Triggers

by Zebra 3 and Me

These Starsky and Hutch stories are dark, dramatic, and intense.

Triggers

By TLR/Zebra 3 and Me

1. Slash-Partners in a different place.

2. Child Killer-A child abduction case that hits close to home.

3. Ambush-Echoes of the past.

4. Heat of the Day-A lot can happen on a hot day.

5. Hate Crime-It speaks for itself.

6. Fatal Flaw-Hutch meets up with an old college flame.

7. Huggy's Girl-Huggy has a girlfriend.

8. Jump In-The partners work with the child abuse division and a young girl.

9. Guardian-What was shall always be.

10. Breakthrough-A possibility for Hutch's past.

11, Snuff-The partners caught up in it.

12. Blood Brother-Starsky in a Salem's Lot story.

13. Heart to Blame-Hutch in a Ramos crisis.

14. To Protect and Serve-Caught up in a domestic violence case.

15. Silent-A vicious assault on one of the partners.

16. The Mistake—A dangerous mistake following Sweet Revenge.

17. It's a Wonderful Life—A tragedy prompts H. to question his life.

18. A New Year-What lies ahead?

:::::::::::

SLASH

Story by Zebra 3 and Me

Near midnight, in the blue glow of an overhead neon sign that beamed "Coates Motel".

"Third victim," Starsky said as he and Hutch observed the man lying dead beneath the fire escape, his torso agape in one diagonal slash, his groin area bloodied from mutilation.

The crime lab technicians and a police photographer worked around the detectives. A reporter hung in the background interviewing a few bystanders.

"Hey," the motel manager named Coates said as he smoked a cigarette nearby. "Can you guys hurry it up? Bad for business."

Starsky gave him a long look, then said, "You see anyone or anything suspicious inside?"

"No. I called you when I heard the guy scream out. Ain't that enough?"

"The height of civic duty. Did he have a room here?"

"No, he just did his business, that's all. I don't ask, I don't tell. Best to keep your nose out of things, know what I mean?"

"You've been a big help," Starsky wryly said. "You're excused."

The manager walked to a side door and disappeared inside the building.

Hutch put his hand inside an evidence baggie like a glove, and carefully withdrew something from the victim's mouth and throat.

"Third silk handkerchief," he said. "Stuffed all the way down."

"Nice signature. Doesn't take Freud to figure that part out. Secondary crime scene, just like the first two. There should be more blood."

Hutch turned the baggie inside out, enclosing the handkerchief and handing it to one of the technicians. Then, going through the man's jacket pockets, found a book of matches that bore the name of a nearby gay club, The Green Parrot.

"Let's talk to Sugar."

::::::::::::::::::::::

After midnight.

"Rossy Delaney was a loner," Sugar said as he came out to the Torino and leaned in through the passenger window to speak to Starsky and Hutch. "Average male hook with a nice bod and killer smile. Too bad he had to go in the line of duty."

Hutch showed him Polaroids of the first two victims. "Recognize these guys?"

Sugar studied the images, then said, "Maybe the blond one in the club, not sure. Hustlers too?"

"The blond one. Not sure about the other. If you hear anything, give us a call, will you?"

"By all means. And say, why not drop around sometime when you aren't on duty? Nothing romantic. Just a drink or two." Glancing at Starsky he said, "Both of you."

"Maybe sooner than you think," Starsky smiled as he started the car. "See you around, Sugar."

As the Torino drove away, Sugar clasped a hand over his chest. "Be still my heart."

:::::::::::::::::

One a.m.

Huggy was just hanging up the phone when Starsky and Hutch walked in.

"Slash struck again," Hutch said as he sat down on a stool. "You heard anything, Hug?"

"Who got it this time?"

"You know Rossy Delaney?"

Huggy's hand suddenly hit the bar, a sad pain filling his eyes.

"Damn. I've known that cat for years. He never hurt nobody. He worked for me when I first opened this joint."

"Sorry," Hutch said.

"I'll see what I can find out."

:::::::::::::::

Captain Dobey's office next morning.

Hutch helped himself to a cup of coffee while Starsky perched himself on the corner of the captain's desk.

"So," Dobey said as he reached for his inbox. "We're looking for someone who has it in for gay males and/or hookers."

"Same murder weapon," Starsky said. "Same MO. Same type of victim. Same signature. No prints, no fibers, no witnesses."

Dobey scratched his head as he sipped his coffee. "Sure would like to know more about the murder weapon."

"Street knife," Starsky said. "Probably switchblade. We don't intend to let the media know about the silk handkerchiefs."

Dobey nodded.

"We're looking at a serial killer," Hutch added. "All three victims come from the same general area. These may not be his first victims, but they are the ones that got our attention, and they do have a pattern."

"You thinking hate crime on gays?" Dobey asked.

"Not in the classic sense," Hutch answered. "But it's hate all right. Rage. Overkill. Not sure gay has anything to do with it. It's more about the killer. Something…internal."

The partners looked at each other.

Dobey leaned back in his chair and sighed, watching them, by now knowing what they wanted to do before they said anything. As he expected, Hutch said with a wry smile, "Starsk, how about a date at The Green Parrot tonight?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

"I want progress reports," Dobey said as they started for his office door to leave. "And don't do anything too crazy."

::::::::::::::

Starsky's house.

They stood in Starsky's bathroom at the mirror, finishing up their undercover look.

Hutch wore a buckskin vest over a bare torso, plus white jeans and a white-gold earring; slicked his hair back with a little Brylcreem and put it in a small ponytail. Starsky wore a too-tight plum-colored T-shirt, with black jeans and a fake tattoo; sheared his curls down dramatically short. Hutch shaved his moustache as well.

"Let's not go in as a couple at first," Hutch said. "Looking alone and available may double our chances attracting his attention."

"Apparently he goes for blonds."

"We could color yours."

"Please. I've sacrificed enough as it is."

Hutch picked up a dark curl from the sink and smiled, then let it flutter from his fingertips back into the sink.

Starsky set the hair clippers aside.

"Hey, Hutch?"

The quieter tone of his partner's voice brought a flicker of concern to Hutch's eyes.

"Maybe I should tell you something before we do this," Starsky said with his eyes averted from his partner's image in the mirror.

"Okay," Hutch said with the shrug of a shoulder. "What is it?"

"I don't want to jeopardize the case, or your safety."

"Starsky, I can't think of anything you could say or do that would—"

"You can go solo if you want to, or use another partner."

"I don't want another partner. What the hell are you talking about?"

Starsky turned completely around, his back to the mirror, leaning back with his hands resting on the sink.

"Something happened when I was thirteen. Ma'd just sent me out here to live with my aunt and uncle. Some older punk down the street tried to…mess with me in a park. Roughed me up and tried to force some things. But John Blaine stopped it when he was out walking the dog. Maybe that's why I have this attitude. This reservation. Comes from a place of self-protection. And now this case. It could color things, Hutch, and I don't want to place you in danger. If somethin' happened to you because of me, I…I'll let you decide."

I froze. For the first time. I didn't cover you. I didn't work the way we work. I could have gotten you killed.

"Look," Hutch said softly. "I can appreciate what happened with you, and it must have been terrifying. You're entitled to however you feel. And if this case is something you really don't want to do, I'll take it solo. Huggy can help out, and Sugar Plum can keep an eye on things. But I need you on this with me, Starsk. I don't think I can trust another partner with my life. Five years ago. Six years ago. Maybe. But, we've been through too much. I…I'll let you decide."

::::::::::::::::::::::

They borrowed two vehicles from Merl-a black Duster for Starsky; a white van for Hutch.

:::::::::::::::::::

The Green Parrot.

The plan was for Starsky to go in first and get a feel for the customers, both regulars and newcomers, observe interactions and transactions, and try to spot anyone or anything suspicious before Hutch came in.

Getting a lead in the case could take an hour, or a week, or longer. It wasn't something that could be rushed or obvious, or their cover could be blown and the investigation would suffer, but they did hope something broke in the case before Slash killed again.

The place was crowded and Sugar was performing on stage as Joan Crawford when Starsky walked in, scanned the place, and went to one of the few tables with an available seat. The table was occupied by an older, fit man with trim silver hair who was immensely enjoying the performer's routine.

Sugar did a double take when he saw Starsky's new look, but quickly squelched his reaction to protect his cover by launching into his next joke, as Katharine Hepburn. Sugar and a few trusted members of the club's staff knew of the undercover gig, but weren't about to place it at risk, as they were just as determined as the cops to catch the killer preying on the gay community, if not more so.

"Mind if I sit?" Starsky asked the older man.

The man looked flattered and gestured toward an empty chair.

"Help yourself, sweetheart."

Starsky looked around, mentally cataloguing anything and everything.

"Buy you a drink?" the man offered.

"Sure, why not?"

The man motioned for a waiter, and a young waiter in his early twenties dressed as a geisha approached.

"What'll you have?" the waiter asked them.

"Cosmo," the man said. "And for my friend?" he asked looking at Starsky.

"Tropical punch," Starsky replied. "On the rocks."

"That's cute," the older man said. "You're cute."

The waiter smiled and left.

"You're new here at the Parrot," the man said.

"New in town. Name's Mike."

"Jett," the man said as they shook hands. "Why no alcohol? It's Friday night. Live it up."

"Ah, you know. I drive a cab, and my company's strict on no drinking and driving."

"You look a little nervous."

"I do?"

Jett touched his shoulder.

"You're tense."

"Sorry, just…" Starsky's eyes panned the place, looking for Hutch, who had yet to arrive.

"Looking for someone?"

"Um…I don't know."

Starsky looked at his watch.

The geisha waiter brought the drinks over to the table.

Starsky picked up his glass, as if he needed something to do with his mind and his hands.

"If this place isn't your thing, I could show you around town," Jett suggested. "Promise I won't bite."

"We'll see," Starsky shrugged, and kept sipping his punch.

A small TV played silently behind the bar, a news brief on the Slash murders. Starsky averted his eyes from it and played it cool, but Jett still saw that he'd taken it in.

"Is that what has you bugged?" Jett said. "Kind of has all of us on edge, but you can't let stuff like that get the best of you. They have some investigators on it."

Starsky sloshed his drink at that. Jett laughed as he took a napkin and dabbed at a few wet spots on Starsky's chest.

"Come on, cutie, let's get out of here. Fresh air. Nice walk. I'll show you around."

"No, I…not tonight. Maybe…" Starsky saw Hutch come through the door and walk up to the bar. He took a seat between two men, then turned slightly on his stool to glance nonchalantly in Sugar's direction, then Starsky's, giving the barest of a wink his way. Then he turned back around on his stool, his back to the main room.

It took only a few seconds for the well-dressed man in a suit and hat on Hutch's left to strike up a conversation with him and order him a drink, and for the man on his right to smile appreciatively, but Starsky was too far away to hear, and the buzz of conversation by the other customers muffled it.

"Maybe what?" Jett asked.

"Huh? Oh. Maybe um…in time. I don't really know you."

"How do you get to know someone? You spend time, you talk, you walk, you ask questions, you answer questions…"

Jett followed Starsky's gaze to Hutch, then looked back.

"That what you're waiting for?"

"No, um…maybe." Starsky's eyes pulled away from Hutch and settled on Jett. "So yeah. Let's get better acquainted, you and I. Where you from?"

"Seattle. I'm a physical therapist. Moved my private practice here three years ago. I could probably work that tension right out."

Starsky laughed a little. "I bet you could."

Sugar ended his routine, and Jett summoned the geisha waiter again.

"Another tropical punch for my friend," he said, and the waiter left the table with a nod.

Starsky saw the man on Hutch's left covering his hand with his own, the gesture making Starsky feel a bit uneasy.

Now that Sugar's set was over, the piano player began to play a slow, bluesy number.

"Care to dance?" Jett asked Starsky.

"Two left feet," Starsky smiled.

"I doubt that. But don't worry. I'll find a way to get through that roadblock you have up. I like hard to get."

"Hey, no. Really. No games. It's just…my partner and I broke up a couple months ago and…"

"His loss," Jett said placing his hand on Starsky's forearm. "My gain."

Starsky reached up to take the tropical punch from the waiter, wishing like hell it was alcoholic, but he had to be clearheaded for Hutch's safety, and his own. It took great willpower to allow the man's hand to stay on his arm.

"Where you from?" Jett asked. "I like your accent."

