged glances, and the heads of every detective in the room snapped up. The solid silence stretched out for a few seconds. Hutch reached for a pen and a pad of paper on the desk.

“Where are your folks, honey?” Starsky asked.

“My mommy’s at work, and my aunt is going to take me to school in a little while. I just came here to do this first.”

“Who’s your aunt?” Hutch asked, preparing to reach for the phone and call whomever it was to come and keep a closer eye on this child.

“Aunt Minnie. She said she knew you. You’re Starsky and Hutch, right? I asked where your desk was and they told me here.”

“Yeah, that’s us. You’re at the right place.” Starsky smiled, then gave a covert nod to Hutch’s palming of the phone off the hook. “How can we help you? Who do you think was mur– killed?”

“Mrs. Beasley,” Leslie answered, her lower lip trembling as her eyes brimmed slightly with tears.

“Minnie? It’s Hutch. Can you come down here, please?” Hutch said softly into the phone. “She’s here with us. No, she’s fine. Come on down,” he answered, then slowly lowered the receiver.

“Who’s Mrs. Beasely?” Starsky asked kindly.

“My cat.”

Hutch let out a breath in barely concealed relief and let his pen fall silently to the desk.

“Something happened to your cat?” Hutch asked.

“Yes. She was murdered.” Leslie’s voice was strong and her small hands twisted the strap on her book bag.

“How? Was she hit by a car?” Starsky questioned.

“No…the mean man next door shot her dead.”

Warning bells went off with a fast glance toward his partner, and Hutch picked up his pen once more.

“Did you see him shoot her?” Hutch asked, hoping it wasn’t true.

“Yes! She got in his yard sometimes. I tried to watch her so she wouldn’t, but she didn’t understand not to. He told my mom if she came in his yard once more, he’d make sure she didn’t ever do it again.” Leslie paused to take a shuddering breath. “I was eating breakfast and I saw her walking on his fence. I ran out to get her, but she jumped down into his yard. He came out and shot her dead.” Leslie’s eyes went wide with the memory, and when she blinked, a tear coursed down each cheek. “Then he picked her up and threw her in the trash can by the curb.”

Starsky looked like he wanted to cry with the little girl, as he reached slowly to slide his arm around her thin shoulders. She leaned into him, crying loudly against his shirtfront.

Minnie entered through the squadroom doors, her eyes finding her niece crying in Starsky’s arms.

“She tell you what happened this morning?” Minnie asked, her eyes flashing indignation.

“Yeah.” Hutch shook his head sadly. “Rough thing for a little girl to see.”

“His name is Alex Carti. I was running him through every database I’ve got. Unfortunately he’s clean, damn it!”

“It’s still against the law to discharge a firearm in a residential area,” Hutch offered with a little indignation of his own.

“He’s got a permit for the gun. Can carry it concealed, even. Retired Army Ranger and CIA operative. Some sort of government security consultant now. Works independently. That’s all I know. Everything else is restricted access, refer to federal data bank and request clearance, which we ain’t got.”

“What’s the address?” Starsky asked, leaning away to wipe Leslie’s tears with his handkerchief.

“He’s at 21633 Cordoba Street, Studio City,” Minnie supplied.

“We’ll have a little talk with Mr. Carti.”

Leslie blew her nose loudly and handed back the handkerchief. She looked at her aunt with a sniff and a sigh, then grabbed her book bag and walked sadly forward.

“Time to go to school, Little Miss. Let’s go.”

Starsky glanced at his watch; it was almost noon.

“She’s on a split season. She goes 12:45 to 4:30,” Minnie supplied, grasping her niece’s small hand. “Too many kids and not enough classrooms in her neighborhood. Her mom drops her off with me on her way to work. I take my lunch break to drop her at school. Usually she’s in my office and nobody sees her. I’m sorry she came down here and bothered you boys.”

“No bother,” Hutch hurried to assure. “We’ll look into this for you, honey, okay?”

Leslie looked back with big sad eyes from one detective to the other and nodded. Her face was way too serious for such a little girl.

“We…we’re really sorry about your…Mrs. Beasley, honey. Try to have a good day at school, huh?” Starsky stood with a loud crack to knees that had been too long bent.

Both detectives and several others in the room who’d overheard everything watched as Minnie left with the child.

“That stinks!” Starsky spat angrily once the doors were closed.

“Bad enough to lose the pet, but to have seen the son-of-a-bitch shoot it, then throw it in the trash can. That’s cold!” Arturo remarked, ambling up to Starsky and Hutch’s desks. “If that was my daughter, I’d be hard-pressed not to rearrange his face.”

Hutch smiled sadly, knowing how fiercely protective Arturo was of his family and friends. “I know you would, amigo.” Hutch pictured the Flores’ bubbly daughter briefly, when he realized he’d probably be willing to help Flores do it.

“Let’s get the shit from last night out of the way and then take a ride out to Studio City,” Starsky said, his eyes flashing the anger smoldering under the calmly spoken words.

 

 

The afternoon debriefing in Dobey’s office went smoothly. All the reports were finished by the surveillance teams, leaving only the addition of his and Starsky’s report, as the arresting officers. The more detailed reports were those coming from Lizzie and Arturo and their activity while undercover–Lizzie, as a secretary placed by a temp agency, and Arturo who had gone in as a last-minute replacement for the athletic director who had suddenly and without notice resigned. That turn of affairs occurred after Lizzie discovered the man had outstanding warrants in Florida. Part of his plea bargain was his silence as he left the school for undisclosed personal reasons, which allowed for the new coach to enter.

As the accountant firm the police consulted would spend several days pouring over the duplicate set of books, the case wouldn’t be resolved for indictment for some time, and that fact rankled every officer in the room. Additionally, as Hutch had predicted, the commandant of the Military Academy was indeed already out on bail.

“Good job, everyone. This looks nice and clean. The DA was happier than I’ve seen him in a long time. Prelim is set for a week from Tuesday. Hold it open, all of you,” Dobey said as he sat back in his chair, the wood creaking ominously.

“I’ll pass that day on to my wife and hope she can convince the baby to wait.” Arturo smiled happily.

“Tell her the Department would be very grateful for her cooperation. But as a father myself…get with the DA and give a deposition that he can use if he has to, in case you are otherwise occupied,” Dobey ordered with a grin.

“Yes, sir.” Flores met his smile with one of his own, as the briefing broke up and the detectives filed out.

“When’s the big day, if little Davey Flores is punctual?” Starsky asked, with the pride he’d carried since finding out that Carolyn and Arturo had chosen David Anthony as the name for their unborn child if it was a boy; Kathryn Marie, if not.

“From your lips, to God’s ears!” Flores said hopefully. “The due date is this Friday and believe me, I am ready, and Carolyn is more than ready. It’s been a long winter. I’d love for it to be a boy, but mostly I just want it out! Carolyn’s miserable. It’s tough to watch when I really can’t help much.”

“Not like you can carry it for a few hours and give her a break. Too bad,” Starsky said.

“I would if I could. I feel so helpless, you know? Shit,” Flores said with a grimace. “Even when I try to help it’s wrong.”

“Don’t take it personally, kiddo,” Lizzie piped up, the only real voice of experience in the conversation. “It’s not you…it’s the hormones talking, and believe me, there’s nothing anybody can do to stay on their good side.”

“No shit,” Flores mumbled with a roll of his eyes, as he headed to see when he could talk to the DA, just in case.

Starsky and Hutch exchanged amused glances. “At least we don’t have to worry about that,” Hutch muttered for his lover’s hearing only. With a short laugh and a swat on Hutch’s ass, Starsky led the way out to the car.

While Hutch drove, Starsky pulled out the sheets of paper Minnie had sent down to them, with what little information was available on Alex Carti. “Born in Chicago, 1940, graduated from Southwestern University, went into the US Army, graduated with honors from OCS. Vietnam vet, Special Forces attached to the CIA, Covert Ops, and there is where it’s all classified, a year ago when he retired. Owner and CEO of Advanced Security Systems, Inc. The company has sixteen investigators attached to it and a clerical staff of three,” Starsky finished reading aloud and sat back.

“Sounds like he put his military career to good use, transitioning into the civilian world,” Hutch ventured.

“Why kill a little girl’s cat?” Starsky said.

“Why retire from an upwardly mobile military career at forty?” Hutch asked, his mind taking a turn toward possibly darker conclusions.

“Make you think of the guys we met after Terry Nash?” Starsky asked, reminding Hutch of the government clusterfuck.

“Yeah, a little,” Hutch admitted; that was exactly where his thoughts had taken him.

“I guess we’ll know soon enough. Think he’ll be home or in his office?” Starsky questioned.

“Let’s go by the house first, just to get a feel for the situation. If he’s there, great…saves us another trip.”

They pulled up in front of the address and got out of the car. Both men’s eyes fell on the closed trash can at the curb, but neither opted to open it and look for the body of the cat.

They walked up to the front door, taking note of the heavy-gage wire that made up the ornate screen door, and the multiple deadbolts on the door behind it. After ringing the doorbell and knocking a second time without results, they turned to go to the car for a trip to the man’s office address in West Bay City. As they were navigating the steps, Hutch glanced up at a hummingbird’s fast flight by. He watched it dart around a hibiscus blossom on a climbing trellis at the corner of the porch. The excessively large dark center of the bloom struck Hutch as slightly wrong, as did the hummingbird’s frantic dance around the flower without ever stopping at the center to feed. When Hutch stepped closer, he saw why. It wasn’t a real flower at all; the large bloom carefully concealed a small surveillance camera.

Starsky was already at the car, giving him a quizzical look at whatever it was that caused him to lag so far behind.

“Surveillance camera on the porch,” Hutch answered as he walked past the front of the car to slide in behind the wheel.

“Maybe he’s his own best customer?” Starsky thought aloud. “I would think a certain amount of paranoia would go with the territory, given his career.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Hutch agreed, as he palmed the wheel to take the car away from the curb.

After a few minutes back on the freeway, they exited to take surface streets and were looking closely at the addresses on the storefronts until they found their destination.

“Hey! You must live right,” Starsky exclaimed as a BMW pulled away from a metered parking spot almost in front of the building they sought.

Hutch slid into the vacated spot and got out, glancing at his partner with a self-satisfied smirk when he saw there was still twenty minutes left open on the meter.

“Let’s see if my luck holds and the jerk is actually here,” Hutch said with a pat to the meter’s pole.

They entered the building–a neat reception area with chairs and a magazine rack. It could have easily been a doctor’s office except for the pictures on the walls depicting elaborate security systems and blueprints, and the magazines represented in the racks were NRA, Soldier of Fortune scattered among Time and Newsweek.

There was a desk at the back of the reception area at which a young woman sat. The waiting area was empty except for one man who looked to be in his mid-to-late thirties. He had a short military haircut and could have easily been a poster boy for “Uncle Sam Wants You!” He sat holding an unopened magazine in his lap. He wore a black t-shirt over jeans, both of which fit well enough to be comfortable, but by no means did anything to hide the excellent physicality of the muscles under them. The man’s eyes never left the detectives once they’d fully entered the office.

Starsky was turning on the charm for the receptionist as he leaned casually on the countertop.

