Hours later Starsky and Hutchinson had seen LeRoy Simpson and Tandy
McKendricks questioned, booked and jailed, and were just putting the
finishing touches to the mountain of paperwork that accompanied every major
arrest. The clack-clack of the typewriter was liberally interspersed with
much erasing, paper crumpling and cursing, but finally the mountain was
reduced to the proverbial molehill, the bulk neatly typed, signed and
waiting in the OUT basket for Chief Connor's perusal, The office was very
quiet; most of the force had long since either gone home or left for
patrol. The only ones left were themselves. Lisa Smith, the swing-shift
dispatcher over in her little glassed-off cubicle, and Sam Rogers back in
the detention/ interrogation section. Otherwise, excepting only some
prisoners, the building was deserted.
Starsky muttered an oath under his breath and yanked the sheet from the typewriter. Thank God for erasers. He didn't think he could face retyping this page again. "Ya know. Hutch, I think it's taking us longer to do this stupid paperwork than it did to pop Simpson."
"There's enough of it," Hutch agreed morosely. "You about done?"
"Yeah." Starsky went back to erasing the report, put the eraser down and sat staring, lost in thought. He rubbed his chest in an unconscious gesture, wincing slightly as the movement only served to increase his discomfort. Whenever he was tired or exposed to dampness or temperature variations, the old wounds tended to protesting even the slightest strain put upon them. Oddly enough, the bullet scars in his chest hurt far less than the broken leg he'd suffered when he was twelve.
He drew a painful breath, rubbing his chest again, but unaware of the action. His mind was still on the report he was filling out. With a disgusted grunt he reach again for the worn-out eraser and raised his eyes. "Hey, Hutch, how do you spell... what's wrong?"
The blond was studying him quite openly, reproachful concern sparking in the azure eyes. "I should be asking you that. How much are you hurting? Bad?"
Starsky's hand dropped away as if stung. "It's all right." He shrugged. "It hurts. Nothing an aspirin won't fix." The blond accepted that. Starsky typed valiantly several more minutes, removed the paper and scrawled a signature on the bottom. The form joined its brethren in the OUT basket. "That does it. LeRoy Simpson, signed, sealed and delivered."
"So's Tandy."
Starsky regarded his partner narrowly. "Are you still thinking about her?" He picked up a paperclip, fiddled with it, then tossed it at Hutch, hitting the man on the top of the head.
"Hey!" Hutch retrieved the sliver of aluminum, made to toss it back, then hesitated. "Are you sure you want to start this again?"
"No!" Starsky covered his head in semi-mock panic. "Those things don't like me too well."
"You kidding, Starsk?" Hutch feinted a toss, causing Starsky to howl and duck. "They love you. Even paperclips have trouble resisting the Paul Muni type."
That won him a scowl. "Smart ass." He brightened. "Hey, wanna go to Mario's for something to eat?"
"Might as well." The paperclip disappeared into the trashcan. "We've been too busy to go grocery shopping for weeks. "
"We've got food at home."
Hutch regarded the innocent expression with dawning horror. "You haven't been eating that stuff, have you? Do you have any idea how old that food is?" "Tasted all right to me." Hutch looked nauseated. "Hey, partner, if it hasn't killed me by now.."
"Don't be too sure, Starsk. Even that cast iron stomach of yours isn't going to last forever. Now if you were to try some bean--"
"Don't even say it!" Starsky held up a hand. "I don't wanna even hear the word bean sprouts..." He made a sound reminiscent of a cat gagging on a hairball. "... much less eat 'em. Are we going to Mario's or not?"
"You know it wouldn't hurt you to start eating better," Hutch said, reaching for his jacket. "Get some vitamins, some minerals."
Starsky ushered him out first with a little wave. "So I'll order a Daiquiri, okay? Geez, what a nag."
***
Mario LeGretto had spent twenty-five years on the Langston Police Force. When he retired in 1972, he opened up a little tavern only steps from the municipal building. Comfortable and relaxing, boasting a pool table, dart boards and muted lights, it was the ideal place for a weary police officer to end his "official" day before returning to the "real" world of wife, kids and television. Most of the Force ended up there after duty shift was over, and Langston's two newest detectives found that they enjoyed the atmosphere as well. It wasn't exactly Huggy Bear's Pitts, but then, what was?
