LeRoy Simpson lived in a little house on the edge of town. He had been
born in that house almost thirty years ago, grew up in it and inherited it
after his mother had worked herself to death trying to support them both by
taking in laundry and scrubbing floors. LeRoy couldn't have cared less
about the old woman except that now he had to go to work for himself. He
had tried a variety of jobs, then an even wider array of scams, petty
thefts and back-alley muggings before hitting on the idea of adding a
stable of girls to an already lucrative drug trade - who would kick back
half their wages to a Good Samaritan protector/ organizer like himself.
Unfortunately, the hookers in Langston didn't want to be organized or protected, having done quite well for themselves, thank you very much. That was when LeRoy abandoned persuasion and turned on the "charm" in a more physical sense, converting the girls one by one to his line of thinking.
During daylight hours, LeRoy was laid back and slick. Sitting out here in the morning sun dozing lightly and dreaming dreams of riches and power which would one day, he firmly believed, be his. By night, however, LeRoy transformed himself into Langston's only major league pimp. Yes, sir, life was looking pretty good for LeRoy Simpson.
LeRoy was dozing again, so he didn't hear the old Ford wheeze to a halt directly behind his brand new Jeep. He would have preferred a Caddy, of course, but a Caddy would have stood out in this town like a red flag, and LeRoy had learned young how to keep his head low.
Starsky and Hutch climbed the porch steps quietly and LeRoy only became aware of them once they'd reached his side. He studied them through his lashes even as they studied him, LeRoy being fully cognizant of his own appearance: he was a big man, muscular, with skin that shone like fine ebony. He could have been a handsome man but for the harsh lines embedded around the eyes and the cruel tilt to the mouth.
The two detectives exchanged a cautionary look and LeRoy tensed. Then Starsky smiled and kicked out sharply, knocking the chair over and dumping the negro to the rough planks. "Rise and shine, LeRoy," he called cheerily.
"Hub? Wha-?" Simpson started when he hit the ground, turning astonished eyes to the two men standing over him. One dark, one light, both smelling like cop. "Who are you? Pigs," he spat, answering his own question.
"On your feet, turkey." The darker man picked up the spilled chair and set it upright. After a moment's hesitation, Simpson scrambled to his feet to stand glaring at the two detectives. "Wha'choo want with me? I ain't done nuthin'," he spat, falling back into a sloppy street lingo. "Elizabeth Carson," the dark one shot suddenly. LeRoy gagged. "Who?" "Elizabeth. You know her." It was not a question.
Simpson feigned an innocent look. "Don't recognize the name none," he drawled. "'Course, I know lots of ladies, if not 'zactly by name." He smirked conspiratorially. "Don't even know you... by name."
The darker man shrugged. "I'm Detective Starsky," he explained patiently, as though to a six-year-old. "My temperamental partner over there is Detective Hutchinson." He smiled, a tight humorless twitch of his lips. "Now we're all friends." He dropped the false camaraderie, letting his voice and face harden. "Elizabeth was murdered last night." "Murdered?" The smirk vanished, replaced by a crafty glint deep in the black eyes. "Oh? And I'm supposed to know who done it?"
Starsky ignored the question an unnecessary, so LeRoy redirected his attention to Hutchinson, who had not spoken at all. The look in the blond's eye made LeRoy squirm for all he outweighed the man by twenty pounds. Cold blue eyes bored into the black man, stripping away facade and leaving him feeling exposed and naked before the scrutiny. "I didn't kill nobody," he blustered. "You got nothin' on me. Nothin'!"
Starsky took two steps forward, bringing his face up to stare belligerently into LeRoy's. "I understand you've appointed yourself guardian, protector and all around white knight to the ladies here in Langston." "Hunh?"
"You're a pimp," Starsky translated acidly. "I hear the girls don't want to cooperate, you... 'persuade' them a bit." "You don't know what you're talkin' about, pig," Simpson replied sullenly. "Some whore feeds you a load and you jump through hoops like a dog."
That galvanized Hutchinson into action. He gave LeRoy a hard shove, slamming him back against the wall. "You listen to me, slimeball," he gritted, each word bitten off harshly. "I've talked to a dozen girls this morning and your name keeps coming up." "So?"
