Chapter Ten – The Octopus Corporation

Mr. Irish looked up, somewhat perplexed, as Pepe walked through the door to his office.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded.

"If that's the way you greet a friend I wouldn't want to know how you treat your enemy," Pepe drawled as he made his way over to sit in the club chair opposite the bank accountant.

Deeming the remark undignified and unnecessary, Irish simply decided to ignore the Latino.

Pepe slowly leaned forward in the chair, is dark brown eyes fixing the bank accountant with an icy glare. "We need to talk," he said in a clipped voice.

"We have nothing to say to each other at the moment," Mr. Irish said nonchalantly, not looking up from the newspaper on his desk. "I shall make a complaint to the police for letting you out."

Pepe slammed his fist into the large mahogany desk in front of him causing the other man to jump. "You were nothing, had nothing when you got here," he began in a low and dangerous voice that chilled Mr. Irish to the bone. "You owe everything you are to Mr. Han and he is growing concerned about the way you're handling his business while he is away."

The statement caused the Alaska-born man to look up and meet the Latino's eyes, his pale blue eyes as cold as ice. "If it weren't for me…" he began in a low threatening tone but then his expression changed into a pleasant yet enigmatic smile and his voice turned soft. "You're right; this isn't the time or the place for this kind of discussion. We meet at the harbor, pier six at sunrise."

Pepe nodded flashing him a toothy grin. "Excellent, Mr. Andrews, I won't be late," he said referring to his real name. Pepe was one of the few who really knew it.

Irish angrily stabbed a finger at him. "Don't you dare call me that!" he returned with a raised voice.

"Till next time, James," Pepe drawled lazily as he reached for the door.

"Out!" Irish demanded as the Latino chuckled and closed the door behind him.

OOOOOO

Starsky and Hutch walked side by side through the corridors of the police department. Even though it had been over seven months since they'd been on a joint assignment it felt like yesterday. They knew each other, knew their weaknesses and strengths, knew how the other worked.

The Gran Torino was waiting for them at the front of the building, Starsky having parked it just outside the main entrance, completely ignoring the sign that said no parking. Out of respect for him the uniformed traffic cops had completely ignored the car they just shook their heads as they passed. The car was famous among the officers around the city and due to the media coverage everyone that had been watching the news at the time of the shooting had seen it. The car had been exposed and in a sense it was a bad thing. Even though the regular citizen's had forgotten the car since it was old news, it was hard to shadow the bad guys without being recognized, hard to just glide up to Huggy on the streets without someone else seeing him talk to the detectives. Hutch's old and battered car had to be used on more than one occasion but Starsky was adamant to keep his beloved car and Hutch had been going through a lot of bureaucratic crap and had too many fights with the insurance companies in order for him to get the car back from the junkyard to be able to let it go.

"Let's go partner," Starsky said with a sly grin as he walked over to the driver's side and opened the door to get in.

Hutch couldn't help but smile as he jumped in at the passenger side and reached for the microphone in front of him. He'd longed for this day; at times he'd even doubted this day would come. Here they were, he and Starsky – back together again – me and thee.

"Central this is Zebra Three reporting for duty," Hutch spoke into the radio transceiver.

"Zebra Three, this is central, your report has been notified – Welcome back Zebra Three," the female voice said over the open channel.

"Welcome back," Hutch muttered as he put down the receiver. "I've been here a week."

Starsky laughed as he keyed the ignition and pulled the car into gear. "She meant me and thee as a whole, dummy," he said.

Hutch snorted.

"You're just a pony, blondie, a white pony and I'm the stripes – together we're the Zebra," he reasoned.

The blonde part of the duo gave the brown haired one an annoyed look as he half-turned in his seat and stabbed a finger at him. "That's beautiful, Starsk, don't you ever start with poetry or art. You obviously don't understand it," he said.

OOOOOO

Doctor Judith Kaufman smiled warmly as she stood watching from distance the unlikely partnership in front of her. The staff nurse and the TBI patient sat in wheelchairs talking to each other down in the garden outside the hospital. Both of them laughed at something.

"There you are," Doctor John Meredith said with relief, he'd obviously been looking for her for quite some time.

Judith smiled at him as he walked up to stand beside her and nodded at the couple.

"Look at them, John," she said joyfully. "I love happy endings."

He nodded thoughtfully as he followed her gaze to Tracy and Daniel. "You know I think they're perfect for each other," the older doctor said with a wry smile before suppressing a yawn.

"Tired?" she asked with a slight tease. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you're getting old, John."

Doctor Meredith chuckled. "To quote Detective Starsky; you don't look like sunshine either, doc," he said.

They both chuckled at that.

Judith let out a deep sigh and ran a hand through her unruly curls. "I'm beat. I'm going to crash in the comfy hotel bed and sleep till noon tomorrow," she admitted.

