Night And Day
Chapter Two: Bunny and the Warehouse
Author's Notes: Black Crystall Draygon ā Thanks! I'm glad you enjoy it so far. And don't worry, you'll find out who killed him soon enough!
Freddie ā Thanks to you as well. The thing I love about S&H is the goofy humor they have in the show, and I really wanted to get that across in my fic. Besides, Starsky is just too cute not to throw in some of the silly stuff he'd do.
Gordo and Blintz ā Awww, thanks guys! You two rock, I didn't really expect reviews only because you've both read it already. So, thanks a bunch! Love ya guys!
Disclaimers: As I forgot this little bit of possibly important information... Starsky, Hutch, Dobey, Huggy, and the Torino aren't mine, although... oh, to have Starsky, it's just a great dream. Everything else in this story, Bunny, Mr. Clinton, the warehouse, and the other characters are mine.
Starsky knocked on the door to apartment 401, cast Hutch a pleading glance. "It's not too late to stay in and watch movies."
Hutch gave his partner a look. "Starsk, we have to make nice. Besides, maybe Bunny knows something else about George's accident that he'll tell us over drinks."
The curly-haired man shrugged. "Fine."
The apartment door swung open, revealing a dressed-down Bunny. He wore a simple pair of tan slacks, and a button down shirt in the same color. "Hi, guys!" he greeted.
"Hey, Bunny." Starsky smiled. "You look, comfortable."
The man on the other side grinned. "I have many personas. But at home, I'm lazy-Bunny. Come on in."
The two stepped through the door, and Starsky was amazed at how well put together his apartment was. Bunny seemed to have a knack for interior decorating.
The walls were painted a deep rusty orange, with random pieces of art hung up (Starsky was thankful there were no pornographic paintings) at varying levels. The carpet was, of all things, black, and very squishy. Cream-colored furniture set off the dark walls and carpet, giving the room a very spacious look.
"Have a seat," he said, indicating the couch against one wall.
Starsky sat down, threw his arm behind the couch until Hutch sat next to him, then draped the arm over his partner's neck. Hutch let a hand rest lightly on Starsky's thigh.
Bunny was standing in the kitchen, looking at labels of various liquor bottles. "What would you boys like to drink? I have some hard liquor here, some wine, and I can easily make daiquiris."
"Wine," they said simultaneously.
"Wine it is."
He entered the living room with three glasses, handed one to Starsky and one to Hutch, then sat down on the chair adjacent to them. "To love," he said, holding up his glass. "May it always be a shining beacon."
They all touched glasses, and Hutch took a long pull of his wine, while Starsky only sipped.
"So, are you ready to start work tomorrow?" he asked.
Starsky shrugged, set his glass on the table in front of him. "I don't even know what it is we'll be doing," he said.
Bunny smiled. "You guys will be in packaging. That's where the most help is needed. Of course, it probably has everything to do with the supervisor down there."
Hutch leaned forward. "The supervisor?"
"Oh yes, Mark is, quite possibly, the biggest, meanest son-of-a-bitch in this place."
The two detectives exchanged a look. "And he's the supervisor down there?" Starsky asked.
Bunny nodded. "Mr. Clinton has lost a good many workers because of Mark. He just won't fire him, though. Says he's too valuable to keep the operation down there running smoothly." He rolled his brown eyes. "The only reason it runs so smoothly is because everyone down there is scared to death of him."
"Why are they scared?"
The brown eyes focused on Hutch. "Mark has, let's say, certain tactics that can make a grown man weep. You two watch yourselves tomorrow. Anything out of line and he'd be ready to make an example out of you."
"Why would Mr. Clinton allow that?" Starsky took another sip of his wine.
"He doesn't know," Bunny muttered. "Mark has told just about everyone that if anyone tells Mr. Clinton about him, he'd kill as many as of us as he could."
Hutch looked to Starsky, who gave him an imperceptible nod.
"Bunny, do you think Mark could have been the one who pushed George off the catwalk?"
