Chapter Twenty-Six

Starsky kept his back against the wall as he skirted around the office and into the large, mostly empty work area where he'd heard the sounds. Shooting the gun would most certainly draw attention to the abandoned building and reveal his hiding place. It was a last resort, but maybe his only resort.

While the first floor was poured concrete, the second floor was very old hardwood. Look close enough and you could see old forgotten sewing machine needles that had fallen in the cracks of the floor boards probably a hundred years previously. Starsky used his skill at sneaking around an old creaky house as a kid to manage the walk as quietly as possible. He had no idea how many people he was up against, but was determined to either take control of them, or – if there were too many – quietly slip out and find another safe place.

The moon was almost full allowing for just enough light to pass through the glass block windows to see a few feet ahead of him. The design of the factory windows allowed in the light while hiding their presence from the outside world.

The lone figure was all the way in the corner flanked by widows on either side. The golden locks haloed by the refracted moonlight was unmistakable. When Starsky accidently kicked an old metal tool box the figure never even reacted.

"Hutch? Hutch, you alone?"

The blonde was standing almost at attention flush against the wall seemingly afraid of something near him. His head was leaning back with eyes closed. Slamming his right hand against the wall, he muttered incoherently. His demeanor and lack of answer made Starsky swing around in anticipation of a firefight but found no one else.

"Hutch? Buddy?" Starsky put the gun back into his waistband and walked towards his partner. Hutch's eyes suddenly opened into a wide stare. "Hey," Starsky said putting his hands out in front of him, "it's just me, babe. What's going on, huh?"

"You… you're alive?"

"As alive as you," he said taking a few more steps towards Hutch. "God, I thought I'd lost you. If you had…"

"Stop!" Hutch pushed his hands out in front of him. Even with an unusual late summer chilly breeze, sweat poured down his face as his body shivered. "Starsk, stand…. s-s-stand still."

Starsky heeded the warning and stood several feet away from Hutch. "Wha…. I don't understand, Hutch." He looked around him and down at the floor. "Is there a booby-trap or something?"

"S-s-snakes."

"There are no snakes, babe."

"No snakes?"

"No." Starsky made his way over to his partner and pried him away from the wall and into a gentle hug. "What's going on, Hutch?"

"You're alive." Hutch said into the brown curls validating what he had seen with his own eyes.

"I'm alive. You're alive." Starsky couldn't help but feel the thunder coming through Hutch's chest. "You're certainly alive, partner. Come on. Come with me into the office area. Your heart is really pounding."

"Yeah, okay. Just give me a minute. It'll settle down."

Hutch followed Starsky to the back of the building and into the office. He stopped at the door to scope out the floor and walls. Just in case.

"Come on, blondie." Starsky put his hand out. "In here. With me."

Hutch nodded, closed his eyes while letting out a deep breath then stepped into the room without looking down. Well, okay, he did anyway. No snakes in here. All clear.

Starsky nearly fell over a pile of things that weren't there the day he was taken. His eyes had adjusted to the dark enough to make out the camping equipment he thought he had seen the other day in a certain garage. "Fuckin' Pat Durniak," he chuckled as he squatted down to rifle through the treasures. Sleeping bag, blanket, pillows, water canteens – filled, and a battery operated lantern. "Cool. Look what we've got," he said turning the lantern on and bringing up to Hutch's face.

Hutch grimaced as he saw his partner's face lit up for the first time. "Starsk, what happened to your face?"

"What happened to your hair? Shit. Looks like you got a fairway mowed over your ear."

Hutch raised his hand to the stitches poking out. "Yeah. Yet another new hairstyle." He laughed it off while reaching out and taking Starsky's face in his large hands. "Does it hurt?" he asked while thumbing over the bruise on the cheekbone.

"Not as much."

"What else?"

"Huh?"

"What else hurts?"

"Hutch… don't…." He couldn't deny him. "Okay. Ribs. And my hip."

Hutch instantly lifted up Starsky's shirt to look at both sides of his chest stopping to put his hand on a resolving bruise on the right side.

