Chapter Twenty-Five

If it was the wild, wild west, Hutch would be standing ten paces from the filth covered man in black who was dismounting his faithful steed. He'd be wearing worn leather chaps, shit covered cowboy boots, a ten-gallon hat and long duster coat pulled back and tucked behind the hip sidled gun holster, trigger hungry hand at the ready waiting for old Black Jack Ketchum to flinch.

Except he didn't have a gun, he was wearing Earth Shoes, and the horse he was staring down was an old gray primer painted Chevy Nova on its last legs before being put down.

The car jerked forward a foot or two, the driver clearly intending to get the blonde out of the way, but Hutch stood his ground eventually moving up and leaning over the car, hands firmly planted on the warm hood, his eyes assertively and fiercely aimed at the driver.

He was just waiting for the flinch.

The tinted windows fought with the glaring sun to fruitlessly reveal the identity of the stalker behind the wheel. Hutch could only see the outline of the figure – definitely a male.

Two cars came up behind it and finally drove around what must have appeared like a car having mechanical trouble completely not fazing Hutch who maintained his menacing stare while leaning on the hood covered engine. It was definitely a stand-off.

Finally, he regained his tall form and moved around to the driver's side feeling fortunate that the window was already rolled down.

"Turn it off."

His demand went unheeded as the driver continued to stare forward, both hands gripping the steering wheel at the 10-2 position. But Hutch was a master at reading people and the tiny drop of sweat that slipped down the driver's temple coupled with the increased respirations and white knuckles shouted 'young and easily intimidated'.

Slamming his large, open hand down on the car roof over the driver, Hutch took the opportunity to gain the upper hand. "I said turn off the engine!"

The driver's shaky hands rattled the key chain as the engine was cut.

"Give me the keys."

Hutch took the keychain as it was handed out the window and opened the door. "Move over. I'm driving."

He took off and headed south on Ocean Boulevard waiting for the guy to say something. Anything. "Why have you been checking out my place? Are you keeping tabs on me? Huh?"

"I, um…"

"Who are you working for?" He was handling it like an interrogation: keep the questions coming hard and fast until he breaks.

"It's not that. I, uh…" He stopped mid thought as he nervously scanned the streets seemingly for other vehicles.

"But you were looking for me," Hutch surmised out loud.

"Hey, can you drive the other way, out of our district?"

"Our district? You a cop?"

"Yeah."

Hutch glanced to his side quickly and then again, taking his time when he stopped for a red light. He looked familiar. "Do I know you? Have we worked together?" The guy was out of uniform and not in a black and white but something told Hutch that he'd seen him before at work.

"No. I mean I've seen you around the precinct," he lied, conveniently leaving out the part about being the lookout when Hutch was nearly killed earlier in the summer. "My partner and I have been assigned a lot lately to Major Crimes and IA."

"Since when does IA poach uniforms? And a rookie?" The car behind them gave a friendly tap when Hutch didn't move forward at the green. Taking a right to move out of the district, Hutch let his mind get in gear. "Did I see you there this afternoon?"

"Yeah. I tried to talk to you, but I guess you were busy or something."

"Cooper, right?"

"Uh-huh. Thomas Cooper." He sure looked younger than he probably was. "Everyone calls me Tommy."

Yep. Young.

"Alright, Officer Tommy Cooper. Why the drive arounds? And how do you know where I live?"

"We were assigned by IA this past month to watch you. Sometimes in a police cruiser. Other times we dressed in civies and drove a department sedan."

"And now? Today?"

"I'm here on my own, and if anyone sees me… um…" The kid became restless, squirmed in his seat and nervously brushed his fingers through his short, barely-there hair. "This is bad. I can't be seen with you."

"Why not, Tommy? I'm not gonna do anything to you."

"It's not you. It's Mitchell and whoever he takes orders from. It's bad, sir. There are some dirty cops in our department and all of the sudden it feels like shit's gonna hit the fan."

"I got news for you, kid. The shit blew through that fan a long time ago. Made a big stinking splatter right about the time Roger was murdered."

"Roger? From Evidence? You think that was an inside job?"

"I know it was."

'How much does this kid know?', Hutch wondered.

Both hands raked through his hair now as the young officer sunk down in his seat.

"Cooper, hey, don't flip out on me."

"I just… I never wanted this. You gotta believe me."

