This story is written for Aussie Angie, who asked me to do a "Jewish" one. Where possible I've tried to make the Jewish information as accurate as I can, but if any of it is wrong, please excuse me - I'm not "of the faith" and intend no disrespect. As for the writing - you know the score - Brook told me to, and I can't dodge her whip!

Disclaimer - I don't own the guys unfortunately (but OMG I wish I could borrow the curly one occasionally!). However, I can't resist damaging them!

Feedback- is cherished, craved and read with relish. As you know, it droves me on and I can't write without it.

Chapter 1

'We can't do that here! Dave, don't. The sand gets everywhere! Stop it' Cheryl hissed as she tried unsuccessfully to unhook Starsky's hand from the seat of her bikini. She wriggled away from the questing hand and propped herself up on her elbow.

'Aw c'mon. Just a little….well OK. A kiss. Just a kiss huh? Can't get sand in that' the indigo eyes pleaded with her and she melted into the inky dark pools, resting back on the sun warmed sand as her man loomed above her. The sun was blotted out as the curly head lowered, claiming her mouth with his as his tongue explored each part of her mouth. Tenderly she returned the kiss, relishing the feel of his hard, muscular body rubbing against hers, the hairs on his chest scratching softly at the bare skin of her midriff. She broke off the kiss to giggle at the sensation.

Starsky looked offended. 'Whatsup? Sand getting in the ….erm…..cracks?'

'That's not what I meant and you know it' Cheryl pouted. 'I meant you should be careful not to get sand in the wound on your arm' she reached up and gently touched the bright white bandage wrapped around his biceps.

'But apart from that, I never went with a guy who was furry before' she giggled. 'It's kinda nice. A bit like a cross between a lover and a puppy' she ran her hand down his chest, following the line of black hair down the line from his navel to the band of his shorts. He shivered at the touch, pushing the centre of his body against her in encouragement.

'Any more of that and there'll be another little puppy waggin' its tail' he growled, wiggling his eyebrows 'an' I won't be responsible for its actions'.

He looked over his shoulder as he heard a snort of derision coming from behind his back.

'You've just been compared to a dog and ya think it's sexy?' Hutch asked.

'Shuddup and get back to your side of the sand' the curly haired cop replied and settled back to his girl.

The weekend had been perfect. The beach house they had rented in Malibu was quiet and situated at the end of the beach, giving enough privacy to enable them to have lazy mornings in bed, before afternoons on the beach and even evenings in the hot tub on the lanai. The sun had shone with that steady Southern Californian radiance for the whole of the three days giving blissfully cool, mist laden early mornings, hot sunny afternoons and romantic, star speckled evenings. Lazy days spent on the beach had worked their magic and now all four were feeling mellow, tanned and ready for another week at work. No telephones, no guns, no shields and no Dobey. Perfect!

The four had celebrated the detective's liberty from the Metro with romantic dinners lit by flickering candlelight and long passionate nights of slow sensual lovemaking, but the weekend was now coming to a reluctant end and minds were turning back to more mundane thoughts.

This was the first weekend the two had had off from work in over two months. For the past nine weeks both detectives had been working on the case of an arms dealer who had been bringing shipments of guns and semi automatic rifles into San Pedro from San Francisco. The dealer had been using a dirty cop in SFPD to take confiscated arms from the lock up so that he could transport them south and resell them on the black market in Bay City after filing off identification marks. The same guns were sold to gangs and minors and there had been sad instances of youths being gunned down on the streets with the illegal weapons.

For the past two weeks, they'd been expecting the shipment to land somewhere on the docks. They'd had a tip off from their snitch in San Francisco, but he hadn't been specific enough to keep them from sitting on their butts in the hot car for a fortnight, getting more and more bored and edgy and consuming more coffee than was legitimately good for them. For thirteen days straight they'd sat in Hutch's battered brown LTD watching the warehouse for unusual activity and during that time Starsky had whined continually about the blonde's choice of motor. Not even the explanation given – that the candy apple red parade float would be too easy to spot – had done anything to quell Starsky's revulsion, but he'd finally seen the sense of it when John McMillan, the dealer in question had walked right past the car on his way to see the consignment.

The thirteen days of sheer boredom had culminated in fifteen minutes of adrenaline fuelled action. McMillan had walked into the warehouse and they' heard activity from within. Starsky had called for backup, then he and Hutch had hotfooted it into the depths of the warehouse, guns drawn and crouched, ready for anything.

They'd seen the whole thing. McMillan and his goons had been caught red-handed, unloading the crates of firearms from the small coastal cruiser moored at the side of the quay into the building. But the dealer and his team didn't go down easy. They had still put up a hell of a fight, during which the brunet had been winged by a stray .22 high up on the left arm and Hutch received a concussion when one of the guys backhanded him into a stack of pallets arranged at the side of the wall.

But the backup had arrived and the place was soon swarming with uniformed officers, detectives and of course the comforting bulk of Captain Dobey. The furore started to calm down and Starsky had managed to bring his partner around and support Hutch out to the waiting ambulance. There, they'd both sat on the tailgate of the emergency vehicle as paramedics cleaned and bound the brunet's arm and assessed the level of Hutch's head injury. Finally persuading them that he was fine and no, he didn't need checking out in the hospital, Hutch and Starsky managed to get away and limp back to the Metro.