"Ouch. Enough already, Hutch. What about you, huh? I see the head crease. Pretty sure that's a bruise on your jaw. And one right here," he said stroking his hand twice across the blonde's throat.

"Stop, p-p-please." Hutch took the hand and lowered it, not releasing it. Not just yet.

"And why do you keep looking around like something's here."

"Nothing's here." Hutch answered unconvincingly. "Nope."

"You're sweating and shivering at the same time. Stammering's a thing again. And it doesn't look like you've eaten or slept in days. So, what do you think is here."

The accusation was clear to Hutch as he released the hand and stepped away. "D-d-do you think I'm on something?" Starsky said nothing as he stared into Hutch's eyes. "You want… you want to check for track marks?" Hutch started to push the sleeve up his arm but was caught by Starsky's own hands.

"Babe, no. I don't think you're shooting up. But I know you were taken to the hospital."

"Who…?"

"The streets talk, ya know. What happened?"

"Mitchell happened. That's what." Hutch swallowed hard as he shoved his useless left hand into its pocket. "I…I don't remember everything but I know he made comments like he was there the first time. He, uh…. He got the best of me. Fuckin' groped me while throwing insults. Typical schoolyard bullshit."

"Jeez, that's just…" He wanted to blow his top and throw his anger at anything he could find, but knew that would shut Hutch down. "The neck?" Starsky asked pointing at the straight line bruise across Hutch's throat.

"His billy club, I think." The attack was running through his head folding him back into his previously insecure self. "He's been suspended pending IA investigation according to Schrader." Even with that news, Hutch winced as though he'd been attacked one more time.

Starsky pulled the folded left hand out of the pocket. "Don't hide it, Hutch."

"He, ah," Hutch stumbled through a false laugh. "He called me a cripple. Nice guy. Right?"

"A real prince." Starsky still held Hutch's left hand flattening the palm and stretching the muscle and tendons of the fingers. "And the hallucinations?" Hutch continued his floor gazing skills. "Hutch… snakes? We're on the second floor here."

"Yeah. Those. Mitchell had a repeat performance of forced PCP and coke with me. Just like with you, but I think he left out the opiates this time. You got the grand treatment," he smirked.

"Yeah. I was out a good week in the hospital before I got my wits about me."

"What a bargain. It's only been four or five days for me."

Hutch looked down at his hand, still being stretched and massaged, though less therapeutically so. "Tired."

"How about you lie down on those sofa cushions over there. I'll take the sleeping bag. It's 2am. Maybe we can get a few hours in. You eaten anything?"

"Can't keep much down."

"Probably should have stayed in the hospital."

"Yeah, well, neither one of us is good at riding the hospital horse."

"Give it time."

As they were settling into their make-shift beds Hutch pulled a transistor radio out of the pillowcase. "Hey, look what I found."

"Leave it to Pat," Starsky chuckled while Hutch fiddled with the radio, finally finding a station that came in clearly.

"Who?"

"Never mind. I'll tell you later. Wait," he said taking the radio from Hutch, "is that polka music?"

"Yeah. Isn't that great?" With a smile, Hutch took the radio back, turned up the volume, and put it next to his pillow as he laid down.

"Terrific." Starsky was sure his eyes made a grating noise when he rolled them back in loathing.

"Polka music is making a come-back, ya know."

"Fuck that."

They were only a couple hours into slumber when Starsky was awoken by a thrashing Hutch. By the time he'd slithered out of the sleeping bag Hutch was sitting up furiously swiping at his arms and chest, legs kicking out at nothing.

"Get them off of me," he screamed.

"What?"

"Get… get the bugs… off of me."

Starsky sat down behind Hutch, his legs hugging the blonde's hips, arms encircling the chest in the tightest hug he could manage, in a modified restraint hold, grimacing at the pressure against his own sore ribs. Once again, his heart was frantically pounding away. "No bugs, Hutch. No bugs on you, or anywhere. Okay?"

Hutch's ragged breath hitched as he raised his hands to hold onto Starsky's arms. Squeezing his eyes shut he tried to get his brain to stop seeing what wasn't there.

"Come on, partner. Put your head back on me. Just relax."

"Can't do this anymore."

