Chapter 3

After dinner, Starsky had called Huggy to ask if he knew of someone who was looking for a dog like Buddy. Once he'd finished the phone call, he lay down on the couch. The evening had become cloudy, and a few raindrops were falling from the darkening sky. Bored, Starsky turned on the TV, flipping through the channels, until an NBC evening newscast caught his attention.

…after having served six years of his sentence, Mark Peterson, best known for acquiring one of the biggest fortunes in the State of California through multiple illegal business deals, was paroled from Bay City Penitentiary this morning. the news anchor said.

"On parole? But…What the fuck!" Starsky cursed, quickly sitting straight and instantly regretting the sharp movement as a piercing pain tore through his torso. Wincing and rubbing his ribs, he continued watching the newscast. A close shot of Peterson wearing his orange prison scrubs filled the screen as the reporter kept talking, listing his criminal convictions.

…Money laundering, extortion, attempted rape of a minor…

"Damn piece of scum!" Starsky muttered to himself.

In the painfully grueling aftermath of being shot by Gunther, some of Starsky's memories were blurry. However, and despite the years that had passed since he and Hutch had busted him, he recalled Peterson perfectly. A wealthy and influential businessman in his mid-forties, Peterson had a sinister look. He was tall, pale skinned and muscular. Starsky recalled his angular features, the thin line of his lips, and the deranged look he had cast at Hutch and himself, when both detectives had caught him just about to rape, in his own mansion, a runaway who couldn't have been older than 15.

Cuffed, Peterson had stared defiantly at Starsky. "We've got a score to settle, detective. Don't forget it." Hutch was a few feet away, gently covering the trembling, half naked girl with his own jacket. Starsky didn't say a thing; his indigo eyes never wavered from the felon's, but his cop instincts told him that Peterson meant his words; that if had a chance, he'll retaliate.

I must give Hutch a heads up. Starsky thought. Better safe than sorry… that guy is a real nasty piece of work. A frown creased his forehead as he dialed the precinct.

"What's up, pal, are you ok?" Hutch answered from the radio in Collins's car. They were on a stakeout, and the blond one still felt very uneasy every time he had to leave his best friend alone all night.

"Hutch, listen, it's important," the brunet said soberly. "It's Mark Peterson… he's been released on parole. Do you remember him, partner?"

"I know, Starsk. Dobey told Collins and me earlier," Hutch said. "Don't worry buddy; I'll be ok," the blond one added, knowing that his words weren't going to appease Starsky's worry in the slightest.

"'Kay. Be careful out there, will ya?" Starsky asked, before he hung up the receiver.

Even if he wasn't willing to admit it, the unexpected news had left Starsky edgy and upset. Hutch was out there, on a stakeout without him, while a perp, one that had promised revenge against them both, was back on the streets. Sure, Hutch had Collins, a damn good cop, to cover his back. There was no way Dobey would have partnered one of his favourite detectives with anyone less than the best cop he could find in the whole precinct. But even so, the fact was that Hutch did not have his best friend by his side, ready to put his life on the line for him if needed.

OOOOOOOOOO

After talking with Hutch and feeling the nagging ache he knew so well starting to take over his body, Starsky took his pain pills and lay down on the couch. Hutch is right. The curly-haired detective pondered as he succumbed to slumber. I hate these fucking pills, but I guess that I have no choice but to keep taking them… I just hope I don't get hooked on them.

A while later, still half asleep, Starsky woke to hear a strange noise coming from outside. He waited for a bit, all of his senses already alert. For a minute or two, there was nothing but silence. Then, he heard it again. A faint scratch at his front door. He hated feeling this way, but the news of Peterson being released from prison had him more skittish than he'd care to admit. Getting to his feet, he reached for his gun, which was hanging from the coat rack, before looking through the peephole in the front door. He saw nothing.