"It's a little too late for regret. Are we gonna keep checking out the scenery or are you going to tell me what you know?" Hutch rubbed back and forth across his forehead trying to quell the stabbing pain, hoping to get the kid to talk. His fingers stopped short of the freshly shaved patch that created a fairway from temple to ear. The sutures felt like a zipper. Open it up and his wobbly brain would fall out.

"Sir? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "Fucking Frankenstein. Come on, kid. Spill it."

Cooper looked genuinely skeeved out. "What's gonna happen to me?"

Hutch had to be careful. Delicate. Go too soft on him and the rookie would stay clammed up. Push too hard and he was sure to take off and stay away. "I can't make any guarantees, but if you help us out we'll go to bat for you. We're a good team to be on, Tommy. You know who's dirty and it's not us, right?"

"Yeah. I guess."

Having entered the industrial district, the car came to a stop in the parking lot of an abandoned shop.

"What is this place?" Cooper asked as he checked out the area.

"You don't know?"

The young officer shook his head. "A closed up market. A neighborhood bodega I guess. But not much of a neighborhood."

"Ever been here before?"

"Don't think so," Cooper said as he turned in his seat taking in the general gray drab of the ghost town of a neighborhood. "Just outside our district."

He knew his district. They established that.

Hutch stared at the old antique metal Pepsi sign by the back door with a caricature of a fat policeman under the slogan: 'Buy Pepsi-Cola Today'. It always drew his attention. "Junior's Corner Store. Belle Delfey was the owner," he said with melancholy.

"Looks like it shut down."

"Hard to run a business from the grave."

Cooper was terrible at hiding anxiety and nervously bit the edges of his fingernail as he put the clues together. "This was… this was Ma Belle's place? Where… where Roger was murdered?"

Hutch figured the kid had passed the test. He was mixed up with Mitchell, but wasn't present at the murders.

"So you're Mitchell's whipping boy?"

"What?"

Hutch rolled his eyes at the naïve rookie. "He's got dirt on you, doesn't he?"

Cooper simply nodded and stared down at his hands.

"Figures." Hutch squeezed his eyes and torqued his neck to each side trying to work out the stiffness. "So tell me, why are you and I doing this?"

"The other day when Mitchell ran after you and… and Detective Starsky was… I think… I think…"

"You think what, kid?"

"I think I was the last one to see him before he went missing."

Against his pain receptor's protests, Hutch's eyes flew open and shot a glare to his right. "You cuffed him, and drove off. Where? Where did you take him?"

"On the Boulevard, sir. I told him about an abandoned building on South Roberts that was just swept and should be clean for a couple weeks. He told me to tell you and Captain Dobey."

"Christ."

"I've been trying to, ya know, tell you and the Captain, but I heard you were in the hospital. I checked all of them and you hadn't been admitted."

"They registered me under an assumed name. Dobey was worried about gang retaliation."

"And I looked for him… for Captain Dobey. He must have been with you or out looking for Detective Starsky. I was on my way to his office this afternoon when I saw you. Boy, that's some shiner you gave him."

"What?"

"Dobey. The black eye?"

"What are you talking about? I did that?"

"Um, yeah. I heard you were hallucinating or something."

"Great," Hutch said as he exhaled trying to tamp down nausea creeping up on him. It hit hard side by side with an urgent need to fall asleep. His head tipped into the hard pillow of the window where it settled and…

"Hey, what's wrong? Sir?"

"Hmm? Ah…. sick," he mumbled as he opened the door and tumbled out onto the pavement.

Cooper got out of the car and circled around to the driver's side finding Hutch on all fours emptying his stomach. The blonde eventually stretched a hand up for support as he rose making it as far as the car trunk. He leaned his ass against the car and straddled the over-sized spiders crawling between his feet… or not.

"Sorry, kid."

"No, it's okay. I understand. Here," he said taking his denim jacket off, "take this. You're shivering and it's supposed to cool down tonight."

His body was shaking, but not because he was cold. Wasn't worth explaining to the young cop. "Thanks. Appreciate it," he said putting it on. "Let's get in. You're driving."

"Where to?"

"That building. You're gonna take me there."

"How do you know he's there?"

"I don't."

"You think he's still alive?"

"I can feel it." Hutch glanced at the kid as he drove off toward the Boulevard. Cooper looked like he was three chapters behind the rest of the class. "Someday you might have a partner who's like a missing limb and you'll understand."

