Satin Swishes

by ES Paddy

One of the major gaps in the canon, in my opinion: a story set at a racetrack.

Dobey could hear Starsky, at least, through his door. Whether Hutch was also out there was anyone's guess; Dobey could tell from the noise that Starsky was clowning around like usual. He got up and went to the door, wiping whatever stray remnants of a grin there might be off his face – encouraging any of it was a really bad idea, no matter whether he thought it funny, deep inside, or not. All was as it should have been, and he swept the door open.

Starsky was at his desk at least. Feet up, and leaning back in his chair dangerously far, he was eating a burrito. Dobey was about to bark at him when Starsky's phone rang.

It rang a second time, and Dobey barked. "You going to answer that?"

Starsky turned around. "Hutch always yells when I get burrito sauce on the receiver," he explained. Dobey just glared at him. "You'd think he wouldn't be so picky seeing as it's my phone," he added, licking his fingers and then picking up the receiver.

"Homicide, this is Starsky," he said comfortably, as Dobey watched. Starsky paused to listen to the caller, and then replied, "Well, I can't help you. I'm not Hutchinson; I'm Starsky." He paused again. "Same to you," he said finally, and hung up the phone, giving it a confused look as he did, and put his feet back up on the desk.

"Who was that?" Dobey asked, just because he was curious.

Starsky shrugged and took another bite of the burrito. "Someone for Hutch," he said lazily.

"I gathered that," Dobey said drily. "What did they want?"

"Didn't say," Starsky said.

"Where is that partner of yours, anyway?" Dobey continued.

"Don't know that either," Starsky said. "Went to his house to pick him up like usual and he didn't answer the door. And I called him when I got here and he didn't answer the phone either."

"I want to see the both of you when he gets in, first thing."

"Will do, Captain," Starsky said, saluting him, and Dobey sighed, shaking his head, and went back to his desk.

The phone rang again, almost at the same time that Dobey shut his door. Not wanting to actually move again, Starsky reached for it without taking his feet off the desk, and just barely succeeded in picking it up. He answered it cheerfully, flushed with success. "Homicide, this is Starsky," he repeated himself.

The caller was Hutch's current girlfriend, and she sounded disappointed that it wasn't Hutch that answered the phone.

"I know I'm not him," he said. "He isn't here yet. Want to leave a message?"

She asked him to have Hutch call her as soon as he was in.

"Okay," he said, "first thing."

He tried to hang up the phone without moving his feet, and ended up falling out of the chair, just as Hutch came in.

"Well," Hutch said finally, after observing Starsky scrambling to his feet, "I guess we can't all be Fred Astaire."

"I can sing just fine," Starsky retorted. "Where have you been?"

"Says the guy who failed to pick me up as planned," Hutch replied, taking a seat at his desk.

"I was there, Phantom. Where were you?"

"At Margo's, numbskull. Remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Starsky said. "Did'ja have a good time?"

Hutch looked Starsky over critically, and grimaced when he saw what he was eating. "Oh, Starsky. A burrito for breakfast? That's disgusting. Not to mention messy. You didn't get any on the phone, did you?"

"I like that," Starsky said sarcastically. "Here I am, just sitting here trying to enjoy the finer things in life, and you go and make a big fuss about it."

"The finer things? Finer than what? Been getting breakfast out of a dumpster lately?"

"Didn't your mother ever tell you, if you don't have anything nice to say..."

"Yeah, she also told me not to eat burritos for breakfast."

Starsky shook his head. "I feel sorry for you, buddy. You're missing out."

"Yup, on heartburn," Hutch replied.

"That reminds me," Starsky said, "Margo just called."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I told her you'd call back first thing."

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Hutch criticized, reaching for his phone.

"I just did," Starsky said.

As Hutch dialed Margo's number, Starsky's phone rang.

"Margo?" Hutch said when she answered. "Hi! My partner just got around to telling me you'd called."

Starsky answered his phone. "Homicide, this is Starsky," he said for the third time in about as many minutes. Perhaps, he thought, adopting an accent would make it more interesting.

"So, what is it? Why'd you call?" Hutch asked.

Starsky's caller wanted to speak to Hutch, again, and was again at least a little disappointed that Starsky wasn't him. "I can't help it," Starsky explained. "Anyway, he's here now; want to talk to him?"

The caller did.

"Okay, just a minute," Starsky said.

"Well, good..." Hutch was saying.

"Hutch," Starsky said.

"Just a minute," Hutch whispered at him, crossly. "Nothing, it was just Starsky," he said into the phone. "But what?"

"Hutch..." Starsky tried again. This time he was ignored.

"But I am, Margo," Hutch said.

Starsky grabbed Hutch's phone away and dropped it on the desk. "Seattle," he said to Hutch, pointing at his phone. "The police department there. They want to talk to you about Steve Gleason." He held the phone out enticingly. "Come on, lover boy," he grinned.

Glowering, Hutch picked up the dropped phone. "Here, honey," he said, "talk to Starsky for a minute. It's work, on the other phone. Here." He handed the receiver to Starsky, and got the other one in return. "This is Hutchinson," he said, perhaps a little shortly.

"Hiya, Margo," Starsky said, while Hutch listened to Seattle describing what they needed from him. "What's going on?"

Margo said something that Starsky didn't quite catch about moving in with Hutch.

"Really?" he exclaimed. "Congratulations! He didn't say a thing about it to me."

"'74?" Hutch asked. "I'd have to take a look. Hang on." He put the phone down and went to the file cabinet, while Margo explained to Starsky that nothing had been settled on; it was simply something she wanted to talk about. She said she felt like he wasn't convinced about the idea.

Starsky looked askance at Hutch. "Oh. Well, why not, the cad?" he asked. "What did he say about it?" He turned around and grinned at Hutch, who was watching him suspiciously instead of going through the file cabinet. Starsky winked and turned back around, listening to Margo while Hutch found the folder and came back to the phone.

"Yeah," Starsky said, resignation in his voice, "I've heard that line before too. Actually I've had to use it before."

Hutch picked up the other phone. "It says here he was working at a car repair shop for most of that time... lost the job in July and told his parole officer he'd decided to go out east – Florida."

Starsky, in the meantime, was trying to talk Margo down. "Well, I understand; I do too. But you have to look at it from his point of view."

Hutch was watching Starsky. "Yeah, actually, we do," he said to person on the other end of the line. "Lenny Penobscot saw him in Miami – part of his testimony in the '75 case against Willard Mason."