“Is Mr. Carti in?”

“Do you gentlemen have an appointment?” she asked, as she looked down to consult a large desktop calendar with copious notes written on it.

“No, no we don’t. We were hoping he could spare just a few minutes.” Hutch produced his ID and shield with practiced ease, as Starsky’s fell into place beside his.

“But if this isn’t a good time, if you could check and see when Mr. Carti has an opening, we’d be glad to come back later,” Starsky said pulling his hand back from beside Hutch’s to stuff his ID into his back pocket.

The secretary’s face did not change, but she stood, straightening her skirt as she did so. “Let me check for you. Have a seat, please.” She moved with the fluid grace of an athlete, as she walked silently into the inner office with the smallest knock of announcement on the door.

Hutch went to one of the leather chairs and sat down, while Starsky moved slowly from one framed print on the wall to the next.

The inner door opened and the secretary returned, turning her attention to the gentleman waiting. “Captain, Mr. Carti is ready for you.”

The man stood slowly, replacing the magazine to an empty place on the rack with such precision Hutch would have bet the angles would have been perfect had he had something to measure them with. The soft spoken “Thank you” had a slightly southern flavor to it, Hutch noticed, as the man walked into the office and softly closed the door.

“Mr. Carti asked if you would mind waiting. His previous appointment should only take a few minutes, then he’d be glad to speak with you,” the secretary informed them, then went back to her desk and began typing. Starsky folded down into the chair next to Hutch.

It wasn’t long at all before the phone at the secretary’s elbow rang. “Yes, sir?” she answered, obviously expecting it not to be an outside call. “I’ll send them in.” She lowered the receiver and stood. “Mr. Carti will see you now,” she said pleasantly, as she moved to open the inner office door as Starsky and Hutch filed past her desk to enter the rear office.

The inner office was dark and cool. The pile of the carpet at Hutch’s feet increased at the door’s threshold. One wall was lined with mahogany bookshelves; the large mahogany desk sat at the farthest corner of the room at an angle away from the windows on the opposite wall. A man sat at the desk in a blue dress shirt, open at the neck with the cuffs rolled up once then tucked under, leaving a smart, clean fold. He looked a bit older than Hutch had expected, knowing what his actual age was, his hair short in a buzz cut that was slightly graying at the temples, the man’s face tan and calm…not unfriendly, just unreadable.

Bet you play a mean game of poker, Hutch thought, as Starsky reached the desk area first and extended his ID for scrutiny, then his hand, which Carti shook with a nod.

“I’m Detective Starsky; this is Detective Hutchinson. Thank you for seeing us. We won’t take up a lot of your time.”

Hutch felt the grip of Carti’s handshake halfway up to his elbow.

“What can I do for you? Please have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, soda?” Carti offered.

“No. Thank you,” Hutch answered. “We’d like to ask you about an incident that occurred at your residence this morning.”

Carti’s face was impassive. “What incident would that be?”

“Did you discharge a firearm at your home, killing your next-door neighbor’s cat?” Starsky asked in a low, hard tone as he got right to it.

“Yes.”

“That cat, while it may have been a nuisance to you, was a little girl’s pet. Don’t you feel what you did–right in front of her–was a bit harsh?” Starsky’s body leaned forward slightly in his chair with the question.

“Yes.” Carti paused and looked out the window for a second, then returned his gaze to Starsky. “If it were just that isolated incident in question. But there’s more to the issue than the cat.”

“Yes, she told us you warned her, so it wasn’t the first time. We understand that, but–” Hutch started.

“I don’t expect you to believe me, but I was actually protecting that little girl.”

“Protecting her?” Hutch echoed.

“I wasn’t referring to the on-going issue of the damned cat. I’ve lived there for over a year. That cat was always around, pissing in my flowerbeds. Look…I didn’t kill the cat to hurt that little girl. I saw her climb over the fence into my yard the other day to get the cat. I couldn’t let that happen again.”

Starsky looked at Hutch before voicing the question in both their minds. “Why?”

“I’m sure you gentlemen have done your homework. You’re from the Parker Center station, aren’t you?”

“Yes. How did you–?” Hutch said.

“I saw a request for information on me that came from there earlier.”

“You saw–?” Hutch stopped, surprised.

“In my ex-line of work, you don’t retire…not really. You just slide into civilian inactivity.” Carti reached to light a cigarette. “Somewhere is a file that still probably documents every time I fart. Hell of a waste of resources, if you ask me, but a fact nonetheless. The other side of that coin is a system in place that flags me so I know when I’m being looked at…by someone other than Big Brother.”

“So you were aware of the Police Department running your name in our records data base?” Hutch confirmed.

“Yes…and that your investigation followed it to its encrypted fire wall.”

“Let’s back up. I still don’t get how you killing Leslie’s cat was a good thing,” Starsky said, his eyes drilling holes in the older man.

“I spent my entire military career in covert ops of one sort or another. There are some places on this planet that I can’t go without risk of being shot on sight. I have enemies, Detective, and they won’t disappear just because I’ve hung up my jungle boots.”

“Are you getting threats at present?” Hutch asked.

Carti chuckled and shook his head slightly. Hutch felt he was being looked at as if he were stupid or incredibly naïve.

“My parents died years ago, a car accident while I was in Southeast Asia. My younger brother and his family burned to death in a house fire about six years ago. I was in Israel at the time. I’ve never married, or I’m sure I would have buried a wife by now, too.” The smile on Carti’s face was anything but friendly as he continued.

“Just so you don’t chalk it up to the occupational hazard of paranoia, I’ve found and diffused three car bombs, two incendiary devices here at the office, and two more at home. The ones at home had a little mustard gas added to the mix for good measure.” Carti stood stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray. “As bad as I felt about offing the cat, I’d feel a hell of a lot worse if she tripped a wire that blew her, the cat, and myself to Hell and back.”

Carti rested his hip on the corner of his desk. “Look, I know she or her family must be friends of yours. I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do than investigate this.” He reached to his back pocket for his wallet. “Here, go get her another cat, or a puppy, or whatever her mom will let her have and all the bells and whistles they need to go with it so it can be kept in the house. In the house, all the time,” Carti emphasized as he extended two fifty-dollar bills.

Hutch stood with a shake of his head. “Keep your money. We’ll check with the family and see if they even want another pet.”

“Try not to say any more than necessary to the girl’s family. I like this neighborhood; it’s quiet. My last place got sprayed with machine gun fire at three a.m. Some of the overflow hit the neighbor’s house and car. Armor piercing bullets go through stucco like butter, you know? I don’t want to have to move.”

Hutch felt himself go cold inside, thinking what danger lurked in Leslie and her mom living next door to this man. “Let us know if you have any more problems and there’s something we can do to help. In the meantime, we’ll talk to Leslie and her family,” Starsky offered, obviously as shaken as Hutch was.

Carti laughed out loud at that, the sound genuine. “Thanks, but I think I’ve got it covered.” He walked to the door and extended his hand to both men again in good-bye. Starsky passed through the doorway first, while Carti still held Hutch’s handshake. The older man met Hutch’s eyes seriously. “I really am sorry about the cat.” And Hutch read the truth in the face before him. Carti’s hand slipped away and the door closed.

The two men settled in the car and headed back to their own beat area in silence.

“You believe him?” Starsky finally asked.

Hutch hesitated, testing the feelings in his gut for a heartbeat, then answered, “Yeah, I do.” With a quick glance at his partner, he went on. “If it hadn’t been for Terry Nash and all that mess, I might not have. I’d dismiss him as someone with a paranoid disorder, as my dad would say. But…no, I think he’s on the level. The problem now is, in light of that, what do we do about it?”

“I’m not sure. Let’s talk to Minnie. She’ll know if her sister could take knowing she was living next door to a mercenary and not freak out about it.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”

“I know one thing…” Starsky started.

“What’s that?” Hutch countered.

“I’m not going to encourage them to get the kid a new cat, just in case.”

“How about a pony? That couldn’t jump the fence, and I bet the guy would spring for it,” Hutch said only half-serious, laughing when the comment got him a playful slap to his thigh.

“Did you see a back door in his office?” Starsky asked, sounding serious now.

“Ah…no, now that you mention it, I didn’t.”

“How do you suppose GI Joe–that guy there before us–left?”

“Maybe that wall of bookcases isn’t just books, babe.”

“Too weird, Hutch.”

“Yeah,” Hutch frowned slightly at the thought, not sure why it should bother him, but it did. Maybe I’m that naïve after all, he thought ruefully.

“All units in the vicinity of National, cross street, Pearl, respond to explosion…21644 Pearl. Fire Department and bomb squad en route,” the dispatcher’s voice broke the renewed silence of Hutch’s car.

“That’s Carti’s address! Fuck, we just left there,” Starsky swore, as he stated the obvious in his disbelief. With a frustrated snatch of the radio’s handpiece, Starsky called them in as one of the units responding.

“Ten-four, Zebra Three.”

Hutch snapped the MARS light on the roof and floored it, knowing in his heart no one would arrive in time.”

The building on Pearl Street was engulfed in flames, as were the offices adjacent to it on either side. The sidewalk was covered with broken glass; the sunlight twinkling off the millions of chards reminded Hutch of spring showers that sometimes turned to hail back east. Here and there were pieces of smoldering furniture that had been carried out the storefront by the force of the blast. The multiple fire departments that had responded were hurriedly laying down hoses in an attempt to control the blaze.

Ambulances began arriving to treat several injured pedestrians that had been caught in the shower of exploding glass. But there were no bodies rescued from any of the buildings most directly involved.

Hutch glanced down, the toe of his shoe scraping against something on the ground. Taking out his handkerchief, he stooped to pick it up. It was half of the heavy ashtray Hutch had seen on Carti’s desk. Leaded crystal, cracked and sooty, but held together by the metal disc welded to the bottom outside surface. It was slightly misshapen and still faintly warm from the blast. Hutch could make out the Army Ranger crest and the words, “DEATH BEFORE DISHONOR.”

“What’ve you got?” Starsky asked, peering past Hutch’s elbow.

“It was on his desk…” Hutch answered, pulling his handkerchief back to fully expose what he held for Starsky.

“Damn.”

Hutch went back to his car to deposit the fragment until he could turn it over to Forensics when they arrived on the scene. Taking out his notebook, he motioned he was taking the south end of the block, and Starsky nodded his understanding as he went in the opposite direction to question any possible witnesses who might have seen anything or anyone just prior to the explosion.

Several dirty hours later, Starsky and Hutch met back at the car. The scene was now taken over by the crime lab people and the Fire Department’s arson squad. Two people were dead–Carti and his secretary–with six others injured from the adjacent buildings, and several pedestrians in close enough proximity to have been hit by the concussion and flying glass.

“Let’s go back to the station. I want to shower some of the smoke away and just breathe smog,” Starsky said, as he settled in the passenger seat with a loud sneeze.

Hutch nodded his agreement; his own eyes and throat burning fiercely.

“We need to see if we can have the arson and murder investigation open up a few military doors.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Starsky added, anything else he’d been about to say dissolving in a fit of coughing.