"Give it another day or two. I promise they'll go away."

Starsky reached out and put one of the sofa cushions behind him against the wall and leaned them both back in a slight recline. "I'm right here, babe. Not gonna let anything happen to you. We're just gonna go back to sleep. 'kay?"

He used all of his strength to hold Hutch against him, absorbing the shudders while holding the blonde's wrists tight against his own sore chest to keep him from scratching a layer of skin off.

"That's right, ya big lug. Just relax. Go to sleep. I got ya."

xXx

A windowless work space was once the standard design for factories. The less workers could see the change of day outside, the more they produced. After all, distractions were counterproductive. But for two supposedly dead detectives it provided hours of sleep while maintaining their… deadness.

For someone who was anal about having a watch on him, Starsky was beside himself with a bare wrist. The diffuse light peeking around the corner from the factory floor at least let him know that morning had come at some point.

Starsky's body ached from sitting up with Hutch's dead weight against him. He put the flat of his hand against Hutch's chest where he felt a heartbeat, strong and steady, but definitely not bugged out at a hundred miles an hour. His breathing was deep and eyes darted back and forth under the lids in a relaxed dream state.

As for Starsky's bladder, that was a different story.

Getting his legs under him, Starsky got to his feet and gently placed Hutch down on the sofa cushions before going across the hall to use the bathroom. Surprisingly the plumbing still worked. The old bathroom reminded him of the boy's lavatory at his old school, P.S. 142 in Brooklyn. Small, white octagonal mosaic tiles in the floor, a few sinks with the hot and cold taps to each side, and a linen towel that simply rotated up and down in a dispenser. Next to the window was a cast iron tray bolted to the ledge with a large key chained to it used to crank open the large panes on a hot day. In the heat before air conditioning, it must have been necessary to air out the factory bathroom. The toilet stalls were made of very dark stained, heavy wood, sparsely covered in carved names and messages.

"Tutino = Devil". And "Call Tutino's wife for a good time".

'Must have been an outstanding boss', Starsky thought as he zipped his pants up.

He walked back in the office and squatted down next to Hutch sound asleep on the cushions. As he covered him with the blanket he couldn't help but think how peaceful his former lover looked and reached down to run his fingers through the sleep-damp blonde curls at the base of his neck. The sound that came from downstairs jerked him back to reality.

Keys.

Keys?

Starsky grabbed the gun from the floor next to where they had been sleeping and moved to the top of the staircase, his stocking feet giving him the advantage of stealth silence. Once again pasting his back against the wall, he slipped down the staircase stopping just before he got to the bottom.

He heard footsteps guessing there to be at least two people. When the footsteps became more feint and Starsky figured they were at the far end of the building, he stepped around the corner and made his way to them stopping every few feet to hide behind columns or the occasional crate.

"…a lot of square footage…"

"…should check out the second floor…"

"…here somewhere…"

Before he knew it, the voices were on top of him, rounding the column he had become one with. It was now or never…

"Freeze. Police. Hands where I can see them," he shouted at the two men as he stood in a wide stance in front of them, gun pointed at center mass.

"Jesus H. Christ, Starsky. Gonna give a brother a heart attack."

"Huggy?"

"Yeah, it's me. I think you can put the gun down now. Ya dig?"

Starsky quickly dropped his left arm and gun to his side and drew in a deep breath.

"Son," came the other voice, "you okay?"

"Fine and dandy 'til you two dropped by for a visit. Captain, please tell me you did not squeeze in through that window."

Dobey smiled, then screwed his face up as he realized the insult. "I have more dignity than that, Sergeant. I don't do windows. I use the front door," he huffed. "Huggy's cousin works for the real estate company trying to unload this beast. He got keys and their handsome yellow company blazers for us to keep any wise acres out there from getting ideas. Since we're visiting in broad daylight, it's a plausible cover."

"Well," Starsky stuffed the gun back into his waistband, "applause, applause. Come upstairs to our humble abode. But keep quiet. Hutch is still sleeping. And by the way, you two look like mustard covered sausages, one more than the other."

"Mustard?" Huggy spit. "They're chartreuse."