"Half New York, half Boston."

Jett winked. "Cab driving bring you out here to California?"

"Nope. Thought about tryin' to make it in show business, auditions, got this job drivin' a cab to make ends meet."

"I can help you out with that, you know. Fund you. Pay the rent. Buy groceries. Let you do your thing."

"No, I like drivin'. Takes my mind off of things…I think I just need someone to talk to."

Jett moved in a little closer to him, placing a hand on Starsky's thigh. "I'm a good listener."

It was then that Hutch rose from his stool and slowly made his way through the slow-dancing couples to Jett and Starsky's table.

"Care to dance?" Hutch asked smiling down at Starsky.

As if he'd just been rescued from the jaws of a shark, Starsky rose to his feet and went with Hutch onto the floor, simply standing there looking dumbfounded and almost numb until Hutch put his arms around him and began to slow-dance him, sideburn to sideburn.

"Starsk," he whispered into his ear. "I can feel your heart pounding. You have to calm down. You look like you're about ready to shoot through the roof."

Starsky clung to his neck and said, "Feel like it too."

Hutch felt a tremble. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah."

"You wanna back out?"

"No."

"Just relax, Ramone."

Starsky let his body relax into Hutch a little, breathing easier.

"Nice song," Hutch murmured, allowing time for Starsky's anxiety to subside. "Guy bought me a drink. All he wants to talk about is the slasher murders. Maybe he knows something, or someone. Uh oh. I think your friend is on his way over here."

"Not my friend. Tryin' his damnedest to put moves on me. Told him I just broke it off with my partner."

"Here he comes."

Jett approached and tapped Hutch on the shoulder. "May I cut in?"

Hutch kept Starsky in his arms and kept swaying.

Jett tapped Starsky on the shoulder. "Mike?"

"Sorry," Starsky said to Jett as his mouth moved toward Hutch's, nearly making contact. "I think me and my partner are gonna work out our differences."

Hutch smiled at Jett and pulled Starsky closer.

Jett's eyes flashed jealousy, his shoulders tense.

"Lucky partner," he said as he turned and walked from the club.

"Lucky indeed," Sugar said as he passed by them.

But as Jett exited through the door, the detectives could see a silk handkerchief peeking from his hip pocket.

::::::::::::::::

"I'll go," Starsky said as he started after Jett.

Hutch took an arm to pull him back. "He's into blonds. I'll go."

"But he's into me. I don't think he'd like you no matter how blond you are. You just stole me away from him."

"Starsk…"

"We gotta get this guy off the street," Starsky said as he pulled away again.

"I won't be too far away," Hutch said as he followed his partner to the doorway, watching as Starsky caught up to the man and started apologizing.

:::::::::::::::::

"It's going to take more than an apology to make it up to me," Jett said as Starsky hustled to keep up with him on their way down the sidewalk. "I don't like games."

"What games? I told you we broke up."

"Is that what you call broke up? I must have missed something."

"Okay. I'm confused. I admit it. I don't know what I'm doing. I haven't even came out to my family, and I lost the only partner I've ever known. I'm mixed up. And alone. So sue me."

Jett drove him into an alley and held him against a brick wall.

"What do you want from me, Mike?"

Starsky tried to calm his heaving chest. If he weren't undercover, the man's head would have been smashed into the bricks. "Huh?"

"You came to my table. I try to talk to you. I show you interest. And you take off to the arms of your partner/ex-partner/partner. What's his name?"

"I don't have to tell you any—"

"What's his name?"

Starsky turned his head to look out toward the street, as if that could make Hutch materialize.

"Charlie."

"Charlie? Charlie what?"

Starsky didn't answer.

Eyes unwavering from Starsky's, Jett's hands moved down his chest, into the waistband and pockets of his jeans, finding a fake driver's license and cabbie ID bearing the name Mike Strode, some cash, some bubblegum.

"You carry, Mike? You a hustler? Drug dealer? Cop? What are you?"

Starsky's jaw clenched as Jett crouched in front of him and traveled his hands down his thighs and calves, until he found a small pistol strapped to his ankle.

"Nice," Jett said as he took the gun from the holster and stood up, sticking it into the belt of his own pants. From a back pocket he took out a switchblade and flicked it open. "I prefer knives," he whispered into Starsky's ear as he held the tip to his throat. "Much more personal this way."

"What are you?" Starsky asked quietly. "Why you feel you gotta do this?"

"You really want to know? I'll tell you, since you'll be dead in about three minutes. I was thirteen when I ran away from my rapist father, and became a hustler for money to put food in my mouth. I didn't like it. It was a job. I serviced men for years, and took whatever abuse came with it, until I couldn't take anymore, until I hated what I'd become. I turned that hatred outward, killing what the street made me—what I hate about myself."

Jett's eyes turned almost sad, almost confused. "But you don't hate yourself, do you, Mike?"

"No."

"And you aren't afraid to die."

"No."

"And you have people who love you, don't you?"

"Yeah."

He took the silk handkerchief from his other back pocket, and that's when Hutch pressed the muzzle of his gun against Jett's head.

"Back off," he whispered. "Slow and easy. Hurt one hair on his head, you will die right here and now."

For a moment Jett stood still, as if he still wanted to push the knife into his prey's throat and slowly slide it downward in a diagonal slash, one last time, to release the last bit of hate, resentment, and self-loathing he had, but cowardice and self-preservation won out and he did nothing but look deep into Starsky's eyes.

Starsky looked back without a blink.

Hutch eased the knife from Jett's hand, and Starsky took his pistol back from his belt.

"You have the right to remain silent," Starsky told him as he began to inform him of his rights.

:::::::::::::::::

As Starsky stood with Sugar in the back of the club explaining what had gone down, Hutch sat down at the bar next to the man who'd earlier bought him a drink, and reached for a phone to call Dobey.

"That dark-haired number really gets to you, doesn't he?" the man asked.

Hutch smiled with the receiver in his hand. "You could say that."

The End

::::::::::::::::::

Child Killer

By Zebra 3 and Me

Part 1

Somehow my heart weighed five hundred pounds when I sat down in my desk chair. Five hundred pounds of despair, desperation, and exhaustion. The media microphones and cameras in my face weren't intimidating. I'd given press conferences before. Pleaded with criminals before on air, to turn themselves in, in order to save a life, close a case, put a nightmare to rest.

The camera was my friend. A helper in the cases, if you will. A link to the truth, and resolution.

This press conference was different.

It was an update, yes. I gave one daily, because the parents deserved it. Even if just to say, "No new leads". At least it was something. It let them know we were still trying.

But today my brain could barely push the words through my mouth and into the microphones. It was my little girl Rosie that was missing now; the fourth one-my baby that hadn't gotten off the school bus three days earlier.

I was beyond fatigue. Edith and I hadn't slept or eaten much. And Cal…well, our son Cal had taken off to find the kidnapper himself, so we prayed for him too.

I couldn't call the culprit a killer yet. Not yet. He was still a kidnapper. Because there were no bodies. Empty child beds, yes. Empty chairs at the breakfast tables, yes. Empty arms with no little-girl-hugs. Dear God, yes. No bodies meant hope. Kidnapping meant chance, and there's always a chance.

"Four missing children in two weeks," I said quietly into the microphone. "My daughter is the latest. Unfortunately, we still have no leads."

Reporters were of course on hand doing their job-edging in for comments at the latest development: The disappearance of our Rosie.

They may have asked questions, but I don't recall answering them. By then I was running on automatic, like the new coffee maker I got Edith for a wedding anniversary present six months ago. You just set it and forget it. It does the work for you. Practically runs by itself. It's programmed to start, stop, pause. Press a button and it does its thing.

Starsky and Hutch were on it day and night. I saw the way they telegraphed across their desks to each other-Hutch's wet eyes. Starsky's tense body. They felt it, but they were professional enough and determined enough to work the case regardless of the personal aspects. Yes, they were devastated, but they were positive, and determined. I didn't want it any other way. The other cops helped, but I wanted Starsky and Hutch as the leads. I couldn't trust my baby to just anyone. They wouldn't quit until we found her.

The negatives kept nagging: After 48 hours, chances of finding them alive get slimmer and slimmer. If a traditional kidnapping, the kidnapper would have called by now with demands. Chances are good it was never a kidnapping at all. Just your garden variety pervert picking up small children and savaging them, then killing them. All in a day's work, leaving behind a wake of grief, rage, and pain so bright and bad it burst your guts apart for the rest of your life.

That night as I got into bed and held my numb wife close to me, one of the reporter's questions seeped through my twilight sludge just as I sank into the deep sleep that my fear and anguish had denied me for days: "How do you do it, Captain? How do you continue to do your job with your own little girl missing too?"

(I have to), my exhausted mind echoed in a long, slow sigh. (I have to).

Part 2

They came into my office. I knew their body language by now, because I felt it too: Tired, edgy, but completely present.

Starsky put a file folder on my desk.

"Robert Clarkson. Suspected pedophile teacher fired three years ago at Rosie's school. DA said not enough evidence to bring charges. Clarkson says he has a thing for kids but would never kill one. But he knows a few who would. They're next on our list."

I nodded. They didn't even give me time to comment. They were out the door again.

I shifted down into my desk chair and leaned my head back, closing my eyes, willing information and leads to come to me, searching my memory banks for old enemies who'd want to steal not just Rosie, but other children too, just for kicks.

It was ground Starsky and Hutch had already covered, and they'd investigated and ruled out anyone we could think of.

My mind went from old to new; old to young. A hunch that it was someone new to the game. A young guy who was just cutting his teeth in the child killing business, who wasn't in the system yet.

(No, don't say that. You can't say "killing" because there are no bodies. Until then, you have to call it "abduction" business).

Edith stopped by my office just after three o'clock that day. She waited until after the school bus drove past our house, hoping, somehow, Rosie would supernaturally get off of it and run into her arms as if nothing at all had happened.

"Cal called," she said. "He's still out looking. Harold, I'm worried. I don't want to lose both of-"

Taking her hands in mine stopped her. "He's young, Edie, but he can take care of himself. He has this notion of being a cop like me, remember? And you know how much he loves his little sister. He'll be all right."

Captain words. Husband words. Father words. Not that I didn't mean them. But I said them as much for myself as I did for her.

Are you going to make it through this, Harold C? a small voice inside my head asked.

Her arms wrapping around my bulk answered the question, as did one word that appeared like a small, simple, white neon sign on a dark street on the insides of my eyelids: Faith.

Faith is sometimes all you have left.

Part 3

My men were too distracted with their cases, and Rosie's, to notice just who left the package propped up against my office door, sometime when I was out to lunch with Starsky and Hutch we assume.

Starsky and I met at Huggy Bear Brown's to discuss the rundown of the leads the fired pedophile teacher had given them. Dead ends. I think they just wanted me out of the office for a few minutes so they could put a cheeseburger or two into me.

Brown's was a good place for that. He could try my patience once in a while, and we didn't always see eye to eye. But he was a good guy, and had a heart for Starsky and Hutch and what they did. He'd risked his life for us more than once. Over the years I learned to trust his instincts.

"Sorry about your little girl, Captain," he said as he brought a big lunch platter over to our table. "On the house. I'm keepin' my ear to the ground."

"Appreciate that, Huggy."

After lunch, the three of us went back to my office.

It was a nondescript package. A big padded manila envelope (vanilla as Rosie liked to say whenever I asked her to go fetch one from my desk in the den), with a cigar box inside.

Hutch looked a little nervous, and Starsky suggested we get the bomb squad. They'd had their share of bomb encounters-up close and personal thanks to Arthur Solkin and a few other chartbusters who'd made our top ten list-but I had a hunch it was okay.

I carried the cigar box over to my desk while Hutch got Minnie to send the envelope to the lab for analysis. She was always kind of hovering around my boys, being the kind of friend they needed-from referee, to advice columnist, to colleague.

Starsky closed the door, then both of them came up to the chairs in front of my desk and sat down.

I glanced from one of them to the other, my fingertips on the lid. What if Starsky is right and the box is rigged? What if we're blown to pieces?

As I slowly lifted the lid, it was an explosion all right. Of emotions: Anger (I want to murder this person who has stolen my little girl and ripped my family apart). Helplessness (what can I do, where are you, Rosie, why can't we find you?). Guilt (why couldn't I have protected her, helped her, found her sooner?).