The lanky man nearly choked on his wine. "Who told you that?"
"No one... Iā"
"Who said it, Ken?"
Hutch held up his arms. "Bunny, calm down. No one said anything. The way you talk about Mark, it just seems to make sense."
The other man leaned back into his chair, took a long drink from his glass. He sighed, then looked at the two men. "I don't know for sure, but it seems that way. Mark has free reign over the whole warehouse. He could have easily been up on that catwalk. He never liked George. Hell, he doesn't like anyone, but George, well, he always found some way to humiliate him in front of everybody. And while he was doing that, it sent a message to us all that said, 'Don't get on my bad side, or you'll be next.' I would sit up with George at night, and hold him while he cried. You don't understand yet," he said, staring at the two with wide, fear-filled eyes. "But you will. I just want you to know what you're going into down there."
"What kind of stuff would he do to George?" Starsky wondered.
Bunny shuddered visibly. "The worst thing he ever did, and I'm sorry to say that I had to witness it, was strip George naked, and make him stand on a box in the middle of the warehouse. Then he took a leather strap... and..." he broke off, unable to finish the story. The tears came, and he dropped his head into his hands, crying.
"I know that bastard killed George, but I can't do anything about it!" he wailed.
Starsky was off the couch in a few seconds, sitting on the arm of Bunny's chair, stroking the man's back. "Bunny," he said, his voice soft, sympathetic. "Why didn't you go to the police?"
"I c-can't!"
"Why not?"
Bunny sniffled loudly. "I have a record. A-a-and I'm still kind of on the run."
"From what?" Starsky pressed.
"I stole a car, when I was twenty," he said, his voice calmer now. "I'd been drinking, and wrecked into a building. No one was hurt, but I totaled the car and took off running. It was on the news about me, and I came straight here, begging for a job." He lifted his head and stared up at Starsky. "Mr. Clinton took me in when I had no where else to go. I can't tell the police about Mark. I'll lose my job, I'll go to jail, and so will Mr. Clinton."
He looked down again, and Starsky looked at Hutch, who'd been sitting on the edge of the couch in silence. They caught each other's eye.
"Well, I think that's enough of bad talk for the evening," Hutch said. "Let's do something fun. You have any games, Bunny?"
The other man looked up, a grin coming to his tear-streaked face. "Yeah, you boys like cards?"
"Of course," Starsky answered. "Who doesn't like cards?"
The next three hours was full of hand after hand of Rummy, and Bunny spent more time laughing at Starsky's glee when he went out than worrying about what had transpired in the beginning of the visit.
It was nearly midnight when Starsky yawned widely. Hutch noticed his partner's fatigue and laid his cards down.
"I think we're going to hit the sack, Bunny. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow."
Bunny had noticed Starsky's yawn as well. "Yeah, it's getting very late."
The three walked to the door, and Bunny opened it. "I had fun tonight. It's the first time I had company since..."
Starsky placed a hand on his shoulder. "We know. We had fun, too. We should do this again."
The other man smiled. "I'd like that. If I'm not in the warehouse, I'm here, so feel free to drop by anytime."
"Same goes for you," Hutch told him. "Good night, Bunny." He leaned over and gave the man a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Yeah, come on down," Starsky agreed, planting a kiss on his other cheek.
Bunny flushed a deep crimson. "You boys are too cute. Good night."
Starsky winked at him. "You're not so bad yourself," he remarked. "'Night, Bunny."
Taking Hutch's hand, Starsky went out the door, and the two walked side-by-side to the stairs.
Down in their own apartment, Starsky threw himself onto the bed, fully clothed. "I'm so exhausted," he complained.
"So get ready for bed, why don't you?" Hutch told him.
"Too tired to move," he mumbled. Starsky opened his eyes when a shadow fell over his face. Hutch stared down at him, a stern look on his face. "What?"
"You're not sleeping in the middle of the bed. There's two of us."
"Aw, man Hutch, I don't wanna move."