Starsky guffawed. "Chartreuse? I believe she works at the corner of Temple and Vine, Hug."

Dobey pulled on Starsky's elbow as he took a few steps. "Starsky, I need to talk to Hutch. How is he?"

Starsky looked at his Captain and tried to read him. "What do ya need to talk to him about? What could possibly be more important than us playing dead?"

His question ignored, Dobey repeated himself. "How is he?"

"He's coming down from an OD. I think you know that, Cap, but it's…" He grabbed his boss's wrist and looked at the watch, "…almost noon. We've both gotten some much needed sleep. I hope you have Mitchell behind bars."

"Mitchell. Yeah, well, Schrader's on him. He's being watched."

"Watched? How about in jail. They couldn't wait to put me away for life based on false accusations, but this guy tortures and nearly kills a cop and he's watched?"

Huggy moved up and put his hand on Starsky's chest providing just enough of a clue to get him to back off of his Captain. "Starsky, compadre, we have to chit chat with Hutch. It's important. I wouldn't be here in this armpit of a neighborhood if it wasn't. Believe me, there are people here who have long standing bitter feelings about me. They wouldn't hesitate to introduce me to a vat of boiling water."

"Boiling water? Shit, Huggy. That's a New York thing. They did that down at the Five Points until not too long ago."

"A tradition obviously stilled practiced on the west coast, my friend. Now, what about Hutch?"

Starsky lowered his voice. "Look, he'll be okay in time, but right now he's exhausted, hungry, dealing with some hallucinations…"

"Spiders and snakes?" Dobey stated more than asked. "I know what he's been going through, Dave. I was with him every day in the hospital."

Huggy moved his hand from Starsky's chest to his shoulder. "You don't look all that great yourself, amigo."

"What's going on?"

All three men turned to look at the base of the staircase where Hutch stood, combing fingers through his mussed hair.

"Cap? Hug? What's with those awful mustard blazers? Looks like you're both shilling for the circus."

"Chartreuse, my man. Chartreuse. Don't neither of you have any couth?"

The four of them made their way to the second floor office area. Dobey took in the surroundings with every step.

"Pretty large space we have here," he said. "Not a lot of room for concealment if you need it."

"Exactly," Starsky countered. "For them either… whoever they are."

While the first floor factory area was mostly cleaned out, the second floor was littered with stacks of piled up papers and abandoned office furniture clearly left behind due to difficulty of getting it outside with ease.

"Careful, boys," the Captain warned pushing at an awkwardly filled, tipping file cabinet. "Could be an obstacle course up here."

Dobey took the only chair in the office – an antique looking wooden executive's chair on wheeled casters with a torn green leather seat. Starsky sat on the cluttered desk with Huggy leaning against the other end. Hutch sat down on his 'bed' of sofa cushions.

"Hope you don't mind the housekeeping, Cap," Starsky joked. "We gave the maid the day off."

"You forget I have a teenage son at home. Cal's room doesn't look much better and smells worse." Dobey leaned back and placed his hands – fingers interlaced – over his formidable belly. "Finding out you are both alive came as a pleasant surprise. Can't tell you how relieved I was to get that news."

Starsky smiled. "So that kid, Cooper, get to you?"

Dobey nodded. "He's scared, and for good reason. Talked to his superior and we made up a reason for him to be on paid leave. Told him to lay low. You two seemed to have made quite an impression on him."

Hutch groaned as he stretched his neck side to side covering up his constant glances off to the side. "Yeah, well, he's impressionable, that's for sure. It's just too bad that we weren't the ones to make an impression on him first."

"He's a good kid," Starsky chimed in. "Too good. Could have gone either way with me. He probably saved my life. The kid has a good heart. Just needs guidance."

"Sounds about right. Hutch, tell me how you're doing."

"Had a good night's sleep and I actually feel hungry for the first time." Hutch kept looking over at the sleeping bag on the floor. "Uh… Cap? Tell me something. Are there spiders over there on the sleeping bag?"

Dobey turned around and looked over his shoulder. "No, son. No spiders. Still seeing things?"

"Not as often. And the funny thing is, the spiders and snakes look at me and back off now."