Starsky stepped through the doors of the tavern, coming up short. "Excuse me." He smiled his brightest smile at the young woman he'd "accidentally" bumped.
The girl wet full lips, running an appreciative eye down the lines of his tight muscled form. Her scrutiny paused at the hip line. "My pleasure." She dimpled. "I'm--"
"Loretta, is this guy bothering you?"
Starsky glanced over his shoulder and up -- and up -- into a pair of piggish eyes set into 300 pounds of pure gristle. He backed away hurriedly, stammering. "No, I was just..."
The man ignored Starsky altogether, his muscles rippling ominously under his checkered shirt. "Loretta?"
Loretta tossed her beautiful head, dislodging a lock of sleek brown hair, which fell into her eyes. "He's not bothering me, Billy." She took the large man's arm, steering him to the bar.
Starsky imagined he heard the floor quake with each step of the massive man.
Loretta flipped her hair back over her shoulder, using the opportunity to mouth the words "Husband," and "Maybe later," to Starsky. Then she was swallowed up by the crowds. Starsky stared after her, dismayed. Of course she was married- And of course she had to be married to the Hulk. The way his luck was going.. He became aware of Hutch standing in the doorway. Smirking.
"Sure was pretty," Hutch commented to no one in particular. Starsky simmered. "Didn't get her phone number, I suppose?"
"Oh, shut up." Starsky turned his back to the muffled guffaws and surveyed the crowd crossly. "Looks like everyone's here. "
"Hmmm." Fit of laughter over. Hutch looked around as well. "There's Neil and Huggy. You go over to the table; I'll get a couple of beers. And stay out of trouble."
Starsky scowled blackly, thinking thoughts of sweet revenge. Opportunities for a payback always presented themselves if you thought about it hard enough. He was gleefully considering ancient Chinese tortures when he reached Connor's table.
Huggy, in a red silk shirt, was dressed more flamboyantly than he had been that afternoon. He welcomed Starsky with a flick of his cigarette. "Ah, my favorite fuzz friends. What it be, Starsky?"
Starsky brushed ash off his jacket. "Hey, Hug. Neil." He turned a chair around and straddled it backwards, resting his chin on the backrest. "You two are thick as thieves over here. Hope you aren't telling Neil too many fairy tales, Hug. We're just going to have to deny 'em anyway."
Neil burst out laughing. "As a matter of fact, that's exactly what he is telling me." Starsky looked puzzled.
"Fairy tales. Huggy was just telling me about the time the three of you went undercover in that gay bar and..." Starsky held up a peremptory hand. "Please, spare me the details, I was there." He turned to Huggy with a pained expression. "Don't know why--"
"Move over." Hutch gave his partner's chair a solid kick. "Come on, move your butt, Starsk. I'm not holding these things all night."
Starsky moved over to make room for Hutch to slide into a chair. The blond set one beer down in front of Starsky, then took a long pull of the other. "Hits the spot." He wiped suds off his mustache. "You telling Neil about the bust today?" "Not exactly," Starsky snickered.
"The Bear does not rest on his laurels, m'man." Huggy drew himself up. "For your information, we have been discussing the finer points of investigative procedure in an undercover situation. "
Starsky snickered again. Hutch contrived to look impressed. "Really? Learn anything?"
"I have learned that some aspects of police work can turn out to be a real blast." Huggy looked regretful. "That Tandy sure was sweet. Hated to set her up like that."
"Don't worry 'bout it, Hug." Starsky patted a thin shoulder. "She was dealing smack. Had to be taken out."
"Maybe so, but I' m sure sorry it had to be me who done it." He noticed a suspiciously quiet Hutch staring pensively into his beer. "Looks like I ain't the only one what feels that way."
Hutch ignored that and pointedly changed the subject. "It's not over, you know."
A blare from the jukebox drowned out anything further he was about to say. The men waited patiently while the bartender hastily adjusted the volume. Connor stared at Hutch, alarmed. "Did I just hear what I thought I heard?" A nod. "What isn't over yet? Is there something wrong with the evidence?"
Starsky's brow went up. "Neil, with the microphone, the heroin and three witnesses. I'd say the evidence against Simpson is pretty well air tight."
"Then what isn't over?" Connor demanded, carefully setting down his beer.
"The case."
