This is my first Starsky & Hutch fic in quite a long time. I usually write in the Supernatural 'verse, but since I've been less than inspired for the last few seasons, I've turned back to my first love to feed my need to write. Big BIG thanks to my dear beta, Sharlot, who went above and beyond in beta-ing this even though it's not exactly in her sandbox. Silver lining: she's re-watching a show she hasn't seen in decades and loving it again! My work is done.

This story takes place between the last scene and tag of the 4th season episode "Black & Blue". While we know some things about Starsky's family, we know next to nothing about Hutch's. This is my take on why.

Black & Blue & Dead All Over

"You okay?"

Hutch slumped back against the wall and ducked his head. "Yeah, I'm okay," he replied to Captain Dobey's inquiry in a soft, breathless voice. He shifted his eyes to Starsky who was still trussed up in the chair. "You okay?"

The seated man grinned. "I'm okay." He turned his head, directing his next words to Detective Joan Meredith who, like him, was trussed up to a chair, but unharmed. "You okay, Partner?"

The black woman grinned back, the relief in her voice palpable. "I'm fine."

Starsky chuckled. "Yes, you are."

Hutch rolled his eyes. "Someone want to take care of this turkey?" He waved the Magnum at the suspect, still lying in the boxes on the floor.

"Wanna untie me?" Starsky turned wide eyes to the blond, not missing the way Hutch was leaning into the wall as if it was the only thing keeping him vertical.

Hutch shook his head, then gestured with the gun in his right hand toward the sling supporting his left. "Out of hands."

"Oh," Starsky directed his attention to Dobey. "Captain?" He moved slightly in the chair and thrust his hands over as far as they could go, wiggling his fingers to punctuate his request.

With a huff, Dobey holstered his weapon and walked behind the bound detective, deftly untying the ropes that held him captive. As soon as he was free, Starsky bent over the man on the ground, flipped him over and pulled his arms toward the small of his back. He held out a hand and looked expectantly at Hutch. "Got any cuffs?"

Hutch arched his brows and simply smiled.

Starsky sighed, feigning disappointment. "Some boy scout you are. Cap, cuffs?" He threw the request over his shoulder, ducking a bit to catch the metal bracelets tossed his way.

With the perp now cuffed, Hutch lowered his gun and took a deep breath, letting the tension drain from his tired body. Dobey freed Detective Meredith then stepped back, allowing her to pull the other perp from the ground, holding the young girl's arm bent behind her back. As the thin black girl stood, she caught sight of Hutch standing against the wall, her eyes taking in the dried blood staining his denim jacket. She swallowed and opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it immediately and lowered her gaze to the floor.

Hutch stared back, his face carefully neutral, as the girl who'd put a bullet into him – and had nearly done the same to his partner - was led out the door and transferred to the patrolmen who had arrived on the scene.

Starsky pulled the male prisoner from the ground and delivered him to the other uniform, watching as they led both suspects out of the house and to the waiting patrol cars outside, followed closely by Meredith and Dobey. Meredith turned, giving him an inquisitive look. He smiled and nodded to her and, with a hesitant glance towards Hutch, she returned the nod then hurried to catch up to the Captain. Only then did Starsky turn to Hutch, still leaning heavily against the wall.

Starsky noted the slumped shoulders, the fine sheen of sweat along his friend's brow and the pale complexion.

"Just happen to be in the neighborhood?"

Hutch huffed a laugh. "Something like that. So that's your new partner, huh Partner? Guess you were right. She's filled in plenty."

Starsky grinned. "And in more interesting places than my old partner, Partner." He took a moment to look the other man up and down. "Don't tell me, the docs don't know you escaped?"

Hutch raised an eyebrow. "They probably do by now."

Starsky shook his head. "What am I gonna do with ya, Blintz?"

Hutch smiled softly. "Well, for starters you could help me out of here. I think I may have hit my proverbial wall." He let his head tilt back until it contacted the actual wall holding him up. "No pun intended."