Starsky looked at Hutch, nodding towards the phone he was holding. "She's crying," he said.

"Oh, no," Hutch said under his breath. "Hey," he said into the phone, "can you hold on a second? I have a situation here. Here, talk to my partner for a minute."

They switched phones.

"Margo? Honey, what's the matter?" Hutch asked gently. "Margo?"

The caller from Seattle had wondered whether Starsky had worked on the same case that Hutch had. "Usually, but not in this case," Starsky explained. "But here..." He reached for the file folder that Hutch had been looking at, almost reaching it; Hutch passed it to him when he noticed.

"...I have the file right here," he finished.

"Margo, please stop crying," Hutch said.

"Well, I don't know that," Starsky said. "It was Hutch's case. Hang on." He looked over at Hutch. "He really needs to talk to you."

Hutch acknowledged Starsky with his eyebrows. "Yes, we can talk about it again, okay?"

Starsky turned back to the phone. "It looks like this is going to take some time. Can you call back? What time is it there?"

"Right," Hutch said, "that would be fine. Look, Margo, some cop from another department is on the phone... I have to talk to him, okay?"

"Great," Starsky said, "I'll have him call you as soon as possible."

They both said goodbye to their respective callers and hung up.

"Okay, give me Seattle," Hutch said to Starsky, holding out his hand.

"I haven't got Seattle," Starsky said.

"You were just talking to them."

"I thought you were going to be on for a long time... I told him to call back."

"Oh." Hutch sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Neither of them noticed Dobey come out of his office and stand near the door, listening.

"So, what's going on with Margo?" Starsky asked.

"Oh, you know..." Hutch began, but Dobey interrupted him.

"First thing!" Dobey exclaimed. "Do you know, Detective Starsky, what 'first thing' means?"

Starsky didn't miss a beat. "Hutch," he said critically, "don't just sit there flapping your jaw about your girlfriend. Dobey wants us in his office first thing. And where were you anyway? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, slinking in here twenty-five minutes late."

Hutch looked at both of them with innocent surprise, and just a smidgen of annoyance. Huffing, Dobey went back into his office, and the two detectives followed him, Starsky raising his eyebrows and mouthing the word 'sorry' to Hutch. Hutch glared at him through narrowed eyes.

They both took seats in Dobey's office, Starsky nabbing the chair in the corner, leaving Hutch to cross the room and sit right in front of Dobey.

"Who told you to make yourselves comfortable?" Dobey demanded, not looking up. Hutch popped up out of his seat, and Starsky got up slowly.

"Alright, Captain, we're here," Starsky said. "What's going on?"

"Well, sit down, for starters," Dobey said, not letting on that he was enjoying teasing them.

They gave each other a commiserating look, and took their seats again.

Dobey, busy with some papers on his desk, didn't look up. "We have a death threat, gentlemen," he said.

Hutch and Starsky looked at each other again, and Hutch cleared his throat. "And?" he prompted.

"What do either of you know about horses?" Dobey asked.

They looked at each other a third time, not quite sure if Dobey was being serious. Starsky spoke first. "Well, I know they make a lousy murder weapon," he said.

"What?" Hutch wondered.

"You ever tried to throw a horse at someone?"

Hutch rolled his eyes, and turned back to Dobey. "I've ridden a little. Why?"

"A horse is making death threats?" Starsky suggested.

Dobey ignored Starsky. "I just got a call from an old friend; he owns racehorses."

"Oh, racehorses," Starsky said. "That I know something about."

"He's got a filly that's doing pretty well," Dobey continued. "Won the Kentucky Oaks last year and the Breeder's Cup Juvenile the year before that. She's headed for the Santa Anita Derby this year and they have high hopes for her. But a couple of weeks ago someone began threatening her. And there was an intruder in the barn the other night and my friend is scared. So I'm assigning you two..."

"We're going to be guarding a horse?" Hutch summarized disbelievingly.

"That's it," said Dobey. "She's a pretty little thing; you'll like her. Name is Satin Swishes."

"We're going to be guarding a horse?" Hutch repeated, not sure Dobey had understood his point.

They went to the racetrack later that day to meet the horse and all her people, both of them still somewhat doubtful about the relative value of the project compared to other things they could be working on, and both of them being also very careful not to step in any manure.

Their host, Dobey's friend Cummings, showed them around the barn in general before taking them to meet the horse herself.

"Here she is," Cummings said proudly as they approached a stall, "our star. Boys, say hello to Satin Swishes."

She was a tall horse, even compared to the other racehorses, and thin the way racing thorough-breds are, but besides that, she appeared to be perfectly ordinary – a plain brown horse with a black mane, standing with her head hanging out the open stall door top, eyes more than half closed.

"'Pretty little thing,' huh?" Starsky said. "She doesn't look that little to me."

"She's on the large side, even for a thoroughbred, isn't she, Bert?" Dobey asked.

"Sure is!" Cummings seemed to enjoy discussing any detail about his horse. "She's a Secretariat filly, you know."

Hutch leaned close to Starsky. "Won the Kentucky Derby five years ago," he said as an aside.

Starsky leaned back. "The Triple Crown, dummy," he whispered back.

"So," Cummings turned to the three of them, "have you guys decided how you're going to handle this? She has workouts most mornings, races once, sometimes twice a month, depending, and then of course moves from track to track sometimes, but hopefully this won't last that long... but besides that she's in her stall most of the time."

"It would be a lot easier to protect her if she didn't race," Hutch said.

"Yes, Harold told me that," Cummings said. "But it's not an option. It's... just not."

"It's okay, Bert. It's your call. We're not here to tell you how to run your business," Dobey said.

"So, given what has to happen, how are you guys going to handle this?"

"Well, Hutchinson here says he's worked with horses, so I figure he'll be taking over as groom..."

"Uh, Captain, I said I'd ridden," Hutch broke in. "I don't know the slightest thing about... the other things. Feeding and washing and all that.

"Aw, come on, how hard can it be?" Starsky teased.

"Well, then, Starsky will be the groom. And we figured one of them will be an outrider, at least... that won't cover her while she's racing, but I just don't have anyone that can be convincing as a jockey... sorry, but that's the best we can do. Hutch will be the outrider."

"Hear that, Hutch?" Starsky grinned. "He's sorry, but you're the best he's got."

"Shut up, Starsky," Hutch said quietly.

"Well, it sounds like a fine plan, Harold," Cummings said. He turned to Starsky. "I'll introduce you to Hank, her regular groom. He'll tell you everything you need to know. You can sleep in the tack room; that's right next door, there... we've moved things around to make it easy for you to keep your eye on her."