Connor looked from one pair of blue eyes to the other, finding the same stubborn determination reflected in each. Finally in desperation he turned to Huggy. "Do you know what these two hot shots are talking about?"
The tall black raised his hand, again scattering cigarette ashes in all directions. "Not me, man. The way these dudes' minds work is not for such lowly acolytes as we to understand."
Connor looked even less enlightened than he had before, were that possible. He picked up his beer again, hefted it thoughtfully before speaking again. "You're going after Simpson's supplier, aren't you?"
"Give the man a cee-gar," Starsky approved. "Yeah, we got Simpson. Now we want his source."
Connor took a long swallow before asking, "You have any idea how you're going to get him?"
"Not a clue." Hutch smiled benignly over his suds. "Of course that's never stopped us before."
"Uh-oh." "What's the matter. Hug?" Starsk asked innocently.
"I gots a feeling ol' Huggy Bear ain't gonna like whatever it is you two're cooking up."
The jukebox plunked down another record - an old song about either a lost love or a dead horse - the words weren't too clear on that point. Starsky listened to the music a minute. "Nice song." He popped a pretzel into his mouth. "You didn't seem to mind the last plan much. Hug."
Huggy settled back in his chair, a smug smile lifting his full lips, "The last plan, my boy, contained a very productive type of equation. You had one beautiful woman, one Bear and one microphone. This time I don't see no beautiful woman and you ain't about ta see no Bear, neither."
"Relax, Huggy," Hutch soothed him. "Your cover is pretty well blown anyway. You're..." He trailed off, appalled, as Huggy withdrew a chocolate bar from one pocket, unwrapped it and dunked it into his beer. "What are you doing?"
Huggy took a bite of the chocolate and washing it down with a gulp of beer. "I been playing a strung-out type for near three weeks, right?"
Hutch nodded. "What does that...?"
"Which means I been living on liquor and candy bars all that time," Huggy went on unheeding.
"Well, yes, but..."
Huggy dunked another chunk. "Believe it or not, fuzz friend, I kind'a got to like it."
Starsky looked interested. "Really?"
"I've had worse. "
"Lemme try it." Starsky snapped off a piece of Huggy's candy bar and dunked it into his own beer. Trails of chocolate swirled down to the bottom of the glass.
Huggy pshawed with a gesture. "You can't just dunk it, Starsky, ya gotta chase it."
"Oh." The candy disappeared into Starsky's mouth followed by a gulp of beer. He chewed thoughtfully, ignoring the green tinge appearing on Hutch's face. "Not bad. Hug, not bad. Ever try--"
Hutch deliberately tuned them out. There was only so much a partner could be expected to take, after all.
Neil listened rapt in morbid fascination for a bit longer before leaving the conversation. "Ugh. Do they really eat that stuff or is it just talk?"
Hutch grinned. "They really eat it."
Connor shook his head. "They were right."
"Right?"
"People really are weird in L.A."
"Some of them, anyway." Hutch took a hefty swig of his own, mercifully untainted brew before speaking again. "Listen, Neil, I've been thinking."
An argument broke out just then between Starsky and Huggy Bear as to the more "dunkable" brands of chocolate. Neil wrinkled his nose before deliberately turning his back out he duo. "Simpson's supplier again, right?" he asked with patient resignation.
Hutch studied a crack on the dirty table, not raising his eyes as he spoke. "Picture this guy sitting somewhere all fat and safe, probably looking around right now for someone else to distribute for him, knowing we can't touch him. Guy must be laughing himself sick over the 'big' bust we made today."
"You really want him bad, don't you." Flat statement.
Starsky interrupted his discussion the relative merits of soggy sweets to interject, "We both want him bad."
Hutch met the eyes of his partner over the rim of his glass, acknowledging the truth of the sentiment. "Well get him, too."
"I honestly believe you will." Connor stared from man to man, catching the unspoken communication which passed between them. "I'd sure hate to have you two on my tail."
"Keep your nose clean, Chief," Starsky grinned, "and you won't."
"Enough of this po-lice jive." Huggy interrupted his growling stomach adding emphasis to his words. "Are we here to talk or to eat?"
"Yeah, I'm hungry too." Starsky glanced around. "Never a waitress around when you want one."
"Never fear, the Bear is here." Huggy reached into another pocket. "Have another piece of chocolate."
"Thanks."