"If I'm still a cop."

"Don't worry. You got this." Hutch reached over and gave the young off duty officer a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. "Tommy, you were out on the streets looking for my partner, right?" The kid nodded. "What did you hear?"

The rookie kept his eyes on the road ahead of him feigning concentration, but he really just couldn't look at Hutch. "Well, just that the number one of the BC Kings gang killed Starsky and that his body would never be found."

"That's what everyone said?"

"Pretty much word for word, yeah."

"It sounds managed. Almost scripted."

They pulled up to a corner next to a large abandoned building.

"It's that one," Cooper said pointing to the brick structure. "Dudley Textiles."

"Okay, kid. Listen, go tell Dobey and Schrader what you told me, or at least tell them I sent you with the message that I'm here and that Starsky may be here too. Make sure Simonetti is not in the picture. At all."

"What makes you think they'll believe me?'

Hutch reached around his neck and took off his choker with the moon and stars. "Give this to Dobey. He knows I would never take it off unless it was for something very serious. Okay?"

Cooper held the necklace in one hand while reaching into the backseat with the other "Here," he said passing a paper bag over to a pale and exhausted Hutch. "Crackers and root beer. My wife hasn't been feeling well. Settles the stomach."

"Root beer," Hutch repeated with a chuckle. "Starsky would love it." He got out of the car with the bag and turned around one last time, leaning in through the car window. "Do what I said, Officer. That's an order. You'll do just fine. I know it."

"Detective Hutchinson? What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to be fight this time. Gonna make somebody else flight."

xXx

Four Days Previous

When the humidity of one's breath marries with the tight weave of burlap, the resulting offspring of noxious breath, dirt and body odor clings to the hairs in the nose and unwiped, snot mingling on the upper lip.

Starsky had been pulled from the van and dragged into a building with less dignity than a meat eater gives a crate of brussel sprouts. The only relief he was afforded was when his bound arms were untied and brought back around front only to be attached around a steel pole.

He spoke words, but received no answers. He kicked out but found nothing but the pole and his other foot. And when he exhausted himself from the kicking and talking he laid down on his side and surrendered to light sleep forced to hug his new best friend: the damn steel pole.

There was nothing to see save the brown burlap but he could feel and smell the encroachment of dawn. He could also feel his bladder threatening to burst.

"Gotta pee here," he pleaded. Over and over again he made his case as he shifted from side to side trying to free up a fraction of space within to make more room for urine. Just when he resolved to soil himself he was pulled up to his feet and led to a doorway. Two men held him vertical while his pants were undone and pulled down to his knees. They unceremoniously leaned him forward until he thought he would fall.

"Take a piss now, scum. Make it good. It's probably your last chance."

He couldn't hold his cock and aim, thus he supposed that's why they were leaning him forward. So he just let it flow, the cool morning mist pushing against his bare middle and thighs. When the streamed stopped, his pants were pulled back up but not zipped. Then he was dragged back to the pole, dumped and reattached.

A few more hours passed with no change in scenery. Instead his stomach rumbled, lips cracked from lack of fluids and headache threatened to reach gold medal status.

"How about some water, huh?" As had been the case through the night, his questions and pleas were ignored. "Food? Breakfast? I don't need much."

"Fuckin' A…."

He was getting through to at least one of them.

"Hey. I know you're there. You know I'm here."

"Shut the fuck up. I ain't getting you nothing. Dead men don't need to eat."

"If you were gonna kill me, don't you think it would have happened already?"

Shoes scuffled over to him and he sensed the owner of the feet squat down in front of him.

"Seems you're special. Our boss man wants to have a little meeting with you first."

"The way I see it…"

WHACK!

"You don't get to see nothing, asshole."

The only thing that kept Starsky from not being repelled to the other side of the room by the blow to the side of his face was the steel pole his arms were tied to. Instead his body jerked backwards, his arms pulling sharply at his shoulders. The sack was pulled up only far enough for his mouth to be stuffed with a cloth and sealed by a thick piece of tape. He had to maneuver the cloth around with his tongue just to keep from choking on it. The pounding to his face started the flow of snot and blood through his nose again forcing him to snort it up or blow it out to keep his sinuses open for oxygen.

It seemed as though he went hours without hearing a soul, though he felt the presence of someone close by. He'd exhausted himself trying to get free but found his efforts to be wasted. Eventually, a room or two away, he heard snippets of voices.