Hutch smirked. "Have fun with that, buddy," he said to Starsky.

Cummings turned to Hutch next. "And we won't need you until four tomorrow. You're pretty big even for an exercise rider, but I think we can dig something up that could carry you. Where did you ride before? Which track was it?"

"Well," Hutch said, "it wasn't a track, per se, as much as a... a summer camp." He purposefully did not look at Starsky, who was very obviously quite amused.

"So, you've never ridden a racehorse," Cummings concluded.

"Not in so many words," admitted Hutch. "But I'm pretty sure I can learn."

Cummings was skeptical. "Well, we'll see. You should come a little early, then. Maybe three. I'll try to have someone here to work with you."

"Three o' clock? Sure," Hutch agreed. Aside to Starsky, he said, "This job won't be so bad after all... at least, not for me. I'll get to sleep in, take it easy..."

Starsky interrupted him. "Um, buddy, that's three o' clock in the AM," he said, and Hutch's face fell. "They do the races in the afternoon."

"Oh," Hutch said. "Oh, right, of course."

Dobey was also generally amused. "Well, Bert," he said, "I'm sorry about the worry and the bother you're going through. But I think there are some reports coming my way that I'm going to enjoy reading."

That night, after a day of learning how to take care of a racehorse, and the heavy work that that entailed, Starsky was almost hobbling, and found it a big relief to go sit on his cot. He took off his boots and started to rub his feet, as Hank followed him into the room.

"You don't mind I'll be here tonight too, do you, cop?" he asked sarcastically.

Starsky raised an eyebrow. "I told you, just Dave. It's better that folks don't know there's a cop around."

"Better for who?" Hank asked insinuatingly.

"Better for the horse," Starsky said plainly, looking at him.

This seemed to satisfy Hank. "Okay," he said after a moment. After another pause, he continued. "You gotta understand, fella, this horse is the best horse I've ever taken care of. And I take care of her real good. It's like she's..." he trailed off.

"Like she's your own?" Starsky finished.

"I didn't say that," Hank said quickly, flushing.

"Didn't have to," said Starsky, grinning. He looked knowingly at Hank. "It's okay – look, I'm not going to tell the boss or anything. You love your horse. Perfectly natural. And she's better off for it."

"Okay, fine," Hank said. "It's just... with the boss on edge so much lately, he goes a little nuts if anyone so much as looks at Sassy a way he don't like."

"Sassy?" Starsky wondered.

"You don't think I call her 'Satin Swishes' when I'm rubbing her forehead, do you?"

"Oh."

"Yeah, the boss has been like a firecracker lately, ready to off for any reason."

"Well, it's understandable," Starsky shrugged, "someone threatening his horse..."

"It's been since before that. A week and a half ago I overheard him going off on one his investors. And I saw him smoking later... or I should say 'trying' to smoke, just shaking like a leaf. It was over Sassy, too. Spalding wanted a stake in her – that's what they were arguing about."

"You'd think 'no' would be enough for someone," Starsky said, to keep the conversation going.

"Hardly," Hank replied. "I don't like Spalding. He's no good."

Starsky frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"He's always hanging around, almost like he's watching the boss. They have other business together, I don't know all what, but I think Spalding manages someone else's interest in some of Cumming's other horses. That's what it seems like to me at least. But I don't like the way Spalding is around horses, the way he treats 'em. Talks about 'em like they're machines. What I think is, horses have feelings. You want to race machines, you go drive NASCAR. That ain't what racehorses is."

"Do you think," Starsky began thoughtfully... "do you think that this Spalding would want the horse so bad that he'd kill her if he couldn't own her, or part of her?"

Hank frowned, and considered. "That... doesn't make too much sense. She can't run too good if she's dead – and racehorses ain't any good if they can't run."

"I guess," Starsky said. "But, still, I think it's worth checking him out anyway. They were fighting, you said?"

"Oh, yeah, they were definitely fighting."

"And you heard it?"

"That's what I told you, ain't it?"

"Well, what did they say exactly?"

"I don't know, I didn't hear it."

Starsky sighed. "That's what I asked," he said, a little pointedly.

"I saw them fighting, I heard the noise they were making, but I didn't hear much clearly," Hank explained.

"Shhh!" Starsky exclaimed suddenly, in a loud whisper.

Hank fell silent. They both held absolutely still for a few moments, and they hear the noise of a nearby stall door clunking and rolling. Hank got up, but Starsky grabbed him and held him back, and motioned for him to be quiet. Starsky pulled out his gun slowly, and took a few careful steps towards the tack room door, silent in his sock feet. He was almost ready to nudge the door open and peer out into the aisle when Hank grabbed his arm.

"Cop?" he whispered.

"What?"

"Don't you dare shoot a horse," Hank said.

"At this range? Don't worry. I'd have to be legally blind," Starsky whispered. He pushed Hank firmly back, making a motion for him to stay there, and then opened the door a crack. Holding his gun ready, he leaned out the door just enough to see.

He saw a dark-clothed figure sneak up to Sassy's stall and start to work the latch. The intruder seemed to have no sense of anything going on around him, past what he was looking at, so Starsky slipped out of the door and sneaked right up beside the figure. He held the gun at the intruder's head.

"Hold it right there, buddy," Starsky said out loud.

Almost as if he'd been expecting Starsky to materialize beside him, the intruder knocked Starsky's gun out of his hand with one chop, kicked him in the chest, sending Starsky sprawling backwards, and turned and ran out of the barn. Hank ran up to Starsky as he sat up dizzily.

"I'm okay," Starsky said quickly. "Check the horse."

Hank hurried to the stall. It hadn't been opened even, but he went inside anyway, talking softly to the horse.

"Everything okay?" Starsky called from his place on the floor.

"Appears to be," Hank said. "There's a good girl," he said to the horse, giving her a pat before shutting her back in the stall.

Starsky got to his feet and went and picked up his gun. "Find anything?" he asked as he holstered the gun.

"Like what?"

"Anything he might have dropped. A needle, maybe, or one of those rope things?"

"Nothing," Hank said.

"Hmm," Starsky said. "Well, looks like one of us had better stay awake all night, or take turns or something."