After that they'd had another gruelling day of interviews, typing and paperwork, finally getting back to their apartments in the early hours of the morning, sore, aching and tired, but pleased that the "recycled" weapons wouldn't be causing any more havoc on the streets of down town Bay City.

Hutch sighed. '4:30. We'd better start packing up. Wouldn't want to overstay our welcome'.

Elaine pulled him back down to the sand. 'Do we have to? Huh? Can't we just stay here forever?'

'I wish we could honey. But until I win the lottery I'm gonna have to go back and keep plodding away at the detective business. Unless you're secretly a millionairess and you're gonna keep me in the manner to which I wish to become accustomed'.

Finally convincing Elaine and Cheryl that they really should start making for home, all four went inside to pack and eventually, with a sigh, they pulled the door of their little slice of heaven closed and piled into the Torino. As the sun cast red, pink and orange rays over the sands, Starsky bumped the car up the beach and back onto the main road and towards real life.

The drive home took less than an hour and was accomplished more or less in silence. Hutch sat in the back with Elaine, her hand twisted into his hair as her head rested on his shoulder. In the front, Cheryl and leaned into Starsky's side and he had his arm around her as he steered one handed, trying to ignore her hand on the bulge in his jeans. He wiggled a little, trying to get more contact and she giggled a low throaty giggle.

'You're insatiable, Mr Starsky'.

'No, I'm Pisces' he grinned.

In no time at all, they'd dropped the two women off at their respective houses. Drawing the Torino up outside his apartment, Starsky turned to his partner.

'Want a beer?'

'Sure. The weekend ain't over till tomorrow' Hutch smiled as he followed the brunet up the steps. As Starsky put the key in the lock, he could hear the telephone ringing and leaving Hutch to rescue the key from the lock, he strode across the room and reached for it.

Hutch came into the cool living room and got them two beers from the fridge before sitting down and listening to the tail end of the conversation. Starsky was speaking low into the receiver, his fingers cupped over the mouthpiece as his eyebrows arched in concentration.

'Yeah Mom, sure…….no I can do that…..Mom don't cry huh? Please? That's it…….I'll murder him, that's what I'll do……..no Mom, he deserves it, just let me wait till I get my hands on him…….Ok…….no, I'll ring back when I know what I can do……..Love you Mom'.

Starsky slammed the telephone back onto the receiver and when he turned, Hutch could see that his face was stormy, the skin around his lips white with anger.

'Trouble?' the blond asked, waiting for the brunet volcano to erupt.

'Yeah trouble. One word trouble. Nicky!' Starsky ground out, slamming the flat of his hand against the door lintel and rattling the picture hung there.

'What's he done now?'

'The stupid……God, I can't find words to describe how I feel about him. Mom's been worried sick. She's cryin' and she's so far away I can't do nuthin. Nicky has gotten himself mixed up with some religious group'.

'Religious? As in Simon Marcus type religious?' Hutch asked, his mind zooming back to the memory of his partner strung up from bruised and purpled hands as black robed men surrounded him, wielding weapons and chanting their leader's name.

Starsky let out a shaky sigh, making a conscious effort to calm down. 'No not Simon Marcus, thank God. Although this could be just as bad or maybe even worse'.

'Even worse than Marcus? Ya gotta be kidding me'.

The brunet turned stormy eyes on his friend. 'Believe me! I wish I were'.

'How can it be worse than Marcus? He was a complete head case. Him and that phoney cult were ……'

'Yeah that's the problem. Marcus' was the leader of a phoney cult, so we managed to take 'em down. Nicky's mixed up with something so much bigger'. Starsky sat down heavily on the arm of the sofa

'Bigger than Marcus? I thought Nicky was going straight now, after his little brush with Frank Stryker. Didn't think he'd want to get mixed up with anything bigger'.

'Well, it takes all sorts buddy. Apparently, my little brother has gotten religion in a big way'.

Hutch looked quizzical. 'Religion as in….'

'Religion as in he's embracing the Jewish faith. He's joined a group out at Shoshone. They're a fanatical Jewish cult and Mom says they've filled Nicky's head with all sort of shit. He's been spouting readings from the Torah and says that they're gonna put right the wrongs of the world, whatever that means'.

'Well it can't be all bad if he's gotten in with a proper religious organisation. You are Jewish after all' Hutch muttered doubtfully.

Starsky gave his partner a "don't be so naive" look. 'Two things there Blintz. First, if ya thought I was bad at going to the Synagogue, Nicky would make me look like a Rabbi. We just don't do religion. I can't remember the last time either of us celebrated any festival, although Mom still does Yom Kipur and Channukah. And second, have you ever know Nicky to get involved with something straight? Whatever has Mom so upset, it can't be any good. I've told her I'll try to find out what's going on. Once I've seen Dobey, d'ya fancy a trip to Shoshone?'