"It'll go away, blondie," Huggy added. "Sleep and good food."

Dobey remembered what he had brought with him and opened his fake realtor's briefcase on his lap. "Speaking of which, Edith made you some sandwiches." He took out two paper lunch bags and handed them to an eager Starsky. "Share," he scolded Starsky with a smile. Starsky tossed one to Hutch who quickly opened it up and took out the sandwich.

The blonde looked like he won a jackpot. "I'm starving. Please thank Edith for us." He took the sandwich from the plastic wrap and practically inhaled it. "Boy, it tastes good," he said enthusiastically with a mouthful.

Starsky sat looking at his sandwich, face drawn down, not even taking a bite.

"What's wrong, Starsk?" Hutch asked.

"It's bologna."

"I know. Isn't it great?"

"I hate bologna."

"Since when? You love it."

"There's plenty more in Huggy's briefcase," Dobey exclaimed as Huggy emptied the food onto the desk. "A couple meals worth, at least." Hutch smiled wide at the sight of the four additional sandwiches and two apples next to the sullen Starsky.

"Starsk, what is it?"

The bite Starsky took sat in his cheek like a squirrel's nutty find. "I could really use some liquid lubrication about now." When Hutch held out the canteen, Starsky rolled his eyes at his smiling partner and pushed it away. "Not that kind. So, Cap, what's the word at the station?"

"Well, you're a wanted fugitive now, Starsky. Your bondsman jumped at a chance to file the papers when you didn't check in. So there's an APB out on you even with your rumored death."

"No surprise there."

"The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated," Hutch announced with a finger in the air.

"Samuel Clemens," Huggy added. "AKA Mark Twain." All three men looked at him, puzzled. "What? I'm a student of literature I'll have you know."

"What about me?" Hutch asked still contemplating Huggy Bear Brown as a literary genius.

"You are a different story. You're officially listed as still out on medical leave. However, even though Mitchell is suspended while IA investigates, he's done considerable damage. While the detectives and plainclothes side with you, Hutch, the uniforms are being coerced into believing Mitchell's version."

"Let me guess," Hutch said. "I'm a cop gone bad, stealing drugs from Evidence and selling on the street. Mitchell happened on me after I overdosed. Ya know, we manufactured most of that ourselves."

"There's more. In his version, in the act of saving your life, you attacked Mitchell."

"Oh, so he's the hero and victim now."

"And he's playing it for all its worth. So, long story short, you two have to remain disappeared for your own safety. I can get you into a safe house, but that will blow the cover that Starsky's been taken out by the gang. And, frankly, I don't know who to trust in the department."

"Cap," Starsky stood and paced the room, "I have a contact in the feds. He's deep under cover. He knows I'm here. I'm sure in time he'll send someone to check on us. I can ask him to get us out, but that will blow almost a year of UC work for him down here. And I think he's after the same person we are."

"No, keep him out of it. And I don't even want to know who it is." Dobey exchanged looks with Huggy. "Give me a day or two and I'll figure something out. You can't stay here safely for long. I'll send Huggy with word. In the meantime…. ahh…. I have news on the personal front."

"What?" Starsky asked walking over to sit next to Hutch. "One of the blintze's ferns die?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Gordo?"

"Wouldn't want them to suffer the big, green death."

The two detectives bantered like college roommates, shoulder to shoulder, until they realized that the Captain and Huggy were stone cold serious.

Hutch cleared his throat. "Cap, what is it?"

"Got a call from Minnesota. Son, your dad passed away at home."

Hutch's flinch was barely noticeable except to Starsky. "Oh. Okay. Well," Hutch's voice was quiet but calm, "at least he got to die at home like he wanted." Starsky reached over and unashamedly put his hand on top of Hutch's to stop the absent minded rubbing back and forth he was doing on his thigh. "I suppose the funeral will happen this weekend," he said never taking his eyes off the century-old hardwood floor.

"It was yesterday, Ken. He died sometime late last week."

"Yesterday?" Hutch's head shot up at Dobey. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Just found out myself when your sister called this morning. Said you weren't answering your phone. Apparently your mother thought your presence at the funeral would be a… a distraction. I'm sorry, son."