In the morning, when it was time for Sassy's workout, Hank helped Starsky put her tack on, but Starsky led her out to the track by himself. Morning workouts for other horses were already underway to some extent at least, and there was a bunch of people waiting for his charge by the track. One of them was Hutch, ridiculously mounted on the thickest thoroughbred Starsky had ever seen – and he noted they'd given his partner's horse a different saddle than the ones every other horse was wearing. It looked like an ordinary saddle to him, not a racing one, and Hutch didn't have his knees up so far that he was sitting on his heels like the other jockeys. Starsky smirked, and was glad that he'd not been the one picked to do the riding. As he led Sassy past, he flashed Hutch a look, asking him if the morning's lesson had gone okay. Hutch raised his eyebrows, which made Starsky want to laugh. (But he didn't, of course – they were undercover). He was grinning pretty widely, though, as he led Sassy up to her contingent.

The trainer was speaking to the jockey as Starsky approached. "...so, just a gallop today. Two miles, nice and loose."

The jockey was looking – gaping, really – at Hutch and his horse. "You're putting Sassy up against a beast like that?" (Starsky nearly did laugh out loud at that).

The trainer sighed. "Okay, here it is," he said. "That ape sitting up there is the boss's nephew, that just had to ride with Sassy. And I'm telling you, we're lucky the boss had the sense not to allow him on Sassy. Today was going to be a light day anyway, so it doesn't really matter too much. Try to keep her slow, but don't drive her crazy; if she gets rank, let her out a little and forget about the kid, okay?"

"Sure," the jockey said. He turned to Sassy, and the trainer gave him a leg up into the saddle. The jockey turned the horse around so he was facing the trainer. "Where's Hank?" he asked.

"Sick," said Starsky. "I'm Dave."

Ignoring him, the jockey waited until he'd unclipped the lead rope, and then rode Sassy towards an opening in the rail. The trainer walked over to Hutch on his mount.

"Go on. And remember what they showed you, kid, okay? I don't need you getting yourself hurt."

"Don't worry about me," Hutch grinned boyishly. He nudged his horse, and it followed Sassy out onto the track.

Still holding the lead rope, Starsky watched Hutch a little nervously for a minute or so, but nothing happened that wasn't supposed to. When the two riders got their horses settled into a gallop, Starsky wandered over to where Cummings was standing with another person, looking around for anything that didn't belong as he did. He didn't see anything obvious.

"Morning, Starsky," Cummings said as Starsky approached.

Starsky flashed him a warning look. "Please, just Dave," he said.

Cummings turned to the other man with him. "This is the, um, person that was sent to help." He turned back to Starsky. "Dave," he said, "this is Spalding, one of my associates."

Interested, Starsky held out his hand. "Hello," he said.

As they shook hands, Cummings spoke. "Anything happen last night?"

Starsky frowned, and shrugged. "We can talk about that later, Mr. Cummings," he said.

"Spalding here is aware of every detail about the situation; you can speak freely in front of him."

Starsky was still suspicious, especially given what Sassy's groom had told him the night before, but he played along. "Okay," he said. "There was an intruder last night. Caught him trying to do something, but we're not sure what, and he got away. He didn't try a second time, whatever it was."

"Did you see who it was?" Cummings asked quickly.

"I got a pretty good look at him, even though it was dark. I'll know him if I see him again."

Cummings and Spalding exchanged a brief look, but then Cummings turned to look out at the horses on the track. "It looks like she's no worse for wear."

"Yes, she looks fine," Spalding agreed. "Should be great for her race on Saturday."

Starsky frowned. "Yeah," he said slowly.

They watched the horses run for several moments.

"At least that nag is keeping up with her," Cummings said. "Had one **** of a time finding anything that could carry the other policeman."

They fell silent again. Cummings was tense, Starsky could tell, and he didn't think it had anything to do with Hutch's mount.

"Mr. Cummings," Starsky said tentatively, "if you want us to do a good job protecting your horse, I really think that..."

He was interrupted by a gunshot, coming from somewhere behind them. Starsky threw himself to the ground, yanking both Cummings and Spalding down with him, and then he held their heads down while he looked around as best he could. Horses were squealing and fighting their handlers all over the place, and because it was still pretty dark, he couldn't see the buildings in enough detail to tell where the shot might have come from.

Cummings tried to lift his head. "Satin Swishes!" he exclaimed. "Is she okay?"

"Stay down!" Starsky exclaimed, pushing Cumming's head back to the ground.

"Can you tell? Is the horse okay?"

Starsky looked out onto the track, trying to find them. He didn't have to look very far; soon, both Sassy and Hutch's mount swept by, riderless and running wildly.

"The horse looks fine," he said. He let the pressure off the two men's heads. "Stay down," he said. "And get to a phone. Call an ambulance." Quickly, he took another look around, then leaped to his feet and darted off across the track.

"There's one here already!" Cummings called after him. "Rookie."

Spalding shook his head. "Might look better if you sent it over, though."

"With a gunman on the loose?" Cummings asked.

"Up to you," Spalding said, shrugging. "You're the one on the line."

"How long will that last, if they start asking questions?" Cummings shot back.

"Well, you just better make sure they don't," Spalding replied.

Starsky ran up the track the way the horses had come, counting on darkness for cover, though it was getting progressively lighter, noticeably. It wasn't long before he found the place where the riders had fallen. Hutch was nearest him, lying face down in the dirt.

"Hutch!" Starsky called as soon as he saw him, hurrying to his side. "Hutch! Are you alright?"

Hutch started to pick himself up, and turned his face to Starsky. "I think... uh..." His face was covered in blood.

"Stay there," Starsky said, helping him turn over so he was face up, and taking off his skull cap. "What happened?"

"He – he fell off, and I think my horse ran into his; that's when I fell."

"Have you been shot?" Starsky asked.

"Shot?" Hutch wondered. "No, I don't think so."

"You're bleeding pretty bad," Starsky told him.

"Well, it hurts," said Hutch. "My nose, and..." he trailed off.

"Okay, I gotta take a look at the other guy. Stay down," he said.

The jockey was lying a few yards further up the track, near the rail. He'd clearly been shot in the chest. Starsky knelt beside him. "Hey!" he called, starting to work on stopping the bleeding, glad of the little cover the rail offered. "Hey, you okay?"

The jockey groaned indecipherably, and tried to move.

"Stay down, buddy," Starsky said, "and stay still."

"Starsky, what happened?" Hutch called from where he lay. "Was someone shot?"

"Didn't you hear it?" Starsky asked. The jockey tried to squirm again, and Starsky spoke to him. "Stay still, buddy. Hey, you got a name?"