The cigar box was full of Polaroids the sick bastard had taken of Rosie and the other three grade-schoolers.

I thought I was good at masking my emotions, but something on my face or in my demeanor brought Starsky and Hutch around to stand on either side of my chair to look at the photos too.

With tweezers, we picked through the photos with investigative eyes: The kids were clothed, looked a little dirt-smudged, not smiling. Scared. Their little eyes seeming to be calling out, crying out for their mamas and daddies. Rosie's: "Please, Daddy. Please find me", hers said.

My mind was shutting down. I couldn't think. The tweezers were slipping through my fingers.

Hutch's hand on my shoulder. Starsky's voice as he leaned over close and took the tweezers. They wouldn't let me give up. They wouldn't let me give in, or allow it to get the best of me.

"Look, here," Starsky said gently. "Lot of trees. Dusty ground. Can you make out that red sign in the background? Yellow behind it?"

Hutch's voice now: "She's alive, Captain. He wants you to see that she is. He wants you to see…"

"How 'well' he's taking care of them," Starsky finished. "To show how much he 'loves' them. That he isn't the monster everyone thinks he is. What he does requires seclusion. Privacy. He wouldn't be doing this in a park or anywhere public."

My upper lip trembled a little. Perspiration. I swiped at my mustache.

Hutch suggested, "Let's look at the rest."

We did. Sorting through the pictures. One by one. A line of trees high above them. Nothing that looked like it was on a city block. More like… on the outskirts of town, toward the rural areas. The woods, a farm. Private property.

"No visible injuries," Hutch said.

Not yet, my mind replied.

"I won't air them," I said. "I'll mention them, to ease the parents' minds a little, but I won't air them. I won't give him the satisfaction."

The two began talking over my head.

"Prints," Hutch said.

"Photos and box," Starsky added. "That red sign needs enlarged and sharpened."

I nodded, signaling them to take the photos and have them analyzed for anything and everything.

Part 4

At the microphone again. Another update. This time in the lobby of the police station, and a little more hopeful than the others had been.

"I received photos," I said to the press, the public, and parents. "From the kidnapper, obviously. The children look unharmed, physically, which is a good sign. My men are working on it, and I'll have more to tell you as things develop. But now…if you'll indulge me…I'd like to speak directly to the kidnapper." I looked around at the reporters, the small crowd of officers who'd gathered inside, and outside my door.

Starsky and Hutch were nowhere in sight. Off investigating.

Into the microphone, and into the camera I said, "I want to make a trade, Mister Kidnapper, whatever your name may be. If the pictures are anything to go by, you haven't killed yet. You have a chance to return our children. A chance of being a hero. And if that isn't enough…if you still feel the need to take your anger out and hurt someone…to take a life… I offer to trade mine for theirs. I'm willing to meet you anywhere you want. I'll bring money, if you want that too, and no weapon. I'll give myself over to you if you let them go. Just drop a note at my door, telling me where and when. I'll be there."

After the press conference, I turned and walked to the elevator, then went back to my office, where Starsky and Hutch were pacing inside.

Starsky handed me one of the photos that had been enlarged-the one of the red sign with yellow behind it. It looked like a red stop sign on the outside of a yellow school bus.

Hutch handed me another, this one also blown up. Of half a license plate, but clearly California.

Not much to go on, but something.

"I gave it to DMV," he said. "They're running-"

We were interrupted by a knock at my door. I started to say, "Come in," but the door opened and a teenage girl wearing a dirty white undershirt two sizes too big stood there. Baggy pants, smudged face. Tangled hair. She looked like…Rosie…the haunted look Rosie wore in the picture. Like the other three kids looked. Except this kid was older. A teenager.

"I escaped," she said in a dry, faint voice as she took a shuffling step forward. Then collapsed.

Starsky caught her, easing her into a chair.

Hutch got a drink of water for her from my dispenser.

"Here," he said holding the paper cup to her lips. "Who are you? What happened to you?"

"Escaped," she gasped as she looked up at us. She looked frightened and relieved. "I was cooking. It was my job every day. Cooking for them. I was in the kitchen. The TV was on. His girlfriend. She was pregnant. Fainted or something. I…" She started to cry. "I should have called an ambulance for her, but I didn't. I couldn't. I just got her handcuff key, unlocked myself, and ran. I had to get out of there. To help the kids. They-they're still there."

She looked up at me with tears in her eyes. "I saw you on TV. Your little girl-"

I knelt next to her and took her arms, careful not to hurt her. She was matchstick thin already.

"My little girl? You were with Rosie? And the others? Were they all right when you left?"

She nodded.

I looked up at Starsky and Hutch, who looked at each other, putting voice to my question: "You were kidnapped too?" Starsky asked her. "Why didn't we hear about you?"

"You wouldn't," she said. "I ran away from home three years ago. No dad. Just a drunk mom, who never wanted me anyway, who's probably dead by now. I lived on the streets. Do you know Sunny?"

Starsky and Hutch nodded. A young prostitute they'd tried to help, but couldn't.

"We were best friends," she said. "I'm Alma. But the guy and his girlfriend promised me a place to stay, food, anything. I believed them. But they wouldn't let me leave. They kept bringing kids in. And…killing them I think. Or selling them. Or something. I don't really know. Kids come, but…I don't know what happens to them. I just cook for them. I have to. Do you see? They make me. Do you see?"

She lifted the cuff of her baggy jeans and showed us the old scars around both ankles.

"Yes," Hutch said softly. "We see."

"Who is he?" I asked as I pulled her carefully to her feet and sat her on the edge of my desk. "We need his name, and the address, if you know it."

"I don't know the address," she told us. "But I can show you where it is. And his name is Anson Stewart."

Part 5

The Bible says faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

Not every father is as lucky as I was, that faith can bring an answer in the form of a runaway street slave who can lead you to a child abductor's front door.

It's also as much fate as it is faith. Or the luck of the draw. Or whatever you want to call it. I've held grieving fathers in my arms as they cried on my shoulder for their missing or dead children. I've wiped the tears of countless women whose arms ached to hold their babies again but never, ever would. Held the hands of little kids who still watch out windows for their big brothers and sisters to come home.

Not every father gets a miracle.

All four of those kids were a miracle. Because Anson Stewart was indeed more than just an abductor or kidnapper. He was a bona fide child killer, with bones in his fruit cellar to prove it. The red stop sign was attached to a school bus, which had housed the kids he'd taken at various times over the last five years, since his sixteenth birthday—Rosie the most recent.

I pushed into that damn school bus like a charging bull, dislodging seats from the floor as I made my hefty way down the aisle. Starsky and Hutch were behind me, stopping to pick up the other three little kids along the way and taking them off to be tended to by waiting ambulance attendants.

I headed for Rosie, who was all the way in the back, in the last seat, crunched in the corner under the grimy window, thumb in her mouth.

She hadn't sucked her thumb in a few years now, but I guess on this day she had a right to.

The thumb came out of her mouth, though, when she heard my voice say, "Sweetheart?"

"DADDY!"

She flew out of her seat and straight into my arms, crying and clinging like she'd never let go.

I broke down and sobbed right there, my back to the rest of the bus.

I squeezed my baby girl so tight, stuffing should've come out of her.

But only love did.

My empty, yearning arms were full of her again. At peace again. My heart back in its place. My brain back on track.

I laughed and cried with joy.

"Daddy, daddy, daddy. Don't cry. It's all right."

She cupped my big cheeks in her tiny hands and squeezed, looking me right in the eyes.

"I'm okay, Daddy. I knew you'd find me."

"Yes," I choked into her pigtails. "I found you. These are happy tears, Rosie. Happy tears."

Safe now, she placed her head on my shoulder as if to go to sleep. Probably as exhausted as I was. And as relieved.

Starsky and Hutch waited with the other kids in their arms, their eyes bright with tears.

It was a good day. For everyone.

"Hi, Rosie," they both said in the same voice.

Without lifting her head from my shoulder, she raised her fingers to them and wiggled a little hello.

"Daddy, I'm hungry. Can I have something to eat?"

"You sure can, baby. Anything you want."

Stewart was twenty one, so he was old enough to answer properly for his adult crimes.

Our sweet little Rosie and her three little friends were given only vegetable soup and crackers in the broken-down, rusted out school bus, but I suppose it could have been worse.

The kids were questioned, and another miracle happened: None of them had been violated in a sexual way. Which isn't to say that the emotional violation wasn't bad. It was, in its own way. But the lack of sexual abuse was just one less trauma to worry about.

Anson seemed a little surprised that Alma had turned on them.

"We thought she was happy here with us," Anson said in a bewildered voice as Starsky and Hutch put him under arrest.

I called an ambulance for Anson's girlfriend, Sudie, who was in and out of consciousness on the kitchen floor and couldn't answer questions. I had the idea that maybe she was there against her will, too. Or at least it had started out that way. As time went on, she probably went along with everything out of survival, like Stockholm Syndrome. She could tell us more during questioning.

Hutch shook the man, hard. "The shackles tell a different story, scum."

Starsky nudged Hutch away from Anson, then escorted the suspect outside to waiting officers.

Alma sat in the back of the Torino the whole time. We didn't want her near Anson and Sudie, or interacting with them, but she wanted to watch what transpired because she still couldn't believe she'd actually escaped. Watching from a distance gave her a detached perspective she needed, and courage.

Another two years in a foster home, or adoptive home, and some psychological help, she'd be okay. Well, as okay as possible, given what had happened.

Starsky and Hutch would steer her in the right direction. She might veer from the right path, but they'd put her on it.

Chapter 6

Edith was overjoyed when I brought Rosie home to her and put her in her arms.

They just cried and cried.

Next day it was Cal's turn to come home. When he and Rosie saw each other, she reached for him, and he held her as tight as a teddy bear.

Chapter 7

Edith is a very fine woman. A good wife. Good mother. A giving person. She loves with food, her time, and with helping, and with giving.

After things had settled down with the case, the media, and the family, she wanted to have Starsky, Hutch, and Huggy over for a quiet family dinner.

We hadn't done that in a long time, probably since Christmas, and Rosie and Cal's homecoming was certainly something to celebrate.

We had a wonderful time together.

As a man and captain of color, I've had my share of ups and downs over the years (most of which had nothing to do with the color of my skin), but family and friends are the ups that outweigh the downs.

And this is the end of that story.

:::::::::::::

Ambush

by Zebra 3 and Me

Detective Hutchinson was just locking his apartment door on a Saturday morning at Venice Place to go for a run around the block when the boy he mentored, Kiko, came running up the stairs in a pant.

"Whoa there," Hutch said taking the 12-year-old's shoulders at the top of the stairs. "What's the rush?"

"You gotta come help, Hutch," the boy said pleading up into his eyes. "My mom's boyfriend. He's hurting her. They're down at the market."

Hutch was aware that Mrs. Ramos had a new boyfriend, but had yet to meet him.

Hutch hurried after Kiko down the stairs, and both ran toward the market down the street.

It was a small produce market fairly crowded since it was the weekend, and without slowing, Hutch barreled toward the man who was clutching Kiko's mother by the arms and shaking her.

Hutch wore no gun since it was his day off, which he immediately regretted, as he was left to spin the man around to punch him, yelling a startled "Martinez!", and that's when three other men spilled from the side door of a van, jumped Hutch with a barrage of pipes and boots, and dumped him into the vehicle.

All the while Kiko's mother was sobbing and holding the boy back, both realizing at the same time that both of them had been used by Martinez to get to Hutch.

Kiko lunged for the van, tears streaking down his face.

"Let him go!" the boy screamed. "HUTCH!"

"I'm sorry, Hutch!" Mrs. Ramos cried. "I tried to stop him! I'm sorry!"

The van doors closed, but just before they did, Kiko caught a glimpse of Hutch's blond hair streaked with blood; heard his faint groan of "Get Starsk."

The van screeched away from the curb, leaving Mrs. Ramos holding her son back from going after them.

"No!" she said sternly as she turned Kiko around to face him. "We do what he says. We get Dave."

Just back from a few days spent with a nurse named Sara at her beach house, Detective Starsky was slow-dancing in his living room with her, sans music, when frantic pounding came at the door.

He gave Sara a gentle push toward the bedroom to protect her while reaching for his gun on the end table and going for the door.

"Starsky! It's Kiko! My mom is with me! They got Hutch!"