"How long have you had to put up with this?" Neil asked Hutch sympathetically.
The blond rolled his eyes. "Seven years," he groaned. "Seven long years of putting up with his eating habits, his car and his jokes." Hutch gave a long-suffering sigh. "Could've been worse though."
"How?" Connor asked curiously.
Hutch watched his partner again, happy and healthy and whole. "It could have been seven years without him."
Finish
Starsky muttered an oath under his breath and yanked the sheet from the typewriter. Thank God for erasers. He didn't think he could face retyping this page again. "Ya know. Hutch, I think it's taking us longer to do this stupid paperwork than it did to pop Simpson."
"There's enough of it," Hutch agreed morosely. "You about done?"
"Yeah." Starsky went back to erasing the report, put the eraser down and sat staring, lost in thought. He rubbed his chest in an unconscious gesture, wincing slightly as the movement only served to increase his discomfort. Whenever he was tired or exposed to dampness or temperature variations, the old wounds tended to protesting even the slightest strain put upon them. Oddly enough, the bullet scars in his chest hurt far less than the broken leg he'd suffered when he was twelve.
He drew a painful breath, rubbing his chest again, but unaware of the action. His mind was still on the report he was filling out. With a disgusted grunt he reach again for the worn-out eraser and raised his eyes. "Hey, Hutch, how do you spell... what's wrong?"
The blond was studying him quite openly, reproachful concern sparking in the azure eyes. "I should be asking you that. How much are you hurting? Bad?"
Starsky's hand dropped away as if stung. "It's all right." He shrugged. "It hurts. Nothing an aspirin won't fix." The blond accepted that. Starsky typed valiantly several more minutes, removed the paper and scrawled a signature on the bottom. The form joined its brethren in the OUT basket. "That does it. LeRoy Simpson, signed, sealed and delivered."
"So's Tandy."
Starsky regarded his partner narrowly. "Are you still thinking about her?" He picked up a paperclip, fiddled with it, then tossed it at Hutch, hitting the man on the top of the head.
"Hey!" Hutch retrieved the sliver of aluminum, made to toss it back, then hesitated. "Are you sure you want to start this again?"
"No!" Starsky covered his head in semi-mock panic. "Those things don't like me too well."
"You kidding, Starsk?" Hutch feinted a toss, causing Starsky to howl and duck. "They love you. Even paperclips have trouble resisting the Paul Muni type."
That won him a scowl. "Smart ass." He brightened. "Hey, wanna go to Mario's for something to eat?"
"Might as well." The paperclip disappeared into the trashcan. "We've been too busy to go grocery shopping for weeks. "
"We've got food at home."
Hutch regarded the innocent expression with dawning horror. "You haven't been eating that stuff, have you? Do you have any idea how old that food is?" "Tasted all right to me." Hutch looked nauseated. "Hey, partner, if it hasn't killed me by now.."
"Don't be too sure, Starsk. Even that cast iron stomach of yours isn't going to last forever. Now if you were to try some bean--"
"Don't even say it!" Starsky held up a hand. "I don't wanna even hear the word bean sprouts..." He made a sound reminiscent of a cat gagging on a hairball. "... much less eat 'em. Are we going to Mario's or not?"
"You know it wouldn't hurt you to start eating better," Hutch said, reaching for his jacket. "Get some vitamins, some minerals."
Starsky ushered him out first with a little wave. "So I'll order a Daiquiri, okay? Geez, what a nag."
***
Mario LeGretto had spent twenty-five years on the Langston Police Force. When he retired in 1972, he opened up a little tavern only steps from the municipal building. Comfortable and relaxing, boasting a pool table, dart boards and muted lights, it was the ideal place for a weary police officer to end his "official" day before returning to the "real" world of wife, kids and television. Most of the Force ended up there after duty shift was over, and Langston's two newest detectives found that they enjoyed the atmosphere as well. It wasn't exactly Huggy Bear's Pitts, but then, what was?
Starsky stepped through the doors of the tavern, coming up short. "Excuse me." He smiled his brightest smile at the young woman he'd "accidentally" bumped.
The girl wet full lips, running an appreciative eye down the lines of his tight muscled form. Her scrutiny paused at the hip line. "My pleasure." She dimpled. "I'm--"
"Loretta, is this guy bothering you?"
