Hope everyone is still enjoying the story. A big thank you goes out to my regular posters!

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Chapter 21

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Bree came out from the bathroom and glanced at Hutch as he turned the volume down on the television. She picked up the ringing phone, paused for a second, then held the receiver up to her ear.

"Hello?"

"How are you, my dear?" Renzo's voice asked.

"Fine. Everything has been lovely."

"Good. In one hour, there will be a limo out front to pick you up. The driver will know where to take you."

"Okay," she said, looking at Hutch. "We'll be ready."

"And Bree?"

"Yes?"

"Make sure your 'friend' understands what is expected of him. And that, my sweet, goes for you, too. You know how the Family feels about disloyalty."

"I'll be sure to tell him."

Hearing the 'click' on the other end of the line, Bree hung the phone up.

"I take it that was Marcini," said Hutch as he adjusted the pillows behind his head.

"Yeah. He's sending a limo for us. It'll be here in one hour."

Hutch glanced at the clock on the end table. "Six o-clock, then." Looking back at Bree, he asked, "What else did he have to say?"

"He expects you to mind your manners," she said facetiously.

Hutch leaned over on his side. "Well, he kinda made that clear last night." When Bree failed to respond, he added, "Bree, I promise. I'm not going there as a cop, but as Starsky's friend…and yours."

Bree smiled uneasily, then went and sat down on the bed next to him. "I'm just scared, Ken. This is Davey's life we're talking about. What if we don't find out anything?"

Hutch sat up and placed his arm around her shoulders. "We've just got to keep positive. We're doing everything we can; Starsky knows that."

"Yeah, okay," she said, unconvinced.

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At six o'clock precisely, the black limousine pulled up in front of the hotel lobby. Hutch recognized the two men who got out as the same ones that had picked them up at the airport. No words were exchanged as the passenger opened the car door and motioned for the couple to get inside, but Hutch couldn't ignore the man's intense stare.

Once they were seated, the limo pulled out and merged with the heavy traffic on the street. Twenty minutes later, it turned into an alley and parked in back of a small, brick building. As one of their escorts opened the door, Hutch got out first and took a quick look around. It appeared they were in another business district, but except for a few lights mounted on random buildings, the alley was dark and deserted.

Bree slid out of the rear seat and stood next to him just as a second car pulled into the alley from the other end. The dark-colored sedan slowly approached and stopped in front of the limo. The lights remained on as the engine was cut and two men exited the vehicle. They closed in on the group and nodded towards the other two mobsters.

"These our guests for the night?" one asked.

"Yeah," came the answer from the driver of the first pair. The man pointed at Hutch, and said, "This one gets fully searched. The gal gets done inside."

Hutch snapped his head at Bree, telegraphing his concern.

"It's okay, Ken, I'll be fine," she said. "They're just being careful."

He nodded and stood firm as his jacket was yanked off of him. His shirt was hastily unbuttoned and pulled out from his pants. As one of the mobsters lifted it, another checked him in the headlights, carefully looking for any wires or weapons. Hutch almost started to object when his zipper was jerked down and the pants flaps stretched back, but the searching hands were quick and professional. Apparently satisfied he had nothing harmful on him, the men drew back and Hutch was left to finish dressing.

The couple was then led in through the building's back door. Passing by a large kitchen, Hutch realized they were in another restaurant. Bree was right, these people seemed to insist on having business and food revolve around each other. As they came out into the main dining area, the room was empty except for three well-dressed men sitting at a table in one of the back corners. Hutch instantly recognized Marcini, but didn't know the other men. Two of their escorts stayed with Hutch while the other pair led Bree off to where a sign indicated the restrooms were located.

After waiting anxiously for a few minutes, Hutch was relieved when Bree returned—looking exactly the same as she had before they were separated. Her escorts nodded towards the other two, then retreated into the kitchen. The couple was then shown to the occupied table.