Starsky put the gun down and jerked the door open. Mrs. Ramos and her son spilled in, in a confusion of conversation and tears.

Starsky took her arms urgently and said, "What happened? Kiko, let your mother explain."

Through tears Mrs. Ramos answered, "My boyfriend Hector. He told us his last name was Alvarez, but Hutch called him by Martinez. We started dating last week. He was okay with us until today. Today he became very violent with me at the market down from Hutch's street, and Kiko ran to get Hutch. When Hutch came…when he came…" She broke down, unable to finish.

"Some guys in a van, and Hector," Kiko finished. "Jumped him and drove him away."

"Did you get the license?"

"I tried," the boy sniffed. "There wasn't any plate."

"Doesn't matter. I know who Hector Martinez is."

Sara cautiously re-entered the living room.

"Dave? Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Just get to your place, sweetheart, or Huggy's if you want. I'll call you later."

She nodded and picked up her purse. He kissed her on her way out.

"Mrs. Ramos," he said as he strapped on his shoulder harness, holstered his gun, and slipped his leather jacket on, "you and Kiko ride with me to the station, look at some mug books to help identify the others, and I'll put out an APB on Hutch and Martinez. I'll put you in a safe-house till this is over."

Captain Dobey sat in Hutch's chair in the squad room with the telephone receiver to his ear while Kiko and his mother looked through mug books. A uniformed officer was on Starsky's desk phone arranging placement in a safe-house for them.

"I'm set to testify against Martinez next week on that drug trafficking charge," Starsky said into the car phone to Dobey as he drove the streets looking for his partner. "But the dude jumped bail. His landlord said he split from his most recent address last week, and he doesn't know any of Hector's pals." There was a pause on the line, and Starsky's voice continued, softly: "Cap, Martinez grabbed Hutch to hurt me. To keep me from testifying."

"I can add two and two," Dobey replied. "Just keep me posted. I'll let you know if Kiko and his mother identify any of the others."

With the APB out on Hutch and Martinez, Starsky went to see Huggy, who met him at the door of his restaurant-bar with a worried look on his face.

"No info on Martinez's cohorts," he said grimly as he and Starsky walked back inside and weaved through the noontime crowd. "But my waitress Angel is coming in to work in about an hour. I think she used to date the dude few years back. She could give you a tip or two."

Starsky went to the bar and took a stool, reaching for a phone Huggy had been using.

"I'm calling Hutch's snitch Mickey, Hug. Maybe he's heard something. I'm running out of options, and Hutch is running out of time."

Huggy saw pain in his friend's eyes, and gripped his shoulder.

Hutch came to, lying on the floor of the van amongst some dirty laundry, old tools, and fast food debris. Above him he saw three faces looming over him. The motion of the van told him they were still moving.

"What time is it?" he mumbled through a split and bleeding lip. "Where we headed?"

"Permanent vacation," Martinez laughed as he opened a toolbox, took out the paraphernalia for a heroin fix, and prepared a syringe.

Hutch saw what it was and tried to get up, kick, punch, resist, leave—anything—but the Latinos held him securely as they tied the tourniquet and sank the needle into the crook his arm.

"Overdose," Martinez smiled, then, when the van braked to a sudden halt alongside a curb, jerked the side door open and shoved him out.

Hutch's small gasp of "Starsk" as he half-limped, half-staggered through Huggy's front door made Starsky drop the telephone receiver and rush toward him, catching him as he collapsed.

"Clear out!" Starsky yelled to the bar as he thrust his badge up into the air.

Huggy quickly ushered the customers out, then joined Starsky, helping him to lie Hutch flat on his back so they could check his condition and provide care.

"Barely breathing," Starsky said as he raised Hutch's eyelids and checked his pupils. "Losing him. I think it's heroin."

Huggy pushed up the sleeve of Hutch's hooded jacket and saw the injection site.

"I got something in the kitchen," Huggy said as he ran.

"Huggy, we gotta get him to emergency NOW!"

"He won't live that long! I said I got something!"

When Starsky saw that Hutch's skin was gradually turning blue, he began respirations.

"Breathe, buddy. Come on. Hold on."

Huggy came running back fixing an injection of his own.

"You got Naloxone?" Starsky asked.

"Friend of a doctor friend," Huggy replied as he pushed the needle into Hutch's arm.

Starsky watched with held breath, and rubbed Hutch's arm, waiting for the drug to take effect.

"Banged up pretty bad," Starsky said to Huggy. "Get Sara on the phone. She can help. We'll get him upstairs."

Huggy strode briskly to the phone.

When Hutch's breathing returned to normal and the blueness of his skin began to drain, his eyes fluttered as they tried to open, his voice druggy.

"Starsk?" he asked as he groped for his partner's sleeve and held on. "You okay?"

"Fine," Starsky smiled. "How about yourself?"

Hutch tried to raise his head, but Starsky gently pushed him back down.

"Easy," Starsky told him. "Wait a few minutes. You're at Huggy's. We're gonna get you upstairs."

"Martinez," Hutch murmured as his eyes closed again.

"Yeah, I know. We'll get him and his big buddies too. Dobey's got about a dozen cops on their trail."

Hutch was still groggy but coming around once they carried him upstairs and put him on the bed. Sara arrived to monitor his breathing, heart rate, temperature, and blood pressure.

She also tended to his cuts and bruises.

"Thankfully no broken bones," she told Starsky. "I'm going for some more medicine and bandages."

He gave her a kiss on the cheek and squeezed her hands. "Thanks for your help."

Once Hutch fell asleep and Sara left, Starsky began to pace around the room, hand in his hair, still infused with adrenaline and panic.

Huggy came from downstairs with a pot of herbal tea and mug of chicken broth.

"For later," he said setting it on a bedside table, but Starsky was too busy pacing to acknowledge him.

"Bastards," Starsky muttered, then punched the wall.

Huggy walked over to him and took his shoulders, seeing his eyes wet with tears.

"He's all right, Starsk. That's the main thing."

"Keep an eye on him," Starsky said as he walked toward the door. "I can't stay here with those freaks still out there thinkin' they got us."

Huggy offered a small crooked smile. Whether it was Starsky or Hutch, it was never a solo thing; always "us" and "we". When one hurt, they both did.

"Kick 'em in the pants for me too," Huggy said as his friend went out the door.

Hector Martinez tried to maintain a cool demeanor when Starsky stepped into the interrogation room, but the slight tremble of the coffee cup between his cuffed hands as he sat at the table spoke of a low-grade dread.

"You all done giving me and Hutch a hard time?" Starsky asked as he walked around the room.

Martinez lifted a defiant chin.

"For now."

"Good!" Starsky shouted as he jerked the man from his chair and slammed him against the wall. "Because I'm just getting started on giving YOU a hard time!"

The door opened and a couple of uniformed cops came in to pull Starsky off the prisoner, Captain Dobey behind them.

Dobey grabbed Starsky by the collar and muscled him out the door.

"Don't blow this case," he said sternly as he shook him a little. "I'm as angry as you are, but we have to have cool heads. His accomplices are being booked right now. We're going for attempted murder of a police officer."

When Starsky returned to Huggy's, he had opened the door to customers again and the place was busy. He went upstairs to find Huggy, Sara, Kiko, and Mrs. Ramos talking with Hutch, who lay pale and listless against the pillow, but awake. He had finished a cup of fortified tea, and now Mrs. Ramos was spoon-feeding him some of Huggy's special chicken broth. Sara was taking his blood pressure.

"Hey, partner," Hutch smiled. "They get him yet?"

"Got all of 'em."

Everyone in the room smiled.

The End

:::::::::::::::

HEAT OF THE DAY

By Zebra 3 and Me

CHAPTER 1

As Starsky and Hutch arrived at the precinct in the Torino and parked, they waved to one of the new secretaries as she hurriedly emerged from her own car across the street.

"Hi, Shonda," Starsky said as he and Hutch trotted halfway across the street to help her with her briefcase, purse, a box of office supplies, and a box of desserts. "Looks like you have your hands full."

"I do. Captain Dobey has yelled at me three times this week about getting the orders wrong on the typewriter ribbons and white-out, so I made sure to bring plenty today."

"Ah," Starsky dismissed, "he's bark and no bite."

Hutch took one of the boxes from her too. "What's this, pie?"

"Don't you smell the boysenberry?"

Starsky wrinkled his nose, but Hutch took the pie out to inhale the aroma.

"Baked heaven," he sighed.

"You can have the first piece of that one, Hutch. I brought a second pie just for the captain. Hoping that will smooth things over. It's just been such a hectic week with little Bobby getting the flu. Doctor appointments. Pharmacy. The supplies. Captain Dobey's temper."

"We'll talk to him," Starsky said as he opened the station's door for her.

As they walked toward the elevator, she said, "I've been feeling kind of ill myself, but with a one-year-old, you don't have time to get sick, know what I mean?"

"Same with two-year-olds," Hutch laughed as he nodded his head toward Starsky.

Starsky put a Tootsie Pop in his mouth. "I'm three now. Where's my present?"

Hutch grinned, and offered to Shonda, "I'm sure it isn't easy being a newly divorced single mom. Let me know if you need a sitter. I have plenty of experience babysitting Starsky."

Starsky gave his partner's shoulder a hard nudge, almost knocking the box of desserts out of his hands, but Hutch saved it.

CHAPTER 2

Shonda put supplies away while Starsky and Hutch carried Captain Dobey's pie into his office.

It was already a hot morning, so Dobey had a small whirring fan on his desk, aimed at his face while drinking his coffee and reading the newspaper.

"Hiya, Captain," Starsky said as he held the pie.

Dobey gave both of them a suspicious look. "What gives?"

"Shonda made this, gross, I mean swell-looking boysenberry pie as a peace offering, just for you."

"She tell you all of our reports are behind because she ordered the wrong supplies?"

"It's not like we can't run out and get some more. She brought in a bunch today."

"Right. White-out and ribbons can be replaced from an office supply store, but we have to special-order those report forms and you know it."

"Maybe you can cut her a break, huh, Captain?" Hutch asked. "She's dealing with a little sick baby. What is Bobby, about a year old?"

Dobey looked at the pie.

"Well, I suppose if she brought the right supplies in today…"

"It goes good with coffee," Hutch told him. "Trust me."

"Send her in."

The detectives smiled, then left to tell Shonda that the captain wanted to see her.

CHAPTER 3

An hour later as they were leaving Huggy's place after a cold drink, Starsky said, "Day like today makes you wanna go jump in the ocean and cool off."

"We can go up to the fire department and hose you down."

"Took your funny vitamins today, didn't you?"

As Starsky opened the driver's side door, the dispatcher's voice came over the police radio, "Zebra 3, please respond to the disturbance at Frankie's Gym."

Starsky and Hutch jumped in the Torino and sped away from the curb, with Hutch lifting the mike.

"This is Zebra 3. We're in the area and are responding."

CHAPTER 4

There was a confusion of bodies, fists, sneakers, and boots in the boxing ring when they arrived.

Frankie had a bloody nose, but had taken a split second away from the mayhem to call the police from the phone at his front desk.

"Hey!" he laughed with surprise when they raced through the door. "Guess I don't have to wonder what you two do for a living anymore! Can you help me break this up? Rival gangs fighting over whose turn it is in the ring! And they aren't paying customers! Can you believe it?"

Starsky and Hutch looked at each other, then ran toward the mayhem. Some of the regulars just stood around and watched the entertainment.

"Okay!" Hutch said as they climbed in and tried separating the two gangs—one gang dressed in white T-shirts, the other in frayed denim vests. "Police! Time out! Respect the man's establish-"

Hutch ducked an elbow just as it came backward toward his face, and Starsky managed to toss one of the guys over the top ring and onto the floor.

It was a free-for-all, and Hutch decided to cut it short by pulling his gun and firing into the air.

This made activity in the gym come to a standstill.

The gang members looked at one another, then at Hutch's gun and shield, and then at Starsky's gun and shield.

Then came grumbles of "Yeah", "Downer, man," and "Pigs" as the gangs dispersed and made their way to the exits.

The non-gang patrons and regulars gave the partners a round of applause, one yelling, "Hey! We never knew you were cops!", while another shouted, "You guys can't be cops!"

Frankie gave Starsky and Hutch a thumbs up when they approached him at the front desk, out of breath.