The jockey opened his eyes a little, and in the gathering light, Starsky could tell that he was squinting up. "Aren't you the groom?" the jockey asked.

"Yeah, I'm the groom," said Starsky. "What's your name?"

"No, I didn't hear any shot," Hutch said.

"I'm Gordy Weiler," mumbled the jockey, coughing. "Where you been, under a rock? I'm... the leading jockey at this track."

Starsky half-laughed. "Okay, Gordy Weiler, the leading jockey. Hang tight; you're going to be okay. Hutch, can you get over here?"

While Hutch was still trying to get himself together to get up, the track ambulance came and parked in-between Starsky with the jockey and the grandstand. The driver and an attendant hurried to help, keeping their heads down.

"Never mind, partner, stay put," Starsky called. "He's been shot in the chest," he said to the ambulance workers, motioning to the jockey. "Gordy, you still with me?"

Weiler groaned again.

"You got him," Starsky said to the workers, "and I'll go help the other guy."

Starsky hurried to the front of the ambulance and peered around it at the grandstand, now clearly visible, though the sky was still gray. He couldn't see anything out of place, and hurried back to Hutch, who'd managed to get up on his hands and knees. Starsky helped him to his feet and walked with him to the ambulance, holding his arm in case he fell, or in case he'd need to pull him down again quickly.

The two ambulance workers had got the jockey on a stretcher, and were loading it into the back of the ambulance. After they'd got it loaded, Starsky helped Hutch up into it as well, and then he shut the doors from the outside, and knocked on the window when he'd got them latched. The ambulance drove away, and Starsky jogged along beside it, using it for cover.

As Starsky rejoined Cummings and Spalding, someone on a horse brought Sassy over, and Cummings took her lead rope himself, talking to her. She was keyed up and dancing in place, dripping with sweat. Quickly, Cummings led her towards the barn, and the rest of them followed.

Inside the barn, Cummings handed Sassy over to Hank, and the two of them, along with the trainer, stood close and went over the horse carefully, looking for any injuries. Spalding stood back in the aisle, watching but not getting involved in the going-over. Starsky came up to him.

"How is she?" he asked.

"How should I know?" Spalding replied. "She looks okay from a distance."

Cummings looked over. "She's alright," he said, "no thanks to you."

Starsky was annoyed – like there was any possible way he would be thinking about catching a horse when people – Hutch among them – had likely been shot. But he kept a lid on it. "You'll be glad to hear that the riders are still alive," he said carefully.

Spalding turned to him. "What?" he asked.

"The jockey – Weiler – he was hit pretty bad, but he was alive when they took him away."

"Oh," said Cummings, "that's great." Starsky was surprised – he sounded insincere. Perhaps it was just nerves, he thought.

Cummings left the stall and came close, so only Starsky and Spalding could hear what he said. "Your partner?"

"I think he'll be alright," Starsky said.

"That's a relief," Cummings said, this time sounding more like he meant it.

"I don't see anything wrong with the foot," Hank called from inside the stall. "I think it's just the near hock."

"What's that?" Starsky asked, as Cummings hurried back to the stall with concern.

Cummings answered without turning around, sounding annoyed. "The pointy part of the back leg," he said. "What's the injury?" he asked Hank.

"It feels warm, maybe is a little swollen, like she knocked it on something," he said. "I don't think it's real bad, but I'll but a dressing on it, and we'll see later when we look at her move," he said.

"Is there a phone around anywhere?" Starsky asked Spalding quietly. "I want to let the Captain know what happened, and check on Hutch."

Cummings came away from the stall again. "Look," he said to Starsky, "no one's going to try anything right now... not with everyone on alert, and a bunch of people running around. If you want to head out for a while..."

"Really?" Starsky looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Is that okay with you?"

Cummings nodded, and Starsky frowned thinly.

"Okay," he said after a moment. "In that case, I guess I'll go. When do you want me back?"

"Oh, this evening, I guess," Cummings said. "We can keep her covered until then, I'm sure."

"Hmm. 'K," Starsky said. He stayed in place for a few moments, watching them take care of the horse, and then turned away.

Instead of going in to the department and calling the hospital, Starsky went to the hospital right away. He checked in with the nurse in the ER, asking after the ambulance that had come from the track. She couldn't tell him much other than that the doctors were working on it, so Starsky went right to the phones opposite the desk and called the Captain.

With just a word of greeting, Starsky filled him in.

"Okay," the Captain sighed. "And you're sure they were okay with you leaving?"

"Yeah. Seemed odd to me, too," Starsky said.

"Um hm. Why don't you stay there until you can find out how Hutch and the jockey are, and then come in. I'll try to get a word with Cummings in the meantime."

"Alright," Starsky said, and hung up.

A doctor came down the hall, spoke briefly to the nurse at reception, and then approached Starsky.

"Are you Gordy Weiler's friend?" he asked.

"In a manner of speaking, I guess," Starsky said.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this. Your friend died. I'm sorry – there was nothing we could do. We didn't get him in here in time."

"Okay," Starsky said slowly.

"Can I do anything for you?" the doctor asked.

"Yeah, Starsky said, "what happened to the other guy?"

"Other guy?" the doctor asked.

"Yeah, the guy with the bloody nose, came in on the same ambulance. I'm his friend too."

"I don't know about any bloody nose," the doctor said. "Try reception again."

Starsky went back towards the desk, this time looking over the people in the waiting room, and he noticed Hutch in a seat, holding an icepack to his nose.

"If you ask the nurse," the doctor said, "I'm sure she'll be able to help you find your friend."

"Thanks, I think I found him already," he said.

He went and sat in the seat next to Hutch, who shifted over uncomfortably without looking up. Starsky grinned. "'S that you?" he asked, and Hutch raised his head.

"Hi," Hutch said. "Weren't you supposed to stay with the horse?"

"We got bigger problems than a horse, partner. Looks like this is a murder investigation now."

"The jockey died?" Starsky nodded. Hutch shook his head. "You know," he said, "we were only a couple of feet apart the whole time, right? That easily could have been me."

"Yeah," Starsky said. "The thought occurred."

"So, has the Captain taken us out of the horse protection business?"

"Not the Captain," Starsky said. "Cummings said I could go for a while."

"What?"

"Well, he had a point – it's unlikely that the shooter's gonna try it again with everyone on alert. He's only after an animal, after all. He probably cleared out as soon as he saw that he missed."

"Yeah, he sure didn't shoot an animal," Hutch said.

"Yeah."

"About how dark would you say it was?" Hutch asked.