"Who's there?" The brunet asked. The only answer was that odd scratching sound. Come on, Davey, boy, get a grip. Starsky chided himself. The boogeyman is not out to get you. Finally, he unlocked the door. What he saw at his doorstep curled his lips into a smile.

"Geez! I can't believe it!" Starsky said, tucking his gun into the waistband of his jeans and opening the door wider with his foot. There, looking at him with caramel colored eyes, and gently wagging his tail was the black, large dog.

"Come on buddy, get in!" Starsky stepped aside to let the dog in. Once it was inside, he locked his door again.

"Hiya big guy… how ya doin'? Starsky petted the massive animal. "Ok, now, make yourself at home while I find you something to eat." He headed to his fridge and opening the door, rummaged through its contents to find something to give to his furry friend. Meanwhile, the animal sat on its haunches, following Starsky's every movement with his head.

Finally, the brunet picked out a couple of grilled chicken breasts, leftovers from the day before. Thinking that this might be too scanty a meal for such a large animal, he also scrambled a couple of eggs with bacon.

"Hmm, I think it'd be better if you ate out on the front porch. No offense buddy, but I don't want you making a mess on my kitchen floor."

Patting the small of his back to make sure that his gun was still safely tucked into his waistband, Starsky stepped outside with the dog following close behind. He placed the bowl of food onto the floor and, in the blink of an eye, the large animal gulped down its contents.

"That wasn't bad, uh, pal? Now, how about some water?"

It was then when, suddenly, the dog's whole stance switched. His body tensed. Moving his ears back, he raised his head, and after sniffing the midnight air a couple of times, he broke into a run.

"Hey, buddy!" Starsky called after the dog. "Buddy! Where are ya goin'?" He saw the dog running away, deaf to his command to come back. Hoping that he'd see the animal again, the brunet retrieved the empty bowl and stepped inside.

OOOOOOOOOO

At that very moment a patrol car was headed towards Starsky's place, down the empty streets of his neighborhood. The uniformed men were just a couple of blocks away from their destination, when suddenly a large form came running towards the black and white vehicle. In a knee-jerk reaction, the driver stomped on the brakes and the car halted with a screech.

A massive dog was standing in front of the patrol car.

"What the heck!" One of the men said, as he climbed out of the car to try and scare it away without honking. What he saw in front of his vehicle made him scurry back inside as fast as he was able, slamming the door. The dog was showing its teeth, and frothing at the mouth. The fur on its back was standing on end, and its eyes were staring menacingly at the man, all while uttering a low, warning growl. If the two men had been fond of books or old movies, perhaps the image they were seeing would have reminded them of the Hound of the Baskervilles.

"Run it over, Mike! Step on the fucking gas and just run that thing over, for Pete's sake! It's just a lousy dog!" The man in the passenger side said to the driver. As if the menacing beast had somehow heard and understood him, it bolted around the side of the car and reared up on its hind legs. It braced itself against the passenger side window, growling and barking loudly at them, actually rattling the car. Neither man had any doubt that had the car window been open, the vicious dog would have leapt inside to tear their throats out.

Then, the man in the passenger seat rolled down his window an inch and drew his gun, aiming it at the dog's head. "NO, JAKE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU IDIOT!" Mike shouted, lunging towards his partner in crime to snatch the gun from his hand. "Don't you know how loud a gunshot would sound?" He asked, already seeing lights turn on in a few windows. The dog's barking was waking people up.

"Do you want to someone to call the actual cops before we have a chance to get the job done?" Mike asked. Without waiting for an answer from Jake, the driver stated adamantly, "Okay, we're leaving! Our paycheck isn't high enough to deal with a beast from hell!" Mike made a U-Turn and left Starsky's neighborhood. Both men watched, in the rearview mirror, the black dog still chasing them as they drove away, until it finally disappeared from view.

"Peterson will bite our heads off for coming back empty," Jake groused.

"Yeah, but if we go back there and try to get the cop, that goddamned dog might actually tear us apart," Mike retorted. TBC