"You can bill the department for the damages," Hutch told him.

Frankie held a tissue to his still-bloody nose and turned a small fan toward them to cool them off.

"Thanks, guys. This entitles you both to a free three-month membership."

Starsky looked around.

"Got a swimming pool hiding in here somewhere?"

Frankie shrugged. "Cold shower?"

"We'll take it," they said in the same voice, and walked back to the shower room.

CHAPTER 5

After the shower, they headed back to the precinct to talk to Dobey about a tip they'd received from Huggy concerning a shipment of cocaine coming into the area by way of a new dealer named Dice.

But when Starsky approached the building, they saw Shonda screaming and beating against the window of the back seat with her fists.

"Bobby, it's okay! Mommy's here! Mommy will get you out!"

The detectives jumped from the Torino and ran to her. Starsky grabbed her away while Hutch broke the front glass out with the butt of his weapon and unlocked the back door.

"Bobby, I'm sorry!" Shonda cried. "I didn't mean it!"

She tried to break free of Starsky's grip, but he held her tightly.

"It's okay, Shonda. Give him room."

The one-year-old baby was limp and unresponsive when Hutch pulled him from the car seat and began CPR.

"Please save him, Hutch," she begged. "Please. I lost my keys. I forgot he was in the back. How could I forget my own baby?"

By now a crowd was gathering. Captain Dobey came thundering out.

"Stand back!" he ordered the crowd.

"Bring her to the hospital," Hutch told Dobey as he hurried the baby over to the passenger door of the Torino. "No time for an ambulance! Starsk! Hurry!"

But Starsky had already read Hutch's mind and was jumping into the driver's seat.

Shonda tried to follow the detectives and her baby to the Torino, but Dobey grabbed her arm.

"Let's go in my car, Shonda. Try to stay calm."

CHAPTER 6

They all stood waiting impatiently just outside of the emergency room when a doctor approached them.

"His vitals are up," he announced. "He's going to be okay. You got him here in the nick of time." To Shonda he said, "You can be with him now."

Shonda fell into the captain's arms and he led her into the emergency room so that she could be with Bobby.

"Nice work," the doctor said shaking Hutch's hand, then Starsky's. "You saved his life."

After the doctor turned and left, Hutch sank into a chair with a sigh.

"Thank God."

Starsky sat down in the chair next to him.

"Hutch. You don't think she did it…on purpose, do you?"

"If she did, she's one hell of an actress."

"Yeah, but…she got everything out of the car this morning except the most important thing."

"I know."

"How do you forget a baby?"

"I don't know. I don't see how you could. But I guess that's how mistakes happen."

"What a mistake. I can see forgetting a purse, or some office supplies. But your own child in a hot car on a day when the temperature is over a hundred degrees? That's neglect at the very least."

"What do you want to do, give her a polygraph?"

"Why not?"

"Unless she admits it, which she won't, we'll never truly know if she meant to do it or not."

"Point made. But I still think we should report it to the Child Abuse Unit so they can look into it."

"Sergeant Peterson will come to the same conclusion. You can't prove something like this without a confession, and you know Shonda isn't going to do that. Now if this were her second, third, or fourth time leaving the child like that, you'd have something."

Starsky leaned back in his chair, quietly simmering, but also looking distressed at the thought of the incident being an intentional act.

"It was an accident," Hutch reassured him. "Like the time my parents got into a fight when I was about ten years old. It was over a lot of things. But mostly money. Mom telling Dad she didn't care about it, that he was working too much away from home, that she would rather be poor than alone. And an affair he was having. Things came to a head, and, and he just hit her. And he hit her again. And I jumped in between them, tried to stop him. And got hit too. But it was an accident. Just like this. He didn't mean for it to happen. It just happened."

Starsky looked over at him, then said softly as he pressed his shoulder into his partner's, "Wish I'd been there to stop that, buddy. But I'm still gonna report Shonda. Just to be on the safe side. If somethin' happens to the kid again…at least we can say we tried."

CHAPTER 7

Later that evening when they went to visit Bobby in the pediatric ward, Starsky took a toy police car, and Hutch brought a teddy bear.

Shonda rocked her sleeping son-a healthy-looking boy with dark ringlets of hair-in a rocking chair next to the hospital bed and smiled at the detectives.

"Look at him, guys," she said. "He's just fine. He's just perfect. Thank you both for saving him."

"We couldn't be happier," Hutch said.

She looked from one face to the other.

"Sergeant Peterson came here today and questioned me. Captain Dobey had concerns. He's a parent too, you know."

The partners nodded and looked at each other.

"I told her it was an accident," she continued. "I'm willing to take a polygraph. She's going to open a short-term case on me and have us monitored for three months. I think they're going to do a home evaluation. I don't care what I have to do in order to prove that this was just a mistake and that I'm a safe parent. I can't believe I left my one and only child in a hot car. What was I thinking?"

"You weren't," Hutch said. "You said things have been a little hectic for you lately. Maybe you can find some way to slow things down. Arrange for a sitter to come over or use a daycare when you need a breather."

She nodded. "I have to."

Hutch walked over to her and kissed her cheek. "If there is anything I can do to help, let me know."

Starsky finally found a smile for her and said, "Goes for me too."

The End

:::::::::::::

HATE CRIME

By Zebra 3 and Me

CHAPTER 1

District Attorney Henderson's case was high-profile, and Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson ducked away from but nevertheless attracted well-earned recognition. Most detectives competed for glory and accolades—notches on the belt bucking for promotions-but all these two really wanted was to catch a breather and re-group, because they both knew that there would be other cases, victims, and investigations to take its place. To them, busting criminals and helping victims was its own reward. They were often treated as outsiders to their fellow cops, since they weren't corrupt and on the take, and it was normal to hear grumbled complaints from their colleagues whenever they were outshined by the two.

The conclusion of the Henderson case led Hutch to a trip to Frankie's Gym to unwind on a Saturday morning, where he found Starsky seated on a bench next to the wall, in the company of a brown bag of donuts, two lidded containers of coffee, and a duffel bag that Hutch assumed contained Starsky's version of gym clothes.

Handing a coffee to Hutch, Starsky said, "I won't insult you by offering you a donut."

The place was a little crowded today, so Hutch took a seat next to his partner to wait for the boxing ring to become unoccupied, setting his duffel bag of gym clothes on the floor between his boots and taking out his own breakfast. "And I won't insult you by offering you a spinach muffin. So what brings you here on a Saturday morning?"

"My coupon, and Cindy. She's gonna meet me here later. That's how I get my workouts, see."

Hutch laughed a little, then he saw Frankie pointing to the now-available boxing ring. The blond stood up with his duffel bag. "Let's change, Starsk. Then box a few rounds."

"I'd rather wrestle," Starsky said standing up too. "Got a date, remember? Gotta spare the face."

CHAPTER 2

That evening Starsky walked Cindy to her front door and kissed her.

"I'd ask you in," she said kissing him back, "but we've already had our nightcap."

"And our afternoon cap. And our morning cap."

She giggled and straightened his jacket. "I think I could lov-"

He placed a fingertip to her lips. "Sh. Don't say it."

"Okay," she sighed. "Good night."

"Call you next weekend, huh?"

She watched him bounce down her sidewalk to the Torino and leave.

CHAPTER 3

Hutch woke up with a blonde in his arms on Sunday morning.

Gwen was her name, and she was running a fingertip down his chest.

"Any plans today, Kenny?"

"Why, what could you ever have in mind?"

She leaned over and gave him a long, luxurious kiss on the lips, her hand disappearing beneath the sheets.

CHAPTER 4

That night after dropping Gwen off at her apartment, Hutch headed to Huggy's place and walked up to the bar.

"Where's Starsk?" he asked looking toward the pool table. "He said he'd meet me here to talk about a case."

"Haven't heard from him today. Want a beer?"

"No. I think I'll—"

Hutch was interrupted by Huggy's phone.

Huggy answered, listened, then held the receiver out to his blond friend.

"Captain Dobey. He's at the hospital with Starsky."

Hutch ran from the bar instead of taking the receiver, Huggy close behind, shouting back toward his kitchen, "Angie! Take over!"

CHAPTER 5

Huggy was a fast runner, but he couldn't keep up with his blond friend as he raced through the emergency room doors.

Captain Dobey caught Hutch's arms and stopped him, giving him a direct look, making a deliberate effort to speak a little more slowly and calmly than he normally did.

Huggy arrived, panting and biting his lower lip as he listened.

"Hutch, we don't know who's responsible, but he was attacked late last night or early this morning. A neighbor lady went to take him some breakfast, and his door was ajar. She went in and found him unconscious on the floor. It looks like the work of some kind of hate group."

The captain detested delivering the cruel details, but knew Hutch would need every one for the investigation.

"He was knifed, bound in hog-tie fashion, and beaten. They drew a swastika, a star of David, and the words Jew Pig on his back with his blood. He would have bled to death if the neighbor hadn't found him. Right now he's in a coma—"

Hutch tried to move away from him, toward the emergency room, but Dobey jerked him back and held him firmly again.

"Hutch, right now he's in a coma, ICU, and he may not make it. But if he wakes up, he'll be able to tell you more. The crime scene unit is there collecting evidence. We'll get who did this."

Still in the grip of his superior's hands, Hutch's head dropped.

Dobey took an envelope of Polaroids from the pocket of his sports coat.

"Pictures," he said as he put them into Hutch's jacket pocket. "You'll need to look at them when you can."

Dobey glanced at Huggy, who walked up and placed a hand on Hutch's shoulder, steering him toward the elevator to go to ICU.

"I notified his mother," the captain said to their backs. "His brother is in jail."

CHAPTER 6

"Hate is the only motive," Hutch whispered to Huggy as he stood next to Starsky's hospital bed. He had never seen his best friend less than animated, tough, and precocious. "He's never been this quiet."

The machines and monitors offered an ambient sound, as if yet another person lived quietly in the room—both wanted and unwanted.

Starsky was pale, bruised, and still against the thin pillow when Hutch reached for his hand. He'd been stabbed in the chest, but higher than his heart.

"I'm right here, Starsk. If you can hear me, I'm sorry I wasn't there to stop them. You need to wake up so you can tell me who hurt you, and I'll go after them, or we'll go after them together, like we always do."

Placing one hand on Hutch's shoulder, Huggy patted Starsky's knee and said, "You got to wake up, Starsk. We need you. You got too many heads to crack, and too many tabs to pay."

A nurse came in to check on Starsky.

"If you two gentlemen could just step out for a moment…"

They nodded, Hutch backing slowly toward the door, as if he really didn't want to leave. As if staying in the room would somehow make his partner live, and leaving it would somehow make him die.

It was then that he felt just how crushing his love for his partner really was, that his life was in his hands, that it really was just them against the world, and that he would die for him if he had to.

It was a defining moment in his life, and would help shape the man he would become.

CHAPTER 7

Hutch was still sitting on a bench in the hall just outside Starsky's room, the envelope of Polaroids in his hands, when Huggy walked up and sat down next to him.

"Doctors are checking him again, Hug."

"I put some feelers out on some organized racist groups," Huggy said. "Gonna be hard without some kind of details, huh? Hope they left some fingerprints or somethin' behind."

"They did," Hutch said quietly as he put the envelope of pictures in his pocket. "On his back."

Huggy shook his head. "Man, this is…" He didn't finish.

"Didn't match anything we have on the books, though."

Hutch stood up to stretch his legs.

"A couple of uniforms are coming to take turns guarding the door. Why don't you go home and get some rest, then see what you can find out tomorrow? I'll give you a call if…if anything changes…good or bad."

CHAPTER 8

A uniformed officer was seated just outside Starsky's door reading a newspaper while Hutch was down the hall getting a drink at the water fountain.

The hallway was quiet except for a few nurses walking up and down making their rounds, and the soft murmur of other nurses at their station.

Starsky had regained consciousness and was expected to live, but was too medicated to respond to questions.

Dobey had called to say they were analyzing hair and blood samples taken from Starsky's house.

The elevator sounded with a ding as the doors slid open and another uniformed officer stepped out.

But Hutch could see from down the hall that something was wrong. Blood seeped through the officer's bandaged left hand and dripped onto the floor.

"Freeze!" Hutch yelled as he pulled his gun. "Hands up!"

The man pulled a gun instead, as did the seated officer, but Hutch was faster, his bullet striking the man in the forehead and taking out the back half of his skull.