Starsky shrugged. "We could see you on the backstretch, sort of," Starsky said. "Where you were when he took the shot... I wasn't thinking about taking shots, but if I'd needed to shoot a horse in that light, I probably could have."

Hutch nodded. "Say," he said, "where do you shoot a horse if you're gonna shoot a horse?"

"I don't know," Starsky replied. "Wherever the horse is is probably good enough. I appreciate it that he didn't try it on a race day, with a crowd around."

"No, I mean, where on the horse do you aim? I mean, can you take a horse down by shooting it in the shoulder?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"Because, if you're shooting at anywhere else on a horse, and you accidentally hit his jockey, then you're a pretty **** bad shot."

Starsky saw where Hutch was going with that. "If you shoot a horse anywhere when it's running like that, it's probably going to fall down, right?"

"Or a least stumble pretty good," Hutch said.

"Can't be good for the rider in any case," Starsky said.

"Who was that guy?" Hutch asked.

"Your friend and mine, Gordy Weiler the jockey? I don't know," Starsky said. "But I think I'm interested enough to try to find out. You okay here?"

"How should I know? They haven't looked at me yet," Hutch replied with raised eyebrows.

"What? You've been here an hour!"

"Yeah, well, I guess bloody noses aren't their top priority," Hutch said, getting up stiffly. "Come on, let's go."

Starsky didn't think that was necessarily a good idea. "You sure you're okay?" he asked, taking Hutch by the arm.

"No," said Hutch. "But sitting here, I can't even see past the end of my own icepack. Let's get on with it, okay?" He looked around. "Am I forgetting anything?"

Hutch had most certainly hit his head pretty hard; Starsky could tell that he was finding it difficult to remember things that had happened recently. He would have taken Hutch back to the hospital, but Hutch wouldn't go for it, and told Starsky he was being a worrywart. It wasn't like the hospital could do much for a concussion, anyway – they'd just have to keep him awake for 24 hours, and make sure he wasn't injured further. Starsky could do those things himself.

By the time they got inside the department building, Hutch was already sick of Starsky being careful of him, and said so. Starsky ignored him, and held one of the squad room doors open so Hutch could walk through.

"Just sit down, huh?" he said. "I'll get the Captain."

"Thanks," Hutch growled, and instead of sitting in the chair Starsky had indicated, he walked the whole length of the room and sat in his own chair.

He didn't notice, but as he walked past, Starsky lifted something out of one of his pockets, and put it in his own, before going to the Captain's door.

"You all right?" he checked with Hutch before he knocked.

"Would you stop it, Starsk?" Hutch asked.

Starsky was about to knock on Dobey's door, when it opened.

"Oh," said Starsky.

"Thought I heard you two out here," Dobey said. "Now what happened?"

Starsky went to the coffee machine and started to pour a cup. "Told you on the phone, Captain. Somebody took a shot at the horse, only they hit the jockey instead. Only new news is that the jockey died."

Dobey raised an eyebrow.

"We told him it was going to be a trick protecting that horse if he let it anywhere out of the barn."

Resignedly, Dobey agreed. "I know. I told him the same thing myself."

"Hutch had an idea, though." He set the cup of coffee on the table in front of Hutch. "Here's that coffee you asked for, partner."

Hutch looked at it suspiciously. "I didn't ask you for coffee. What I'd like is some tylenol."

"You asked me for coffee," Starsky reiterated.

"How are you feeling, Hutch?" Dobey asked.

"Oh, not too bad, considering," Hutch said. "Back hurts, and my head feels like it's going to fall off."

"He took a nasty knock in the head," Starsky told the Captain.

"I can tell," Dobey replied, observing the dried blood around Hutch's nose.

"Oh, you left these in the ignition," Starsky said, taking Hutch's keys out of his pocket and tossing them down on the table.

Hutch frowned. "But you drove," he said.

"I know. Kinda makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

Keeping an eye on Starsky, Hutch picked up the keys and tucked them carefully away, back in his pocket. Dobey, meanwhile, opened one of the drawers of Starsky's desk and rummaged in it, coming up with a bottle of tylenol, and tossed it to Hutch.

"Hey," Starsky said, "that's mine."

"Well, you figure all the headaches you've caused me, you owe me one," Hutch said.

"Are you sure you don't belong in a hospital, Hutch?" Dobey asked, watching him struggle with the bottle. Starsky picked up the coffee and took a drink.

Hutch finally got the bottle open and popped a pill. "I'll be okay," he said. He tossed the bottle back at Starsky.

"I spoke to Bert just a few minutes ago. He says you injured his horse, but that she'll probably still be okay for the Saturday race.

"I injured the horse?" Hutch repeated, annoyed.

"Apparently when you fell you bounced off one her legs," Dobey said. "But she'll still be able to race, he thinks."

"That guy's nuts," Starsky said. "He takes that horse out of the barn, and she's a goner."

"A racehorse that can only stand in its stall isn't worth very much," Dobey said.

"And I'm not sure he's so crazy," Hutch said.

Starsky handed him the coffee cup again, and Hutch tried to take a drink, only to find that Starsky had emptied it. He glared at his oblivious partner, and stood and went to fill his own cup.

"Let me do that for you, huh?" Starsky said. He took the cup and went back to the coffee machine, as Hutch sat back down. "Hutch has this idea that maybe the shooter got exactly what he was shooting at."

"That's an interesting idea," Dobey said. "Got anything to back it up?"

"Just a hunch so far. But I'm going to call a vet."

"Why?"

"It's your nose, Hutch, not a leg. Don't pack it in just because of your nose."

Hutch shook his head at Starsky. "I need to find out how to shoot a horse," he said, picking up the receiver of his phone. "You want to make yourself useful, why don't you see if Huggy knows anything about this jockey, huh?"

"Sure, and that Spalding fellow," he said, and Hutch nodded. Starsky turned to the Captain. "Has Cummings ever mentioned either one of them to you?"

Dobey shook his head.

"And how about Cummings himself?" Starsky asked, taking a sip of the coffee.

"What about him?" Dobey demanded quickly.

"Captain, you know what I mean. I have to ask; you know that."

"You think I would've sent my guys out there with someone about whom I had suspicions?"

"Well, you put it that way..." Starsky began, and took another drink.

Hutch had reached a veterinarian on the phone. "Hello?" he asked. "This is Detective Hutchinson with metropolitan police. I'm working on a case, and I have a question about a horse." He paused. "Well, no horse in particular... I mean about horses in general..."