"All right." Hutch grabbed his partner by the shoulder and pulled him to the side, intent on rolling him off the bed. For all the weariness Starsky felt, however, he was quick enough to catch Hutch's legs with his and pull him down with him. They landed in a pile beside the bed, Starsky on top of Hutch.
"Oof!" Hutch groaned at the weight pressing on his chest. "Jeez, Starsk, lay off the beef burritos, will ya?"
"Lay off--?" Starsky's blue eyes went wild. He reached down and dug his fingers into Hutch's side, making the other man squirm beneath him. "I'll give you 'lay off the beef burritos,' Blintz!"
"Ah! Starsk, that tickles! Stop!" Hutch tried to heave his partner off him, but Starsk was now sitting his on chest, pinning his arms under his knees. "Dammit, Gordo, let me up!"
"You give?" Starsky asked, his tickling fingers paused.
"Yes! I give, now will ya let me up?"
Starsky got to his feet, extended his hand toward Hutch.
"I thought you were tired," Hutch grumbled.
"I was, but now you've woken me up." The brunette stretched, grinned at Hutch and moved to the other side of the room to find his sweats. He stripped off his clothes, pulled on the sweats, and folded his jeans and shirt neatly.
Hutch couldn't suppress a chuckle. Starsky was such a neat freak, it was damn near sickening. He stared at the bed for a moment, then looked back to his partner. "How are we sleeping?"
"With our eyes closed." Starsky made his way into the bathroom to brush his teeth.
While the water was running, Hutch changed into sweats and a tee shirt and stepped into the bathroom. He grabbed his own toothbrush and hip checked Starsky aside so he could get to the sink.
"You know somethin' buddy? You're a real pain," the shirtless man commented around his toothbrush.
"Still didn't answer my question."
"Hutch, the bed is huge. You take one side, I'll take the other. It wouldn't do for one of us to be sleeping on the couch if someone happens to come by before we're up."
The blonde shrugged. "All right."
They left the bathroom together, switching off the lights as they went. Starsky climbed into the bed, and patted the other side invitingly. "Come on, babe, let's get some sleep."
In the dark of the room, Hutch lay on his back, listening to Starsky's deep, even breathing. He didn't know why he couldn't sleep, even though he was tired.
Yes, you do, a voice in his mind said. You know exactly why you can't sleep, you're just too chicken to admit it.
Hutch rolled over, stared at the back of Starsky's head. Yes, he knew why he was awake, watching his partner sleeping. But the words could never be spoken. He wouldn't ruin his friendship with Starsky by admitting it. He could imagine Starsky's response. The blank face, followed by shock, then morphing into anger. Starsky wouldn't understand, he wouldn't be able to comprehend what Hutch was telling him. No, Hutch wouldn't say anything. He treasured his best friend far too much to do that.
I love you, Gordo, he thought, a smile curving his lips. Let's just hope I can survive this assignment without messing up.
It took him a few minutes to realize that Starsky's breathing had changed. The other man turned over, slate blue eyes drilling into his own. "What's buggin' you, Hutch?" he asked quietly, his words slurred from sleep.
"Nothing," he lied. "Just can't sleep."
Starsky smirked. "Hutch, you sleep like the dead unless something's wrong."
Leave it up to him to know me so damned well, he thought. "Just thinkin'."
"'Bout the case?"
"Yeah, about the case." If he'll believe that...
But the curly-haired man was already sitting up, staring down at him. "Blintz, come on. There's something seriously bothering you, now what is it?"
Hutch felt a spurt of anger. Dammit, he wouldn't tell him! "Starsk, really, it's nothing. Go back to sleep."
He looked as though he would press more, but the pleading look in Hutch's eyes stopped him. "Okay, g'night." And with that, he lay back down, turned away from his partner, and fell almost immediately back to sleep.
He's not going to let that go, Hutch knew. He'll badger me until I tell him, and then all hell will break loose. Sighing, the blond man rolled over, facing the opposite side of the room, and closed his eyes, willing sleep to take him.