Starsky reached for the Magnum and pulled it from Hutch's lax grip. He stuffed the gun into his belt behind his back and took hold of Hutch's good arm.

"You're not looking too steady there, buddy."

"Just a little dizzy," the blond admitted. "It's been a busy day."

"I bet." Starsky pulled him forward and placed his other arm around the taller man's back. "Breakin' out of hospitals can be pretty taxing."

Hutch snorted a laugh and allowed his partner to steer him toward the open door. "Tell me about it," he chuckled. "Those nurses can be pretty scary."

"Yet, you were still able to get away, huh, Captain Marvel?"

"Sometimes it's good to be a superhero, Starsk."

They slowly moved outside, just in time to see the patrol units with the suspects in back pull away from the curb. Meredith and Captain Dobey were at the base of the steps as the two senior detectives made their way onto the porch.

Starsky led Hutch down the steps, pushing him down to sit on the bottom one before he turned to his captain and Meredith.

"So you wanna tell me how you two figured out where we were?" Starsky inquired, his voice pitched a bit higher than normal. "Or better yet, why the walking wounded here is comin' to our rescue at all?"

Dobey nodded toward Hutch. "Hutchinson is the one who figured out the connection between the robberies."

Starsky turned back to his partner, his brows raised high enough to disappear under the dark curls. "Oh?"

Hutch shrugged, then winced before answering. "Just a little bit of actual detective work, Starsk." He smiled to take the sting out of the words. "No ESP quotient necessary."

Starsky's eyes widened further. "Oh? Well, do tell Mr. Great Detective."

Hutch chuckled and used his good hand to rub at the crease between his eyes. "I just figured out that all the homes that were hit used the same answering service."

Starsky and Meredith exchanged a look of surprise. "Answering service?"

Hutch nodded. "Once we figured that out, it was just a matter of finding out which of their employees was tipping off the heists. She gave us this address and here we are."

Starsky looked from his partner, to Meredith, then Dobey. The captain shrugged and grinned. "Took him all of ten minutes to piece it together."

Starsky shook his head and looked back at Hutch, his expression a mixture of pride and annoyance. "Ten minutes, huh?"

Hutch tilted his head, an innocent smile on his face. "Give or take."

Meredith was grinning at the banter between the men. "Maybe you partnered me up with the wrong half of the team, Captain."

Starsky rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. He's the brains, I'm just the brawn."

"Well why don't you use that brawn and get your partner back to the hospital where he belongs, Starsky?" Dobey ordered. He tossed the detective his keys. "I'll wait for the crime scene team then head back to the precinct with Detective Meredith. You get Hutch taken care of then meet us there to take care of the paperwork."

"What about him?" Starsky whined, pointing to his seated friend. "Why doesn't he have to do paperwork?"

"Because as you just succinctly pointed out, he's walking wounded. Now get moving or you're going to be writing reports until midnight!"

Mumbling under his breath, Starsky reached down and helped his friend to stand, unconsciously keeping a hand on his back until he was steady. "Some people get all the luck."

"You call getting shot lucky?"

Starsky grinned lasciviously at Meredith, bobbing his brows up and down before returning his attention to Hutch. "Who said I was talking about you, Partner?"

Shshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshs

A few hours later Starsky, swung through the doors to the squad room at Metro, sighing as he eyed the typewriter sitting ominously on his desk. Normally he'd be able to pawn off report writing on his partner, but, giving that Hutch was sidelined on this one, he was resigned to actually doing the work himself. He'd toyed with the idea of sweet talking Meredith into doing the actual typing, but the absence of the female detective in the squad room put an end to that fantasy.

After he had dropped Hutch at home – the blond insisting he was fine and adamantly refusing to go back to the hospital despite Dobey's order to the contrary – Starsky had made sure his partner was safe and comfortable, then headed back to his own place to shower and change. He was tired, the long hours of stakeouts and being trussed up taking a toll, but knew he'd have to get the paperwork on this arrest taken care of before he could relax. He'd considered spending the evening with Meredith, but a little kernel of worry had made him nix the idea in favor of picking up a pizza and some root beer and heading back to check in on Hutch. After all, the big lummox had broken himself out of his nice, comfy hospital bed in order to save his ass, the least he could do was make sure the guy was fed and keep him company.