Blood and brain matter sprayed the walls and floor as the man's body toppled backward to the white tiles.

Nurses, doctors, and orderlies came running, a few of them into Starsky's room to check on him.

The seated officer stood up to put his weapon away.

"You okay?" Hutch asked him as he put his own gun away.

The officer nodded.

"Sorry, Hutch. I kind of froze up. I wasn't expecting a phony uniform."

CHAPTER 9

Sophia Starsky was a beautiful woman-poised, soft-spoken, soulful eyes, long waving tresses, a warm smile-and deeply devoted to her son.

Hutch smiled when she took his partner's hand and leaned over the hospital bed to kiss his cheek.

"Hello, David. I'm so glad you're all right."

Starsky's eyes opened owlishly and gazed up at her, and then over at Hutch. And then Captain Dobey. And then Huggy.

"Am I dead?" he asked weakly. "Is this my funeral?"

"No, partner," Hutch smiled. "You're alive, and you're going to be just fine."

Sophia looked at Hutch.

"Thank you for being a good friend to him."

"My pleasure," he said as he put his arm around her.

"Looking good, dude," Huggy said as he set a takeout order on the nightstand.

But the truth was, even though he was awake and communicating, Starsky still looked terrible, and had a lot of healing to do. However, there was one thing that the attack hadn't diminished, and it was the twinkle of life in his eyes as he looked at those who cared about him the most.

And," Sophia added as she looked at Hutch, "thank you for stopping that…monster."

"That monster was Derek Becker," Dobey told them. "A school teacher furthering an Aryan group his father started years ago. They were looking for a high-profile target, heard about the Henderson case in the media, and thought it would attract a lot of attention. We got the other three that were in on the attack."

Everyone looked relieved, and Starsky squeezed his mother's hand.

"Don't worry, Ma. I'm okay."

CHAPTER 10

Since Sophia elected to stay for a few weeks to help Hutch nurse her son back to health, Hutch rented a spacious beach house so that his partner could recover in peaceful surroundings, and so Sophia wouldn't be exposed to the place her son was brutalized.

It was one day while Starsky was taking a nap in his bedroom that she handed Hutch a cup of tea as they sat down at the kitchen table and said, "He calls you his brother, Hutch. He writes about you in his letters all the time, how you're both out to…how does he put it…'kick butt and save the world'."

Hutch smiled a little and nodded.

She set her teacup down and began to turn up her satin white sleeve, showing him a number tattooed on her arm, her delicate bracelets making a light musical sound as she did so. "I was just a young girl in Auschwitz. If it weren't for a kind German soldier who sympathized, I would have died there. Of course, there were…favors…I had to do for him, in exchange for his sympathies and help…"

Hutch placed his hand over hers. He didn't know what to say. The words I'm sorry didn't seem adequate.

"He told me."

"Did he tell you about his father's murder?"

He nodded again.

"That's when he changed. He was such a happy, innocent boy before Gabe's death."

"Sophia," he said as kindly as he could, trying to comfort her. "I realize he grew up in a way that you would never have chosen for him, and in a way that worried you. But I'm here to tell you that he got that happiness back. He's happy being a police officer, and he's the best cop I know. He's happy with himself, is good to other people, and people like him. I'm lucky, and proud, to call him my best friend. As for innocent? Well, don't we all come of age in one way or another?"

She rose from her seat a little and kissed his cheek.

"We do, Hutch," she agreed. "We do."

CHAPTER 11

"Hey, Hutch?"

Starsky's weak call came from his bedroom.

Hutch and Sophia stood at the kitchen table folding freshly laundered linens. The blond put a folded towel on top of their stack and walked into Starsky's bedroom.

"Hey buddy," Hutch asked, "what's up?"

"Cabin fever," Starsky said moving aside the top sheet. "Just want to get out of this room."

"Hey, that's good news. Here, let me help you."

Hutch patiently helped Starsky stand up from the bed, and put an arm around him to secure him as they made their way slowly across the room.

"One step at a time, Starsk. Lean on me. That's it."

Sophia had tears in her eyes when she saw them coming from the bedroom together. It was the first time he was strong enough to leave it, with or without help. She resisted the urge to run to him and coddle. Instead, she waited for him to come closer with Hutch's help, then took his face in her hands and kissed his cheek.

"Don't cry, Ma," he said softly as he put his arm around her. "I'm okay."

"I'm not crying," she said wiping her eyes and turning to stir a pot of homemade soup. "It's just the onion."

He reached for a kitchen chair and Hutch helped him sit down.

"Want to sit outside after lunch?" Hutch asked him. "Get your feet in the sand? Take in some sunshine? Cindy's been calling to check on you."

Starsky looked in a mirror on the wall.

"Not yet," he answered. "I don't want to scare her to death."

"Cindy?" Sophia asked as she set bowls of soup and a pitcher of chilled tea on the table. "I'd like to hear about her."

CHAPTER 12

Huggy arranged and supervised the cleaning of and repairs to Starsky's apartment.

Starsky grew stronger each day. A visiting nurse came once a week to monitor his progress. Soon he was strong enough and well enough to walk along the beach with his mother, challenge Hutch to footraces up and down the shore, and return to Frankie's gym to work out.

On the eve of Sophia's return to New York, Hutch hosted a dinner party at the beach house. Huggy brought veal and red wine, and had the rest catered. Joining them were Captain and Mrs. Dobey, Cindy, and Gwen.

Sophia's magnetic personality made her the center of attention as they all flocked around her to listen to her talk of her days as a private tutor, costume designer, interpreter, mother to two Starsky boys, and other things.

With lively conversation underway, Huggy pulled Hutch aside in the kitchen and spoke confidentially.

"Dude, you never told me Starsky's mother was as foxy as Sophia Loren."

"Yes," Dobey said as he joined the two of them, looking around to check the whereabouts of his wife Edith. "She's a very attractive woman."

"Thank you," Sophia said as she approached them with a smile and a charming wink as she took Hutch's arm. "But I'm already taken."

The End

::::::::::

Fatal Flaw

Written by Zebra 3 and Me

Hutch emerged from his shower toweling his hair dry and walked to his ringing phone to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Ken Hutchinson?"

He smiled at the female voice.

"Speaking."

"You may not remember me, but we had a history class together in college. Sharon Sweet?"

His smile broadened.

"Oh! We played guitar together!"

"That's right! I'm glad you remember me."

"Well of course I do. So what's up, Sharon?"

"Oh, not much really. I was just in town with a friend visiting her folks. I wanted to go to the beach and catch a few concerts. Just thought I'd call you and say hello."

"I'm glad you did. As a matter fact, I'd like to see you, introduce you to a couple of good friends of mine."

"Really? I mean, don't feel obligated to entertain me or meet up or anyth—"

"Are you serious? I'd love for us to get together, play some music like we did back then. We have some catching up to do."

"Well, if you're sure…"

"Do you have your guitar?"

"I don't leave home without it."

"Then it's a date, Sharon. Where are you right now?"

She told him, and then he gave her his address.

"Eight tonight okay?" he asked. "I have some late reports I have to work on at the station, and then…tell you what…a key is above my door. If you get here at eight and I'm not home yet, just let yourself in."

::::::::::::::::::::::

Both detectives were in the squad room working diligently on their late reports. Some of the reports were of cases that were headed to trial in a few weeks. Others were so late that Captain Dobey threatened to take their vacation days away if they weren't turned in within the week.

Starsky was munching a Hershey bar with almonds while Hutch was tapping away as fast as his fingers could go.

"Sharon Sweet must be one hot girl," Starsky said. "You're up to about a hundred words a minute."

"She is, and you just keep your hands to yourself."

"So, describe her."

Hutch kept typing away.

"Okay. Sort of a brunette Marilyn Monroe. We had a good time together. Well, more than one good time."

"So why'd you let her get away?"

"She was seeing a guy, and I was seeing Nancy. Just didn't work out."

"Maybe it will this time."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Gonna introduce us?"

"Tomorrow. Maybe we'll see you at Huggy's. We have plans tonight."

Hutch stood up, pulling his last report from the typewriter. "Did I tell you we played guitar together?"

Starsky rolled his eyes.

"About a million times."

Hutch tossed the report onto Starsky's desk.

"Turn that in for me, will you? It's almost nine. Gotta go."

"Have fun."

::::::::::::::::::::::::

Hutch parked his car in front of Venice Place and got out, smoothing down his hair and straightening his jacket as he went up the stairs to his apartment.

When he reached the landing, he turned the doorknob, finding that Sharon had already let herself in.

He went inside, but froze just inside the doorway.

Sharon was seated in his chair, looking frightened and confused, but another woman held a pistol to her head.

Diane Harmon.

"Imagine," Diane said as she looked at Hutch. "When I left the psychiatric hospital, I thought we would be reunited, Ken. I get here and find this thing waiting here instead."

Hutch forced himself to remain calm. He put his hand out to her.

"Diane, I'd love to talk to you, but first you need to put the gun down. Sharon is an old college friend of mine."

"I bet she is."

"She's in town for a few days, and then she's heading back home with a friend. Just…put the gun down, let her go, and you and I can talk."

Diane didn't move. Her eyes stared through him, as if she were speaking to someone in the doorway behind him.

"You don't know what it's like, do you, Ken? To be ignored by those who are supposed to help you. To be strapped down like an animal and forcibly medicated. To be judged unstable by each little word you say and each little thing you do and each little move you make. I was a nurse!"

"Diane, I'm sorry that you had to go through that. I really am. But hurting Sharon isn't going to help you, or change what happened to you. She hasn't done anything to you, so what I want you to do is just let her go, and then you and I can sit down together, on the sofa, and just talk it over. There's no need to—"

"Liar. You don't want to talk to me. Obviously. You have her here, don't you?"

"Diane, I didn't know you were discharged. If I had known, maybe things would have been different."

She began to smile. And then her smile turned into a giggle, and then the giggle turned into a raucous laugh.

"Discharged? I wasn't discharged, Ken. I left. I just…pushed the nurse down the stairs, put her uniform on, and used her keys to walk out."

It was just now that he realized she wore a nurse's uniform under her long tan sweater.

Sharon tried to suppress a sob of fear, but it came out anyway, which infuriated Diane so much that she jerked Sharon's hair.

Sharon's fearful eyes moved to Hutch, who tried to calm her with a look.

"Diane," he said. "Point the gun at me."

She didn't. Her eyes began to fill with tears.

"I still love you, Ken. But you don't love me. I know you don't."

He still had his hand out toward her, imploring.

"Diane, come here. Come here so we can talk. I want us to work it out. I know we can."

She did take the gun away from Sharon's head, and she did take a step toward him.

Hutch nodded encouragement.

"Yes, Diane. Come closer. We can talk. We'll have a good time, and—"

She raised the gun up and pointed it at his face.

"You don't love me. I love you, but you don't love me. It's clear now."

"Diane, it isn't like that. We can talk, we can start over, you'll see."

She maneuvered so that she could back toward the door without losing her aim.

"We don't have a future," she said as she backed through the open doorway onto the landing. "You don't love me."

She turned the pistol up toward her own face and put the barrel into her mouth.

"Diane, no!" he said as he moved toward her, but she pulled the trigger, her body tumbling down the stairs.

"Ken!" Sharon screamed as she ran toward him.

He caught her in his arms and kicked the door closed so that she wouldn't have to see the blood, brain matter, and corpse, then held her with one arm as he picked up the telephone receiver with his free hand.

"I'm sorry," he said holding Sharon close. "Are you all right?"

"I'm okay," she said in a trembling voice as she quivered against his side. "She didn't hurt me."

::::::::::::::::::::::

They were sitting together on the sofa, his arm still around her, while the crime lab and coroner's team did their jobs, and when Starsky arrived.

"You okay?" Starsky asked as he poured two drinks from a bottle of sweet sherry he took from under his partner's kitchen sink.

"Fine," Hutch said as he took the glass from Starsky and drank it down.

Sharon sipped hers.

"One disturbed lady, Sharon," Starsky commented. "Wish we could've met under better circumstances."

She attempted a smile, but it didn't reflect in her eyes.

"Me too."

She took another drink.

"Got an idea," Starsky said. "Why don't the two of you stay at my place tonight? I got a new sofa bed with your names written all over it."

Hutch looked at Sharon.