Renzo stood and embraced Bree as he had the night before. The other two men remained seated, their attention focused on Hutch. He glanced at the table and noticed that it was set with fine china and silverware. There was also a bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket. Seeing that Bree was sitting down, Hutch joined her, wondering if Renzo was going to introduce his associates. But when the consigliore did speak, it was to the two mobsters still standing close by.

"I trust everything checked out okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, they're both clean," one answered.

"That will be all for now. Let Francisco know we're ready for our entrées."

Once the two men had stepped away, Renzo addressed his guests. "I've taken the liberty of ordering for you. I think you'll find the dinner acceptable." He hesitated as a waiter approached the table and took hold of the wine bottle. When everyone's glass was filled, Renzo held his up.

"Salute," he toasted. "To life."

"Salute," was the response from the table.

Hutch took a sip and let it swirl in his mouth before swallowing it. The wine was so smooth it barely tickled his tongue going down. He set his glass down on the table, afraid if he didn't, the entire contents would be gone far too fast.

"Does the wine choice not suit you…Detective?" Renzo asked while still holding his glass in the air.

"No, it's very good. What's the vintage?" Hutch glanced at Renzo's associates, not missing the scrutinizing looks being thrown his way. It wasn't a surprise that they had done some checking on his position with the police department.

"Sassicaia, 1968. It's a red…"

"Bordeaux. Yes, I've heard of it. 1968…wasn't that its inaugural year?" Hutch peered at the men sitting across from him. He was trying not to smirk, but for once, he was grateful for his father's insistence on instilling knowledge of the finer elements of cuisine in him.

Flashing an insincere smile, Renzo replied, "Yes, it was." He put his glass down and cleared his throat. "Perhaps now is a good time for introductions. This man," he said, motioning to his right, "is Anthony Buscetto. And beside him is Salvadore Pistonne."

Hutch barely nodded at the men, then glanced over at Bree who returned his gaze.

Breaking the uneasy silence, Renzo said, "We are all aware of why you are here, but decisions are best made on a full stomach." He looked over at the kitchen entrance, where two waiters had just emerged both carrying large serving trays. As they arrived and set their loads down on collapsible stands, Renzo picked up his wine glass and before taking a sip, stated, "Buon appetito."

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Inside of the jail's infirmary, Starsky lay on one of six beds, one arm wrapped around his chest, the other by his side and handcuffed to the metal railing. He hadn't seen anyone in the last twenty minutes and was starting to wonder if he was just going to be left there for the rest of the night. Trying to keep occupied, he'd looked around for anything interesting but there wasn't much in the sparsely furnished room. Initially glad at the change of scenery, Starsky was bored now and hurting enough that all he wanted was something for the pain and to be taken back to his cell.

Finally, a tired-looking man in his mid-fifties dressed in a lab coat entered the room accompanied by a guard. He barely glanced at Starsky as he approached the bed, his attention drawn instead to the opened manila folder in his hands.

"You're David Starsky?" he asked, still scanning the pages in the file.

Starsky frowned. Didn't these clowns know who their prisoners were?

"Yes," he answered, in a weary tone.

Finally putting his paperwork down, the man said, "I'm Doctor Stevens. Can you lay on your back? I need to examine your chest."

Gingerly, Starsky shifted from his side to lie flat and then unbuttoned his shirt one-handed. He wasn't surprised when the doctor stood still for a moment, gazing at his torso, before grabbing the stethoscope from his neck.

After a few pokes and prods, Doctor Stevens sat down on a stool and wrote some notes in the file lying on his lap. Turning to Starsky, he inquired, "How long have you been experiencing this pain?"

Starsky instantly recognized the first one of the usual twenty-questions all doctors seemed to have memorized. Hoping to speed things up, he briefly explained his condition along with the medications that Doctor Peters had prescribed for him. When he was done, Starsky could barely contain his discomfort any longer and was just a fraction away from grabbing the good doctor's coat and demanding he give him something.

Jotting down a few more notes, Stevens glanced back over the file. Without another word, he got up and left the room, leaving the guard there. Upon returning a few minutes later, he was carrying a pill bottle and a slip of paper, both of which he handed to the guard.