Starsky glanced over his shoulder and up -- and up -- into a pair of piggish eyes set into 300 pounds of pure gristle. He backed away hurriedly, stammering. "No, I was just..."
The man ignored Starsky altogether, his muscles rippling ominously under his checkered shirt. "Loretta?"
Loretta tossed her beautiful head, dislodging a lock of sleek brown hair, which fell into her eyes. "He's not bothering me, Billy." She took the large man's arm, steering him to the bar.
Starsky imagined he heard the floor quake with each step of the massive man.
Loretta flipped her hair back over her shoulder, using the opportunity to mouth the words "Husband," and "Maybe later," to Starsky. Then she was swallowed up by the crowds. Starsky stared after her, dismayed. Of course she was married- And of course she had to be married to the Hulk. The way his luck was going.. He became aware of Hutch standing in the doorway. Smirking.
"Sure was pretty," Hutch commented to no one in particular. Starsky simmered. "Didn't get her phone number, I suppose?"
"Oh, shut up." Starsky turned his back to the muffled guffaws and surveyed the crowd crossly. "Looks like everyone's here. "
"Hmmm." Fit of laughter over. Hutch looked around as well. "There's Neil and Huggy. You go over to the table; I'll get a couple of beers. And stay out of trouble."
Starsky scowled blackly, thinking thoughts of sweet revenge. Opportunities for a payback always presented themselves if you thought about it hard enough. He was gleefully considering ancient Chinese tortures when he reached Connor's table.
Huggy, in a red silk shirt, was dressed more flamboyantly than he had been that afternoon. He welcomed Starsky with a flick of his cigarette. "Ah, my favorite fuzz friends. What it be, Starsky?"
Starsky brushed ash off his jacket. "Hey, Hug. Neil." He turned a chair around and straddled it backwards, resting his chin on the backrest. "You two are thick as thieves over here. Hope you aren't telling Neil too many fairy tales, Hug. We're just going to have to deny 'em anyway."
Neil burst out laughing. "As a matter of fact, that's exactly what he is telling me." Starsky looked puzzled.
"Fairy tales. Huggy was just telling me about the time the three of you went undercover in that gay bar and..." Starsky held up a peremptory hand. "Please, spare me the details, I was there." He turned to Huggy with a pained expression. "Don't know why--"
"Move over." Hutch gave his partner's chair a solid kick. "Come on, move your butt, Starsk. I'm not holding these things all night."
Starsky moved over to make room for Hutch to slide into a chair. The blond set one beer down in front of Starsky, then took a long pull of the other. "Hits the spot." He wiped suds off his mustache. "You telling Neil about the bust today?" "Not exactly," Starsky snickered.
"The Bear does not rest on his laurels, m'man." Huggy drew himself up. "For your information, we have been discussing the finer points of investigative procedure in an undercover situation. "
Starsky snickered again. Hutch contrived to look impressed. "Really? Learn anything?"
"I have learned that some aspects of police work can turn out to be a real blast." Huggy looked regretful. "That Tandy sure was sweet. Hated to set her up like that."
"Don't worry 'bout it, Hug." Starsky patted a thin shoulder. "She was dealing smack. Had to be taken out."
"Maybe so, but I' m sure sorry it had to be me who done it." He noticed a suspiciously quiet Hutch staring pensively into his beer. "Looks like I ain't the only one what feels that way."
Hutch ignored that and pointedly changed the subject. "It's not over, you know."
A blare from the jukebox drowned out anything further he was about to say. The men waited patiently while the bartender hastily adjusted the volume. Connor stared at Hutch, alarmed. "Did I just hear what I thought I heard?" A nod. "What isn't over yet? Is there something wrong with the evidence?"
Starsky's brow went up. "Neil, with the microphone, the heroin and three witnesses. I'd say the evidence against Simpson is pretty well air tight."
"Then what isn't over?" Connor demanded, carefully setting down his beer.
"The case."
Connor looked from one pair of blue eyes to the other, finding the same stubborn determination reflected in each. Finally in desperation he turned to Huggy. "Do you know what these two hot shots are talking about?"
The tall black raised his hand, again scattering cigarette ashes in all directions. "Not me, man. The way these dudes' minds work is not for such lowly acolytes as we to understand."
Connor looked even less enlightened than he had before, were that possible. He picked up his beer again, hefted it thoughtfully before speaking again. "You're going after Simpson's supplier, aren't you?"