Hutch let his hand run down the back of Starsky’s head, feeling the curls at his neck slightly damp. “You okay?”

“Yeah…just a lot of smoke and dust.”

And lungs not as strong as they used to be, Hutch finished in his head, not voicing further concern he knew Starsky wouldn’t welcome.

A few blocks away, the air pouring into the car’s windows felt good to both men, and Hutch was relieved to hear Starsky’s coughing lessen.

“Think it was already there when we were talking to Carti, or planted by somebody after we left?” Starsky asked, as he looked over his pages of notes.

“I don’t know. But I’d like to see if we can find GI Joe and ask,” Hutch offered, as he worked to re-create the man’s face in his mind’s eye for future reference.

“Too bad we didn’t hear a name to go with the ‘Captain,’ huh?”

“Since when has life ever been that easy?” Hutch remarked dismally.

The squadroom was a bustle of activity when Starsky and Hutch entered, somewhat cleaner and refreshed after their showers. Their smoke-smelly clothes resting in a plastic bag on the floor at their desks.

Dobey’s office door opened, the large man striding purposefully in their direction.

“What were you guys doing at that security place, fifteen minutes before it blew up like a fireworks manufacturing plant?” Dobey asked sharply.

“Asking a man about a cat,” Hutch answered truthfully, kicking Starsky’s foot under the desk at his partner’s snicker.

“Captain Kelly at the Rampart Division was not amused, and neither am I. Don’t you two have enough work to do on your own beat?”

“We were doing a favor for a friend and fellow officer, Captain. It’s a good thing, too, or we wouldn’t have the lead on this we do have,” Starsky offered in all seriousness.

“And what lead is that, Starsky?” Interest supplanting some of Dobey’s earlier ire.

“He’s had multiple attempts on his life before today,” Starsky answered.

“He said that?” Dobey looked from one detective to the other as both men nodded.

“Did he say who or why?”

“No…the why I would guess is probably classified by the CIA or the Army,” Hutch answered grimly. “I don’t expect a lot of open communication coming from that quarter.”

“Did he ever report any of the attempts to the police?” Dobey asked.

Starsky’s laugh morphed into a fit of coughing. When he could speak again, he looked at Dobey with watering eyes. “He was an Army Ranger, Captain, and a CIA Covert Ops officer. I can’t see him ever believing he’d need help from just us cops!” Starsky cleared his throat again and wiped his eyes. “And considering the type of enemies he had…I don’t think even if we’d known, the outcome would’ve changed any. He was taken out by one of his own. That’s the only way anybody could have gotten close enough.”

“So your lead doesn’t mean jack, is that what you’re telling me?” Dobey huffed, his original irritation returning.

“Not necessarily. When we were waiting in his office to see him, there was another guy there. He went in just before we did. All we have to do is find out who he was and where he is now,” Hutch supplied.

“Was he carrying anything with him?” Dobey asked.

“No…but Carti was too sharp not to have detection in place, or at least be suspicious of a package, even if it was someone he knew,” Hutch reasoned aloud.

“Maybe the guy was just supposed to make sure Carti was really there at the time of detonation. The trigger could have been set off from anywhere,” Starsky suggested.

Hutch snapped his fingers and pointed at his partner. “Yeah, that I’d buy. Which means he’d have hung around long enough to watch it blow to be sure Carti hadn’t left unexpectedly.”

“You’re thinking we need to get a composite of that guy and check with the other cops and Fire Department personnel to see if they spotted him?”

“Right, and the EMT’s, too!” Hutch added as he snatched his jacket free of the back of his chair, blowing off some of the stubborn soot that still clung to it.

“Good, go get an artist on it. I’ll give Rampart a call and see if we can work together on this…” Dobey moved toward his office. “…without killing each other,” he mumbled as he crossed the threshold.

 

 

“How long did Jackie think it would take to get that sketch ready?” Starsky asked around a bite of the burrito he had ordered.

“She knew we were in a hurry for it. She said three this afternoon, but I’ll bet she’s done before then.” Hutch dug into his taco salad, breaking off a large section of the crisp tortilla bowl to dredge through the sour cream and guacamole. “I told her to have Dispatch let us know when to swing by,” Hutch added, enjoying his food and finding he was hungrier than he originally thought when Starsky had first suggested they stop for lunch.

It was a beautiful day, not that unusual for Southern California, other than the Santa Ana winds that had blown so strongly the night before made for a clear, bright, smog-free day today, and by mutual agreement, both men had opted to eat outside and enjoy it. From where they sat, there was an unobstructed view of the street and any cars pulling up to the drive-thru window on the south side of the restaurant.

“Hey,” Starsky said, getting Hutch’s attention. “Isn’t that Flores’ car?”

Hutch followed Starsky’s thumb indicating the drive-thru. The face of the driver and the passenger in the front were obscured by the upright pole covered in bougainvillea at the edge of the patio cover, but Hutch could clearly see Alicia in the backseat. The little girl was standing up, leaning forward to balance on the front seat. She was obviously taking an active interest in the placement of the lunch order.

Hutch felt his face break into a smile as he watched her. That kid could run a small country, he mused.

“Yeah. It’s Alicia in the back seat. Wonder what they’re doing here?”

“Eating, Hutch. It’s lunchtime and it’s a restaurant,” Starsky jibed. “He’s the one who told me about this place. And he was right,” Starsky said, taking another bite. “The food’s great.”

Hutch turned his gaze from the car to his partner. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Why the food is really good and not your normal ptomaine buffet,” Hutch snorted.

A few minutes passed and the Flores’ car eased toward the street, having completed the horseshoe driveway. Hutch turned and waved, hearing Alicia’s excited squeal.

Arturo steered the car over out of the exit path and stopped. “Hey, you two! Guess you decided to try my recommendation, Starsky?”

“Yeah, and thanks. It’s great. Even Mr. Finicky likes it.”

“What are you guys up to?” Hutch asked as he approached the driver’s side of the car.

Flores looked at his very pregnant wife. “We went in for a check-up. Carolyn’s been contracting on and off all night. Thought this might be it, but–”

“But it was false labor again, damn it!” Carolyn said, miserable, then shot a guilty look back at Alicia.

“I wanted to see the new baby, but it’s not coming, damn it!” Alicia parroted.

Hutch fought valiantly not to laugh at that. Carolyn blushed slightly, rubbing her hand over her face, and Flores just rolled his eyes in silence.

“So we’re going to grab lunch so Carolyn won’t have to do anything when she gets home but wash her mouth out with soap, and Alicia gets to take a nap,” Flores said.

“Well, good luck. Don’t get discouraged, Carolyn. It can’t be much longer,” Hutch offered, looking at her protuberant stomach and hoping the encouragement would be well received.

“I hope not. It feels like I’ve been pregnant forever and have either fainted or thrown up in every public place in town.”

“Hey, if you need any coverage when things happen for real…give us a call,” Starsky added, having joined them.

“Thanks, I will. You guys take care.” Arturo waved his good-bye as he pulled away.

“Poor guy. I don’t know who’s more miserable–her or him,” Starsky remarked.

“Neither of us will ever know,” Hutch answered seriously, looking at his lover before turning his attention to the last of his salad. “Does that ever bother you?”

Starsky reached with his foot to rub Hutch’s calf under the table. “We’ve had this discussion before. It’s one of the things that won’t happen with the choices we’ve made. I accept that. What I need you to grab hold of, Blondie, is there’s a big difference in accepting something as fact, and regretting the consequences of a decision. I don’t regret a thing! Someday, if we want kids in our lives, maybe we can take in a couple of foster kids, or do the Big Brother thing like you did with Kiko. But right now, I’m pretty satisfied with the way things are.”

“Me, too,” Hutch affirmed, feeling a little self-conscious as he added, “I’m glad I don’t have to share you with anybody.”

“Never. You and me, babe. That’s something I won’t ever share.” Starsky voiced his sentiment calmly, and Hutch accepted it for the statement it was–no more, no less. A far cry from last year when there were times that jealously was a nebulous issue between them. Never one with any grounds, just the growing pains of a newborn relationship. Those issues had been successfully dispatched.

Hutch gave his lover a shy smile, feeling the heat rise out of his shirt collar to color his cheeks. The blush made Starsky laugh, as it always did, and Hutch felt his ears burn as it deepened. “Let’s get back to work, Gordo,” Hutch said, as he stood and threw his trash away, his lunch finished.

Starsky followed suit and shortly they were settled in the car. Starsky called them back in service, and they were rolling toward Parker Center.

“Ten-four on your ten-eight, Zebra Three. I have a message that your composite is done and on your desk waiting for you,” the dispatcher’s voice relayed the message.

“Ten-four, thanks,” Starsky answered, turning to Hutch with a wag of his eyebrows. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and somebody we talk to will have seen this guy.”

“We need to talk to Minnie and her sister, too. If we’re right about it being someone Carti knew and trusted, maybe he dropped by the house and they saw something,” Hutch said, then frowned.

“What’s the matter?” Starsky asked, obviously noticing the decline of Hutch’s spirits.

“Nothing.”

“Uh-uh…tell that shit to someone who doesn’t read you like a book,” Starsky countered.

“I…I don’t know how to put it in words. I wanted…wanted to hate this guy for what he did to Leslie, you know? But when we found out why and…and then it was proven without a doubt.” Hutch turned to look at his lover as much as traffic would allow. “I liked Alex Carti, Starsk. I didn’t want to but I did, and I respected him. There was something about him that struck that chord. I don’t know…a strength, I guess.”

“I know what you mean. I felt it, too. Like that ashtray on his desk. ‘Death before dishonor.’ I knew a couple of Rangers when I was in ‘Nam. They were coming back from a month of long-range recon, and we were their re-supply unit for a while. Not everybody’s cut out for the job they do and how they have to do it.” Starsky looked out the window and was quiet for a few moments.

Hutch almost jumped when he felt Starsky’s hand playing with the hair at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry whoever it was, was successful this time. I guess the best thing we can do to pay our respects is to find out who killed him,” Starsky finished his thoughts in hushed tones.

“Yeah. We need to see who’s going to claim the remains, such as they are. Maybe we’ll attend the funeral. If that guy was a buddy, it’d be odd for him not to show.”

“And if he’s not there, we can pass around the picture and see if we can get a reaction,” Starsky added.

“I suspect that any friends of Carti’s should share his desire for privacy and his paranoia, but maybe if we play it like we know Alex, knew him…say we saw him in the office, not necessarily right before it all went boom…we might get something.”

“If that doesn’t work, we can always start hauling them in one at a time to ask officially,” Starsky reasoned.

They weaved their way through the moderate lunchtime traffic back to the squadroom. The sketch was waiting for them as promised. A phone call to the morgue supervisor secured them notification of who would claim Carti’s remains. That left Hutch’s call to Records, leaving a message for Minnie that he and Starsky wanted to speak with her when she returned from taking her niece to school. Satisfied that the loose ends–at least for now–were covered, he had no choice but to begin the tedious job of finishing their report on the Lawndale Academy case.

By afternoon, Hutch was finished with his part and had passed the report over to Starsky for his additions and signature. It was at that moment the whirlwind that was Minnie Kaplan from R & I assaulted the office.