Before the detective could make it across the room to his desk, Dobey's door opened and the captain emerged, looking around and catching his eye.

"Starsky!" he bellowed familiarly, making Starsky wonder for the hundredth time whether the man knew how to use an inside voice. "Where the hell have you been? I've been calling the hospital and they said Hutchinson never returned."

Starsky shrugged and approached the captain, throwing a leg over his chair and dropping into the seat. "I took him home."

"Home? The man just got shot. He should've never been out of the hospital to begin with."

Starsky chuckled. "I'm sure Hutch'll be touched that you're so concerned about him, Cap, but he's a big boy and he didn't wanna go back." He turned his head and raised his brows at the man. "And you know Hutch, Cap. Nobody's gonna make him do what he doesn't wanna do."

Dobey frowned but didn't argue.

"Besides," the dark haired detective continued. "I made sure he was tucked into bed nice and cozy before I left."

"Well, you'd better call and wake him up."

It was Starsky's turn to frown. "Why would I wanna do that? You just got through saying –"

"I know what I said," Dobey interrupted, abruptly retreating back into his office. "But something's come up. We need Hutchinson down here."

Starsky rose and followed his superior into the room. "Come on, Cap. Give the guy a break. What's so important that Hutch has to come all the way down here in his condition, huh? Whatever it is, I can take care of it."

Dobey settled himself behind the desk and eyed the detective. "Did Hutch say anything about his father coming to town?"

Starsky stopped, completely taken off guard by the change in topic. "What? No. Hutch hasn't spoken to his father in years. Ever since he was sick during that whole Callendar fiasco and they didn't even bother to call to find out if he was dead or alive." He stepped closer to the desk and leaned his fists against it. "What's Hutch's dad got to do with anything?"

Dobey took a deep breath and leaned back into his chair, pointing to one of the seats facing the desk. Starsky dropped into one and leaned forward, arms resting on his thighs, his full attention on the captain.

"There was an incident at the airport this morning," Dobey began.

"What kind of 'incident' are we talking about here?"

"There was a shooting involving three men. The shooters got away when airport security responded, but the third man was apprehended. He's unharmed, but officers found almost a quarter of a million dollars worth of cocaine in his bags."

Starsky whistled. "How exactly does this tie into Hutch?"

"Have you ever met Hutch's father?"

Starsky nodded, his brow furrowing further. "Yeah, a couple of times. Can't say I relished the experience. Why?"

Dobey sighed. "The man they found with the drugs is down in holding. His ID tags him as Dr. Richard Hutchinson, from Duluth, Minnesota."

Starsky's eyes went wide and he slumped back against the chair. "What? You've gotta be kidding. Hutch's dad is an ass, but drugs? I mean the man's a doctor for pete's sake."

"All I know is as soon as airport security took him into custody, he started demanding to talk to Hutch. They brought him here a couple of hours ago. He's being taken to interrogation right now."

Starsky slowly shook his head, still trying to grasp what he'd been told. "There's gotta be some kind of mistake."

"So now you see why we need Hutch back here pronto."

Starsky pushed himself up from the chair and nodded. "Yeah. I mean if it really is Hutch's dad…"

"You said you've met the man?" Dobey received a slight nod in response to his question. "Why don't you head down there and take a look. If it isn't him, no need to bring your partner into this. But if it is…"

"Right," Starsky said absently. "I'll let you know."