"…T-Bone's main man…"

"…fast contract…"

"…told us to wait…"

"…got this family picnic thing at noon…"

"… burgers, steaks, pie…"

"…selling on our turf too…"

"…wants to make sure he's the only one…"

"…could be more…"

"…beat it out of him…"

His head and ribs were already tender, but he knew his legs had at least been spared. Starsky didn't have it in him to just give up so he spent the time, arms tied around the post and head covered in the sack, planning ways to overtake his captors. Wait until only one was around. Or at least until he assumed only one was there. Beg for help, water, food or bathroom break again. Then take the legs out from under one of them with his own.

'Watch too many cartoons, moron,' he said to himself.

He shifted back up onto his knees and then onto his left hip trying to get comfortable when he heard several feet walking into the area.

"Where you been, Eddie?"

"Was out looking for someone. This is the guy T-Bone's man wants disappeared?"

They were talking off to the side. Starsky could make out the words but the burlap sack, his exhaustion, dehydration and hunger didn't allow him to identify voices or number of voices.

"Yeah. He's undercutting the street dealers."

"So I hear. Not very polite."

"Apparently he has a partner."

"Location?"

"No clue. Probably dead. Heard another supplier caught him dealing over on Lincoln and Eagle. Took it personally."

"What's the word?"

"Our people down there say he was almost dead when ambulance took him away."

No. NO. Starsky gasped at the thought. He saw Mitchell with Hutch. Saw him chase his partner out of sight.

"Ambulance means a beating heart. Let's see if our friend here can tell us who this mystery partner is."

The toe of a boot tapped Starsky's knee.

"Time to sit up and answer some questions," the voice asked. "Who is your business partner?"

How? How could he answer with his mouth gagged and taped shut under the burlap sack?

Laughter mocked Starsky's silence as the man seemingly in charge squatted down in front of him.

"Now, we can make this easy on you or… well…. I think you know how this works." He was so close to Starsky's face the burlap moved with the guy's breathy words.

Again, he was helpless and could only sit back on his heels, his arms in front of him hooked around the pole. He thought if he could only talk to him, make himself human to them, not just a body, he had a chance.

The man grabbed Starsky's hair through the sack and roughly pulled him to his feet.

"You're not helping yourself here."

Starsky's labored breathing through just his nose was beginning to catch up to him as he struggled to not drown on his own saliva pooling at the back of his mouth, and his nose started to clog up with the now coagulating blood and mucus.

Cold air hit his skin almost as rudely as the sunlight smacked him in the eyes as the sack was pulled off. He struggled to focus on the man before him who looked at him straight on in a stare that seemed to go on forever.

"Tape, guys? That's original."

"He wouldn't shut the fuck up."

"Some never learn. Fucking amateur."

"You want us to take him out to the gravel pit?"

"No. I got this one myself. Mike, I'm pretty sure you have a family function to get to. Take him out to the Buick you guys lifted last month and introduce him to the trunk. You know the drill. Hog tie him. I'll put one between his eyes and dump the car at the bottom of the canal."

"Thanks boss," the large brute said as he untied Starsky's hands and kneed him to the cement floor face first. "Means a lot to the wife and my sex life, if you know what I mean."

They all laughed as though it was just another day. It took at least three of them to tie Starsky's hands behind his back, then tie his crossed ankles and bring them together with his hands in the small of his back. They'd done this before.

He was carried face down out to the car while the men continued their discussion about the upcoming football season and who they were going to place bets on. And their kids.

"Guess what… my kid took his first steps yesterday," one of them said as they carried Starsky like a bale of hay.

"Yeah? Pretty cool, Mike."

The third one chimed in too. "Wait until he's a teenager. I got all girls. With a boy, you only got one dick to worry about. I gotta worry about thousands of them."

"Jeez, he's heavier than he looks. Hey Mike," the first guy said as they lifted Starsky's hog tied body into the trunk of the car, "you really having steak at a damn picnic? Whatever happened to hot dogs and burgers?"

"Mother in-law insisted. She invited the parish priest."

xXx

By the time the car stopped, Starsky's energy was zapped from struggling to get enough air in through his clogged nose in the insane oven of a car trunk. His hips and shoulders were screaming from the unnatural cramped position his limbs had been restrained in. Every time the old car hit a pot hole the lack of shock absorbers slammed his knee caps into the lug wrench. Three sets of speed bumps slid his spine into the car jack. And he hoped against hope that he wouldn't puke, because that would mean certain choking to death but the mildewed lining of the trunk was fighting against him.