Starsky had called Huggy Bear while Hutch was on the phone with the vet, and they went to The Pits after he got off to get the information from Huggy. They took a booth, rather than sitting at the bar, and ordered drinks. Hutch sat holding his face.

"So," Starsky asked, "the takeaway is that it is realistic to think the jockey's getting shot was an accident?"

"Yeah," Hutch said, "if shooting the horse was what was intended."

"Well, that takes us back to square one," Starsky said.

"Not really. Dr. Kraus pointed out that the easiest way of keeping a horse out of the races isn't shooting it."

Huggy came with a tray full of drinks – one for each of them and one for himself – and he put the three drinks down on the table, and sits between them. "Hey! Starsky said on the phone..." He noticed Hutch's injuries. "Hutch! What did you do to your face, redecorate?"

Hutch raised his eyebrows. "It wasn't intentional," he said, holding his glass to one side of his nose.

"You must have run into some mean dude," Huggy said.

"It was a filly," Starsky said, grinning.

"What?"

Hutch took Starsky's drink for the other side. "Half a ton on the hoof," he said. "It could have been worse."

"I'm trying to talk him into lying low for a little while," Starsky said.

Hutch ignored Starsky's comment. "Starsk said you have something to tell us?"

"Right," Huggy said, keeping a hand on his own drink. "I don't know much about this Spalding dude and nothing about that jockey. I do have some dirt to dish on Cummings, though."

Starsky and Hutch looked at each other, surprised.

"On Cummings?" Hutch repeated.

"Yeah," confirmed Huggy.

"Cummings is the Captain's friend," Starsky said.

"That don't change what I got to say," Huggy said. "You want to hear it, or not?"

Hutch checked with Starsky and then turned to Huggy. "Of course we want to hear it," he said.

"Okay, then," Huggy said, leaning in close. "It seems the Captain's friend got himself into a little trouble in the financial department, if you know what I mean, and he's been scraping to try to get things back together."

"Scraping how?" asked Starsky.

"My best information is that he took out a loan from the kind of guys you don't take loans from."

"The mob?" Hutch wondered. Huggy nodded.

"Well, no wonder he didn't tell the Captain everything. So the horse is being threatened to make sure Cummings pays off what's due."

"No," Huggy said, "he ain't behind yet, or so I hear."

"Well, then what happened today doesn't make any sense."

"Unless..." Hutch began, and then trailed off.

"Unless what?" Starsky prompted.

"Unless this whole circus act was the payoff," Hutch said.

"What are you calling a circus act?"

"Everything that happened today, Barnum. Starring us as the clowns, and that jockey as the man shot out of the cannon. Or just as the man shot."

"Weiler's got to go," Starsky hypothesized, "so they come up with this song and dance about the horse being threatened – a little extra staging last night, that's why we didn't catch him doing anything – and yours truly and yourself are there as the world's most reliable witnesses?"

"Well, how does it all grab you?" Hutch asked.

Starsky shrugged his eyebrows. "I feel like I should be wearing some oversize shoes and one of those bright red fake noses."

"Now that I'd like to see," Huggy said.

Starsky and Hutch got up, Starsky watching Hutch carefully.

"Thanks, Huggy," said Hutch. "Indispensable as always."

"Send you a bill, my man," Huggy grinned.

"End of the month, Hug," Starsky said.

They went outside, out the back, to the Torino waiting in the alley. Starsky held the door open for Hutch, still watching him, and Hutch stopped in the doorway.

"Will you cut that out?" he asked.

"What?" Starsky said.

"Acting like I'm the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I told you, I'm alright."

"Okay, okay, you're alright. Now will you get in the car? You know, sit down before you fall down?"

Hutch glared at Starsky, and motioned for him to go first.

When they'd both sat down and Starsky was starting the car, Hutch asked him if he was planning to go back to the track.

"Think so," Starsky replied. "We need to try to get a line on Weiler."

"Suppose that Cummings did set up Weiler," Hutch said. "He knows we're cops. He's not exactly going to lay out the red carpet for us."

"So, we go around him," Starsky suggested.

"Seems risky," Hutch said.

"What else are we going to do? You okay to come with me, or do you want to go home?"

"Oh, I'm with you," Hutch said. "You have a plan?"

Starsky grinned. "I might have thought of something," he said, "and it will work better with two of us. Need to go pick up some things quick, huh?"

When they arrived at the track, midday, they were wearing suits and hats, Hutch carrying a newspaperman's camera, and both displaying press badges that they'd forged with the office laminator. They went to the ticket counter and showed their badges to the man at the sales window, grinning widely.

"Hi!" said Starsky exuberantly. "We're from the Flagstaff Sentinel, doing a story on the jockey that was killed this morning."

"Go on in," the ticket salesman told them.

"Thank you," Starsky said.

"You have a nice day, now," Hutch said around a mouthful of gum.

"That wasn't so bad," he said to Starsky when they had got inside.

"That, my friend, was the easy part," said Starsky, winking.

They went to the jockey's room and knocked on the door. In a few moments, the door was opened by a tiny man wearing only his shorts.

"What?" he asked, apparently a little peeved.

"Uh, well..." Starsky began.

"What my compatriot here means to say," Hutch said, freely and loudly, "is that we're from the Flagstaff Sentinel, pallie, and we want to talk to you guys about..." he turned to Starsky "... uh, what was his name, Curly?"

Starsky gave Hutch a look that was less than amused.

"Yeah, you know," Hutch continued, to the jockey in the doorway, "that jockey that died this morning."

"It was Weiler," Starsky said. "Gordon Weiler. Keep your facts in front of you, Goldie."

The jockey in the doorway grinned. "Never heard him called 'Gordon' before," he said. "Come on in."

"Thank you," said Starsky, and the two of them went into the room.

"Yeah, thanks," Hutch echoed.

Inside the room there were about thirty guys, all of them tiny, and all in various stages of preparing for the first race that was coming up in not too long. The one who'd answered the door spoke to the whole room.

"Hey, guys," he said, "newspaper guys want to talk with us, about Gordy." He turned to Starsky and Hutch. "Where'd you guys say you were from?"

"Flagstaff. It's, uh, Weiler's hometown. We're from sports, specifically – boss was thinking of doing a thing if Weiler one the big race on Saturday, but this is even bigger, you know? Any of you guys know Weiler very well?"

"Well, sure, we all did. He's been here at this track for about a year now."

"You know where he was riding before?"

"Florida, I think," said the jockey. He turned to the others. "Is that right?"