Shshshshshshshshshsh

Hutch groaned as the shrill ringing of the phone forced him back to reluctant wakefulness. It had taken him quite some time to find a comfortable position and finally fall asleep, the throbbing in his shoulder becoming harder to ignore as the painkillers he'd received in the hospital wore off. He'd managed to find a couple of aspirin in the bathroom, but they'd done little to relieve the ache that had steadily grown into outright pain. His impromptu escape from the hospital hadn't allowed for time to get a prescription, and he knew he'd have to do something about that sooner rather than later, but right now all he really wanted to do was sleep.

Except the damn phone kept ringing right next to his head.

Rolling over carefully, he reached out, blindly snagged the offending instrument and pressed it to his ear.

"What?"

A familiar chuckle came across the line. "Did ya wake up on the wrong side of the bed, partner?"

"I didn't wake up at all," he responded grumpily. "This is just a bad dream." He opened an eye and tried to focus on the clock by the bed. "Starsky, I just got to sleep." He hated the whine in his voice, but couldn't help it. He felt like shit.

"I know." The humor was gone from his partner's voice, replaced with a tinge of regret and something else Hutch couldn't immediately identify. "I'm sorry I had to bother ya, buddy, but something's come up and Dobey needs you down here ASAP."

Hutch groaned again. "You've gotta be kidding me. Can't you handle it?"

"Wish I could, partner. But this one has your name written all over it… literally."

Hutch rolled onto his back with a sigh and pulled his injured arm close to his chest. "Starsky, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Not over the phone. I'll fill you in when you get here."

Hutch was completely awake now, the pulsing ache in his chest taking a back seat to the curiosity his partner's cryptic words had stirred. "Fine. Give me an hour to shower and change -."

"No can do, Hutch. Dobey's sending a black and white to chauffeur you. They should be there in five. Just change into something that's not covered in dried blood and get your butt downstairs."

"Right." Hutch rolled and placed the phone back on the cradle then lay there for a moment, contemplating what could possibly be important enough to drag a man who'd just been shot away from some much needed rest. He couldn't think of a thing except for something happening to Starsky and since he'd just spoken with him and he sounded fine – albeit a bit enigmatic – he knew there was nothing wrong with his partner.

Hutch sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. Lying there thinking about it wasn't going to give him any answers. With another groan he pushed the blanket away from his body and forced himself out of bed.

Shshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshs

Starsky paced outside the squad room, glancing every few minutes toward the stairway, waiting for a glimpse of the familiar blond head. He had no idea how Hutch was going to take the news of his father being in town – let alone involved in a shooting and drug case. He was certain Hutch had no idea his father was coming, the two had barely spoken even before the incident that had broken off communication between Hutch and his parents completely.

Starsky rubbed the back of his neck as he paced, still astounded that a father could be as unaffectionate toward his own son as Hutch's seemed to be to him. Hutchinson Senior had never been thrilled about his son's choice of career, he'd made that very clear from the start. When Hutch had left medical school to go to the academy, he'd been all but cut off from his family. Eventually the tensions had thawed, but last year, when Hutch had come a hairs breadth away from cashing it in due to the virus Callendar had spread, instead of coming to support their son in his courageous struggle to live, they had flown off to some conference in France without bothering to check to see if he had even survived the ordeal. After that, it was Hutch who had cut ties with the rest of his family. Starsky knew it had hurt his friend deeply to finally realize how little he meant to them, but he'd been relieved to see a bit of anger and resentment finally surface in the blond at the snub. Since then, Hutch hadn't bothered to keep in touch with the rest of the Hutchinsons back in Duluth and had finally stopped wondering or caring whether he was to blame for the estrangement.

Once fully recovered from the plague, he and Starsky had even gone out and gotten totally plastered to celebrate what Hutch had called his 'liberation from familial hypocrisy'.

Now, the man who had caused his friend so much emotional pain and self-doubt had dropped into their laps, and, befitting the man's elitist attitude, fully expected his estranged son to come to his rescue and make it all disappear.

Considering the circumstances of what was found in his luggage, Starsky was pretty sure that wouldn't happen.

