Chapter 1
A hand reached out and trailed disconsolately over the picture of a tall blond guy with the beginnings of a blond moustache. The picture showed the blond smiling, laughing up out of the image and mocking him. Hutch. It had been four and a half months now since Starsky had seen his partner. 18 weeks, 126 days, over 3000 hours 181440 minutes. Too damned long. Starsky missed Hutch like Laurel would miss Hardy. It wasn't right to be separated. They were partners and being apart left the brunet feeling edgy, moody and distinctly off kilter. He looked at the picture again and smiled back at it. How're ya doin' partner? Are they treatin' ya ok? Do you miss me as much as I miss you? Putting the photo back, he stretched, hitched a breath and cradled the bruised, cracked rib he'd sustained three days ago. The drunk he'd been chasing didn't want to be caught. Starsky had been pissed as hell and had launched himself in a flying tackle and had taken the gun wielding maniac down, but not before the perp had got in two good jabs at his ribs. He kneaded them tenderly. Wouldn't have happened if Hutch had been there!
Cursing under his breath for feeling maudlin and deciding he really needed to get a life, David Starsky shouldered into his holster, checked his Smith and Wesson model 59 and inserted it into the soft leather keeper, made sure both gun and holster were invisible beneath his cream windbreaker jacket, snagged his keys and closed his front door, trotting down the steps and out to his beloved Torino. At least some things never changed, and if Hutch wasn't there, at least his other constant partner, his set of wheels wouldn't leave him. He paused for a moment and patted the roof top of the car affectionately, snorted at his own behavior and got in. Gunning the engine, he jammed his sunshades on his nose against the early morning glare of the sun and turned the car in the direction of the Metro.
In the long weeks since Hutch had taken the undercover assignment, Starsky had tried to come to terms with working on his own. He knew that pretty soon he'd be joining the flaxen haired cop, but that brought him no solace at all. He'd become grouchy, moody and those who were usually happy to be around him had taken to keeping their distance. Starsky was not the most pleasant person to be around while he worried for his partner. He itched to be in there, in the thick of things, by Hutch's side. He understood why there had to be this gap – so that Hutch could consolidate his identity and get settled into the pattern of his new "job", but it was difficult. Riding in the Torino without Hutch at his side was like eating an icecream with the wrapper still on – he just went through the motions. But maybe today……
Late last night, he'd had a phone call. The very fact that it was 11:15 had set his nerves jangling and he reached for the receiver with some trepidation. News at that time of night was rarely good and his first thought was that Hutch had been injured….or worse. But it was Dobey on the other end of the phone. The big black man had told him curtly to be down in his office at 8:30 the next morning. Things were moving and they'd had a signal from Hutch to say that the time was ripe for Starsky to get involved. The brunet had gone back to bed with a myriad of thoughts flowing through his head, the foremost one being that although he wouldn't be able to acknowledge Hutch, at least he'd be able to see him again. That, in itself, made him feel a little easier. At least they could begin to watch each other's backs again.
Starsky pulled up in his customary place outside the large stone faced building, slammed the door of the car and bounded up the steps three at a time, walking purposefully down the corridor, up the next flight of stairs and along to Dobey's office. As was his usual pattern of behavior, he didn't knock, instead walking straight into the crowded office and the quite hum of intense conversation. Dobey looked up as he burst in, checked his watch and snorted to himself. The only thing that would get Starsky to work on time, or even early was the thought of getting back to his partner. The brunet looked around the room, snagged the small brown leather chair with his foot and pulled it to him before sitting down and folding his hands loosely across his lap.
Also in the room were a couple of Narcotics guys, Jiminez and O'Rourke, Mia Van Haagen, a biochemist who Starsky had only met only once before and Ivan Simmonetti, on detached duty from IA. The brunet nodded a curt greeting to them all with the exception of Simmonetti. He hated the man, and the feeling was mutual, and when Dobey had first told Starsky and Hutch that the IA man wanted to get back into active work again and would be joining them on the operation, they'd both registered protests which were noted and duly ignored.