"This medication should ease your pain," he told Starsky. "I've made out the prescription so that you can take it up to four times a day, but it may not be as effective as what you've had previously."

"Anything would be better than nothing right now," Starsky grumbled as he sat up on the bed.

"Before you leave, I would offer this," Stevens began. "I'm not sure what you're looking at, in terms of incarceration time, but I feel the only way this condition can be adequately addressed is surgically."

"Yeah, seems like I've heard that before," Starsky said, a hitch in his breath. The thought of being operated on and then trying to recuperate in jail wasn't something he wanted to dwell on.

"What I'm saying, Mr. Starsky, is that with a condition like yours, I don't believe you can expect any type of surgical redress from the jail."

"Could you say that in plain English, doc?"

"As long as your pain can be controlled with medication, I doubt that the prison system would consider your condition serious enough to provide you with an operation."

Starsky stared at him for a moment, then said grimly, "So what you're saying is, if I'm gonna be locked up for a while, the only thing I can expect as far as treatment is some pills."

"Putting it bluntly, yes. If your condition were to change and become more of a critical issue, then I'm sure it would be reevaluated at that time."

Tugging at his handcuffs, Starsky remarked, "Well, thanks for the encouraging news. If you're satisfied I ain't gonna die then, can I get outta here?"

Stevens turned to the guard and made a motion with his head. "Once you're back in your cell, you'll be given your medication. I've left written instructions for the jail personnel to check on you every eight hours to see if you need pain relief, although I would recommend that you use this drug sparingly. Once your body develops a tolerance to it, it won't work as effectively."

"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind." Starsky got off of the bed and waited while his hands were recuffed behind his back. He knew the doctor was really saying he wouldn't be getting anything stronger. But all he wanted was to get back to his cage as soon as possible and try not to think about his future as a drug addict.

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Hutch watched as the waiter cleared the remaining dishes. The moment he and Bree had been waiting for was finally here, and there was no doubt the both of them were feeling apprehensive. He discretely looked over at her, and as their eyes locked momentarily, Hutch tried to silently convey his support.

"So," Renzo said, "I believe you have something you wished to discuss, is that right?"

Bree glanced at Hutch, then turned her attention to the other two men. "My brother is in trouble," she began, her voice shaking. "He's been charged with killing another cop and we don't believe he did it. My friend, Ken, is his partner and we want to talk to Frank Suko because he may know something that will help us."

Hutch studied the faces of Buscetto and Pistonne. He wasn't sure which one was the underboss, but neither expression had changed since Bree began talking.

Finally, Pistonne spoke up. "Renzo has told us about your situation. What I want to know is, what if Suko did kill a cop? You think he's just going to admit it, especially to you?" Pistonne asked smugly, looking directly at Hutch.

Without hesitation, Hutch said, "I don't know what he would do, or say. But I won't know unless I ask. And that's all we want; a chance to talk to him."

Pistonne sneered at Hutch, then turned away as though he didn't want anything more to do with the conversation. Buscetto took advantage of the moment, and addressed Hutch.

"Tell me, what makes you think Suko killed this cop?"

Hutch released his breath, encouraged that the mobster wanted to hear more.

"I think there was some kind of deal between the two of them, and the officer decided to double-cross Suko. Part of that deal involved taking Starsk…my partner out. I need to know what that deal was about, and Suko's the only one who can tell me."

Buscetto glanced over at Pistonne, his expression serious but calm. When he got no reaction, Buscetto turned back to Hutch and said, "Alright, Sergeant. You'll be given your chance."

He made a motion to Renzo, who got up from the table and walked out to the kitchen. Hutch shifted his attention to Bree, who was looking just as surprised as he was feeling. He reached under the table and grabbed hold of her hand. Giving it a tight squeeze, he knew they were both thankful for the same thing.

Their focus on each other was broken as Renzo came back, followed by a man Hutch knew in an instant—Frankie Suko! As Hutch watched them approach and sit down at the table, he couldn't help but be sickened by Suko's arrogant manner. He thought back to the cruel injuries the mobster had inflicted on Starsky and unclasped his hand from Bree's, only wanting to form it into a fist so he could knock Suko into next week.