The blond leaned closer. "So you are my favorite suspect on a murder one rap, sleezeball, and I, for one, would love to put you away."
Simpson drew his lips back over bared teeth, fighting the urge to retreat. "You got nuthin', pig."
Hutch released the bunched up shirt and stepped back with a cold smile. "No?" The smile faded. "I don't like you, LeRoy. I don't like you, your job, or your methods. I'm going to put you away. Count on it." That said, he reached around to his belt and extracted a set of plastic riot cuffs. "Right now, though, we're going downtown to discuss things a bit. Put your hands behind your back."
LeRoy tensed, prepared to resist, then paused when Starsky patted his shoulder in a friendly manner. "My partner doesn't like you, LeRoy. I'd watch my step if I were you, 'cause he can get reeeeal mean when he don't like you."
Resistance faded, leaving a shouldering, frustrated pimp glaring wildly and yelling epithets the entire trip to headquarters.
The interrogation was long and fruitless. After it was over both detectives sat regarding each other for some moments, listening to Simpson's loud voice raised in outrage as he was led away for pictures and prints. "Well, what d'ya think?" Starsky asked at last.
"I think he s a bully, a slimeball and guilty." Hutch stroked his mustache moodily. "They've got his kind all over, don't they?"
Starsky leaned his chair back and propped his sneaker-clad foot up on a corner of the battered desk. "You weren't expecting paradise up here, were you?"
"Maybe I was."
"No, you weren't." Starsky clasped his hands behind his head, completing his casual pose. "It's something else, isn't it? Something besides Simpson."
Hutch looked up in surprise. "How did you know that?"
Starsky smiled that bright, sunlit smile that Hutch always returned. "'Cause I know you, dummy. What is it? The dead girl?"
The blond shook his head. "Not that girl, the other one - Tandy."
One blue sneaker beat an uneven rhythm in the air. "Oh, yeah? What about her?"
"I was thinking...." Hutch trailed off, now worrying his mustache between thumb and forefinger.
"About?" the other prodded, stilling his foot.
"She reminds me of someone." He shrugged. "No big deal."
Starsky resumed his absent toe-tapping, smiling happily to himself. "She reminds me of Jane Fonda."
Hutch left off pulling his mustache to stare at his friend. "Jane Fonda?"
"All that red hair. She sure is pretty." Starsky wiggled his eyebrows lecherously. "If she wasn't doin' what she's doing.."
Hutch snorted. "Dream on, Romeo. If she wasn't hooking, a girl like that wouldn't give you the time of day."
Starsky tossed a paper clip across the desk. "She'd fall for my boyish charm first time I winked at her."
Hutch tossed the paper clip back, hitting his partner in the head. The paper clip instantly burrowed into the thick curls, vigorously resisting Starsky's efforts to dislodge it. "Would not."
"Would too." The paper clip was good and stuck.
Hutch grinned at his partner's struggle; the paper clip was obviously winning, "The Paul Muni type, eh? Of course, she'd still only be twenty years old."
"Yeah, well, there is that. Ouch!"
Hutch laughed, lightening the mood considerably. At Starsky's pleading look, he took pity and came to the rescue. "Hold still, I'll get it. Darn, Starsk, how am I supposed to turn you loose on the streets when you can't even overcome one, measly paper clip? And stop squirming." The paper clip finally relinquished its hold, to Starsky's immense and vocal relief. "There, you're free." A pause. "No, she didn't remind me of Jane Fonda, I'm afraid."
Starsky rubbed his head, eying the innocuous slip of wire balefully. "Who?"
"Tandy," the blond answered, tossing it away.
Starsky left off rubbing his head and pulled out a comb. "No, I mean who did she remind you of?"
There was a long pause. "Sweet Alice."
"But Sweet Alice is blonde, and...."
He fell silent when Hutch raised his hand. "Not the way she looks," Hutch corrected him soberly, "the way she acts. So... vulnerable."
Starsky swung his feet off the desk and rose, crossing to use the one-way window as a mirror. "I think you're seeing things, partner. Only thing vulnerable about that one is her wallet."