"Sounds good," Meredith said with a crooked smile. "I might do something similar."

The younger doctor nodded and then turned serious, even a little sad as she gazed around the hospital garden. "I didn't get to see Bay City this time either," she said.

"Oh, wouldn't know about that," John returned with a twinkle in his eyes. "I have a feeling our friends from the police department are going to set something up."

"Yeah, I heard something's up for tomorrow before waving us off at the airport. I just hope they're not taking us to go bungee jumping or something," Judith replied carefully. "I have a feeling Ken and Dave are quite adventurous."

"I don't know, Judith. Somehow I think they've had their shares of adventures while on the job," he let on.

Doctor Kaufman narrowed her eyes at her colleague and friend. "You know something don't you?" She asked suspiciously.

OOOOOO

Mr. Irish glanced out over the glittering sea, the city lights reflection on the surface slowly being replaced by the sunrise. The chilly morning air created a light fog around him as he stood waiting at the end of the pier. He'd picked the time and the place for the simple reason that the loading and off-loading of the early shipping traffic would soon create a flurry of activity at the place where he was standing. He and Pepe would be seen but not recognized, therefore Pepe couldn't try anything without it being noticed. Yet, as a precaution he'd gathered some of his most loyal stable that was still remaining after the raid made by the police. They stood waiting at distance and at his hand signal they would eliminate Pepe because he'd become a liability and he'd gathered people in the remaining Corporation against him – claiming it was Mr. Han's wishes that he'd resign.

James Andrews, as his real name was, had always been smart, that way it had been easier to deal with the bankers, the thugs and the dealers around him. Now, everything he'd worked for, together with the man imprisoned, was falling apart. The shipments for the dealing business were being supervised by officers of the police force. Ever since Cabral had blown his cover and Mr. Han had been caught, the business had been hard to run. Dealers had proven to be snitches, contacts across the borders had turned out to be undercover police officers, and his connections with Pepe and several other people had led to the bank requesting more supervision of his work.

Yet Mr. Irish's cunningness had gotten him out of the crossfire every time and the police stood gritting their teeth, seeing red as he slipped through their fingers. However, he knew that he had to move, had to leave Bay City soon before it was too late. He'd grown courageous and too careless. The murder on Jo-Anne Fields had led to Pepe being arrested and further complicated things between them. At first Pepe had thought he'd tipped them off and they'd had a fall out but then things quieted down a bit until it lit up again – the hostility between them. Pepe had always been close to Mr. Han, even closer than he had been. It didn't sit well with the Latino who prided himself with being smart that Mr. Irish suddenly took over the running of the Corporation.

It had been a close call when the police busted through the warehouse doors at their meeting a few days ago as it turned out that yet another member of the exclusive Octopus Corporation was a police officer under cover. He had, luckily, once again gotten away from the clutches of the police force through good lawyers but he hadn't come for Pepe – perhaps that had been a mistake. He wasn't sure where he had the Latino anymore and briefly wondered if there were police officers laying in ambush for him – waiting for him to do something that could tie him to something that would finally put him away. But then he let go of the ridiculous thought, Pepe wasn't clever enough to set up such a deal. Besides, he wanted to take care of the business himself. If he went to the police about him Pepe had to expose himself and that would lead to his downfall. The man simply wouldn't risk it.

Irish was brought out of his musings as he heard footsteps drawing near from behind. He turned around, tore his gaze away from the calming sea only to set his icy blue eyes on the Latino.

"What do you want?" he asked coldly, going straight for business.

A faint smile appeared on Pepe's lips. "Why so agitated, Irish?" He asked casually. "Is your luck finally running out?"

"Stop talking in riddles, let's get straight to the point," the bank accountant suggested in a low and threatening voice.

"The point," Pepe said, looking thoughtful. "I'm not happy with the way things are going. You managed to slip out again, Irish, but you obviously forgot to pick me out of the slammer."

"Why would I?" He asked innocently. "As far as the police are concerned we are mere acquaintances and very loosely acquaint."

"Like I said, James, you where nothing when you got here," Pepe returned coldly.

"And like I told you," Irish took a step forward, invading Pepe's personal space, stabbing a finger at him. "I've doubled the…" he caught himself realizing Pepe might be setting him up."…profit."

"You've exposed the entire Octopus – not just a tentacle – to the police," Pepe returned, his voice raised. "Mr. Han should never have taken you under his wings, James."

Irish had always had a hefty temper; he curled his hands into fists at his sides. "James Andrews died many years ago…"

"Hence the birth of Michael Irish and the newfound richness your father found when your life insurance paid out," Pepe added. "A smart move of Mr. Han."

"Is there a reason why you're dragging up the past?" Irish questioned angrily.