"So what're these two doin' here?" Suko asked Renzo, the smugness disappearing as he nodded towards Hutch and Bree. "You do know he's a cop, and she's…well, she's just strange."

Hutch felt some satisfaction at Suko's show of nervousness. He didn't have to look at Bree to know she was probably staring vehemently at the mobster.

"Officer Hutchinson and Breanna are my guests, Frankie. They flew in from the West Coast last night." Renzo paused as he reached inside of his jacket and pulled out a cigar. Suko kept his attention on the new arrivals, his arrogance deflating even more.

After lighting his cigar, Renzo continued. "Seems like they have an interesting story about you."

"Is that right?" Suko glanced at the higher ups. "Do I get let in on it?"

"Why don't you tell us your version?" asked Buscetto, as he reached for his wine glass.

Suko took a seat in his chair, a defiant gleam developing on his face. "Not much to tell. One of Bay City's finest pinched me at a weak moment, but we worked out a deal. I'd go around causing problems for the cops, he'd get the satisfaction of seeing a guy he had it in for look bad."

Hutch had to clamp himself down to keep from jumping through the gigantic hole in that story, but thankfully, Buscetto saved him the trouble.

"This deal, Frankie…what did the cop have on you? I mean, he wasn't going around holding your hand all that time, was he?"

Suko's eyes narrowed. "He told me I had a warrant—kidnapping, or something like that. Plus, he caught me holding a little bit of tribute. I figured what he was asking wasn't that much for kicking me loose and gettin' some of the money back."

"So how does her brother get involved in all this?" Buscetto asked, nodding at Bree.

"He must've found out we were gonna meet. The cop got all cocky telling her brother what a gavone he was and started bragging about our deal. Curly-head got all bent out of shape and went to take out a few of his frustrations. While them two was going at each other, I decided it wasn't worth it for a few G, so I split."

If it wasn't for Bree's hand clamping down on his knee, Hutch would have already been out of his seat and taking his own frustrations out on Suko. He knew the mobster's version to be entirely self-serving, but at least Suko had admitted two important things—that he'd been there in the warehouse, and that he and Simmons did have some kind of deal.

Buscetto looked at Renzo, who was still smoking his cigar, then turned to Pistonne. Seeing a nod from the man, Buscetto remarked, "Frankie, you know the Family was seeing a lot of potential in Rothman, enough to spot him a decent monetary advance. But after that last…business transaction he organized, seems there was talk of someone eating alone at his table."

"What are you saying? That I was goin' south?"

Hutch was sure he wasn't the only one who could hear the tension in Suko's voice.

Unexpectedly, Renzo cut in. "Our friends in LA agree there was a lot of money unaccounted for from that deal. Money that never showed up in the cop's hands."

"And you think I was the one who took it?" Suko sneered. "Did anyone think to maybe check under Vinetti's mattress?"

"Lou's in prison, Frankie…which is probably where you belong."

"Did I just hear you right, Marcini?" Suko asked sharply. "Why don't you just put a bullet in my brain while you're at it?"

"Not a bad idea," Buscetto proclaimed, staring coldly at the accused.

Hutch watched the scene unfold, hardly believing what was happening, and wondered if Bree was having the same reaction. Instead of looking at her, he kept his attention on the mobsters, afraid he would miss something.

"So, is that it?" Suko shot Bree venomous look. "She tell you something? I'm sure it was a doozy. Bitch probably made it up because I had some fun with her brother a while back."

When no one offered an answer, Suko continued. "I don't fuckin' believe this. I've been part of this Family for over twenty years!"

"Which is why you're being given a pass, Frankie," replied Buscetto. "But don't mistake the offer for kindness. You did a good job, until you decided to go in for yourself. It's only your past loyalty that has spared you from something worse."

At that moment, two thugs came out of the kitchen and approached the table. What Buscetto did next was the last thing Hutch would ever have imagined.

TBC