"Yeah, it was Florida," said another jockey. "Came out here start of last season."

"Why'd he make the change? Did he say?" Starsky asked.

Another jockey shrugged. "Races are better here," he said.

"It wasn't just that," added the jockey who'd been sure of the state. "I don't know the details but he hinted that he was messed up in bad stuff out east."

Starsky looked at Hutch quickly. "You have any idea what kind of bad stuff?"

"I don't know," the jockey replied. "He never said. I got the idea that it was something along the lines of dirty racing. He didn't like it, whatever it was. He left."

"He ever mention any names, there, sport?" Hutch asked.

"No."

"He has a safe in the bottom of his locker," said the jockey who'd answered the door. "He used to call it his insurance."

"Yeah, I've seen it," said another jockey.

"What was in it?" Starsky asked.

The jockey shrugged. "I just saw it today when one of the trainers Gordy rides for came and took it."

"What?" Hutch said quickly. "Who was that?"

"Bill Louis; he trains Satin Swishes. Boy, I wonder who's getting that ride?" the jockey replied. "He came in and emptied out Gordy's locker. Took the safe with him."

Starsky and Hutch exchanged another look. "When was that?" Hutch asked.

"Little while ago. Not too long. Less than an hour."

"Thanks, fellas, you've been great," Starsky said, as he and Hutch hustled to the door.

The jockey who'd answered the door followed them to it. "Hey! Is that it? Ain't you guys going to take any pictures or anything?"

Starsky and Hutch ran through the grandstand down to the paddock, on their way to the barns, and there they nearly ran right over a security guard who was doing his rounds.

"Okay," he said, looking like he was going to make trouble, "what's the rush, there?"

They both pulled out their real badges.

"Undercover," Starsky gasped, "official business. Come with us; we could use your help."

He and Hutch took off again, and the security officer followed them after a moment's hesitation.

As they rounded the corner of the barn aisle where Satin Swishes was stabled, they pulled up a little, just in time to see Spalding walking out the other end of the aisle with something tucked under his arm.

"Spalding! Hold up!" Starsky shouted.

Spalding stopped and came towards them a little bit, and they hurried up to him.

"What is it, uh, Dave, is it?" he asked.

"What's that you got there?" Starsky panted, motioning to the box under Spalding's arm.

"This?" Spalding motioned with it. "It's nothing; just something for one of my bosses."

"Can we see it?" Hutch asked, feeling his nose to make sure the activity hadn't set his nose bleeding again.

"I'm afraid not," Spalding said, tucking it more carefully under his arm. "It's confidential, and it doesn't belong to me; it's not mine to show you or not."

Starsky turned to Hutch. "At least he's telling the truth," he said. He turned back to Spalding. "Is that the safe Louis took out of Gordy Weiler's locker a little while ago?"

"It's none of your business, Officer Starsky," Spalding said. "As I've told you, it is confidential in nature and belongs to one of my bosses."

"We have reason to believe that it's material evidence in our investigation of Gordy Weiler's murder," Hutch said, holding out his hand for it.

"Murder?" Spalding sounded surprised. "What... that was an accident. You were there."

"Conveniently," Hutch said. "Now, give us the safe. Please." He smiled.

Spalding moved as if he was going to obey, but at the last minute, he swung the box back and hit Hutch in the nose with it, knocking Hutch backward into Starsky, and took off running. Hutch cried out in pain, and Starsky steadied him, and then jumped around him and was off after Spalding. The security officer held Hutch by the arm for support, and radioed security headquarters for police backup. Spalding's car was just outside the barn, and he got to it just as Starsky reached the end of the aisle; Spalding grabbed a pistol out of his glove compartment and got off a couple of shots in Starsky's general direction. Starsky ducked behind the barn wall, pulled his own gun, and leaned back out and returned fire, missing.

Spalding drove off, leaving Starsky to chase him on foot, somewhat uselessly. But he soon came upon a security car that had been close and was coming to investigate; Starsky flashed his badge at the driver, jumped in the car, and they were off after Spalding.

The fugitive had almost got to the main road when he was stopped by a police car responding to the call, that blocked his way. Everyone screeched to a halt.

Starsky jumped out of the car, gun at ready.

"Give it up, Spalding!" he shouted. "There's no way out!"

Spalding was, indeed, surrounded, and raised his hands.

"Toss that gun out your window, and then get out with your hands up!" Starsky called.

It was two days later that Starsky insisted on going somewhere besides Huggy's after their shift ended. Hutch wasn't sure what to make of it, but he went along with it.

Starsky drove to the zoo.

"What are we doing here?" Hutch wondered.

"This is for you, pal," Starsky said. "We have to get you back up on a horse."

"They have a place to ride horses in the zoo?" Hutch asked.

"Sure!" Starsky said.

Hutch was skeptical. "I don't know, Starsk, I'm not in a hurry to do this," he said as they got out. "That's what I'm saying, Hutch. You have to. Everybody says that once you fall off, you have to get right back on again."

"My nose is still really sore," Hutch pointed out. "If I was to hurt it again..."

"You have to get on again, or you'll be afraid of it for the rest of your life."

"It was impossible to get back on, dummy," Hutch said. "Someone was shooting at us."

"I know," Starsky said. "That's why we're taking care of it now. You don't want to be afraid to ride a horse for the rest of your life, do you?"

"I guess not," Hutch grumbled.

Starsky stopped in front of the pony ride. "Here you are!" he grinned.

"Starsk..." Hutch wasn't amused.

Starsky turned to the man in charge of the ride. "One, please," he said."

"Oh, you're not going to join me?" Hutch asked drily.

"Somebody's got to watch," Starsky said joyfully, trying to hand the operator a dollar. "Otherwise, who ya gonna wave at?"

"Uh, buddy, this is just for kids," said the operator.

"Oh, yeah?" Starsky asked.

"Yeah, one hundred pounds max," the man said. "You and your friend here would squash these little guys."

Starsky pretended to look at the ponies, the largest of which wasn't higher than his waist. "Oh, I see what you mean," he said.

He kept walking, leading Hutch away. "Yet again, you big lunk, people have to scramble to find a horse big enough to carry your massive weight," he said.

"That's great, Starsk, really great," Hutch complained.

Starsky stopped in the walkway, right in front of a blind curve. "But you're going to get on a horse today. Behold, Your Largeness... your steed awaits!"

Hutch came up to the corner, and saw what Starsky was talking about... the carousel. He rolled his eyes.