Richard Hutchinson had been completely uncooperative and downright demanding since they'd brought him to Metro. He'd insisted on speaking only to 'Kenneth' and had looked down his nose, completely unimpressed with his accommodations. If he was the least bit nervous about his situation, he hid it well.

Trudging footsteps on the stairs caught Starsky's attention and he turned to see his partner slowly step onto the landing. His red plaid shirt was untucked, and his beige jacket was in his right hand, the worn brown leather of his holster peeking out from underneath. The blue sling he'd been wearing earlier was clenched in his left hand, which he held stiffly against his stomach.

"Well, you look like shit," Starsky remarked, hurrying over to lay a hand on his friend's hunched back. Hutch's face was pinched in pain, his hair ruffled and uncombed.

"Feel worse," the blond admitted.

"Why aren't you wearing that?" Starsky pointed toward the sling hanging from his partner's clenched hand.

"Couldn't get the damn thing back on," was the terse response.

Starsky steered his friend into an empty office to the left of the stairway and pushed him down onto a chair just inside the door, aware of the heavy sigh of relief coming from the blond. He took the sling from Hutch's hand and began to untangle the straps as Hutch leaned his head back against the wall.

"Are you gonna tell me what the hell is going on?"

Starsky began to ease the sling under his partner's bad arm as he started his explanation.

"Apparently there was a shooting at the airport this morning. Two men with guns attacked another passenger coming out of baggage claim." He pushed the other man forward as he pulled the sling up under the wounded arm and began to tighten the straps. "The shooters got away but when security checked the victim out, they found a shitload of coke in his suitcase."

"OKAY," Hutch winced as his partner secured the sling, then closed his eyes and slumped as the release of not having to hold his arm up made him sigh in relief. "What does this have to do with me?"

Starsky stepped back and inspected his work, pleased to see the brief reprieve from some of the discomfort on his friend's face. He squatted down in front of Hutch, waiting until the blond opened his eyes and gazed at him inquiringly. "The guy with the suitcase was your father."

Starsky waited as the emotions tracked across his partner's face ranging from disbelief to confusion to anger.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Hutch asked quietly, his voice shaking. "Because I don't think it's funny."

Starsky shook his head, his eyes locked onto his friend's. "Wish it was, buddy. You didn't have any idea your dad was coming to town?"

Hutch shook his head. "It's not like we keep in touch."

Starsky patted his friend's knee and rose to his feet. "Well, he's been his charming self since they brought him here. Insists on only talking to you. Dobey wants to see you first."

Hutch sighed and closed his eyes again, squeezing them tightly against obvious pain.

"You take anything?"

The blond shook his head. "Didn't get anything to take."

Starsky chuckled. "Hospital breakouts have their drawbacks, huh?"

Hutch grinned in response. He took a deep breath and raised his head, giving his partner a look of resignation. "Suppose we'd better go see what dear old Dad has gotten himself mixed up in, huh?"

Starsky shrugged. "I don't know, if it were up to me, I'd let him stew down there in interrogation for a little while longer. May do him some good."

Hutch chuckled at the idea. "I doubt it. And those poor uniforms down there don't deserve the torture."

Starsky stepped back, carefully watching his partner rise slowly to his feet. "You're all heart, you know that, Hutch?"

"Yeah," the blond agreed as he turned toward the door. "I'm a giver."

Shshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshsh

"This doesn't make any sense, Captain," Hutch shook his head slowly, his eyes pinched, focused on the floor in front of him. The Captain had laid it all out for the detective, informing him that his father was not cooperating with the investigators, refusing to speak to anyone but Hutch.

"You had no idea your father was in town?"

Hutch turned wide eyes to his superior. "None. I haven't even spoken to him in well over a year."

Dobey sighed and leaned against his desk. "Well, looks like you're going to have to speak to him now."

Hutch sighed and lowered his head to rub at his eyes. "You said they found the drugs in his suitcase?"

Dobey nodded and pulled a photo from a manila file folder. "He was on his way out of baggage claim," the Captain explained. He handed the photo of a large, gold-colored suitcase to Starsky, who glanced at it then handed it off to his partner. "Does you father have a bag like this?"