"Want to?"

"Sure," she replied. "Change of scenery will do me a world of good."

The End

::::::::::::::::::::::

HUGGY'S GIRL

By Zebra 3 and Me

CHAPTER 1

Starsky and Hutch walked into Huggy's for lunch and took two stools at the bar. The restaurant was busy, but even on hectic days Huggy normally made time to come and say a word or two to the detectives and give them something to drink or take an order. Today he took a few more moments to speak to a young lady behind the counter, then escorted her over to them with a smile.

"My best pals," he said with fondness in his voice. "Ken Hutchinson and David Starsky. Also known as Starsky and Hutch. I'd like for you to meet the love of my life, Justine Wilson."

"Love of your life?" Starsky asked with raised brows. "So that's where you've been hiding yourself the past two weeks."

Hutch smiled. "Guess he fooled around and fell in love. Nice to meet you, Justine."

After she clasped hands with Starsky and Hutch, Huggy put his arm around her and pulled her close against him, "Justine and I went to the same church growing up. Of course she was just a little girl then and I had my sights set on some other chick. She's opening a coffee shop down the street and came in for some business advice last week. Needless to say, we got reacquainted."

"I'm calling my place Justine's," she said. "Creative, huh?"

"Terrific," Starsky smiled, "another place to have lunch."

To Huggy, Hutch said with a wink, "Aren't you afraid of the competition, Hug?"

"Never. If I play my cards right, there'll be a merger one of these days."

Under his breath Starsky mumbled into his hand toward his partner, "I think there's already been a merger."

"What was that, Starskarino?" Huggy asked.

Hutch laughed a little.

"I heard that," Justine said. "I'm just glad Huggy's as refined, gentlemanly, and gallant as I remembered him. I really had a crush on him. He walked me home from church when a few of the older girls were giving me a hard time. And he delivered groceries to our house when my daddy got sick."

"Hey," Huggy said with embarrassment, "Enough about me. So what can I get for my two dudes?"

"Couple of burgers," Hutch said. "Two colas."

Huggy looked at Starsky. "You wore him down to the fast food, huh?"

"Don't get me wrong," Hutch said. "I like good burgers. You have good burgers."

"The way I like good apples," Starsky added.

"Mine must be the best," Hutch told him. "You swipe them all the time."

Justine raised on tiptoes to kiss Huggy. "Got to go, baby. I have to meet with the bank."

"See you tonight."

"My place. I'll make a late dinner."

Huggy put his hand over his heart and watched her until she was out the door.

The detectives looked at each other.

"I've never seen him like this before," Starsky said to his partner. "Have you?"

Still looking at the door, Huggy said, "Bros, I am in deep, deep, deep." Turning around to them and leaning onto his elbows he said, "Only one thing I can do about it."

"What's that?" Starsky asked.

"Tie the knot."

"What?" Hutch asked. "You've only been together two weeks. Take it from someone who's been married twice. You need a little more time. You need to be ready."

"Hutch," Starsky said. "Sometimes you just have to do it."

"You ain't kiddin'," Huggy said. "If I don't marry her, some other dude's gonna come along and sweep her off her feet."

"I doubt that will happen any time soon," Hutch said. "She looks pretty swept by you."

"She ever been married before?" Starsky asked Huggy.

"No, just engaged. She gave him the boot when she caught him cheating on her one week before the wedding."

"When was this?" Starsky asked.

"About three months ago."

Hutch whistled. "Man, you have to watch those rebound relationships. Get you every time."

"It's cool. She's makin' a clean start, livin' her dream with that coffee shop. We're goin' all the way. Makes me wish…"

"Wish what?" Hutch asked.

"Maybe we'd found each other sooner. But nah. I'm glad it's happening now. It's kismet."

Huggy looked toward the door again and murmured, "I sure do love her."

CHAPTER 2

Huggy was singing under his breath and snapping his fingers when he took the apartment key Justine had given him and opened her door late that night. The aroma of Justine's home-cooked meal—pot roast and dinner rolls if his sense of smell was correct-wafted in the air. The kitchen table was set, there were candles waiting to be lit, and the place was illuminated by a single lamp in the living room.

"Babe? I'm home. Where—"

He turned the overhead light on, seeing Justine curled into her loveseat, trembling and teary-eyed, holding Huggy's velveteen robe close around her.

"Justine?"

He hurried over to her, sitting next to her and pulling her to a sitting position. Her eyes looked fearful and lost.

"What's goin' on, darlin'? What—"

Then he saw a small cut on her swollen cheek.

"What happened, Justine? Somebody break in, try to rob—you should've called me."

Then she threw her arms around his neck and sobbed.

"He raped me, Huggy. Ronald."

Ronald Gregg. Her ex-fiancé.

He rocked her and stroked the back of her long hair as a rage rose inside.

"Don't you worry, girl. That ole cat is mine."

Arm still around her, he reached for the phone on the coffee table to call Starsky and Hutch.

"No, Huggy," she said trying to take the receiver from him. "He said he'd kill me if I went to the police."

CHAPTER 3

Justine sat on the examination table in the emergency room, Huggy holding her hand.

"Justine," Hutch said gently, "we understand your fear, and we won't make you do something you don't want to do, but if you don't press charges, he's going to get away with it. You'll be looking over your shoulder the rest of your life, and it's possible he could go on to hurt someone else."

She looked down at her broken fingernails and whispered, "He heard I was with someone new. I tried to fight him off, but…"

Huggy held her protectively and looked from Starsky to Hutch.

"It's her decision. If she changes her mind, we'll let you know. Thanks for comin'."

The detectives exchanged a glance of genuine confusion.

Just then a nurse let Huggy's waitress Diane in.

"I came like you asked, Hug," she said, then touched Justine's shoulder. "I'll take you home and stay with you for a while."

Justine gave Huggy a look of uncertainty. "I thought you were taking me home. I thought—"

He kissed her unbruised cheek. "I'll be back there in a flash," he said, then moved between Starsky and Hutch to leave.

The detectives looked at each other again, then each took one of Huggy's arms and pulled him up short.

"No way," Hutch said. "You keep your hands off of Ronald Gregg, Hug, or you'll end up behind bars."

Huggy jerked his arms from the grip of his friends and turned to face them.

"You'd arrest me for settlin' the score after what he did to my girl? You think I'm just gonna sit by and—"

"Yes," Starsky said. "For now. Let us find him and question him. We do this by the book. You stay with Justine. She needs you. Maybe she'll change her mind about pressing charges. It's our only hope of putting him away where he belongs."

Huggy turned his face from them and leaned his shoulder against the wall.

"Man, if you only knew…"

"We know," Hutch said as they squeezed his shoulders. "We know."

CHAPTER 4

Silence hung in her apartment as she sat curled into the corner of the loveseat again.

Huggy disposed of the uneaten dinner she'd made for them, washed the dishes, then went to sit next to her. He took her hand but she didn't look at him or return his affection.

"You need some food in that beautiful belly of yours, Justine."

She pulled her hand from his.

"I don't know if I can live here in this place anymore, Huggy."

He nodded. "Sorry I didn't think of that. Come on." He helped her to her feet. "Come stay with me. I'll pack your clothes. We'll come back tomorrow for the rest of your stuff."

CHAPTER 5

After Huggy got her settled into his place, he made a couple of sandwiches and hot tea and carried the tray to the coffee table.

"Thank you," she said, "but I don't think I can eat. Maybe tomorrow."

CHAPTER 6

Starsky and Hutch knocked on the door of the beach house that Ronald Gregg and Justine were going to make their home; Gregg's current address.

When no one answered, Starsky peered through a crack in the bamboo window blinds.

"Anything?" Hutch asked.

"No. Probably skipped town."

"Wonder if Justine is his first victim?"

"Don't know. Let's run him through the computer and find out."

CHAPTER 7

That night Huggy gave Justine half of a sleeping pill to help her rest, but it didn't stop the nightmare she had at three in the morning.

He found himself holding her by the arms as she slapped and clawed at his face.

"Justine!" he cried as he got on his knees in the bed. "Calm down! It's me!"

Her wild eyes searched the room that glowed pastel from the neon lights outside, then settled on his face.

"It's me, baby," he said stroking her cheek. "It's just me. You're all right now."

Her tense body finally crumpled, and he pulled her close against him.

"Sshh. I'm here, darlin'. I'm here."

CHAPTER 8

After he settled her with a cup of warm milk, they lay in bed again, but it wasn't like it had been before the assault. She kept a few tense inches between their bodies, and would only hold his hand a few moments at a time before moving her hand close to her body again.

"Huggy," she whispered tearfully. "I'm sorry."

He rose up on an elbow to look at her, brushing her hair away from her eyes with a thumb. "You got nothing to apologize for."

"Yes, I do. If I'd fought him harder, been stronger, talked my way out of it…I don't know if I can let you touch me again or…how can…how could you want me after…"

He stroked her shoulder. "Justine," he whispered. "I love you. Take all the time you need. We got the rest of our lives. These last two weeks have been heaven on earth. I mean, I've had girls. All kinds of girls. But you're special. When you're feeling better, and if you still want me, we'll keep working on your coffee shop, together. I'll be right there with you. I'm just sick about not doin' anything about this for you. You—"

She put a finger to his lips. "But you have done something about this. You're right here where I need you. Promise me you won't go after him. I may even press charges, I don't know yet. They like to drag women through the mud. I just need time to think about it."

He took her hand, and this time she let him kiss it.

CHAPTER 9

The next day Starsky and Hutch walked up to the door of Ronald Gregg's beach house and knocked on the door.

They could hear music or a television inside, so they knocked again.

"Police!" Hutch shouted. "Open up!"

Still no one came to the door.

"Let's go around back," Starsky said, and that's when Ronald rounded the corner of the house with a drawn pistol.

"Down!" Hutch shouted at Starsky, and both ducked, but Ronald squeezed off a shot that hit Starsky in the shoulder and spun him into his partner, knocking both to the ground.

Holding to Starsky with one hand, Hutch shot back, but Ronald had sprinted up the sandy hill behind the house and peeled away in a white Mustang.

Facedown, Starsky groaned into the sand.

Hutch ran to the Torino and radioed for an ambulance, then Dobey, for an APB on Ronald and a request to send some uniforms to watch Huggy's place and warn him Gregg could be running wild. That done, he ran back to his partner and took a handkerchief out, pressing it hard against his bleeding shoulder.

"Hutch—"

"Easy, Starsk. Help's coming."

Starsky moved as if to try to raise his head, but it dropped back into the sand.

"Am I bleeding?" he mumbled.

"Of course you're bleeding. He shot you. Just lie still. I'll be right here."

"Where'd he shoot me…did he shoot you…"

Starsky fell quiet; his silence worrying Hutch more than his questions.

"It's okay, buddy," Hutch said gently as he took off his jacket and covered him to prevent shock, then sat down in the sand next to Starsky to continue applying pressure until the ambulance arrived. "He didn't get me; he got you."

CHAPTER 10

Hutch hung up the receiver after talking to Dobey on the phone in the lobby of the emergency room area, then went through the swinging double doors to check on Starsky.

"What's the verdict, Doc?"

Dr. Franklin looked at him. "I thought I'd seen the last of you two."

"Wishful thinking."

"He's going to be fine. A lot of pain right now, but no lasting damage."

"Good."

Hutch stepped over to where Starsky lay propped up, pale and groggy.

"Hey, partner, how you feeling?"

"Not bad. Sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

Starsky offered a drowsy smile and reached for his hand, but before he could say anything else, dozed off into a medicated sleep.

Hutch patted his hand and walked past Dr. Franklin. "I'll be back," he said going through the double doors. "Take care of him."

CHAPTER 11

Hutch was relieved to see a black and white unit in front of Huggy's when he arrived. He jumped from the Torino and went up to the door, but froze at what he saw just inside.

One uniformed officer was on the phone calling for an ambulance, while the other was consoling a distraught Huggy, who was kneeling over the lifeless body of Justine and holding her hand.

"Strangled," the uniform told Hutch.

Hutch's voice came out in a whisper as he said "Huggy", and knelt with him.

"Huggy, I'm sor—"

Huggy punched him, knocking him onto his back, then stalked out.

Holding his bleeding mouth, Hutch rolled over onto his side and tried to push himself to his feet.

"Huggy, no! Wait!"