Hutch, too, rose and came to stand behind his friend, meeting his eyes in the glass. "Maybe you're right. Still, there is something. "
Starsky poked him in the ribs with his elbow and stowed his comb. "Tell you, what. Hutch, you stop brooding about Tandy McKendricks and I'll buy you a bowl of the best chili north of L.A."
"I'm off chili, Starsk. Health foods for me again." Hutch patted his newly flat stomach. "Got 'ta watch the belly these days if I'm going to keep this off. And it wouldn't hurt you to-
"Oh, no," Starsky moaned loudly. "Here we go again."
*
After sweating it out in a holding ceil for nearly four hours, Simpson was returned to the interrogation room where a matched pair of unfriendly expressions awaited him.
"Well, look who we have here. Hutch," Starsky drawled. "If it isn't our favorite bully, pimp, and grade A choice murderer, LeRoy Simpson."
"Murderer?" LeRoy licked dry lips nervously, not nearly as defiant the second time around. "I told you I didn't kill nobody. "
"I understand they use the electric chair here in Oregon," Hutch said conversationally, ignoring the fidgeting black man.
Starsky looked up, interested. "'Zat so?"
"Yeah." Hutch leaned casually against the near wall and crossed his arms, not even deigning to look at the prisoner. "Ever see an electrocution, Starsky?"
"No Tell me 'bout it," the other invited, turning a chair around and straddling it. He fixed Simpson with a piercing look and smiled.
"It's really something. When they shoot that voltage through the body--"
"All right!" LeRoy snapped, insolence returning if not his courage. "What do you want?"
Hutch blinked. "We've already got what we want, LeRoy. We've got you for the murder of Elizabeth Carson,"
"No!" LeRoy sat down heavily in one of the hard wooden chairs circling the table. "I didn't kill her."
"We ran your prints, Simpson," Hutchinson told him. "You handled a string of girls in Portland. They arrested you after you beat one up so bad she almost died." He shook an admonishing finger under the man's nose. "That's quite a temper you've got here, LeRoy. Like to use your fists, don't you?
"You were trying to move in on that girl in Portland, scare her into working for you," Starsky reminded him coldly. "Beat her up a couple times and, from what we've been hearing, you were trying that with Elizabeth."
Simpson threw up his hands. "Sure, sure, I wanted Elizabeth to... uh... work for me, but I didn't kill her! I was with one of my girls that night - Jade Woods. You can check!"
"Yeah?" Starsky sneered. "I'm sure she's going to tell me the truth, too. So tell me, man, if you didn't kill her, who did?"
"I don't know, I swear I don't!" Simpson glanced from man to man, seeking some sign of encouragement. "Look, Elizabeth was seeing someone - someone regular. I don't know who, but word was he had money. Ask Tandy, she'll tell you!"
Hutch looked at Starsky, who shrugged, then opened the door to beckon one of the uniformed men. "Penn."
A young black man struck his head in. "Yeah, Sarge?"
Hutch jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the sweating Simpson. "Put this man back in the cage. He's to be held until further notice."
"Sure thing, Sarge." Officer Penn popped his gum amiably. "Come on, LeRoy, time to put you to bed."
"I want to talk to Tandy again," Hutch announced as soon as Simpson was gone.
"With legs like that, I'm not surprised."
"Starsky!" The mischievous grin made Hutch laugh. "No, really. For some reason, I think Simpson's telling the truth."
Starsky crossed his arms along the back of the chair and laid his chin on top. "Gimme a break! That guy wouldn't know the truth from a rutabaga."
"He says he has an alibi. Jade Woods."
"Oh, sure. I got a bridge for ya to buy, too." He sighed. "Oh, all right. You go talk to the redhead again. I'll borrow an unmarked and check out this Jade Woods. We got an address on her?"
Hutch consulted a file, "1423 Everston Pike. Far side of the Bowery."
"Swell." Starsky rose, his disgust clear on his face. "I'll hit the boss for a station wagon or something. Sure wish I had my Torino back. All they got down in the motor pool are dull old clunkers like you got."
Hutch chuckled and smoothed his blond hair back. "Relax. We'll get your tomato back. Eventually."