Hutch sighed and slumped down in the chair. "I have no idea."

"According to Airport Security, your father told them that two armed men stopped him a few moments after he picked up the suitcase. When he made a scene, security got involved, the two men started firing and all hell broke loose."

"But the shooters got away," Starsky qualified, taking the photo back from his partner and perching himself on the arm of Hutch's chair.

"Yes. Security chased them, but they lost them in the main terminal."

"They check the tapes?" Starsky asked absently.

"That's right," Hutch added. "That guy from security we met when we were chasing Callendar… what was his name?" The blond detective raised his head and looked up at his partner.

"Anderson."

"Right," Hutch turned his attention back to the captain. "Anderson told us that whenever an incident occurs, the security cameras are immediately engaged. They snap a photo every 3 seconds or something like that. I'm guessing they have the whole thing right on film."

"I'll have it checked out," Dobey assured them. "In the meantime, I want you to talk to your father. Get his side of this. It's obvious you don't believe he was involved, so I want you two to interview him and find out what the hell is going on."

"What about IA?" Starsky asked, dropping the photo back onto Dobey's desk. "If they know Hutch's dad is involved, they're gonna come sniffing around sooner or later."

Dobey stuffed the photo back into the file and thrust it out toward the detectives. "You let me worry about Internal Affairs. You two just go figure out exactly how Dr. Hutchinson's involved in this whole thing."

Shshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshs

Hutch took a deep breath and opened the door, nodding to the thin black officer who stood just inside the doorway of Interrogation 3.

"Hey, Mike. Can you give us a few minutes?"

"Sure thing, Hutch." The officer nodded and made his way to the door, closing it quietly behind him.

Hutch stepped across the small room and tossed the file folder onto the table, slowly raising his eyes to meet the familiar, calculating ones he hadn't seen in such a long time. The first thing he noticed was how much older his father looked. The elder man's hair was thinning and almost completely white, the lines on his face set deeper around his eyes and mouth. But his eyes were just as Hutch remembered them. Cool, observant, shrewd; the kind of eyes that looked right through you, right down into your soul.

Those eyes had always made Hutch squirm.

"I'd say you look good, Kenneth, but we both know that would be a lie."

And the battle begins.

Hutch pulled out the chair and sat carefully, forcing himself to meet his father's gaze. "What are you doing here, Dad?"

"That's exactly what I want to know!" Richard Hutchinson's voice exploded inside the small interrogation room. "These… people… here have been inexcusably rude and are keeping me here against my will. I have rights!"

Hutch flinched at the way the word 'people' was spit out with such disdain, but he fought to retain his composure.

"You have the right to an attorney," he responded in a controlled voice. "I'm sure that was explained to you when you were taken into custody."

"I have done nothing to be arrested for!" Richard's face was beginning to turn red, his anger palpable.

Hutch sighed, shifting in the chair a bit to relieve the pain radiating from his shoulder. "Fine." He held up a hand to calm the irate man. "Let's start again. What are you doing here? In California?"

Richard sat back in his own chair and straightened his shoulders, regaining his composure. "I'm here for a medical conference."

Hutch nodded once, a soft laugh escaping. "You fly halfway across the country, right into my backyard and it doesn't even occur to you to let me know?"

"It's not like you bother to keep in touch, Kenneth," Richard frowned as if the situation was something he shouldn't have to explain. "A fact that has hurt your mother deeply, I might add. But I'm here on business, not a social call."

Hutch closed his eyes momentarily. Unbelievable.

The detective took a deep breath, trying to keep his emotions in check. "Of course." He gave his father a cold smile, not wanting the other man to know how much he truly wanted to jump up and finally have it out with him.

"How long is it going to take for you to get this mess cleared up? I have meetings to attend."

Hutch's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

Richard huffed impatiently and spoke slowly as if to a child. "I want you to take care of this so that I can get back to my conference. I don't have time for this nonsense."