“You talked to that creep next door and his office blew up?” she exclaimed, a little breathless from her frantic rush in upon hearing from the jungle grapevine the events of earlier in the day. “Good,” she spat indignantly. “I’m glad!”

“Minnie…” Hutch began. “It wasn’t what we thought.”

“What? What excuse could he possibly have given you that justifies what he did?”

Hutch found himself looking almost eye-to eye-with the small woman where he sat at his desk, with her standing right in front of him.

“He was trying to protect Leslie. She used to hop the fence trying to get the cat back home. He’d diffused some bombs at his house and was concerned for her safety,” Starsky answered, rising to walk around and stand next to Hutch’s chair. “He felt bad about what he did, but he thought it was the only sure way to guarantee she wouldn’t come in his yard and get hurt.”

Minnie stared in stunned silence from one man to the other, then seemed to deflate.

“I’ll be dammed,” she whispered. “Somebody was trying to kill him? Why?”

“We don’t know. Considering the security around his past, we’ll probably never find out the why. I’d be happy if we had a clue as to the who,” Hutch answered, catching himself before he slipped, and leaning back against Starsky’s bulk behind him.

“Did you ever see this guy visiting next door?” Starsky asked, sliding the sketch toward the woman.

“Me? No, I can’t say that I ever did. I’ll take a copy home and see if my sister or Leslie might recognize him. You think he did it?”

“He was at the office today, not a great lead, but it’s all we’ve got for starters.”

“I’ll make copies of this for you,” Minnie said, staring at the sketch as she walked away, obviously still reeling from the ramifications of what they’d told her.

Starsky reached past Hutch, grabbing a pen, then went to his own desk to finish signing their report and placing it in Dobey’s box.

The phone rang and Hutch snagged it, distracted momentarily by watching Starsky’s ass roll in his impossibly tight jeans the few steps to deposit their report.

“Hutchinson.”

“This is Hanson in the morgue. You said you wanted to know who claimed Alex Carti. Well, I just got a call about him. The guy said he’d be bringing a power of attorney since Carti didn’t have any relatives. I told him the remains wouldn’t be ready for release until late tomorrow, but the guy’s willing to come in and do an ID first thing in the morning. I told him come around nine-thirty. I don’t know how much he thinks I’ve got for him to identify…unless he’s got dental records.”

“We’ll be down there at nine-thirty. If he comes earlier, give me a call up here, okay?”

“You bet.”

Hutch hung up, noticing Starsky’s questioning expression across the desk.

“Somebody’s called about Carti,” Hutch explained.

“That was quick.”

“Yeah, my thought exactly.”

Starsky’s stomach growled loudly and Hutch smiled. “Hungry? Let’s go. I’ve got some leftovers at my place that aren’t growing anything.”

“Sounds terrific,” Starsky said, but the look Hutch saw in his eyes spoke of a hunger that had little to do with noodles and tomato sauce.

The ride to Venice was uneventful, and yet the sexual tension grew as the miles ticked away. Too many nights of stake-outs the past two weeks had left them at odds. Daytime sleeping wasn’t as deep and they’d both felt too tired for their normal bedroom activities; plus, one of their cars in front of the other’s home in broad daylight left them feeling more exposed somehow.

“How hungry are you?” Hutch asked as he closed and locked the door behind him.

“Stick it in the oven on low, Blondie, while I take a shower and get ready to heat up the main course,” Starsky answered, already shedding his gun and jacket.

“The main course?” Hutch asked, feeling the heat in Starsky’s eyes go right to his crotch.

“Yeah, beautiful man…you!” Starsky stepped against him with a kiss that curled his toes, then dashed into the bathroom with a chuckle.

Hutch shucked his gun and jacket and popped the Pyrex dish into the oven, as he unfastened his rapidly tightening jeans with the other hand. Naked in a matter of minutes, he joined his partner in the shower. Their hands and soap rubbed everywhere between them. Starsky reached a soapy hand to encircle Hutch’s cock, and he groaned with the pleasure. Hutch returned the favor, drawing lazy, slippery circles around his lover’s back and ass, while his other hand slowly stroked Starsky’s erection.

Hutch pressed a kiss at Starsky’s temple, then whispered in his ear, “Slow down, babe. It’s been too long for a quick ride. Let’s take this to the bed so we can do it right.”

“We can do it there, too,” Starsky panted, toying his tongue along Hutch’s collarbone.

“You must have me confused with some other lover. Come on, let me rinse your hair.” Hutch laughed as he hurried his fingers through his lover’s curls.

They fumbled out of the shower and into bed with a frantic passion.

Hutch framed his lover’s face between his hands, pulling it away from its tortuous attention to his chest, and tried to slow things down once more. “Take it easy; it’s not like we’ve got ten minutes or we self-destruct. What’s going on behind those blue eyes, huh?”

Starsky took a breath and let it out, sliding his body slightly off Hutch’s. “We don’t know how much time we have, babe. Carti didn’t believe he’d be taken to the morgue right after we left him. That could’ve been us going up with him in his office.”

“We’d have gone together,” Hutch said, understanding now the feeling of urgency Starsky had been displaying all afternoon.

“Yeah, that would’ve been the only good thing about it. I just love you so much, and I’m afraid we won’t have as much time as I want for me to show you,” Starsky admitted.

“You going somewhere?” Hutch asked, teasingly.

“No…and neither are you!” Starsky answered with a growl, as he plundered Hutch’s mouth and moved back to stretch out the length of his body, blanketing Hutch. Their groins rubbed together in a rhythm that neither man could resist for long.

Hutch pulled back once more, reaching into the nightstand drawer, coming back with the tube of K-Y. “Here. Let me feel you inside. We’re safe…and we’ve got forever, babe.”

Starsky fell on him with almost a sob of relief that Hutch seemed to understand what he couldn’t put into words, offering what Hutch knew Starsky needed as the ultimate re-assurance.

The ding of the oven timer registered faintly as Hutch lay in post-coital lethargy, his lover a tangle of relaxed arms and legs draped over him like a sleeping starfish.

“Still hungry?” Hutch whispered groggily.

“Not anymore,” Starsky mumbled against Hutch’s chest.

“I meant for real food, Gordo.”

“Oh, yeah, lasagna…right.”

“It’s ready.”

“You go ahead, I’ll be right there.”

Hutch eased out of bed and into his robe, watching his lover closely for a minute. During their lovemaking, Starsky had seemed short-winded and had been struck with a coughing fit just after his climax. Hutch had been concerned, feeling a slight rattle in Starsky’s breathing as he had run his hands up and down his lover’s back. It was gone now, Starsky’s respiration deep and even, but it unnerved him still. I should’ve thought about how bad all that smoke and dust were for you and got you the hell away from it, Hutch chided himself as he went to the kitchen to dish up their supper.

He was preparing to turn and shout when Starsky appeared standing a foot away, his entrance unnoticed. Hutch jumped, startled, then they both laughed.

“Come eat, Spooky,” Hutch said with a loving tousle to Starsky’s wildly curling hair.

They were finished eating and almost through the clean-up when the phone rang. Hutch playfully wiped his dishwater-wet hands on Starsky’s robe before answering the phone.

“Hutchinson.”

“This is Minnie, honey, and I’m sorry to bother you at home, but I showed that drawing to my sister and she recognized the guy.”

“She’s seen him at Carti’s before?”

“Not before…today. He was here this afternoon when she came home from picking up Leslie after school.”

“She’s sure it was him?” Hutch asked, tilting the phone so Starsky could also hear.

“Yep. She didn’t know anything about the guy being blown up today, so she didn’t think anything of it at the time. Then when I came by to show her the picture…she’s sure it was him.”

“Is he still there?” Hutch asked, knowing the answer, but hopeful.

“No. She said he got out of a jeep, and there wasn’t a car in front of the house when I got here around six.”

“Okay, thanks. Minnie, we’ll come over and check it out. Stay away from there, okay? Promise me?” Hutch insisted.

“Oh, all right.”

“Good girl,” Hutch said as he hung up. Both men left the rest of the clean-up for later as they hurried to get dressed.

 

 

As Starsky and Hutch pulled up in front of Carti’s house, Starsky quickly informed Dispatch of their location before drawing his weapon and taking his place next to Hutch on the opposite side of the closed front door.

Hutch knocked with the muzzle of his Magnum, more out of habit than an expectation there would be an answer from within. He slid his other hand down to try the knob, surprised and uneasy to feel it turn freely in his hand.

Hutch opened the door with a hard push and waited until the count of three before he and Starsky entered as one. Hitting a wall switch inside the door bathed the room in light.

They slowly lowered their weapons as they stood staring at the devastation before them.

“Man, whoever did this makes the times your place has been tossed, look like a minor mess up,” Starsky breathed.

“I’ll call it in on the radio. Even if the phone’s in one piece, we’d never find it.” Hutch turned to go back to his car. He passed Minnie on the front walk, her gaze stealing beyond him to look inside.

“Holy shit! Are you sure a bomb didn’t go off here, too?” she asked, moving hesitantly closer.

Hutch returned after calling headquarters to report the incident. He threaded his way through the house, gingerly stepping over the debris and slowly making his way into the kitchen where Starsky was. “The crime lab will be here shortly.”

“What the hell were they looking for?” Minnie wondered aloud.

“I can think of a lot of possibilities. Now the question is…did they find it?” Hutch ventured.

“I don’t know, unless it was the last place they looked. If they found it, say…in the living room, why trash the whole place?”

“These guys strike me as the really thorough type.” Hutch looked over the devastation, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

“I wish we had a relative or somebody that had been here a lot. Someone who knew Carti well enough to say what’s missing and give us a clue,” Starsky said.

“He wasn’t into company much, according to my sister. The guy in the jeep today and maybe another different car once or twice are all she remembers the whole time he’s lived here.”

Starsky and Hutch turned the scene over to the crime lab and patrol unit for the Studio City jurisdiction, having nothing left to do until they received the reports. They were quiet on the way back to Hutch’s, each man apparently lost in his own thoughts.

 

 

Hutch took a long pull on the cold beer as he leaned against the couch. “Do you remember seeing that shadowbox thing that had a bunch of medals in it at Carti’s place?”

“Yeah, why?”

“It was searched, too, but the glass wasn’t broken and it was opened carefully from the back. Did that strike you as odd?”

“No…it just re-enforces to me that it was someone Carti knew. Somebody he served with maybe?” Starsky surmised.

“Somebody that had the same respect for those medals and what they stood for as Carti?”

“Right.”

“Wonder how much information the Army’d be willing to cut loose?”

“Let’s hit the sack, Blondie. If we’re going to take on the Big Mean Green Machine, let’s do it on a good night’s sleep,” Starsky said, punctuating his point with a large yawn.

 

 

The phone rang the next morning, a heartbeat before the alarm was due to go off, and Hutch batted blindly at the offending instrument, finally grasping the receiver and getting it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Detective Hutchinson?”

“Yeah, who’s this?”

“Hanson, with the coroner’s office. You said to let you know if the guy who called on Carti was going to come by early. I just got a call from downstairs and there’s a guy here, now. What should I do?”