"He called you Irish because of your luck – but luck doesn't last forever," Pepe cautioned.

"I told him you were a liability," Irish seethed. "But Mr. Han was very fond of you. I don't know why I have put up with you this long." A cautious smile widened into a grin. "Goodbye Pepe."

Pepe frowned as the man opposite him suddenly raised his hand in the air and turned to leave. Then he felt a sickness to his stomach as realization finally hit him – not long before the bullets did.

OOOOOO

"What the hell…" Starsky mumbled as he glanced through a pair of binoculars from a distance as Hutch fiddled with the radio receiver in his hand.

"Mother goose," Hutch said calmly into the walkie-talkie, "This is the hen. The shit is gonna to hit the fan."

"This is mother goose. We're all set," Marks responded.

Hutch nodded although he knew the captain couldn't see him and then turned to his partner. "Let's go Starsk," he commandeered.

However, his curly haired partner made no move as he intently stared into the binoculars. Starsky watched DC Bell and DC Tullo, all dressed in black, as they made their way out of a storage department closer to the pier. The hair at the back of his neck rose as he realized they were walking straight into an ambush.

"Hutch, it's a set up!" Starsky hollered after his partner, who thankfully hadn't got very far.

Hutch quickly backtracked and crouched next to his partner as the air crackled with gun fire.

Starsky directed the binoculars back toward Irish and Pepe just in time to see the Latino take a hit and slowly go down.

People seemed to pour out of every corner, police officers and goons. A chill ran down Hutch's back as he, out of the corner of his eye, saw a brief reflection of a gun. Without thinking he threw himself at his partner trying to shield him as a bullet sizzled past their heads, embedding itself in the rock they were hiding behind.

"Like damn flies, all over the place," Starsky muttered as Hutch slowly got off him. "Are you all right?"

Hutch met his concern with determination. "Yeah," he whispered. "Let's go find Irish."

The young yet seasoned detective duo carefully scanned their surroundings and then headed toward the direction in which Irish was last seen. Running like crazy, covering open ground they finally ended up behind a large wooden crate waiting to be taken aboard a freighter.

Starsky ducked as splinters rained down on him from above. "Cover me," he said, slightly out of breath.

"I have a better idea, why don't you cover me?" Hutch returned as he took off.

A string of well-chosen words left the curly haired detective's mouth as he fired off a couple of shoots, drawing attention, while watching as his blonde partner crossed the area between two large steel containers. He spotted one of the goons firing at his partner, missing his shoulder by inches, the bullet pinging against the steel container. Highly concentrated he aimed and fired, within seconds the man fell down to the ground from his cover and remained unmoving – Hutch had made it.

Starsky then froze as a bullet smacked into the wooden crate only inches from his head.

"Starsky, get down!" A somewhat familiar voice urged.

He ducked and spun around only to watch DC Rawlins taking out a goon that had him in the line of fire, effectively ending the man's life and at the same time saving Starsky's.

The curly haired detective was at once caught up in a flashback. Everything around him zooned out to be replaced by the police parking area.

Hutch smiled at him, threw some witty remark about the food and then stiffened he glanced behind him.

"Starsky, get down!" His partner suddenly shouted.

Dumbfounded, adrenaline pumping through his body, he turned around, his hand reaching for his gun – everything too late. For a few seconds the world seemed to slow around him. He saw the police car, he saw the uniformed officers in it and the automatic rifle pointed at him and Hutch. He didn't have time to think, didn't have time to get away, he steeled himself for what was to come as if it alone would prevent the bullets from impacting his body.

They ripped through his skin, tore his flesh, drilled into his body, shattering his insides as they did so. His mind tried to understand what had happened but the trauma was so great that he quickly lapsed into unconsciousness. His last coherent thought was that he was going to die as Hutch desperately shouted his name. He felt hands on him and the wetness on his chest, something trickling down his back. He tried to formulate a sentence, tried to tell Hutch he was sorry but he didn't have the energy to do it.

"Starsky!" Rawlins called worriedly as he rushed up to him. "Are you all right?"

The detective sergeant nodded, forcing himself back to the present, it was neither the time nor the place for memories.

"Thanks, I owe you one," he said in appreciation as he slapped the young detective constable on the shoulder and headed toward his partner, trusting Rawlins to lay cover for him.

Hutch nodded at him as he came to a halt next to him behind the steel container. Without a word, since they knew each other inside and out, they moved forward and into the magazine closest to them.

They crouched behind a stack of crates and then began to move into the dark building. It was old and worn down but still in use. The silence was deafening and a stark contrast to the gunfire outside. Carefully the detectives made their way through the building, Hutch taking the lead. The blonde came to an abrupt halt as a stray bullet suddenly smacked a window a bit further down – perhaps it was a sign as it led the two goons awaiting them behind a crate to reveal themselves. This time Starsky shoved Hutch out of the way and then rolled away, his weapon pointed in the direction of the black clad men and fired. Hutch wasted no time in helping his partner as he too aimed his gun and fired.