Hutch shook his head and let out a slight snort. "Not surprised."

"You okay, blondie?" Huggy asked while walking over to lay a concerned hand on his shoulder.

"Yep. He got what he wanted. He wins." He turned his hand over and grasped Starsky's fingers before getting up and walking to the bathroom. "Gotta hit the head."

"I don't like this," Starsky said in almost a whisper when Hutch was out of sight.

"You think I do?" Dobey shot back, eyes wide open and staring through Starsky. "I got two detectives marked for death by gangs, drug suppliers and maybe even fellow cops. This all started with your private party and now we have to clean up after you."

"I know. I'm sorry, Cap."

Dobey stood and hitched his pants up. Leaving the room, he gave his detective a hearty pat on the back. "Take care of your partner. I'm sure he'll take care of you. We'll figure something out, Dave."

xXx

He found Hutch in the empty bathroom leaning against the window fiddling with the chained key.

"I think it's for cranking the window open," Starsky said from a distance as he took in his partner.

"Chained it to the wall. Why would anyone want to steal it," he attempted to joke.

"Sorry about your dad."

"He was never my dad. My father, technically. But never my dad."

"Well, it was shitty how your parental units went about this."

"You know, there was a time when I was in the hospital dealing with the head injury, and when I was recovering at home, that I thought he'd changed. He told me he loved me. I felt like he was really taking care of me. Cared about me. But he wasn't the one who changed. I was. I allowed him to manipulate me because essentially I was a child again. He was in his element. Once he figured out he couldn't do that to me anymore through hurt and sneaking around, he left."

"I'd say that's a pretty accurate assessment."

Hutch nodded and walked out of the bathroom and back into the office to pick up the mess from their night and recent meal. "So what's our plan?"

"Hutch… it's okay to grieve."

"Hard to grieve for something you never had."

"Dr. Joyce-Brothers would say that you should grieve for the loss of what you never had so you can move on."

"Dr. Joyce-Brothers?"

"I had a lot of time to watch TV waitin' for you to get better."

Hutch sat down hard on the cushions and wrapped his arms around his drawn up knees as he leaned against the wall. "I'm okay, Starsk. Really. I guess when this is all over I'll have time to process my father. That's what my mother would tell me to do," he laughed. "But I have…"

"You have me," Starsky said as he sat next to Hutch and took his chin in hand turning his face to look at him. "I got you, Hutch. You got me?"

"I got you, partner. Me and thee. Always."

They sat just like that, side by side, slightly turned towards each other, the heat from each other slowly meeting in the middle when Hutch leaned forward and softly, gently touched his lips to Starsky's. The pressure was met and returned, then lips parted as Starsky pushed in to nip Hutch's lower lip before pulling away.

"Ow, my ribs", Hutch muttered before changing his angle and leaning in for another, this time pushing Starsky against the wall for leverage.

"Ahh, my hip." Starsky jolted sideways. "Hip."

"Seems we're a matched set."

Starsky couldn't help move his fingers from Hutch's shoulder, chest, side and then back to the face. To touch him was to be with him. "Hutch, I don't know if…"

"I miss you. I miss us. It's my fault that…"

"Babe, we did nothing to deserve being divided. It's not our fault. This was done to us. I just think that maybe we need some time. Maybe we should start over."

"Sorry," Hutch said leaning back away from Starsky. "I thought…"

Starsky purposely took Hutch's hand and held it lightly stroking the palm with his thumb. "I didn't say no. Just… here isn't exactly where memories should be made, if you know what I mean."

Hutch dipped his head with just a hint of a blush and smiled. "Guess so. Still hungry?"

"No offense, but you taste like bologna."

"What's with you and bologna? You love it."

"I have been eating that shit for going on five days now. Pat Durniak…"

"Durniak?" Hutch jumped, sitting back a couple feet to get a good look at his partner.

"Just settle down, cowboy. He's Joe Durniak's nephew. We grew up together. Get this… he's a federal agent. One of the best out there. Deep under cover here in southern California right now. I think he's looking for our guys too. He's the one who I hid our stash with. Anyway, he housed me while smoothing things over on the street and looking for you. Only had bologna. Done with that, babe."