Instantly awake, Hutch said, “Stall him. Let him do the ID and then slow it down with the paperwork. For once we can let that end of it work to our favor. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
“Got it,” was barely out of Hanson’s mouth before Hutch hung up and grabbed for his clothes.

“Starsky…get up. We’ve got to get downtown, now. Somebody’s claiming Carti’s remains. Move it!”

Starsky complied with barely any hesitation, throwing back the covers and jumping up to pull on his clothes.

They made it to Parker Center in record time and went directly to the morgue. The waiting room was empty and Hanson sat at his desk, phone caught in the crook of one shoulder while typing with both hands. The morgue supervisor looked up and indicated the hall behind him, leading to the rooms housing the cold-storage units for bodies.

Hutch stepped behind the typing officer to glance at the papers in front of him. “Damn, he did bring dental records.”
Starsky moved closer to Hutch, where he stood holding the folder he had lifted off the desk with the dental films on top.

“Major Anthony Ritelle,” Hutch read from the power of attorney affidavit.

“That’s me,” answered a strong voice behind them. “And you gentlemen are?”

Starsky and Hutch turned to look at the man who had entered the office area in total silence. He was tall, topping Hutch by several inches and out-weighing him in solid muscle by at least thirty pounds.

“Detective Hutchinson, and this is my partner, Detective Starsky.”

“Tony Ritelle,” the older man said, extending his hand and giving an extremely firm handshake to each officer. “Alex asked me to take care of his funeral arrangements. He doesn’t have any family. Neither do I. It was a deal we had with each other.” Ritelle looked back into the area where the cold storage was, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. “I had eight years on him; I never thought I’d be the one to actually carry out our agreement.”

“Did you serve with Carti?” Hutch asked.

“Sort of. We were part of the same Ranger unit. We did a few ops together. But even when we were on different deployments, we kept in touch.”

“Did he say anything to you about having problems with anyone lately?” Starsky asked.

“Alex…” The man smiled and it softened his face for a shadowed second, then was gone. “That wasn’t his style. He kept a collection of incendiary triggers from various units he’d found after he diffused them. He said when he got enough, he was going to hang them up as windchimes. That’s about as big a comment as he’d ever make.”

“Any idea who was behind them?”

“I doubt they represented a single effort.”

“How long had someone been trying to kill him?” Hutch asked.

“The last twelve to fourteen years would be my best guess.” Ritelle smiled again, but it was more like a shark than the real smile of his expression earlier. “It goes with the territory.”

“Anything more recent?” Starsky inquired

“I wouldn’t know. Until six days ago, I was in Somalia. Alex and I hadn’t talked for a while.”

“How did you learn of his death?”

“The evening news.” Ritelle looked away as if the pain of that knowledge was hitting freshly at that moment. “Hell of a note, huh? I thought I had plenty of time for us to get together. It was a tough mission and I was just kicking back, hanging at the hotel, and I heard the address of the bomb blast and the intensity of it. I tried to call…then…I called here.”

“Where were you yesterday about–?”

“He was my best friend. I didn’t kill him.” Ritelle’s eyes became almost colorless ice. “But to answer your question, I spent most of yesterday at El Toro, having my flight physical before the next deployment. I got back to the hotel about five and was just catching the evening news.”

Hutch pulled a sheet of paper out of his jacket pocket and passed it to the major. “Ever see this man before?” Hutch watched closely as Ritelle unfolded it.

“No, I can’t say that I have. This guy a suspect?”

“He was in Carti’s office yesterday shortly before the explosion,” Starsky answered.

Ritelle handed Hutch the paper after folding it back the way it had been handed to him.

“I’d like to get the service arrangements started. May I have the funeral home pick him up today?” Ritelle directed his question to the morgue manager behind where Starsky and Hutch were standing. “I don’t know how long before I come down on orders again and have to go. I want this done.”

“Yes, the body can be released as soon as the dental records are verified as a match. Just sign here and let me know what mortuary you’ll be using, and I’ll release the body when they come for it,” Hanson ordered.

“Evans-Brown,” Ritelle replied, stepping past Starsky to sign the indicated form. “Will there be anything else, gentlemen?” Ritelle asked, turning to the two officers after signing the papers.

“No, but if you could give me a contact number in case anything comes up,” Hutch said, taking out his notebook.

“I’m at the Embassy Suites by the airport. I’ll be staying there until my next assignment. After I deploy, I’ll have to call you…if I can.” Ritelle turned to leave, then stopped, shoving both hands into his pockets again before he turned back. “Don’t feel too badly if you never put the ‘closed’ stamp on this one. Anybody good enough to take Alex out…believe me…they were damned good, and you guys won’t have much information to go on.” Ritelle sighed sadly and let his eyes drift back to the cold-storage area of the morgue. “That goes with the territory, too.”

Ritelle did a smooth about-face and left the room, his shoes leaving not a whisper of sound as he walked away.

Starsky watched the major’s exit in a thoughtful silence Hutch found unsettling. “Thanks for the call this morning. Let us know when the mortuary does the pick-up, please…or if anyone else calls making an inquiry,” Hutch said, resting a hand on Hanson’s shoulder.

“Will do.”

Hutch followed Starsky out the door, both men making a beeline to the coffeepot in the squadroom upstairs.

“Think he was telling the truth about the guy in the picture?” Hutch asked.

“Nope, you?”

“No. He never moved so much as an eyelash, but something in my gut said he knew him.”

“Knew him…well,” Starsky added sadly.

 

 

The rest of the day ground along with one frustration after another. Starsky and Hutch were up in Minnie’s office, using her experience with the computer to aid in their search. So far, there was nothing but the bits and pieces of information trickling in from Pentagon sources. None of which were overly helpful.

Hutch wiped his hands over his face, his fingers digging into his burning eyeballs. “This guy’s got more holes in his service record of duty stations than a slab of Swiss cheese! If I see ‘Content sequestered by order of Central Intelligence’ one more time, I’m going to scream!”

Minnie slammed her small fist on the desk. “Well, don’t look over here then, honey, ‘cuz I just got another one.”

“Me, too,” Starsky answered, his tone obviously less frustrated and accepting. “I’m done. Let’s knock off. I’ve been sitting in one spot so long, my butt’s numb and the pizza we ate can’t even circulate.” He stood with a stretch that raised his t-shirt up to expose a glimpse of hair and belly.

“Think Rampart’s guys are having any better luck?” Minnie asked.

“Give Nichols a call, would ya? See if you can charm anything out of him. Share what we’ve got, for all the good it’ll do,” Hutch answered, standing with a wince as his back protested the many hours in one cramped position.

The two detectives walked back downstairs to their own desk area to grab jackets and check messages before leaving.

Hutch thumbed through the several pieces of paper before halting. “Ritelle called.”

“Yeah?” Starsky leaned in to see the paper.

“Wants us to call him at his hotel,” Hutch said before he punched the numbers from the slip of paper, while Starsky went to his own phone to listen in.

“Major Ritelle?” Hutch inquired when the hotel operator answered the call. They both listened to the new ringing after the operator transferred them. A man answered, picking up on the second ring.

“Yes, Ritelle.”

“This is Detective Hutchinson. I just got your message.”

“Meet me at the bar downstairs in forty-five minutes,” he said tersely and the line went dead.

“What do you suppose he wants?” Starsky asked around chewing on the candy bar he’d just dug out of his desk drawer.

“Who knows? He could tell us anything and we’d know more than we do now.”

 

 

They entered the bar from the street entrance, taking a moment for their eyes to adjust from the bright sunshine to the cool darkness inside. The bar had happy-hour snacks in progress but was still sparsely occupied. A table at the back caught Hutch’s attention as he recognized Ritelle seated there.

They joined him, sliding into the booth where two beers in frosty glasses waited, and a mixed drink Ritelle was nursing in front of him. “I figured it was close enough to off duty by now for government work,” Ritelle said, indicating the beers with a rise of his chin.

“What did you want to see us about?” Hutch asked, raising his beer in a small salute of thanks.

“I wanted to tell you about Alex.” Ritelle paused, his eyes making a sweep of the room behind Hutch and his partner before returning to face the detectives. “As much as I can, that is.”

“We’d appreciate anything you could give us,” Starsky said, resting his glass down after taking a drink. “I’m sure you’re aware we haven’t gotten much on our own.”

Ritelle chuckled. “I’ll bet.” His eyes swept the bar again, and Hutch fought the urge to look behind him also. “Alex was in a Ranger unit, that much you know. He was assigned under the CIA. He did what we all do–go where they tell us and do what we’re told. Alex is…was…very good at his job. But by the nature of it…one makes enemies. Powerful enemies. In our area of expertise, you reach a saturation point, and regardless of how good you are, by the nature of your repeated successes, you eventually become ineffective. That’s what happened to Alex. He was too well known, became recognized, and therefore, as far as Uncle Sam was concerned, his ability to perform was compromised. He was no longer invisible to slip in and out of an operation. He was offered another posting.” Ritelle took a drink and swept the room once more. “But Alex was an action kind of guy. He couldn’t stand the thought of a desk job, and even training Covert Operation candidates didn’t appeal to him. He tried it for a few months, but he was miserable. So he took the retirement they offered him and came out here to start a civilian business.”

“You know a lot more than you’re telling us about who may have wanted him dead, and maybe you can’t breech security by saying anything, but–”

“You’re asking if I know who did it, Detective Starsky?” Ritelle interrupted. His features may as well have been carved of stone when he met Starsky’s gaze.

“Yeah. I’m asking,” Starsky continued.

“I’ve got a couple of ideas, but they aren’t anything I’m free to talk about. I can tell you it’s nothing connected to his business or anything of a civilian nature.”

“And the sketch of the man I showed you?” Hutch asked.

“John Gablin,” Ritelle admitted. “I did some checking; he’s in Columbia right now. According to his unit commander, he’s been there three days. I’ll verify that on my own and get back to you.”

“Why did you lie at the morgue?” Starsky accused.

“Because I needed to check out the two of you, then check where he was. If it looked like he really was in the country, I’d have taken care of it myself.” The smile that creased Ritelle’s face was back to the shark-like one that made the hair on the back of Hutch’s neck rise. “You’d have found the body eventually.”

“The mortuary said you wanted a graveside ceremony the day after tomorrow,” Hutch ventured.

“Yes…drop by.” Ritelle stood, throwing out a twenty-dollar bill to cover the drinks, and left the table without another word.

Starsky and Hutch stayed long enough to finish their beers. Once Ritelle was out of earshot, Starsky moved to face Hutch and the rest of the bar.

“Is it me, or is he just spooky?” Hutch asked, rubbing down the small hairs under his collar.

“It goes with the territory,” Starsky conceded. “There was a Ranger group that came through Pla Cat when I was in ‘Nam. They were drinking in the NCO club. On the table was a pen and a black beret.”

“Fallen comrade?” Hutch asked, gently encouraging since it was so rare for Starsky to ever talk about his time in the service.

“Che Guevera. The guys there had just regrouped and were on their way back to the world after taking him out…unofficially, of course,” Starsky added. “Ritelle won’t stop until he finds who took out Carti. I don’t doubt that at all,” Starsky continued, before draining his glass of the last of his beer. “But I do doubt that we’ll ever find the body of the guy who did it.”