'Now we're all here' Dobey started 'We got news last night from Hutchinson that Madame Lilly is making her move. She's building her empire up slowly and is ready now to take on competitors. He let slip Billy Shapiro's name and she's interested. Starsky, this is your cue to get in there'.
'Where and when?' the brunet asked.
'The "when" is tomorrow evening. The "where" will be at Le Quatre Seasons, the new French restaurant in town'.
'Fine. What do we know about her? Anything new?'
'She's one tough cookie. So far three of the smaller dealers have disappeared, we have no idea what happened. We know her bank balances have tripled and so far she's met with two smallish shipments. There's a bigger one due in soon'.
Jiminez handed the brunet a set of glossy black and white pictures. He thumbed through them, his heart giving a small lurch. Each one showed his partner, dressed uncharacteristically in tight blue jeans, an open necked shirt and loafers. A black revolver could clearly be seen wedged into the waistband at the back of his jeans. Hutch's moustache had grown thicker and made the handsome golden face look older some way. Added to that was the slightly longer hairstyle and the obvious loss of weight and the total showed a man living on his nerves, looking exhausted and frazzled. All the pictures showed Hutch with other men on Lilly's protection team and al showed Hutch armed and ready to fight. In a couple, the blond sported bruises on his face or arms and in one he was wearing his left arm in a sling. Damn! Hutch was tough, but just how much of this could he take?
They'd talked about who would take which role in Operation Wildfire, which had been planned for months and despite Starsky telling his smooth blond partner that the role of "heavy" did not sit well with Hutch, the flaxen haired cop as adamant that this time, he'd go into the situation first. Starsky had argued for two hours straight, but at the end of that time, Hutch took off the next day to become Cal Gibbons, ex wrestler and the new heavy to Madame Lilly's empire.
The curly haired cop dragged his attention back to Jiminez, laying the photos down on his lap.
'Everything's going according to plan. Lilly has settled into Bay City. She's spent the last three months making moves on the smaller suppliers and so far she's either enlisted them willingly or they've been persuaded. Those who haven't fallen in line have been found either in the bay, or are probably under the piles of the new freeway that's being built'.
'Cute'.
'She's anything but cute' Jiminez warned. 'She's one hard nosed bitch and you need to be careful Starsky'.
'Ya mean Billy Shapiro needs to be careful' the brunet grinned, speaking of his alter ego.
Jiminez didn't smile. 'I'm serious. Be careful. Hutch has started mentioning Shapiro's name, we're sure of that, and the word is, she's anxious to meet'.
'And that's where I come in'.
'Uh huh. You have a date set for tomorrow evening, so before you go in, there are some things you need to know, and some stuff you need to get ready. First off' the Narcs man handed the brunet a wad of bills. 'Go get yourself some decent threads'.
Starsky looked down at his faded blue jeans and his windbreaker. 'Not what Shapiro would wear?' he asked with a grin. He felt easier now that finally he was on the move.
'Not exactly, no. Go get yourself a set of suits, shirts, shoes, the lot. You're a sharp, established dealer. You have a reputation for being cool, arrogant. We hired you a black Bentley convertible to use and you have this bank account'. Again Jiminez handed him a paper with a number written on it. 'It has a half a million in there. There's more if you need it'.
'What's the second number?'
'That's the telephone number to get in touch with the safe house. Hutch has the same number. I want you to memorise it, then destroy the paper. If either of you need it, phone this number and someone will be there to pick you up, no questions asked. To be used in an emergency only'.