Hutch woke to the sound to the sound of the alarm clock blaring in his ears. With his eyes still closed he inhaled deeply, and suddenly couldn't breathe. Eyes snapping open, he was assaulted by something dark, and soft, and suffocating. When he forced the panic away, he realized it to be Starsky's hair. He rolled away from the breathing obstruction, coughing.
His sleeping partner was awake instantly. "Hutch? You okay, buddy?"
With a short nod, accompanied by more coughing, Hutch finally sat up, sucked up in deep breaths. "Damn that hair of yours, Starsk!" he sputtered, his voice hoarse.
The still half-sleeping Starsky stared at him. "What?"
"Your hair was choking me!"
For a moment he said nothing. "Well, if you wouldn't hog the bed, you'd have plenty of breathing room!"
Hutch looked down and saw he was, indeed, in the middle of the bed. "How was I supposed to know?"
"Ask your leg," Starsky replied, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He reached out and stilled the shrill buzzing of the alarm clock, quieting the room.
"Ask my--?" Hutch threw the covers back, looked down at his right leg. It was littered with bruises along his shinbone. "Starsk, did you kick me?"
"Repeatedly. You damn near pushed me out of the bed a few times."
Hutch groaned. "Just for that, I get the shower first."
"Fine, I'll make breakfast." He paused long enough to see the panic in the blonde's eyes. "Coffee, Hutch. I'm only making coffee."
When they entered the warehouse an hour later, Hutch had to stifle a yawn. Those sleepless hours he had devoted to moping were catching up with him already. The two walked down to the packaging area, which was in the basement, side-by-side. Starsky was whistling as he always did, and strutting along in a pair of tight blue jeans and a red shirt, his blue adidas making no noise on the concrete floor. Hutch walked, suppressing the urge to yawn again, in his own jeans and a button down flannel shirt.
They strolled into the room where they would be working, and stopped abruptly as one. In the center of the room, barking orders like Hitler, was a monster of a man.
He was at least 6'4", with huge, bulging muscles. Starsky remembered Hutch saying something about men on the Big D, and knew this just had to be one of them. He had a military-style haircut, and his box-shaped face was clean-shaven. Big, stubby fingers curled around a clipboard that looked half the size of a normal one in those huge hands.
The two detectives turned to look at each other, and both understood the glance. Be careful.
"Ryans! Newman!" the man bellowed.
They walked up to him. "Here, sir," Hutch said.
"Oh, you're the new guys, ain't ya?"
Starsky nodded. He already didn't like the guy, but since he wasn't a cop here, he chose to remain silent. If he didn't, he'd say something that would get his ass handed to him. And I definitely don't want that guy's hands on me, he thought.
"Yeah, you'll be over here," he said, jerking his head in an order to follow him. They walked after him in silence to a conveyor belt. "All you're going to be doing is stuffing the boxes that come through there with styrofoam. Hinkley here will show ya."
With a nod from them both, the man walked away, shouting again to other people in the room.
The man Mark called Hinkley breathed a sigh of relief the moment Mark was out of range. "Whew. I was scared there for a moment."
Hutch turned to look at him. "Scared?"
He nodded. This man was shorter than the two, and almost painfully thin. Long, curly, dirty blond reached his shoulders and green eyes were wide with fright. My God, Hutch thought. He's only a kid. Hinkley looked to be about twenty years old, and the way his clothes hanged off him, it seemed he didn't eat much.
"Brian Hinkley," he said timidly, holding out a hand. "I saw you guys come in yesterday."
"Ken Newman," Hutch returned the handshake. "This is Dave Ryans." Starsky was staring after Mark, his blue eyes dark with suspicion. When Hutch grabbed his shoulder, he whirled around.
"What? Oh, sorry. Nice to meet you, Brian," he told him absently, shaking his hand. He turned his head back, watching Mark berate a worker for being late. "What a chump," he muttered."Shhh!" Brian pressed a finger to his lips. "You don't want to say anything about Mark that he might hear."