"Give the man a cee-gar," Starsky approved. "Yeah, we got Simpson. Now we want his source."
Connor took a long swallow before asking, "You have any idea how you're going to get him?"
"Not a clue." Hutch smiled benignly over his suds. "Of course that's never stopped us before."
"Uh-oh." "What's the matter. Hug?" Starsk asked innocently.
"I gots a feeling ol' Huggy Bear ain't gonna like whatever it is you two're cooking up."
The jukebox plunked down another record - an old song about either a lost love or a dead horse - the words weren't too clear on that point. Starsky listened to the music a minute. "Nice song." He popped a pretzel into his mouth. "You didn't seem to mind the last plan much. Hug."
Huggy settled back in his chair, a smug smile lifting his full lips, "The last plan, my boy, contained a very productive type of equation. You had one beautiful woman, one Bear and one microphone. This time I don't see no beautiful woman and you ain't about ta see no Bear, neither."
"Relax, Huggy," Hutch soothed him. "Your cover is pretty well blown anyway. You're..." He trailed off, appalled, as Huggy withdrew a chocolate bar from one pocket, unwrapped it and dunked it into his beer. "What are you doing?"
Huggy took a bite of the chocolate and washing it down with a gulp of beer. "I been playing a strung-out type for near three weeks, right?"
Hutch nodded. "What does that...?"
"Which means I been living on liquor and candy bars all that time," Huggy went on unheeding.
"Well, yes, but..."
Huggy dunked another chunk. "Believe it or not, fuzz friend, I kind'a got to like it."
Starsky looked interested. "Really?"
"I've had worse. "
"Lemme try it." Starsky snapped off a piece of Huggy's candy bar and dunked it into his own beer. Trails of chocolate swirled down to the bottom of the glass.
Huggy pshawed with a gesture. "You can't just dunk it, Starsky, ya gotta chase it."
"Oh." The candy disappeared into Starsky's mouth followed by a gulp of beer. He chewed thoughtfully, ignoring the green tinge appearing on Hutch's face. "Not bad. Hug, not bad. Ever try--"
Hutch deliberately tuned them out. There was only so much a partner could be expected to take, after all.
Neil listened rapt in morbid fascination for a bit longer before leaving the conversation. "Ugh. Do they really eat that stuff or is it just talk?"
Hutch grinned. "They really eat it."
Connor shook his head. "They were right."
"Right?"
"People really are weird in L.A."
"Some of them, anyway." Hutch took a hefty swig of his own, mercifully untainted brew before speaking again. "Listen, Neil, I've been thinking."
An argument broke out just then between Starsky and Huggy Bear as to the more "dunkable" brands of chocolate. Neil wrinkled his nose before deliberately turning his back out he duo. "Simpson's supplier again, right?" he asked with patient resignation.
Hutch studied a crack on the dirty table, not raising his eyes as he spoke. "Picture this guy sitting somewhere all fat and safe, probably looking around right now for someone else to distribute for him, knowing we can't touch him. Guy must be laughing himself sick over the 'big' bust we made today."
"You really want him bad, don't you." Flat statement.
Starsky interrupted his discussion the relative merits of soggy sweets to interject, "We both want him bad."
Hutch met the eyes of his partner over the rim of his glass, acknowledging the truth of the sentiment. "Well get him, too."
"I honestly believe you will." Connor stared from man to man, catching the unspoken communication which passed between them. "I'd sure hate to have you two on my tail."
"Keep your nose clean, Chief," Starsky grinned, "and you won't."
"Enough of this po-lice jive." Huggy interrupted his growling stomach adding emphasis to his words. "Are we here to talk or to eat?"
"Yeah, I'm hungry too." Starsky glanced around. "Never a waitress around when you want one."
"Never fear, the Bear is here." Huggy reached into another pocket. "Have another piece of chocolate."
"Thanks."
"How long have you had to put up with this?" Neil asked Hutch sympathetically.
The blond rolled his eyes. "Seven years," he groaned. "Seven long years of putting up with his eating habits, his car and his jokes." Hutch gave a long-suffering sigh. "Could've been worse though."
"How?" Connor asked curiously.
Hutch watched his partner again, happy and healthy and whole. "It could have been seven years without him."
Finish