The cop studied it, memorizing it - 555 4522. His heart gave a lurch as he thought about Hutch also memorizing it and hoping against hope that he wouldn't have to use it. Hutch hadn't told him about it. But there again, once the decision had been made for the blond to go in, he hadn't had chance to speak to him about anything. The Nordic cop was one of the best at getting into character for undercover work. Starsky himself wasn't far behind. They could turn their hand to most things and over the course of their career they'd played roles from dance teacher to biker to stand in on a movie set. But none of those roles had meant as much as this. The Narcs boys and homicide had spent nine months setting up the operation to trap, arrest and put behind bars Madame Lilly Matteu. She was young, ambitious, successful and ruthless and if they pulled this off, the single most lucrative drugs pipeline between Colombia and LA would be effectively blocked.
'Gotcha' Starsky confirmed as he tore the telephone number from the paper and handed that portion back to Jiminez. 'So, I meet her at the restaurant tomorrow night. Then what?'
'She'll have the manpower to take you back to her HQ if she likes you. You'd better make damned sure she likes you'.
The curly haired cop grinned easily. 'Hey, what's not to like?'
Jiminez snorted. 'You can't play you. You're gonna be Mr cold and calculating, got it? And for Gods sake, whatever happens, when you see Hutch, you can't speak to him, is that clear? One wrong word and nine months of planning goes out the window'.
'I know, I know, I aint stupid. I done this before. Trust me'.
'We trust you, we just don't trust Lilly. She's a wild card. Unpredictable. She'll eat you up an' spit you out. She has three deaths to her name so far, Don't make it four huh?'
'It wouldn't be my first choice, no'.
'Any more questions?'
'Yeah, anyone got any food? I'm starvin'.
oOo
Billy Shapiro parked his black Bentley Continental right outside Le Quatre Seasons, threw the keys contemptuously to the parking valet and walked with a swagger into the restaurant. He looked devastating. Back suit, sharply cut by Armani to accentuate his slim hips and muscular chest contrasting, strongly with the simple linen shirt and plain sky blue tie. For once, Starsky had foregone his comfortable blue Adidas sneakers in favor of Grenson slip ons with a high black polish and a hit of gold detail on the instep. A sky blue handkerchief poked out of his breast pocket complimenting the outfit.
Those who knew Starsky would never have recognised him as the powerful, self assured drugs dealer now walking into the restaurant and the clothes made him feel the part exactly.
At the door there was a small lectern holding a large leather bound appointments diary and hovering by it was a man wearing a black tail coat.
'Oui Monsieur. Vous avez un reservation?'
Starsky glared at him and nodded.
'Name?'
'Matteu or Shapiro. Take your pick'.
'Ah oui Monsieur. Madame Matteu has taken one of our private rooms' he pointed with an outstretched hand. 'Please follow the hallway. Second door on your left'.
Starsky nodded once, not even looking at the minion bind the desk. He walked slowly and purposefully down the corridor as directed, round the corner and as he stopped outside the door he was suddenly pushed full force into the wall. The breath was driven from his body by the force and rough hands pulled his arms until they were splayed on the wall by the sides of his head. He winced and bit back a groan as the same rough hands patted him down, grinding into his damaged rib as the pistol drilled its way into his spine, but finally the search ended and he was let up.
Starsky turned slowly and stared into Hutch's crystal blue eyes without flinching. As the door to the private room opened he summoned all the contempt he could muster.
'Take your fuckin' hands off me, or next time I'll break your fingers one at a time' he growled.
Hutch stopped as the brunet turned to face him, their eyes locking, silently communicating.
'Gimme your piece' the blond grunted.
'Ya gonna make me?'
'Oh yeah'. Hutch pushed his partner back against the wall, his hand patting down the black suited body until his fingers closed on the brand new Beretta. He withdrew it from the soft chamois leather holster, his hand lingering fractionally longer than was necessary. They both needed the contact, but it had to be brief. Starsky's face remained cold although there was friendship and warmth in his eyes.
Good to see ya again Blondie
Watch your back Starsk.
The brunet gave an imperceptible nod, turned, and walked into the cosy room.
Hutch followed him in, gun still pointing at his partner's back as Starsky walked forward hand outstretched to the petite blond woman sitting in the chair by the fire.