As Starsky watched the big man glance over at them, he knew he was gauging them. He turned back. "Okay, show us how it's done."
For the next three hours, Starsky, Hutch, and Brian packed boxes. It was a devastatingly easy job, and Starsky was bored within minutes. Hutch could see his partner getting antsy from standing in one place so long, doing the same thing over and over. He sent a silent plea to whoever might be listening that lunch would be soon.
As a loud crash echoed through the room, the two men jumped, and Starsky reached for the gun he knew wasn't there.
"Dammit, Perry!" a voice roared.
Abandoning the boxes, the three men eased around the side of the conveyor to see what happened. A broken vase lay in the center of the floor, and a trembling young man stood over it, face turned away from the large man looming over him.
"That's the third vase in ten days! What the hell is wrong with you?"
Perry cringed. "It slipped out of my hands, sir," he said weakly.
"'Slipped out of your hands?' Maybe you should invest in some soap to wash the grease off of them!" The big man lifted an arm, and a hand came crashing down on the back of Perry's head, sending him sprawling to the ground.
Starsky hoped that was all he would do, but inwardly, he knew that it wasn't over yet.
"I'm s-sorry," Perry stuttered.
"Sorry doesn't repair the vase, now does it?" Mark asked him, voice deadly calm. He lifted a foot, sent his boot crashing into the man's ribs.
The man screamed, curling into a ball on the floor. Starsky started forward to put a stop to it, but Hutch grabbed his arm.
He looked at him, stunned. Hutch shook his head slowly, but kept his hand on Starsky's arm. The brunette stepped back, standing at Hutch's side. He wasn't surprised when Hutch's hand slid down his arm to grip his own. Starsky squeezed back, sending all his frustration into the grip.
"And as for the rest of you!" Mark bellowed, whipping around to stare at Starsky and Hutch in particular. "Take your lunches! Get the hell out of my sight!"
People bolted for the doors. Brian gave a strangled cry as he saw Mark coming their way and spun around, making his exit quickly from the two men who stood their ground.
When Mark reached the two, Starsky let go of Hutch's hand. They stared at him, fire burning in their eyes. What had just happened was something they should have stopped, something that, as two police officers, never should have even happened.
"You two," Mark said, his voice taking on a deadly edge. "This is how it's done. Say anything and it'll be you laying on the floor." He stormed away, leaving the two detectives and Perry the only people in the room.
Starsky rushed over the fallen man. "Hey, are you all right?"
Perry groaned. "I'm fine."
Starsky looked him over. "No, you're not." He applied a slight pressure to his side, causing him to cry out in pain. "You have some broken ribs."
"No, it's all right, really." He climbed unsteadily to his feet, swayed, and nearly went down again. Hutch caught him by his arms.
"You're hurt," he said simply.
Perry's face turned bright red with rage. "I said I'm fine!" He wrenched out of Hutch's grip. "Mind your own business and leave me the hell alone!" Breathing loudly, he gazed wildly around the room.
"He's crazy," Starsky whispered to Hutch.
"Perry, calm down," Hutch urged.
"I said leave me alone!" the man screamed. He turned and fled the packaging area as quickly as his battered body would allow.
Now alone in the large room, the two detectives looked at each other.
"What the hell just happened?" Starsky asked.
"I don't know," Hutch admitted. "Maybe he just couldn't take the abuse any longer."
The moment was ruined by a loud grumbling issuing from Starsky's stomach. "Hey Hutch, let's go eat before we have to come back to work."
The blonde shook his head, but started toward the door. Starsky followed him and they took the stairs up to the main part of the warehouse together. Once there, Bunny weaved his way through the crowd of workers to them.
"What happened to Perry?" he asked in a low voice
"Dropped a vase," Starsky told him. "Mark didn't take it so well."
"He'll probably quit," Bunny said. "They all quit after a while. Then Mark will find someone else to beat up on."
TBC