Hutch finished his own drink, set his empty glass down beside his partner’s, and followed him out of the bar.

“Your place or mine, Blondie?” Starsky questioned, as they pulled out of the hotel parking garage.

“You pick,” Hutch said.

“Mine. I need to do laundry tomorrow,” Starsky decided. “Then Saturday night at your place, and we can go to the funeral Sunday from there.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Hutch gave Starsky’s knee a squeeze as he pulled onto the freeway, taking the direction toward Starsky’s and away from Venice Place.

 

 

Friday evening passed uneventfully, with Hutch becoming gradually more unnerved at his lover’s atypically quiet demeanor. By Saturday afternoon, the laundry done and put away, Hutch’s tongue was raw from biting it to keep from asking yet again what was causing Starsky’s blue funk.

Starsky had been staring at the TV for over an hour, without having any idea of what had passed on the screen, Hutch was sure. Finally with a large sigh, Starsky stood up quickly and went to the fridge. Getting out two beers, he returned to the living room, moving with the air of a man who had made a decision.

“If Ritelle finds out who killed Carti and his secretary…” Starsky paused and looked squarely at Hutch’s face. “I don’t want us to interfere.”

“What?”

“I’m not saying he’ll tell us before he acts on it. We both know he won’t. I’m just saying if we find somebody that we recognize from the funeral tomorrow…or from that sketch, we let it go.”

“You’re asking us to condone vigilante tactics. Is that what you became a cop to do?”

“Of course not. We were down that road a few years back. I had the bruised knuckles and you had the fat lip to prove it. But this is a different arena, Hutch. I’m saying we’d never get enough answers to know the whole story. I don’t get the feeling that Ritelle is a loose cannon who would off a comrade on a whim. I know if somebody killed you like that, I’d… Hell, I already did!” Starsky looked away.

“Did what?” Hutch asked, unsure of where Starsky’s head was, by the look of shame that crossed his lover’s features.

“When you took that hit from those kidnappers and went flying into the glass storefront? I was following you on that motorcycle and I saw you take it. I thought you were dead and I blew away the car. No warning shot, no ‘Police, freeze’…just gone.”

Hutch reached out to pull Starsky down on the couch next to him. “It’s been years and you’re still hanging on to that one?” Hutch asked, rubbing his hands over Starsky’s back and shoulders.

“We both know my report to IA saying I accidentally hit the gas tank was bullshit,” Starsky spoke softly against his chest.

“Do you think I was above bending the rules when I went after Gunther?” Hutch asked quietly.

“You arrested him. If it had been the other way around, I don’t know if he’d have even seen a courtroom.” Starsky leaned back to look into Hutch’s eyes, his smile slightly sad. “That’s why you’re the White Knight, huh?”

“Come here, dummy.” Hutch closed off the disparaging comments by giving Starsky’s lips something much more interesting to do.

 

 

The sun shone brightly and the strong breeze was cool, as Starsky and Hutch stood a discrete distance away. The military color guard sharply executed their duty, folding the flag from the casket and presenting it to Major Ritelle, who took it solemnly. The men stepped back, assembling in formation, and began their rifle salute. The loud discharge of their weapons echoed in the still afternoon air. The silence that was left after the last volley’s echo died away seemed almost eerie. One lone soldier stepped forward to stand at the head of the casket. As he lifted a bugle to his lips and the haunting strain of “Taps” sounded clearly, the mortuary employees turned the winch to slowly lower the casket into the ground. With a sharp salute, the bugler nested his horn under his arm and returned to the color guard formation. The men stepped back as a unit and turned briskly to march away, the low soft sound of the commander calling out the cadence slowly fading away.

That left six men in dress uniform standing at the grave. Major Ritelle rested the flag on his chair and approached the hole. With a word to the mortuary staff, he asked them to remove the frame that had lowered the casket, but to hold on covering it just yet. They took away the heavy brass frame and stood a few steps away, waiting. The other five men stepped forward to stand around the hole with Ritelle at the head. All stood sharply at attention.

Ritelle spoke too quietly for Hutch to hear the words, then bowed his head for a second before straightening to attention once more. Hutch felt rather than saw Starsky likewise stiffen at his side. Ritelle’s voice carried easily on the breeze.

“Attention! Prepare arms!” As a unit, the six men drew the hand weapons they carried in shiny black cases on their belts. “Order arms!” Again as a unit, each man pointed his weapon to the sky. “Fire!” One by one, each man sent a round from his sidearm into the cloudless sky–the last shot fired by Ritelle himself. “Secure arms!” As a unit, their weapons were sheathed. Each man then fumbled in his pants pocket and tossed something into the grave, the hollow sounds of metal against metal traveling the distance to where Hutch and Starsky stood.

“What are they doing now?” Hutch asked.

“The coin,” Starsky whispered, his voice sounding strained. “They’re tossing in their unit coins to be buried with their former captain.

“Like the one Carti had in his office, in the ashtray?”

“Yeah.”

Hutch looked closely at the face of each of the five men standing with Ritelle. The man they’d seen in Carti’s office was not one of them.

The uniformed men slowly turned from the grave and walked toward the line of cars parked behind the hearse. One by one the cars drove away, leaving Starsky and Hutch to slowly pass by as the gravediggers covered the casket. The faint gleam of six coins faded as the shovels full of dirt covered them. Hutch’s eye caught something that brought him up short, and he stepped closer to the grave. Reaching to take a shovel from one of the young men, he nudged away a little dirt, exposing the gilded edge of Carti’s ashtray fragment.

“How the hell did he get hold of that?” Hutch asked, turning to face his partner.

“It was in evidence lock-up in the arson investigation office, last I knew,” Starsky said, then his lips curved with a smile. “Leave it, babe. It’s where it belongs.”

Hutch handed back the shovel. Tomorrow I’m going by there and pull the evidence roster, he thought to himself, knowing in his heart he’d be wasting his time.

“Let’s go home,” Starsky said, resting his arm across Hutch’s shoulders as he steered them toward the Torino.

 

 

Monday was cloudy and windy as they got ready for work. The only good thing Hutch found in that was this was their week for second shift, and the cloudy morning made for good weather to sleep in with his lover. And that made for a much better morning in general than the usual wake-up call at 6:00 a.m.

“Let’s swing by the bank on the way in. I need to deposit my check and get some cash,” Hutch requested as they drove toward downtown.

“Sure…want to go by that Mexican place and grab lunch to take in with us?”

“Yeah, we can do that. You’re hungry again, already?” Hutch joked.

“Yeah, breakfast was great and that does have a certain amount of protein, but I’d like something more substantial for the rest of the day.” Starsky grinned with an evil lick of the lips that had given Hutch a mind-numbing blow-job as a wake up just a few hours ago.

Hutch felt his cheeks flush with the memory and tried to ignore Starsky’s soft chuckle next to him

Starsky parked the car and leaned back in the seat to wait for Hutch to conduct his business inside the bank.

Hutch entered the bank with a groan at the long line and the few tellers, then he noticed that a woman standing in the line adjacent to his looked familiar. He waited a moment until she turned her head. Smiling, he called out to her. “Carolyn. Hi, how are you?”

The very pregnant wife of his former temporary partner looked at him when she heard her name. “Oh, hi, Ken. I’m…I’m…miserable! Might as well be honest.” She laughed. “There just isn’t anything fun or attractive about the home stretch.”

“Not fun, yeah, I can imagine that, but you’re still beautiful, Mrs. Flores, swollen ankles and all,” Hutch offered

She blushed slightly, then tried to see her feet. “The swollen ankles I’ll have to take your word for. I haven’t seen my feet in weeks!” She swayed slightly and Hutch reached for her arm, intending to steady her. By the time he had a grip on it, he realized his own balance was suspect. As sound caught up with motion, he heard the old building creak ominously and the floor began to roll beneath them.

The front windows of the bank cracked and the glass shattered, as the earthquake twisted the casement holding them. Hutch lowered Carolyn under the heavy wooden counter in the center of the lobby for protection, seeing that the only doorway available to them was now blocked with shards of broken glass.

People began scrambling to get out, yelling and shoving. Hutch shielded Carolyn from those staggering frantically by them with his own body, wincing as he was kicked and kneed by those trying to go past.

“You’re okay; we’re going to be just fine. Just stay put; you’ll be safe here until it stops,” Hutch told her. To their right, by the front of the building, a loud groan sounded, and Hutch looked over to see a huge section of the outside facing of the old brick building come crumbling down. He felt his heart stop as he saw the frantic bobbing of a dark curly head dodging around the falling bricks.

“Huuuutchhhhh!” He heard his partner’s yell above the rumble of the falling masonry.

“Starsky, don’t come in here!” Hutch yelled, as yet another aftershock caused the floor to roll, and large chunks of ceiling fell around them. Hutch glanced up to see the chandelier swinging fiercely from the partially fallen ceiling, as the wires holding it were hopelessly stretched until they gave way, the glass tinkling as it struck and shattered.

Starsky, somehow like a cat, managed to skitter away from the raining brick and ceiling tiles and skidded to a stop next to Hutch, half slamming into them as he hurried.

“Hutch, you okay?” Starsky asked, a little breathless.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Hutch answered, brushing the plaster powder out of his lover’s hair. Anything else he might have said was drowned out by the loud crack of a support beam toward the back of the bank. The dust swamped them for a moment, making Hutch cough and his eyes sting. He heard Starsky coughing at his back and passed off the handkerchief out of his back pocket for his partner to breathe through.

“Did you radio our location before you ran in here?” Hutch asked hopefully.

“Ah…I…well…actually, I saw the sidewalk start to buckle up and I just ran in here to you. Sorry,” Starsky offered, turning to see the body Hutch was shielding. Starsky’s eyes widened in shock as he recognized Carolyn Flores. “Alicia isn’t here is she?” Starsky asked, looking around frantically.

“No, she’s with my mother, thank God.” Carolyn hissed in a breath and grabbed at her abdomen. “Oh, no–”

“What is it?” Hutch asked, dreading the answer.

“My water just broke!”

“Where’s Arturo?” Hutch asked, staring at the spreading dark stain of her dress as it absorbed the rush of fluid under her.

“He had to meet with the district attorney’s office again about that Lawndale Military Academy case. Oh God, Hutch, the courthouse building…it’s so old. Maybe…” Carolyn’s face paled as her thoughts raced in fear for her husband.

“Don’t you worry about him, honey. That building’s seen a lot of rollers and shakers, and it’s still standing. He’ll be fine,” Starsky assured her as he reached to grab her hand, his other one biting painfully into Hutch’s forearm out of her sight. “I’m going to see if I can crawl out of here and get to the radio in my car. I’ll call for an ambulance, and we’ll have you out of here in no time.”

“Good luck!” Hutch replied as he assessed their chances of getting an emergency vehicle here any time soon.

Hutch watched, holding his breath as Starsky carefully picked his way out and over the rubble. At least it’s not hot or dark, Hutch thought, grateful of the mid-day light and the cool breeze coming in from outside. A woman in labor with no electricity in the heat and the dark was too daunting to consider.