"That's Torino not tomato."
"Whatever." Hutch peered into the one-way glass to fingercomb his mustache. "Now if you'll excuse me, partner, I've got a date with a beautiful redhead. And this time I'm going to get some answers or else."
***
Unfortunately, the hookers in Langston didn't want to be organized or protected, having done quite well for themselves, thank you very much. That was when LeRoy abandoned persuasion and turned on the "charm" in a more physical sense, converting the girls one by one to his line of thinking.
During daylight hours, LeRoy was laid back and slick. Sitting out here in the morning sun dozing lightly and dreaming dreams of riches and power which would one day, he firmly believed, be his. By night, however, LeRoy transformed himself into Langston's only major league pimp. Yes, sir, life was looking pretty good for LeRoy Simpson.
LeRoy was dozing again, so he didn't hear the old Ford wheeze to a halt directly behind his brand new Jeep. He would have preferred a Caddy, of course, but a Caddy would have stood out in this town like a red flag, and LeRoy had learned young how to keep his head low.
Starsky and Hutch climbed the porch steps quietly and LeRoy only became aware of them once they'd reached his side. He studied them through his lashes even as they studied him, LeRoy being fully cognizant of his own appearance: he was a big man, muscular, with skin that shone like fine ebony. He could have been a handsome man but for the harsh lines embedded around the eyes and the cruel tilt to the mouth.
The two detectives exchanged a cautionary look and LeRoy tensed. Then Starsky smiled and kicked out sharply, knocking the chair over and dumping the negro to the rough planks. "Rise and shine, LeRoy," he called cheerily.
"Hub? Wha-?" Simpson started when he hit the ground, turning astonished eyes to the two men standing over him. One dark, one light, both smelling like cop. "Who are you? Pigs," he spat, answering his own question.
"On your feet, turkey." The darker man picked up the spilled chair and set it upright. After a moment's hesitation, Simpson scrambled to his feet to stand glaring at the two detectives. "Wha'choo want with me? I ain't done nuthin'," he spat, falling back into a sloppy street lingo. "Elizabeth Carson," the dark one shot suddenly. LeRoy gagged. "Who?" "Elizabeth. You know her." It was not a question.
Simpson feigned an innocent look. "Don't recognize the name none," he drawled. "'Course, I know lots of ladies, if not 'zactly by name." He smirked conspiratorially. "Don't even know you... by name."
The darker man shrugged. "I'm Detective Starsky," he explained patiently, as though to a six-year-old. "My temperamental partner over there is Detective Hutchinson." He smiled, a tight humorless twitch of his lips. "Now we're all friends." He dropped the false camaraderie, letting his voice and face harden. "Elizabeth was murdered last night." "Murdered?" The smirk vanished, replaced by a crafty glint deep in the black eyes. "Oh? And I'm supposed to know who done it?"
Starsky ignored the question an unnecessary, so LeRoy redirected his attention to Hutchinson, who had not spoken at all. The look in the blond's eye made LeRoy squirm for all he outweighed the man by twenty pounds. Cold blue eyes bored into the black man, stripping away facade and leaving him feeling exposed and naked before the scrutiny. "I didn't kill nobody," he blustered. "You got nothin' on me. Nothin'!"
Starsky took two steps forward, bringing his face up to stare belligerently into LeRoy's. "I understand you've appointed yourself guardian, protector and all around white knight to the ladies here in Langston." "Hunh?"
"You're a pimp," Starsky translated acidly. "I hear the girls don't want to cooperate, you... 'persuade' them a bit." "You don't know what you're talkin' about, pig," Simpson replied sullenly. "Some whore feeds you a load and you jump through hoops like a dog."
That galvanized Hutchinson into action. He gave LeRoy a hard shove, slamming him back against the wall. "You listen to me, slimeball," he gritted, each word bitten off harshly. "I've talked to a dozen girls this morning and your name keeps coming up." "So?"
The blond leaned closer. "So you are my favorite suspect on a murder one rap, sleezeball, and I, for one, would love to put you away."
Simpson drew his lips back over bared teeth, fighting the urge to retreat. "You got nuthin', pig."