"I got something else for you." Hutch leaned over and grabbed the bag he came in with. "Maybe this will make you feel better."

Starsky looked in the bag and immediately sprouted a big grin. "Crackers and… root beer. Root Beer, Hutch. Lickety split! Where'd you get this?"

"Cooper had it in his car for his wife, I guess. Said she wasn't feeling well."

"Well, yeah. She's pregnant." Starsky took a stack of saltine crackers out of the plastic sleeve and set them down in his lap. "Guess she's had a lot of problems." The bottle hissed as he opened it.

"Sounds like you got to know him a little better than I did. What's your take?"

"He's a mixed up kid. Got blackmailed into going along with Mitchell 'cuz he cheated in the Academy. Something about a learning disability." He started licking the salt off the crackers one at a time. "That creep, Mitchell, totally held that over his head."

Hutch's face screwed up as he watched his partner strip the salt off the crackers one at a time then line them up on his leg like a train. "Starsky, that's gross."

"Want some?" he asked offering the plastic sleeve to his partner.

"Gordo, you know how much sodium is in those?"

Starsky looked from the sleeve of fresh crackers to the licked ones on his lap and offered Hutch a few of the wet ones that had been resolved of the sodium issue. "Here, sodium free. Right up your alley."

Hutch looked away and grabbed one of the apples Edith had sent them instead. "No thanks. I'm good." There was no changing Starsky's eating habits. Not at this stage of the game. "Back to Tommy Cooper."

"Tommy, huh? Fits him. His step father's name is Gordon Ketterling. Ring a bell?"

Hutch's head shot up. "Ketterling. San Fran's commissioner?" Starsky nodded. "I met him when I was up there taking Gunther into custody. He spent the seventies cleaning house up there. Was a real stand-up guy with me."

"Yep. Apparently he's a tough one to impress according to our Officer Cooper. This thing blows wide open that kid will lose his job, reputation, family and dad's respect."

"Jeez. He's one scared kid too. When this shit is over…"

"I know. I like the guy. We need to see what we can do for him. He feels like the world is against him. Kind of reminds me a little bit of someone else I know with his father."

Hutch nodded as he patted down the pockets of the denim jacket looking for something to wipe Starsky's face with. "Dribble."

"Huh?"

"You have root beer on your chin." From the breast pocket he took out a wallet photo and studied it before showing Starsky. "This… this his wife?"

Taking the photo, Starsky nodded at the picture of a beautiful, young, pregnant lady. "Must be."

"He has a black wife? As much as interracial marriage is starting to be a non-issue in some places, you and I both know what an obstacle it can be. Wow. Well, at least there's not much to cover up if all he's done is ride along with Mitchell."

Starsky took a couple of deep breaths and considered whether or not he wanted to divulge Cooper's secret of his actual involvement with the attacks. Finally, he took the crackers off his crossed legs and stood up to retrieve his jacket on the desk. Taking out Cooper's chain and pendant that inadvertently made its way into Starsky's hands, he sat back down next to Hutch and dropped it in his hand.

"What's this?"

"It's Cooper's. Somehow during a scuffle, I ended up with it."

Hutch shrugged as he looked over the chain and oblong pendant. "And…?"

Starsky turned the pendant over to reveal the image. "What do you think when you see that?"

It took a few moments, but Hutch quickly recognized the image of a horse body with a human torso and head, the human of it shooting an arrow. "A centaur?" Closing his eyes, he jolted a little as the night of the attack came back to him and the flashbacks to the image of a half animal, half human. "This is it, Starsk."

Starsky nodded. "Must be a Sagittarius. Symbolism means either warlike or courageous. Sometimes means they are law unto themselves. But I doubt the kid knows that. Maybe his wife gave it to him."

"I'm impressed you know all that," Hutch mumbled. "So… s-s-so he was there. That night."

"Says he helped hold me down when Mitchell and the third person made me snort the shit. Then was a look-out when you…. Ya know."