Carolyn’s grip on Hutch’s hand tightened suddenly and he looked at her face. She was flushed and sweaty, and her bottom lip was tightly held between her teeth as she tried to ride out the pain. As the contraction lessened and her face relaxed, she let out a tremulous sigh. “This feels a lot stronger than the false alarms the past couple days.”

“Just relax, honey. Starsky’s going to call for an ambulance, and if it looks like they’ll be tied up for a while, we’ll carry you on our backs if we have to. You’re going to be fine and so’s the baby.” Hutch watched her face for signs of the next contraction.

She gave him a tearful smile and a shake of her head. “I’ve been a cop’s wife long enough to have an idea what’s going on out there with a quake this size.” She took a deep breath and looked seriously into Hutch’s eyes. “Did you pay attention to your emergency childbirth class at the Academy?”

Hutch felt like the floor had just dropped five feet beneath him, but he returned her look with much more bravado than he felt. “Yeah, and I aced the test afterwards, too. Don’t worry; we’ll get you to a hospital in time. If not, I was a medical student before I was a cop. I’ve delivered babies before. You’ll be fine, I promise.” At least that much is true, Hutch thought, as he remembered his ER rotation when he’d accompanied a woman in labor in the elevator to L & D, and delivered her baby on the way when it wouldn’t wait. However, it was her fifth child and she could have probably done just fine on her own without him, or the nurse with him, to help–it had only take one push after all–but Carolyn didn’t need to know that now.

Starsky was carefully returning, a blanket under one arm and a bottle of water under the other. “I thought we might need these. I’d say let’s lift her up and make a run for it, except the front of my car is about four feet lower than the rear end, and it ain’t going nowhere. There are some power lines down across the street and I see smoke on the next block, like maybe a gas line ruptured, but nothing bad any closer than that.”

“The radio?” Hutch asked.

“I called it in,” Starsky answered, his face registering just how far down the line their call was in the pecking order of this citywide disaster.

“Ohhhhhh,” Carolyn groaned as another contraction hit her. Hutch reached his hands to gently palpate her abdomen, feeling the strong muscle of the uterus beneath his hands turn rock hard.

Yep, that sure feels like active labor. Oh, shit! “How long were you in labor with Alicia?” Hutch asked, as he felt the bowling ball under his hands begin to soften slightly.

“About seven hours.”

“Oh, good, we’ve got a little time, then,” Hutch said, hoping his tone was encouraging.

“But after my water broke, she was born in about forty minutes,” she offered, effectively taking away his thinly grasped for hope.

“Starsky, see if you can find the bathroom in here. Bring paper towels with soap on them, and if there’s running water, some wet ones. If not, see if there’s a water cooler somewhere and we can use the bottle off of it,” Hutch ordered, his mind desperately trying to pull up long ago knowledge. “See if anybody else in here is hurt.”

“Right.” Starsky moved carefully away, testing each unsteady grip and handhold as he worked his way around the mess.

Hutch helped Carolyn get in a more comfortable position, while still keeping the heavy wooden counter over her for protection against any further fall-out from the aftershocks. He was as nervous about their further risk as he was about the impending baby delivery.

Several more hard contractions tore through Carolyn as he waited, timing them and monitoring their intensity. At least the amniotic fluid is clear, he catalogued, taking comfort in that positive sign.

Starsky finally crawled back to their position, reaching out with a wad of soapy paper towels, then scooting back to return with a stack of dry ones and a five-gallon jug of water. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a first-aid kit he’d found somewhere, causing Hutch to smile.

I think I’ll need more than a couple of Band-Aids, but it was a good thought. Taking the box, he silently prayed there would actually be something useful in it. As he opened the box, his eyes fell on a small bulb syringe next to a bottle of eyewash, and he let out a huge sigh of relief. “Okay, at least that’s something to suction the baby’s airway with,” he said, more to himself than anyone else as he felt himself relax a little.

“Take off one of your shoelaces,” Hutch told Starsky. “Do you have your pocket knife with you?”

Starsky’s eyes widened in fear. “Yeah…what for?”

“Not for a C-section, that’s for sure. Get it out and cut your shoelace in half. Wash them as best you can with the soap and water. There’s a little bottle of iodine in that kit, when you get them clean, pour that over them and wrap them in a clean paper towel.”

“Okay.” Starsky began doing as directed, his eyes darting to Carolyn at every whimper or moan.

“Was anyone else hurt?” Hutch asked, needing to know, but also realizing he wouldn’t budge from Carolyn right now regardless of the answer.

“There’s a man and a woman huddling back by the safe. He’s got a cut on his head, but he’s talking. The lady’s ankle is all swollen, like she either tripped or something fell on her. Otherwise she’s okay. I told them to stay together and not try to get anywhere else until we get some rescue people in here.”

“Okay, good. Did you see a security guard or anything?” Hutch asked, hoping for a two-way radio.

Starsky’s eyes widened and he gave a quick shake of his head, mouthing, “He’s dead, can’t get to him.”

Hutch nodded, understanding.

“Oh, God…God, Hutch, it feels like I want to push. The baby’s not going to wait.”

“Okay, let’s get things ready, then. The inside of my jacket is clean and warm. I’m going to put it under you. It’ll give the baby something soft to crawl out on, huh?”

Carolyn nodded and when she had a break between contractions, she lifted up. Hutch kept her as covered as possible with the blanket Starsky had retrieved from the car.

“Okay, honey, we need to get…” Hutch urged Carolyn to bend her knees and place her feet flat on the floor. Carolyn complied, then reached down to remove her own panties, sparing him the embarrassment. “Yeah, that’s what I was trying to say.”

Hutch knelt between her legs and lifted the blanket, seeing that the fluid leaking out of Carolyn’s body was becoming blood-tinged. “Okay, Momma, with the next contraction give me a little push and let’s see where we are,” Hutch instructed her as calmly as he could.

He watched as the perineum bulged, the outline of the baby’s head flattening out Carolyn’s labia as the baby’s head started to crown. The contraction ebbed away and Carolyn panted, sobs sounding between her heavy breaths.

“Ken, I’m scared. I don’t want…anything to happen to my baby!”

Hutch watched the head slip back as the pressure from the contraction eased away.

“Nothing’s gonna happen. Hutch’ll take good care of everything. He was almost a doctor.” Starsky took up the gauntlet to keep Carolyn calm and focused.

“Just breathe, sweetie, you’re doing great,” Hutch encouraged, too, as he vigorously scrubbed his hands with the soapy towels and nodded for Starsky to pour water over them to rinse off the soap. That kid will be slick enough to hang on to without my hands being soapy. Hutch took a deep breath, as the next contraction exposed more of the infant’s head. He reached hesitantly toward Carolyn’s body, pressing his fingers at the bottom of her vagina, hoping to support the tissue as it stretched to keep her from tearing. Above him, he could hear Starsky taking up his role at Carolyn’s head, telling her to squeeze his hand as hard as she needed to, as he encouraged her to push, push, push…

“Okay that one’s done; rest now, you’re doing great. It won’t be much longer and we’ll see what we got. Don’t worry about a thing.” Starsky kept up a constant litany, wiping Carolyn’s sweaty face to comfort her before the next pain hit.

Hutch moved the first-aid kit closer so the bulb syringe was within reach. The iodine-soaked paper towels sat wrapped around Starsky’s shoelace. Starsky’s pocketknife sat against the iodine-soaked paper, too. He was thankful Starsky kept it sharp and everything was as close to sterile as he could make it under the circumstances.

Hutch reached forward again to support the tissue as it stretched, the head of the infant bulging mightily as Carolyn screamed through her push to grab a breath and push again. Above him, he could hear Starsky’s nervous chatter of encouragement. If Carolyn doesn’t tell him to shut him up, I will!

Starsky’s terrified blue eyes met his briefly across the blanketed expanse of Carolyn’s belly. As Starsky uttered yet again that everything would be all right, his eyes beseeched Hutch to make it true. All Hutch could do was nod and pray his brains out.

The head was delivered with an audible pop, and Hutch wiped the face clear with a wet paper towel, then suctioned the mouth and nose with the small bulb syringe, grateful beyond belief that he had it. He ran two shaking fingers around the infant’s neck, ascertaining the cord was out of the way and not in a position to be constricted when the rest of the body delivered. Supporting the infant’s head, Hutch gently rotated it, shifting and tractioning it up slightly to help deliver first one shoulder, then the other with the next contraction.

“Come on, Carolyn, give me another push, here; we’re almost home free,” Hutch pleaded, sensing the fatigue in the woman’s body.

“I can’t…I’m so tired, it hurts, I can’t do it anymore,” she wailed, her pushing rendered ineffective by her sobs.

“Starsky, get her attention, make her focus. She’s got to push the shoulders out! Now!”

“Come on, honey. You’re doing great; this’s been tough, I know. But we’re almost done. Just give me one more push. A really hard one. You can do it. Just one more. Take a big breath, that’s right, now push!” Starsky shouted in her ear, as if by his own volume he could lend her the strength to do it.

Carolyn followed the loud direction and pushed. Hutch felt his traction on the head upward allow for the first shoulder’s delivery, then traction down allowed for the release of the other. The rest of the body spilled out quickly, along with all the fluid. Hutch scrambled to keep a tight grip on the body of a very slippery baby boy. He suctioned the mouth and nose once more, and using the dry towels, he dried off the wet and squirming bundle, wishing he’d had something softer. Evidently, so did the child as he began to wail in displeasure. He rested the baby on Carolyn’s abdomen while he tied the cord, once a few inches from the baby’s body, and again, several inches away from that. He waited a few seconds for the cord to get limp and flat, then cut it between the two ties, checking carefully to see that his ligatures were holding at both ends. He eased the infant a little higher up Carolyn’s body, and she eagerly wrapped her hands around her baby.

Hutch rested his hand on top of the blanket and began massaging the mound that had so recently housed the infant, encouraging it to tighten and become small in preparation for the delivery of the placenta. How long do I wait before I know if there’s a problem? he thought, frantically trying to remember.

Carolyn was sobbing again now, as she traced over the arms and legs of her son. Starsky took off his own jacket and placed it over the child for warmth, his eyes looking suspiciously bright.

“You did it, I knew you could. He’s beautiful, he’s perfect.” Starsky looked at Hutch through tear-brimmed eyes. “It’s amazing!”

Hutch looked at his lover, feeling his own eyes tear as Starsky’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and with each blink, his lover’s eyes tracked tears down his cheeks, while Arturo’s son wailed on. The cry of the baby was lusty and clear, and Hutch was sure he’d never heard anything so wonderful.

Okay, the kid’s good…now, Mom, please, please, please, stop bleeding, Hutch prayed.

“If you feel the urge to push again, let me know. You’ve got to deliver the placenta now, but that’s small potatoes compared to this big guy,” Hutch offered.

A wet laugh from Carolyn above. “Easy for you to say, down there, Hutchinson.” But she gave him a push just the same.

Hutch held on to the cord, holding his breath and praying he wasn’t pulling too hard, when he saw a wall that looked like liver begin to slide out. With a wet plop, it fell into his hand and he felt such a wave of relief he was dizzy.