Hutch released the bunched up shirt and stepped back with a cold smile. "No?" The smile faded. "I don't like you, LeRoy. I don't like you, your job, or your methods. I'm going to put you away. Count on it." That said, he reached around to his belt and extracted a set of plastic riot cuffs. "Right now, though, we're going downtown to discuss things a bit. Put your hands behind your back."
LeRoy tensed, prepared to resist, then paused when Starsky patted his shoulder in a friendly manner. "My partner doesn't like you, LeRoy. I'd watch my step if I were you, 'cause he can get reeeeal mean when he don't like you."
Resistance faded, leaving a shouldering, frustrated pimp glaring wildly and yelling epithets the entire trip to headquarters.
The interrogation was long and fruitless. After it was over both detectives sat regarding each other for some moments, listening to Simpson's loud voice raised in outrage as he was led away for pictures and prints. "Well, what d'ya think?" Starsky asked at last.
"I think he s a bully, a slimeball and guilty." Hutch stroked his mustache moodily. "They've got his kind all over, don't they?"
Starsky leaned his chair back and propped his sneaker-clad foot up on a corner of the battered desk. "You weren't expecting paradise up here, were you?"
"Maybe I was."
"No, you weren't." Starsky clasped his hands behind his head, completing his casual pose. "It's something else, isn't it? Something besides Simpson."
Hutch looked up in surprise. "How did you know that?"
Starsky smiled that bright, sunlit smile that Hutch always returned. "'Cause I know you, dummy. What is it? The dead girl?"
The blond shook his head. "Not that girl, the other one - Tandy."
One blue sneaker beat an uneven rhythm in the air. "Oh, yeah? What about her?"
"I was thinking...." Hutch trailed off, now worrying his mustache between thumb and forefinger.
"About?" the other prodded, stilling his foot.
"She reminds me of someone." He shrugged. "No big deal."
Starsky resumed his absent toe-tapping, smiling happily to himself. "She reminds me of Jane Fonda."
Hutch left off pulling his mustache to stare at his friend. "Jane Fonda?"
"All that red hair. She sure is pretty." Starsky wiggled his eyebrows lecherously. "If she wasn't doin' what she's doing.."
Hutch snorted. "Dream on, Romeo. If she wasn't hooking, a girl like that wouldn't give you the time of day."
Starsky tossed a paper clip across the desk. "She'd fall for my boyish charm first time I winked at her."
Hutch tossed the paper clip back, hitting his partner in the head. The paper clip instantly burrowed into the thick curls, vigorously resisting Starsky's efforts to dislodge it. "Would not."
"Would too." The paper clip was good and stuck.
Hutch grinned at his partner's struggle; the paper clip was obviously winning, "The Paul Muni type, eh? Of course, she'd still only be twenty years old."
"Yeah, well, there is that. Ouch!"
Hutch laughed, lightening the mood considerably. At Starsky's pleading look, he took pity and came to the rescue. "Hold still, I'll get it. Darn, Starsk, how am I supposed to turn you loose on the streets when you can't even overcome one, measly paper clip? And stop squirming." The paper clip finally relinquished its hold, to Starsky's immense and vocal relief. "There, you're free." A pause. "No, she didn't remind me of Jane Fonda, I'm afraid."
Starsky rubbed his head, eying the innocuous slip of wire balefully. "Who?"
"Tandy," the blond answered, tossing it away.
Starsky left off rubbing his head and pulled out a comb. "No, I mean who did she remind you of?"
There was a long pause. "Sweet Alice."
"But Sweet Alice is blonde, and...."
He fell silent when Hutch raised his hand. "Not the way she looks," Hutch corrected him soberly, "the way she acts. So... vulnerable."
Starsky swung his feet off the desk and rose, crossing to use the one-way window as a mirror. "I think you're seeing things, partner. Only thing vulnerable about that one is her wallet."
Hutch, too, rose and came to stand behind his friend, meeting his eyes in the glass. "Maybe you're right. Still, there is something. "
Starsky poked him in the ribs with his elbow and stowed his comb. "Tell you, what. Hutch, you stop brooding about Tandy McKendricks and I'll buy you a bowl of the best chili north of L.A."