"He must have been the first one in the door. Think I saw this around his neck."

"He hates it, Hutch. Hated every minute of it."

"You believe him?"

Starsky nodded. "Yeah. I do."

"Who was the third person?"

"He doesn't know," Starsky said with a shrug. "Wore a mask. Never spoke. But definitely ran the show."

"Fucking Simonetti."

"Maybe, but does he really have the balls for something like that? He's always struck me as a follower, not a leader."

xXx

By the next morning they had – reluctantly – finished off the bologna sandwiches, crackers and root beer. They were bored. Bored beyond reason.

"Starsk," Hutch said as he attempted, while propped on an elbow, to ignore the two big spiders from his hallucinations crawling over Starsky's belly as he laid on his back staring at the ceiling, "when we get out of here I'm gonna make you a fabulous dinner."

"Yeah? Like what?" Starsky licked his lips. He wished he was looking up at clouds, not a plaster ceiling.

"Something buttery and fried.

"Yeah?"

The fake spiders were slowly walking up towards Starsky's chest.

"Greasy, salty, with onions…"

Starsky rubbed his hands together, his tongue coming out in anticipation. "Yeah?"

"Gonna need a big old fry pan."

"What? Come on, Hutch."

"Fried bologna. Lots of it."

Starsky looked like a kid who just found out Santa Claus is a lie. "You are a cruel, cruel little man, Hutchinson."

Hutch laughed as he reached over and lovingly wiggled Starsky's sneakered foot. "Fried bologna, bologna salad, deviled bologna…"

As though a bomb had gone off in the room, Starsky shot to his feet and bellowed the howl of a banshee. "Holy shit, Hutch. Why didn't you say something?"

Hutch sat up and looked around, perplexed at Starsky's sudden accusation. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Two fucking spiders walked right up my chest lookin' for my neck so they could bite me like vampires. Jesus." He continued to brush absolutely nothing off his shirt.

He couldn't catch a breath between laughing and choking at the same time. Hutch finally just spread himself out on the floor, arms and legs wide out, then tipped his head back at Starsky. "They were real?"

"Yes, they're real. Oh my God! You knew?"

"Yeah, but I thought maybe they were, ya know, those hallucinations. Didn't want to scare you."

"Didn't want to…. Do me a favor, Kenny, please share the knowledge when spiders are looking to make a meal out of me."

"Kenny? Please." Hutch made a dramatic show of shuddering. "Don't go there. Ken, Kenny, Kenneth. Hate it all."

"Maybe you should just go by your first initial: K. Hutchinson."

"Like the name plates at the precinct. H. Dobey, C. Simonetti, E. Schrader, D. Starsky…"

Without saying another word Hutch shot up and sat on the floor with his eyes closed.

"Hutch, what's wrong…"

"Shhhh." Hutch rubbed his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut in deep concentrated thought. "I think I remember…"

"What, buddy? What is it?"

"Do you… do you remember before all this… before the attack, and the fake fight… Do you remember when we were in the Evidence room planning how we were going to play it out?"

"Ah…. some of it. Not all."

"We said that we were going to tell one person, but not Dobey yet. And I did. I know I did."

The two sat cross legged, facing each other as though the United Nations had convened in a preschool classroom.

"Hutch, that person would have known all along that this plan of ours was part of the investigation into the stolen drugs," Starsky added. "They would have been able to clear us immediately after the attacks."

"Mm hmm. That's right. Unless he had something to hide."

"I would have never been arrested. We'd be at work now, not," he said pointing around the room, "here."

Hutch knew exactly where Starsky was heading with this information. "So, by keeping it to himself and not clearing us…?"

"Means he's part of the inside job. Maybe the lead player. But, Hutch… who?"

"Elmer Fudd."

Starsky took in a deep breath as his eyes darted around the room putting pieces of the puzzle together all too well. "Holy shit. Holy…"

Hutch swung his head around to the office doorway and dashed out to the top of the stairs. "You hear that?" he whispered.

Starsky joined him, just as they heard the unmistakable clatter of wood downstairs near the window they used, and then footsteps.

(Homework: "Lover Come Back to Me", City and Colour)