A whoosh of fresh air passed over him as the trunk popped up thankfully taking the stinking mold and mildew with it.

"Don't move, wise guy. I got a knife. It's big and it's sharp."

His heels sprung away from his back as the ropes were cut, then his arms were freed. As hands pulled him up and out, Starsky's legs buckled toppling his ass back onto the edge of the open trunk. With no time to spare the tape was pulled off and the gagging rag pulled from his mouth allowing for seconds to pass before vomit splattered into the trunk. Arms circled him from around back to keep him from falling into the acrid mess.

"Nice touch, douchebag," his captor remarked. "You okay?"

"Hate Buicks. Want to tell me what that was all about, Pat?"

The man drew his hands down his facial hair as he stepped back to look Starsky over. "Yeah, sorry about that. Had no idea the guy I was supposed to waste was you until I took the sack off your head."

"Could have taken the tape off. Jesus, I coulda choked in there."

"You got fucking diarrhea of the mouth, Davey. I couldn't risk you blowing my cover. Hey… got any sour milk?" He was a tall, thin man with long scraggily brown hair, mutton chops, oversized green army coat and torn jeans. His face gave way a man who was years younger than he looked.

"So you got a call from the kid." Starsky looked around and realized they were in a garage with the windowless door securely shut. "Cooper. He's a green boot with a baby face."

"His voice shook like jelly on a table saw. Follow me." They went into the house through the attached door and made their way upstairs into a bedroom. "Went down to that building he told me you'd be at but couldn't find you. Now I know why."

"Go figure. Mob boss Joe Durniak's nephew a Fed. Damn, Pat. I remember when you were a pasty teenager asking your Uncle Joe for a ten spot for the movies."

"Yeah. And he made me caddy for his lawyer to get it and then only gave me five bucks."

"But we both know you weren't going to the movies, Patrick. Right? You had an affection for the weed."

A mischievous half smile appeared on the undercover agent. "Yeah, me and every other kid back then in the five boroughs. Even you, if I recall correctly." He opened what looked like a simple closet door, albeit with three deadbolts, and ushered Starsky inside. "Being part of him makes me cringe," he mumbled to himself, but just loud enough to be heard. Putting hands on each side of Starsky's face he tilted it back to look up his bloodied nose, then felt for lumps and bumps in his bushy head of curls. "Sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks. I'm sure you've seen worse." Starsky moved quickly to change the subject. "How's the wife, Pat?"

"Like all federal agents who go deep under cover for months at a time, the only thing we leave at home are ex-wives."

"Ooh. Well, sorry about that, Agent Durniak. Geez Louise, that's hard to say."

"Name's not Durniak out here. It's Eddie Martin. And until we take down the major players of a few organizations, one in particular, I ain't Patrick."

"Roger that. One in particular… who?"

The agent sat on the bed and pulled his left pant leg up revealing a small revolver in an ankle holster. Taking it out he checked to see that it was loaded, then re-holstered it. "Don't know but he seems to have an unlimited supply. Drives a red Chevy Camaro. Stays in the shadows."

"I saw that car back there with the T-Bone guy. Pretty sure he's the one who ordered my hit. Now, you gonna tell me where I'm at?"

Pat's right pant leg was pulled up and the knife strapped back into its hidden home. "My own personal safe house. No one knows about this. Gangs, cops, feds…"

"Rich man, poor man, beggerman, thief?"

"Huh?"

"Nah. Never mind. Just a Hutch thing."

"Davey, I gotta lock you in here for your own safety and mine." The room inside the house was sparse. A single cot, small radio, some magazines and a bathroom. No windows. "Small fridge there has sandwich meat, bread, juice and fruit. Bathroom is in there. Take a shower. Please. Couple extra t-shirts on the bed."

"Pat… Eddie… whoever the hell you are… you still got my packages?"

"Yeah. They're safe," he said, taking a few aspirin from the bottle in the bathroom and dry swallowing them. "Kilo each of PCP, coke and a healthy brick of grass all with BCPD evidence stickers on them, tucked away dark and cozy."

"Thanks for sending your men to pick them up. It's safer for everybody." Starsky paced the small room wishing he had a window to look out of to avoid eye to eye contact. He felt like hiding what could be the accidental spilling of emotion. Instead, he leaned his shoulder against the wall and stared at the floor. "Pat, what about my partner? I gotta find him."