He used the wet paper towels to clean Carolyn off as much as he could, and placed a handful of the dry ones against her. “Rise up for me a second,” he asked, easing the very wet and bloody things out from under her and gently lowering her legs to the floor. He tossed the mess away, realizing his jacket was toast and not caring a bit as he looked at his partner holding Arturo’s son in his arms, the tiny head, hair askew and still blood matted, poking out from the black leather. Carolyn turned slightly on her side and followed the instinct of centuries, reaching for her baby and putting him to her breast.

Hutch helped arrange the bulk of Starsky’s jacket and encouraged the infant to latch on. “That’s right, Tiger. That’s good for you and good for Mommy.” At Carolyn’s raised eyebrow, he blushed, stammering, “It-it-it’ll help y-y-your uterus clamp down and slow your b-b-bleeding.”

“You really did pay attention, didn’t you?” she said, her eyes filling with grateful, joyous tears.

Starsky looked from one to the other like he was missing some punch line, but Hutch found the lump in his throat too big to speak around. The shaking of his hands was rapidly spreading to the rest of his body, and he sat down on his rump with an ungraceful thud, hoping he wouldn’t embarrass himself by puking.

A call from the front of the bank caught their attention, as a fireman carefully threaded his way forward. “Anybody hurt in there?”

“We need a stretcher for a mother and a newborn over here,” Hutch called, trying to stand, only to find his legs wouldn’t hold him.

“Steady, babe.” Starsky’s arm snaked around his waist. “She thinks you hung the moon; don’t mess up your image by fainting,” Starsky spoke softly against the side of Hutch’s head.

 

 

The next hours were a blur, as Starsky and Hutch saw Carolyn and her son safely away in an ambulance, and went back to help the others out of the rubble. The bank wasn’t the only building in that old downtown neighborhood area that had sustained damage.

It was well after 2:00 a.m. when the last of the injured were loaded and the areas secured. Hutch felt the full weight of that sustained level of adrenaline once it was gone. He’d been effectively useless for well over an hour. At present, he’d hit the wall and was blindly staggering.

“Come on, Blintz, the tow truck pulled my car out. The alignment’s shot, but it’ll still get us home. Let’s see if my place is still standing; it’s closer than yours.”

“God, I want a shower,” Hutch said as he flopped in the passenger seat.

“I want you in a shower, too. I love you, partner, but you stink. Your jeans are all covered with that gunk from the baby, and they’re stiff as well as smelly.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” Hutch said, as he rested his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.

They found very little damage at Starsky’s, a few trees uprooted in the neighborhood along the way. As for Starsky’s apartment itself, the odd knick-knack or book shaken from its normal resting place on this shelf or that was the only indication that the earth had moved. Hutch was incredibly grateful the electricity was on and the water was running. He went directly into the bathroom, peeling out of his stiff and dirty clothes with shaky fingers.

Standing under the hot spray of the shower, he soaped his hands and arms over and over to get them clean. His lover stepped inside the shower behind him, taking over the soap and running soapy hands lovingly over Hutch’s tired body. When Hutch was clean, he reached for the soap to return the favor. Hutch’s big hands tenderly lingered over small scrapes and bruises, the bubbles washing away as the water began to cool. Stepping out into a towel, Hutch tossed the mate off the rack back to his partner. Starsky was already dry, while Hutch seemed to be moving through pudding. Starsky took his towel and finished for him, then nudged the exhausted frame toward the bed. Hutch followed blindly, flopping on the bed with a thankful moan.

Starsky tossed their towels away and crawled in next to Hutch, cradling him in his arms, then settling Hutch’s head on his own damp chest.

“You did great today. I was really proud of you, babe. If you hadn’t been there…” Starsky hugged Hutch tighter.

“I’ve never been so scared in my whole life,” Hutch admitted, feeling himself begin to shake. “If something had gone wrong, Oh, God…Flores could have lost his wife and child.”

Starsky held him tighter, drawing slow circles over his back, gradually easing the tension there.

“Nobody knew you weren’t in complete control. If you were scared shitless, it never showed. You were the White Knight today, for real,” Starsky said, leaning over Hutch to take his mouth in a deep kiss.

The kisses became more and more demanding, the adrenaline strain bouncing back, filling both men with desperate need. The passion built and the friction increased as their orgasm quickly plowed through them like an oncoming train, leaving them barely conscious. With a grunt, Starsky threw the bedspread over them and collapsed with Hutch into the darkness of sleep.

Hutch woke to see the bright light of almost noon shining in the window. With a groan, he turned away from the light, preferring to burrow against the lump still nested deeply beneath the covers. “It’s morning…or should I say afternoon,” Hutch croaked past a dusty and dry throat.

“I don’t care, go back to sleep,” mumbled the lump.

“Do me a favor?” Hutch pleaded.

“As long as I don’t have to wake up to do it.”

“Never mind.” Hutch groaned loudly and swung his feet over the side of the bed.

“What d’ya need?” Starsky asked, actually raising his head this time.

“Just wanted you to take my bladder and empty it, so I didn’t have to move either,” Hutch said with a soft laugh.

“Grrrrr,” Starsky growled at the old joke, then huffed out a long breath. “Damn it! Now I’m awake and I have to go. You did that on purpose!” Starsky said as he followed Hutch into the bathroom.

They stood and peed in tandem, then Hutch finished, washed his hands, grabbed his old robe off the back of the door, and swung it on, while the other hand dropped Starsky’s robe over his head where he stood still in front of the commode.

“Thanks,” came the muffled reply.

“Anytime.”

Hutch started the coffeepot, then turned on the TV to watch the news. Reporters on all channels were still talking about the earthquake and the damage to the downtown area.

“That doesn’t look too good. Where the hell were we, at the epicenter?” Starsky asked as he entered the living room.

“Almost. Three people died and sixty-three were injured. They say they’re still gathering estimates of property damage.”

The phone rang and Starsky plodded over to answer it. “Starsky.”

“How are you guys?” Dobey’s voice was so loud that, as Starsky pulled the receiver a little away from his ear, Hutch could easily hear all the way to the couch.

“We’re fine, Captain. Tired, but fine.”

“Is your partner with you?”

“Yeah. We were dead last night after everything, and my place was the closest to crash. Why? What’s up?”

“I just wanted to congratulate him for Flores on the good job. Arturo called me last night after he finally tracked Carolyn down.”

“She’s doing okay, right? The baby, too?” Starsky asked in a whisper that Hutch almost couldn’t hear.

“Yeah, they’re fine. Why are you whispering?”

Starsky was silent on the phone for a moment, then Dobey continued, “Oh, Hutchinson is close and if there was a problem you didn’t want him to know, huh?”

“If you ever get tired of being captain, I bet you’d make a good detective,” Starsky kidded.

“Watch your mouth, smart ass. Everybody’s fine, healthy, and happy, but I’m sure Flores will want to tell you that himself.”

“That’s great. Was that all you wanted? We don’t have to come in early or anything, do we?” Starsky asked, and Hutch watched him close his eyes and cross his fingers.

“Nope, three p.m. starts your shift this week; no changes. Just wanted to say good job with the baby.”

“Thanks, Cap’n. I’ll pass it on to Hutch when he wakes up,” Starsky answered with a wink at his partner as he hung up.

He brought two cups of coffee with him, as he sat beside Hutch on the couch. Hutch took his gratefully.

“Did Dobey want anything else?”

“Just to say he was glad, considering we were in the bank when it practically collapsed on our heads, that we were okay. And to say everything’s fine with Carolyn and the baby, and he was glad about that, too,” Starsky answered, obviously unaware that Hutch had heard practically the whole conversation and had only asked to have Starsky fill in the blanks.

“Don’t suppose he was glad enough to give us the day off?”

“Nope, ‘see ya at three’ I believe were his exact words,” Starsky answered, his eyes giving Hutch the full force of his teasing twinkle. “Let’s get something to eat on the way in, I’m starved.”

Hutch stood with a glance at the clock–1:35. “I’m not surprised. It’s been nearly twenty-four hours since we ate.” Hutch hesitated, then added mischievously, “If you don’t count blow-jobs.”

 

 

Three days later, Starsky and Hutch sat at their desks. In spite of the chaos after the earthquake, things were quickly returning to what passed for normal at Parker Center. The present case of a looter had been closed with an arrest some hours earlier, and that left only the paperwork before getting to cut away from the precinct to get some dinner, then wait out the rest of the evening shift.

All in all, things were fairly quiet for 8:00 p.m. in Bay City, so when the door to the squadroom opened and Arturo held it for his wife with one hand, holding his infant son with the other, every detective in the room looked up.

“Hey, hey,” Hutch laughed as he bounced up to hug Carolyn and get a good look at the tiny life he helped bring into the world.

Starsky kissed Carolyn and peeked over Hutch’s shoulder to see the sleeping child. “He looks a lot better cleaned up,” he whispered.

Hutch rolled his eyes, then looked fondly at Arturo, warmed by the unabashed gratitude he saw reflected there.

“How do I say thank you for what you did?” Arturo whispered, seeming to have trouble getting his voice to work.

“You just did, buddy,” Hutch answered, giving Arturo’s arm a squeeze before turning to pull out a chair for Carolyn.

“We can’t stay long, Alicia’s waiting up, but we wanted to come by on the way home from the hospital and say thanks again,” Carolyn answered waving off the chair.

“How much did he weigh?” Starsky asked.

“Seven pounds, twelve ounces, and he was twenty-two inches long,” Arturo replied proudly.

“Wow!” Starsky looked at Carolyn with renewed respect.

“We named him Kenneth David,” Carolyn supplied, her eyes resting on Starsky then Hutch and back again. “Thank you.” Her eyes fixed on Starsky, and he gave her a wink that communicated his approval of the name.

As if aware of his introduction, little Kenneth stirred and stretched, then let out a lusty wail. The adults laughed as Detective Flores ushered out his family, obviously a very happy man.

Hutch went back to his desk and finished the report in his typewriter, passing it to his partner. That task finished, he reached for the stack of mail he hadn’t checked earlier. He separated a few things that were responses in reply to various inquiries, placing them in the appropriate case folders, then paused as he saw a letter addressed to him and Starsky. The writing on the envelope was a neat block-lettered style, no return address, and an APO postmark.

Hutch opened the envelope and found a half-sheet of paper folded around something solid and heavy. As he opened the page, a coin struck the desktop. Starsky was watching him from across the desk and stretched out his hand to slam the palm down flat and stop the coin from rolling off onto the floor. Hutch had recognized the coin immediately and was certain Starsky had as well.

Once he was sure Starsky had grabbed the coin, Hutch turned his attention to the note. The handwriting there was the same precise printing. With a sigh, he passed the note to his partner and accepted the coin. He felt the hair on his arms rise, as he saw a single bullet hole in the center of the coin, marring the inscription of “Death Before Dishonor.”

Starsky looked up, meeting Hutch’s eyes as he slowly replaced the piece of paper on the desktop. Hutch solemnly laid the coin down on top of it. The note read:

Bogota’s visit was overrated.

Justice is served.

 

 

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