Hutch couldn't help but snort a laugh. "You're kidding, right? Do you even understand the kind of trouble you're in?"

The doctor rolled his eyes and crossed his arms "Again, I have done nothing wrong. And my patience is wearing thin."

"Yours and mine both."

Before the older man could comment, the door opened and Starsky sauntered through. He smiled at the doctor as he closed the door and walked across the room, laying a hand on the back of his partner's neck and giving it a squeeze as he passed. Continuing to the far wall, he quietly folded his arms and leaned back on his shoulder, one ankle over the other, and looked at the two men at the table expectantly.

Richard breathed heavily through his nose. "I'm sure you have a perfectly good reason for interrupting us, Detective Starsky, but if you don't mind, I would like to speak to my son."

Starsky shrugged. "No, I don't mind," he responded innocently. He waved a hand like a game show host. "Please, speak."

"Alone."

"Dad," Hutch interrupted, rolling his eyes at his partner's response. "Starsky is the one you should be talking to. I'm not even on duty." He waved his good hand at the sling that supported his left arm. "So I suggest you just tell us what happened at the airport today so that we can get to the bottom of this."

Richard took a deep breath and glared at his son for a moment before nodding crisply. "Fine. I arrived at LAX and disembarked, going straight to the baggage claim to retrieve my luggage."

Hutch opened the file in front of him and pulled out a photo of the gold suitcase. "This one."

Richard barely glanced at it. "Yes. When I was leaving baggage claim, two men accosted me and tried to take my suitcase. We struggled, a gun went off, then security arrived."

"Did you recognize either of them?" Hutch asked.

Richard shook his head.

"You didn't see either of them on the plane?" Starsky inquired.

"They weren't in First Class, no." the older man's voice was clipped, but a bit shaky, telling the detective he wasn't as steady as he was trying to appear.

Whether Hutch was aware enough to catch the unsteadiness in his father's voice or not was something Starsky couldn't be sure of. He watched for a moment as his partner tiredly rubbed at the crease between his brows, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth tight. He knew Hutch was in pain, and he knew dealing with his father was piling more stress than the blond needed at the moment. Pushing off the wall, Starsky stepped over to the table and leaned forward, pressing both fists onto the wooden surface. "Think you can give us a description?" He asked, forcing the older man to turn to him, allowing his partner a chance to quietly regain his equilibrium.

"I don't really remember," Richard admitted. "It all happened so fast." He let his eyes drift down to the photo on the table, his head tilting, his mouth turning down into a frown.

"What?" Starsky asked. Years of experience in interrogating prisoners and witnesses had made him finely attuned to changes in expression.

"This suitcase," Richard pointed to the photo, turning it around and leaning forward to get a closer look at it. "It isn't mine."

Hutch's head came up and he exchanged a confused look with his partner. "What?"

"It's not mine."

"You just said it was."

Richard pushed the photo back across the table toward his son. "It looks like mine. But it isn't."

"This is the suitcase they found on you," Starsky stated bluntly.

"Yes," the older man huffed impatiently. "But it is not mine." He pointed to the brass handle clearly visible in the photo. "My bag is monogrammed. RKH. This one is clearly not. It's not my suitcase."

Hutch shook his head slowly. "Are you telling us you picked up the wrong luggage?"

Richard shrugged. "Apparently. It's a custom color. Your mother bought it for me so that I could easily recognize it. She thought it would save me time when traveling. I simply grabbed it without checking too closely, assuming it was mine."

"But this suitcase is not yours," Hutch clarified, pulling the photo toward him and lifting it for inspection.

"No," Richard shook his head.

Starsky pushed himself off the table and moved toward the door, waiting while his partner rose stiffly to follow.

"I'll be right back," the blond informed his father, receiving an impatient huff in response.

Hutch stepped in front of his partner and into the hallway, leaning back against the wall as Starsky quietly closed the door to the interrogation room.

"You think he's telling the truth?"