It was in that instant Mr. Irish realized that his luck had run out. He quickly headed toward the back entrance of the magazine, picking up the gun from one of the fallen men on the way. He didn't fire at the officers because he knew if he did they would most likely kill him in self-defense and he knew that the two remaining men in the building would make life difficult for them.

"Freeze, police!" Hutch shouted, causing the bank accountant to stiffen and halt in mid-step uncertain of his next move.

"Hutch!" Starsky shouted desperately as he caught yet another black clad man in is periphery vision.

At the same time Marks and two of his men busted through the door Irish was closing in on. Wasting no time, Starsky aimed and fired, taking out the man that had Hutch in his line of fire. However, at the same time unbeknownst to the curly haired detective another man trained his gun on him.

Hutch froze as he turned around and saw what was about to happen. He lunged for Starsky's legs and tackled him to the ground just as the shot rang out from behind. The momentum carried both detectives over a wooden crate, Starsky falling backwards with Hutch on top.

The magazine or storage compartment as it really was became deadly quiet. The gunfire outside had stopped, the goons clad in black lay on the ground, unmoving, Mr. Irish had been handcuffed and Captain Marks opened the well-oiled door, nodding at his detective constables to take Irish outside. The captain cast a worried glance in the direction he'd last seen the two detective sergeants, whose partnership had turned somewhat legendary in the Bay City police force.

Captain Samuel Marks felt his mouth go dry as he swallowed and uneasily began to make his way over to them. He couldn't see them because they were out of his line of vision and he dreaded what he might find. As he drew nearer he heard voices.

Hutch waited until he thought it safe then carefully, painfully, rolled off his partner and grimaced. He'd somehow managed to reopen the knife wound on his arm and felt the warm blood trickling down beneath the bandage and his head ached. Doctor Franklin hadn't been kidding when he'd said that he wasn't really up for any action just yet and that he suggested bed rest. Hutch shook his head as if to clear it and worriedly cast a glance at his partner who still hadn't moved beside him.

"Starsk?" He whispered, dreading to check him for injuries. He wasn't sure he could handle his easy going, childlike partner being hurt again so soon. The images from the last time were still too fresh in his mind for his liking.

"Starsk!" He tried again as he gently took him by the shoulders, his voice stronger, worried.

"I'm fine," he mumbled and then slowly blinked his eyes open.

Hutch still wasn't convinced, he'd heard that before. He gulped as he saw a hole through the black leather jacket. With shaky hands he gently pulled the jacket aside to check his partner for injuries, letting out a sigh of relief when he found no blood on the light blue shirt beneath it.

"Get off, Hutch," Starsky drawled as he firmly grabbed his partner's hands in an attempt to stop what he was doing. He eased himself into an upright position with a grimace and reached up to rub the back of his neck. "What were you trying to do anyway – give me a concussion?" He whined.

"Tried to keep you out of danger, dummy," Hutch chided as he let his curly haired friend get up on his feet, giving him a helping hand. "That guy behind you was out for your blood."

"Yeah, well," Starsky shrugged casually as he dusted off his crummy blue jeans. "Suppose I was too busy trying to save you a trip to the hospital to really pay attention."

"Are you sure you aren't hurt?" Hutch asked in disbelief as Starsky gingerly bent down to pick up his Beretta.

Starsky stopped midway as he caught sight of the bullet hole through his jacket. "Damn, that was new," he muttered. "Cost a small fortune."

Hutch chuckled, slapping his friend and partner in crime on the back. "It's just a leather jacket, Starsk. I'll gladly buy you a new one," he said relieved.

"Hutch, your arm," Starsky began worriedly.

"It'll be fine," he assured him.

Captain Marks laughed with relief as he saw the two detective sergeants stand on their own next to each other. "Starsky, Hutch, are you okay?" He asked.

They looked at each other, both smiling.

"We're fine, captain," Starsky drawled. "Hutch just needs to have his arm redressed."

"The ambulances have arrived so that can easily be arranged. I take it you both have had enough about hospitals?" Marks said.

"You got that right, captain," Hutch returned then turned serious. "Everything set?"

Samuel Marks nodded. "Mr. Irish is being whisked away as we speak and this time there will be nothing any fancy lawyer can do to save him," he returned. "Some of the guys have been injured pretty badly but I don't think there's anything life threatening – at least not on our side. Some of Irish men are dead, some are injured, some are talking, and some are clamming up. All in all I believe that was the last of the eight tentacles of the Octopus."

OOOOOO

To be continued