"I'm gonna get on the streets and see what I can sniff out. What's his name? Hudson? Huttleston?"

"Hutchinson. Ken. About 6'1", 190 pounds, blonde Nordic type. The guys back there said…"

"I know what they said, but it's street scuttle, Davey, and can't be trusted. You know that. Sometimes they just blow wind to smell their own farts."

Starsky took three steps to the door attempting to leave but met Pat Durniak's outstretched hands instead. "Then let me out there so I can look for him." He drove forward and achieved nothing more than being pushed back the previous three steps.

"Uh-uh. No way. If you show up anywhere, my cover is blown, yours is blown and everyone you know will be marked for retaliation."

"But…"

"Is that what you want, Davey? I don't know how you got wrapped up in this shit storm, but from what I hear you've pissed off a lot of people from low level street dealers up to some pretty important suppliers and they all want you and your partner dead. I hope who you're after is worth all this shaking up. Now, you stay here." The larger hands guided him to the cot where Starsky allowed himself to be pushed onto his butt. "Let the streets calm the fuck down for a while. I will do everything I can to find Hutchinson."

"Thanks, Pat. I owe you. Don't know how I can repay you."

"Nah. We're good. But maybe I can think of something. Look, I have to take off for a couple days. If something happens to me, I have a contact that checks this room every Sunday. She's a little old lady. Don't clock her. It's bad juju." He bent down and gave Starsky a reassuring rub on the back of the head before locking the door behind him from the outside.

He missed TV. He missed root beer and pizza. Fresh air, grass and the beach. He longed for Hutch. Starsky knew that his partner needed him and it roiled his insides not to be able to get to him. He was out there somewhere and yet Starsky was locked in a glorified closet.

He hadn't worn his watch and if it hadn't been for the radio he wouldn't even know what time it was. Playing with the radio he only found a few stations that came in. Country music. No. Teeny bopper music. No. Talk radio with endless lessons on how to either crochet or golf. No.

Polka.

Fuck no.

By midnight they had all signed off with the Star Spangled Banner. Except the god damned polka music. Starsky signed off for them and pulled the plug.

"Aw, Hutch. Where are you?"

He tossed and turned on the cot. He turned on his left side and put his arm out looking for body warmth and found just air. Turned on his right and reached out again, finding air again. So he dropped his hand over the edge to the floor tapping his fingers on the carpet's tight weave. The silence was deafening.

He had bologna for dinner, bologna for late snack, bologna for breakfast…

Two days later he opened up the fridge and found himself doing what he had accustomed himself to doing: Talking to himself. "Wash, rinse, repeat. Hey boys and girls, guess what's for lunch."

The rattle of deadbolts turning and keys jangling pointed his attention to the door a few feet away. Pat Durniak's face was a welcome gift.

"Where the hell have you been? Pat, please tell me I can get out of here."

"Take a seat."

"Gotta get out of here. This is worse than jail."

"Sit. Please, Davey." The look on the federal agent's face masquerading as a hard core drug dealer was stone cold serious, and exhausted. "First, I spread word that the contract on you was carried out. That should take some of the heat off. At least no one will be actively looking for you or targeting people you know to draw you in. Next, I talked to everyone I could about Hutchinson without raising suspicion."

"And?"

"And I don't know much more today than I did before, except..."

"Except what?"

Durniak took a seat on the cot next to Starsky. "I, um, had a trusted contact call every hospital within a forty-five mile radius and your partner is not listed as a patient in any of them."

Starsky fidgeted as he ran through the steps of finding a missing person. "Morgues?" It killed him to ask but it was the next logical place to check.

"No unidentified bodies matching his description." It was a technically delivered answer.

"So he's not in the hospital. Then he's probably out there looking for me. Not in the morgue."

"We don't know that. His body could have been identified and claimed…. Shit, Davey, I'm sorry, but I've hit a wall."

"In your professional experience, you would conclude…?"

"That there's a good chance your partner is no longer with us."

He must have rubbed his face a dozen times trying to hold back the combined anger and grief, finally allowing one short sob to slide by.

"I'm sorry, Davey."

"Gotta get outa here. Get me outa here, Pat." Starsky was pleading as a friend, now. Not a cop. "Please. I can feel him. I have to get back to that building. He knows…"

"Knows what?"