Hutch nodded wearily. "Yeah. From what I remember, most of his luggage, his briefcases, everything he owned was monogrammed. Kind of a status symbol thing." He held up the photo. "Which leaves us the question of who this suitcase actually belongs to."

Starsky nodded, his mouth pursed in thought. "I've got a better one." He looked up at Hutch, his eyes wide with concern. "If your dad picked up this suitcase by mistake, did someone else pick up his? And can they trace it back to him?"

"They would've had to have the claim tickets to get it out of baggage claim," Hutch reasoned. "He probably would've realized his mistake when he saw his claim ticket didn't match the stub on the suitcase, right?"

"Probably," Starsky agreed. "But the shooters jumped the gun, thought they were being jacked and tried to take it first." He sighed and looked up at his friend. "It's not inconceivable that in the confusion that followed, someone was able to snatch your dad's suitcase. I'll have Dobey check with the airport to see if any luggage was left unclaimed."

Hutch took a deep breath. "You think he's in danger?"

Starsky shook his head. "Don't know. But I think we better find out."

shshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshshsh

Mason Peele slumped against the side of the phone booth as he lit a Marlboro, his eyes squinting against the midday sun. His gaze drifted through the hazy smoke that rose from the cigarette toward the front entrance of the police station across the street. Mr. Finch had ordered him and his partner to keep an eye on the man from the airport – for all the good it would do. Once they had taken the guy to Metro, along with, he assumed, the suitcase of coke, Finch had to realize he'd need to just accept the loss. If the cops had the drugs, there was no way they were going to be able to get them back.

They'd barely made it out of the airport without being snagged by security, and now they were here, hanging outside the downtown police precinct like two ordinary citizens. He had to admit that made him pretty nervous. It's not like the old man had even known who they were – at least he didn't seem to. But Finch was adamant about knowing who had the balls to try and steal his merchandise, and once Mr. Finch had his ire up, there was no talking him down. Whoever this guy was, Finch was determined to figure out who he worked for and how he had known about the shipment. He'd seemed to know exactly which suitcase to take, hadn't hesitated a second when the gold piece of luggage had slid down the chute and onto the revolving luggage carousel, but Peele couldn't forget the look of surprise on the guy's face when they'd demanded he turn it over to them. He hadn't been afraid – more like arrogant. Like the suitcase was truly his and he was affronted that anyone would expect him to give it up.

While he was playing the scene from the airport back in his head, the front doors of the station opened and three men stepped out and slowly began to make their way down the steps. To his surprise, Peele recognized all three.

"Well, I'll be damned…" Peele breathed as he tossed the cigarette to the ground and quickly stepped into the phone booth. He dialed the number by heart, not taking his eyes off the three men across the street.

"Boss," he said the moment the line was picked up. "I got eyes on our guy outside Metro. He's with two cops by the names of Starsky and Hutchinson."

"Hutchinson," the voice on the other end echoed. "That's very interesting. According to the information we found in the duplicate suitcase, our friend from the airport is a Dr. Richard Hutchinson. And I have it on very good authority, this Dr. Hutchinson has a son who just happens to be a detective right here in Bay City. Are you sure it's him?"

Peele grinned as the three men made it to the bottom of the cement steps and approached the red and white Torino sitting directly in front of the building. "I've had the pleasure of making Detective Hutchinson's acquaintance before, sir. He's a little older than the last time we met, and he's got a cheesy moustache now, but yeah, it's the same guy. I'm not about to forget him – or his partner."

"Yes, so I've heard." The voice was thoughtful and Peele watched the three men get into the car as he waited for orders. "Follow them. If you see an opportunity, take it. The police may have my merchandise, but maybe we can find a way to persuade them to return it to me."

"Yes, sir." He quickly hung up and made his way down the street to the dark blue Lincoln parked a few spaces down. He hopped into the passenger seat and nodded to the driver. "Boss wants us to tail 'em." He pointed to the Torino as it slowly pulled out into traffic. "Step on it."

TBC