"I'm off chili, Starsk. Health foods for me again." Hutch patted his newly flat stomach. "Got 'ta watch the belly these days if I'm going to keep this off. And it wouldn't hurt you to-
"Oh, no," Starsky moaned loudly. "Here we go again."
*
After sweating it out in a holding ceil for nearly four hours, Simpson was returned to the interrogation room where a matched pair of unfriendly expressions awaited him.
"Well, look who we have here. Hutch," Starsky drawled. "If it isn't our favorite bully, pimp, and grade A choice murderer, LeRoy Simpson."
"Murderer?" LeRoy licked dry lips nervously, not nearly as defiant the second time around. "I told you I didn't kill nobody. "
"I understand they use the electric chair here in Oregon," Hutch said conversationally, ignoring the fidgeting black man.
Starsky looked up, interested. "'Zat so?"
"Yeah." Hutch leaned casually against the near wall and crossed his arms, not even deigning to look at the prisoner. "Ever see an electrocution, Starsky?"
"No Tell me 'bout it," the other invited, turning a chair around and straddling it. He fixed Simpson with a piercing look and smiled.
"It's really something. When they shoot that voltage through the body--"
"All right!" LeRoy snapped, insolence returning if not his courage. "What do you want?"
Hutch blinked. "We've already got what we want, LeRoy. We've got you for the murder of Elizabeth Carson,"
"No!" LeRoy sat down heavily in one of the hard wooden chairs circling the table. "I didn't kill her."
"We ran your prints, Simpson," Hutchinson told him. "You handled a string of girls in Portland. They arrested you after you beat one up so bad she almost died." He shook an admonishing finger under the man's nose. "That's quite a temper you've got here, LeRoy. Like to use your fists, don't you?
"You were trying to move in on that girl in Portland, scare her into working for you," Starsky reminded him coldly. "Beat her up a couple times and, from what we've been hearing, you were trying that with Elizabeth."
Simpson threw up his hands. "Sure, sure, I wanted Elizabeth to... uh... work for me, but I didn't kill her! I was with one of my girls that night - Jade Woods. You can check!"
"Yeah?" Starsky sneered. "I'm sure she's going to tell me the truth, too. So tell me, man, if you didn't kill her, who did?"
"I don't know, I swear I don't!" Simpson glanced from man to man, seeking some sign of encouragement. "Look, Elizabeth was seeing someone - someone regular. I don't know who, but word was he had money. Ask Tandy, she'll tell you!"
Hutch looked at Starsky, who shrugged, then opened the door to beckon one of the uniformed men. "Penn."
A young black man struck his head in. "Yeah, Sarge?"
Hutch jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the sweating Simpson. "Put this man back in the cage. He's to be held until further notice."
"Sure thing, Sarge." Officer Penn popped his gum amiably. "Come on, LeRoy, time to put you to bed."
"I want to talk to Tandy again," Hutch announced as soon as Simpson was gone.
"With legs like that, I'm not surprised."
"Starsky!" The mischievous grin made Hutch laugh. "No, really. For some reason, I think Simpson's telling the truth."
Starsky crossed his arms along the back of the chair and laid his chin on top. "Gimme a break! That guy wouldn't know the truth from a rutabaga."
"He says he has an alibi. Jade Woods."
"Oh, sure. I got a bridge for ya to buy, too." He sighed. "Oh, all right. You go talk to the redhead again. I'll borrow an unmarked and check out this Jade Woods. We got an address on her?"
Hutch consulted a file, "1423 Everston Pike. Far side of the Bowery."
"Swell." Starsky rose, his disgust clear on his face. "I'll hit the boss for a station wagon or something. Sure wish I had my Torino back. All they got down in the motor pool are dull old clunkers like you got."
Hutch chuckled and smoothed his blond hair back. "Relax. We'll get your tomato back. Eventually."
"That's Torino not tomato."
"Whatever." Hutch peered into the one-way glass to fingercomb his mustache. "Now if you'll excuse me, partner, I've got a date with a beautiful redhead. And this time I'm going to get some answers or else."
***