"Hutch. He knows to look for me there. Cooper told him. He told Dobey, and Schrader. Please. He knows."

"Can't let you go yet. It's just too dangerous for…"

"NOW."

Starsky's desperately furious demand brought all discussion to a dead stop while sweeping in an air of commanding awkward silence between the two.

They worked for different agencies, but Durniak understood his fellow officer and childhood friend and part of him believed that Starsky had a feeling that couldn't be ignored. "Alright. Alright. Give me a few hours to pacify some of those BC Kings boys and direct T-Bone's soldiers away from that block. The junkies will follow. I'll get you there tonight. Okay? Just sit tight."

It was after midnight when Pat Durniak made his way to the old Dudley Textile building on South Roberts. He drove a nondescript four door dark blue Ford – one of thousands in the city. Starsky was lying down in the back seat the entire half hour ride it took to get there.

Pat chuckled as he listened to Starsky try to get comfortable in the awkward position. "Reminds me of the time when you were hiding from your mother."

"Holy shit, that's right." Starsky laughed as he looked up at the roof of the car above him. "I was on leave after boot camp just before I shipped out to Nam and Ma found a joint in my coat pocket. One joint."

"Yeah. But she blamed me. I hadn't even seen you yet."

"She…. she said…" Laughing, Starsky put on his best Ma-voice, "that Patrick Durniak is a baaaad influence." The memory gave Starsky a nice break from the train wreck going through his head. "Do ya remember the next day, we were in your car around the corner from Ma's and we were just about to light up a Mary Jane when she came pounding on your window?"

"Oh my god, Davey, you barreled over into the back seat just in time and hid on the floor boards. I remember I pushed you over and your shoe came off in my hand."

"Man, she reamed you a new one."

"Yeah, all while I was holding your shoe." Pat held his hand up just like he had when being scolded curb side by Mrs. Starsky, but this time without her son's shoe.

"Ma said she was gonna go tell Uncle Joe. And no way was her good Davey smoking those funny cigarettes. Was a different time, buddy."

"Sure was." Pat pulled the car into a darkened spot behind the textile building and turned off the engine. "Okay. We're here."

With years of experience exiting a vehicle without making a sound, Starsky slipped out of the back seat and closed the door, barely catching the latch. Through the open front passenger window Pat passed out a brown paper bag.

"Here. Leftovers from the fridge."

Starsky's face fell. "Let me guess. Bologna?"

"You always were the smart one," Pat gave with a hint of a sarcastic smile. "One more thing. Take this." The silver handle of the small revolver Starsky knew had been Pat's back up gun in the ankle holster made its way out the window towards him. "Six bullets. That's all you got there, man. No serial numbers. It's a clean, untraceable piece."

"Thanks. I'll ration the ammo."

"Hope you never have to use it. And Davey? I'll try to check up on you, but no promises. I've kept this all on the down low."

"My Captain… Dobey would call this a private party. He hates that shit. But, hey, I really appreciate it, Patrick. Your uncle, he was… well you know. He orchestrated some horrible things. But he always took care of family, blood or not. It's okay to have that part of him. Don't regret that."

Durniak nodded, then looked away before putting the car back in gear. "I hope you find your partner. Take care of yourself, Detective Starsky. Always loved you like a brother."

Before Starsky could return the compliment, the tires crunched over the gravel and back onto the street leaving him alone on the darkened corner at the back of the building.

From that side, the entrance he had discovered four days before was just a quick fence climb over. He was inside the building in under a minute, replaced the boards to conceal the opening and began a general sweep of the structure before hoping to settle in for the night on the sofa cushions up in the abandoned office.

Pat had made good on his promise to get the drug dealers to move business out of the area. There was not a sound to be heard with the exception of the occasional critter scurrying in the walls and distant car tires and loud mufflers. He walked the perimeter of each large room on the first floor, his back to the wall to increase his peripheral sight line. Making his way to the back staircase he tip toed up the first set of risers, turning and ascending the second set until he got to the second floor. Putting the paper bag of food on a pile of notebooks just inside the office door, he heard the sound of a voice coming from the factory floor around the corner.

Voice.

Tapping.

Voice.

Footsteps.

Voice.

Shuffling.

Loud slam.

Starsky reached into the back of his waistband and took out the gun Pat had given him, raising it into position and cocking the hammer back.