But Huggy was out the door, and Hutch was trying to stand up, shrugging off the officers' hands.

CHAPTER 12

Hutch brought the Torino to a screeching halt behind Huggy's car on the hill overlooking Gregg's beach house.

"Huggy!" he yelled as he skittered down the sandy embankment and ran to the back door, kicking it open and drawing his gun with a hand that still wore Starsky's blood.

Huggy had Ronald Gregg seated in a kitchen chair near the table, pistol to his head.

The rapist already had a gash on his face where Huggy had subdued him with the butt of his gun.

"Huggy," Hutch whispered through a dry, panting throat, gun trained on Ronald. "Put the gun down."

Huggy didn't. Through hardened tears and clenched teeth he said, "How much is a man supposed to take?"

"You don't want to do this, Huggy. She wouldn't want you to."

"She can't want nothing now. She's gone."

Ronald glared up at Huggy. "Do it, man. Do me a favor."

Hutch put his hand out. "Huggy, give me the gun. You aren't him. I know you're hurting, but you can't do this."

"You should've let me off this cat when I had the chance. Justine would still be here."

"Huggy, please…"

Ronald sneered at Huggy. "I told her, bro. I told her I'd kill her. Yeah. I did it. Shoot me." He looked over at Hutch. "Come on, white boy. Shoot me."

Hutch took his handcuffs out. "I don't want to shoot you, Ronald. I want to arrest you, see you tried, found guilty, and put in prison for the rest of your life. Right, Huggy?"

Huggy pressed the gun harder into Ronald's head.

Hutch still held his hand out. "Right, Hug? Real justice. Not this."

For a few long moments the room was quiet except for the ticking clock. Then, gun still aimed at Ronald, took a step back and said, "Go ahead, Hutch."

Hutch walked over to Ronald.

"Stand up, Gregg. You're under arrest."

CHAPTER 13

A lot of people from Huggy and Justine's old neighborhood were at the young woman's funeral. Huggy stood silently between Starsky and Hutch. Starsky left the hospital against medical advice to attend, left arm in a sling. Captain Dobey attended too, as did a few waitresses and other personnel at Huggy's.

When the funeral was over and they were going outside, Hutch put his hand on Huggy's shoulder. "She seemed like a wonderful young lady, Hug."

"She was," Huggy said with a wry smile. "She was."

The End

::::::::::::::::::::::

JUMP IN

writer zebra three and me

CHAPTER 1

Sometimes you just gotta jump in—Ken Hutchinson, "The Crying Child".

Sergeant Sheila Peterson of Metro's Child Abuse Center approached Starsky and Hutch at their desks, accompanied by a young blonde dressed in a formfitting pantsuit, ruffled white blouse, and heels.

"Starsky. Hutch. I'd like to introduce you to the newest member of my unit. Sergeant Andrea Bach. Transferred in from San Diego. She's going to be a big help to us. Most cases she and I will work together. Other cases she'll work solo."

The detectives smiled at her and shook her hand.

"Nice to meet you," Starsky said.

Hutch smiled too. "You must be a sucker for punishment."

"I think we all are," Andrea smiled. "My mother tried to steer me in another direction. Law. Medicine. Business. Anything but public service."

Starsky looked at Sheila. "Something we can help you with?"

"Not particularly. Just introducing Andrea to some of my most trusted compadres. She'll know who to come to in a pinch. And maybe you can go to her too."

"And," Andrea added, "given the number of cult cases spawned by the wonderfully witty and always talented Charlie Manson, I'll be heading up The Ritual Abuse Task Force."

Starsky and Hutch exchanged a personal glance. Hutch's voice lowered with, "No kidding? They have a task force for that now, huh?"

Andrea gave a sympathetic, almost apologetic look toward Starsky.

"The Marcus case was all over the papers. I'm sorry that you fell victim too."

"Too?" Starsky asked.

Now it was Andrea's voice that lowered.

"My younger sister Misha ran away from home with her older so-called boyfriend to join his cult. She's thirteen. When you put Marcus away and the remaining members scattered, she came back home and I took her in, but she hasn't been the same since. She's withdrawn and a little confused. But she's in therapy, so she's making her way back."

"Good to hear," Hutch said. Then he looked at the clock on the wall and said, "Hey, Starsk, it's almost noon. What say we take these two lovely ladies for lunch?"

Starsky looked at Sheila and Andrea. "Interested?"

"On us," Sheila said.

Starsky and Hutch rose from their desks.

"Now that's what we like to hear," Hutch said as he picked up his jacket. "We'll take you to our favorite place."

CHAPTER 2

Huggy's was only half-capacity today, so it was fairly easy for the detectives to find an available booth in the back.

"My, my," Huggy said as he strolled up to their table with a tray of cold water and a cream soda for Starsky. "I see you two gentlemen have come up in the world by the company you keep. I'm impressed."

Hutch made introductions.

"Do you have linguini?" Andrea asked.

"Do I have linguini?" Huggy echoed. "Does the pope wear a tall hat?"

"We'll have four," Andrea said. "I'm buying."

"No, my dear," Huggy replied as he bowed to her and put his hand out for her to take. "For exquisite beauties such as yourselves—my male friends included—lunch is on me."

Andrea smiled. "That's so nice of you," she said, and when she gave him her hand, he kissed it.

"I shall return with your orders," he said as he left the table, giving Andrea a lingering look over his shoulder.

"Chivalry is not dead," she said as she watched him all the way to the kitchen. "Is he married?"

"No," Hutch answered.

"Available?"

"Always," Starsky replied.

Andrea winked at Sheila. "I know where I'll be coming for lunch most days."

Sheila smiled and sipped her water. To the detectives she said, "Andrea's task force is groundbreaking."

"Surprised you got funding for it," Starsky said looking at Andrea.

"So am I. The whole idea is a little out there. It was easier once I got the initial grant."

"So," Hutch ventured, "what does your task force do exactly?"

"Well, first off, we collect data," Andrea said. "You would be absolutely shocked to hear the number of reports we get on this sort of thing. Involving children, teens, and adults. Not just in Los Angeles County, but in places all over the country."

"I was shocked too," Starsky said. "But having been caught in the middle of one of those groups, I'm not shocked anymore. If I can help in any way…"

"That's very gracious of you. I wanted to ask you for your input for a journal article I'm working on, but didn't want you to feel uncomfortable."

He smiled a little and took a drink of his cream soda. "The most uncomfortable part is over for me. I'll do what I can to help your little sister, however."

Andrea nodded. "Other things we try to do is connect ex members with proper mental health counseling, and a survivor's group. Some of them, like Misha, are under mind control. They have to be deprogrammed to think normally again. It's all so surreal sometimes."

"Yeah," Starsky sighed. "Some of them don't even want to be rescued."

"So," Andrea said, "you don't mind talking about it?"

"Not really. That was a couple of years ago. I did worry about Gail—one of Marcus' girls-but I hear she's doing okay now. So I'm thinking there's hope for your sister too. Just give her a little time, and keep doing what you're doing. She'll come around."

A customer from a nearby table went to the jukebox and selected a song. It wasn't long before Huggy brought the linguini and loaf of Italian bread to the table.

"Is there anything else you need?" he asked them, then, with eyes settling on Andrea: "Such as, my phone number?"

She gave him her card, which he accepted with a smile. He in turn handed her his.

"You'll be hearing from me, Miss Andrea," he said leaving the table. "Enjoy your meal."

"This smells delicious," Sheila said. "Let's eat."

"Another thing I'm doing," Andrea said spreading her napkin on her lap and taking a bite of the linguini, "is putting together a training package that can help hospitals, schools, mental health agencies, and law enforcement understand the dynamics and physical and psychological damage caused by cults and ritual abuse. Things like that."

"If it would help," Starsky said, "I could speak at some of your trainings. I already did a couple of times at the academy."

"A word of caution," Hutch smiled at Andrea. "But I'm sure you already know this. If you gaze long enough into the abyss…"

She finished: "The abyss gazes back at you."

CHAPTER 3

When they got back to the precinct and Sheila and Andrea were on their way to their office, Starsky said, "Hey, Andrea?"

She stopped and turned around.

"Yes?"

"Give me your phone number. I'll come around and talk to your little sister sometime."

She took one of her cards out and handed it to him.

"That would be great, Dave. Thanks. And could you put in a good word for me with Huggy? He's pretty awesome."

"Not that you need it, but sure. I'll do just that."

CHAPTER 4

Andrea was sitting on her sofa that evening and brushing her younger sister Misha's hair when her doorbell rang.

The young girl had the same blond hair as Andrea, but a sort of wan pallor to her skin, and faint gray circles under her eyes as she worked a puzzle at the coffee table.

Andrea put the brush down and went to answer the bell, and saw Dave Starsky on her doorstep holding a colorful bouquet of flowers.

"For your sister," he said. "Can I talk to her?"

Andrea smiled and stepped aside. "You're a man of your word. I think I'm going to like working with you."

"Same here," Starsky said as he stepped inside and looked around.

"I'll put these in some water," Andrea said as she took the flowers and went into the kitchen. "Would you like some sassafras tea?"

"Sure."

Looking toward the living room, he saw Misha working the puzzle, and walked closer to her.

"Hey, I worked one just like that," he said. "I'm really into clipper ships. Mind if I have a seat in the chair?"

"I don't mind," she said as she looked up at him.

He sat down in the easy chair and leaned forward to watch her work the puzzle.

"This piece goes right here," he said pointing. "And that piece goes right there."

A minute or so later the tea kettle whistled, and Andrea came back with a tray of hot tea and macadamia/white chocolate chip cookies. She sat on the sofa near her sister.

"I'm not here for small talk," he told the young teenager. "My name is David Starsky. I'm a cop, and I don't know how much your sister told you about my involvement in the Marcus case, but I want you to know that I understand, and it isn't your fault. He's behind bars, and he can't hurt you anymore. If you ever want to talk about it…" He took a card from his wallet and slid it beneath the corner of Misha's puzzle. "I'm here."

She glanced at the card but didn't acknowledge him.

He took the cup of hot tea and sipped it.

"Delicious," he said, then picked up a cookie. "Hey, I need to take some of these home."

"Misha's recipe," Andrea told him. "She hasn't felt like making them since she's been back, so I did. She makes them better than I do, though."

Andrea and Starsky exchanged a smile over her head.

"Well, that's what I came to say," he said as he stood up. "Andrea, you gonna pack me some cookies?"

"Sure, let's go to the kitchen."

When he started a few steps away, the girl said, "I have bad dreams about being there."

He stopped and turned back, then looked at Andrea.

"Yeah," he said as he took his seat again. "I did too for a while."

Andrea went on to the kitchen.

Misha looked up at him with a small smile.

"Want to help me finish the puzzle?"

"Love to," he said as he sat down on the floor to help her.

The End

::::::::::::::::::::::

Guardian

By Zebra 3 and Me

Hutch was skipping rope at Frankie's Gym when Starsky walked in carrying a brown paper bag of donuts and two coffees.

The place was crowded. A couple of guys lifting weights nodded a greeting to Starsky, though they knew next to nothing about him or the blond guy he picked up like clockwork each weekday morning.

"So you and Hutch are bakers!" Frankie grinned as he answered his ringing telephone.

Starsky tossed him a donut and went to a bench that lined a wall, took a muffin from the pocket of his Army jacket, and set it and his partner's coffee down so that he could stand and enjoy his own breakfast.

"Morning, Starsk!" Hutch said without slowing his rope work. "Did you know that skipping rope for ten minutes is like running an eight-minute mile?"

"Nope," Starsky said taking a bite of his donut. "Did you know that standing up burns more calories than sitting down?"

"I can burn sixty calories an hour doing this."

"I can burn a hundred making out."

"Yeah but—"

"Out of the way, baby killer," a guy said bumping Starsky hard in the back as he passed by on his way to the boxing ring.

"Yeah, that's me," Starsky retorted. "Killed a lot of babies."

The man turned around and came back, throwing a punch to Starsky's face with one gloved hand.

Starsky went reeling back into his partner, but Hutch set him back on his feet and went after the man.

Starsky grabbed the back of Hutch's collar and reeled him back.

"No, Hutch. He ain't worth it."

"Starsky—"

"Let it go."

"No," the man said. "I don't let it go. We know what you did over there, man."

When he came back to hit Starsky a second time, Hutch rammed an elbow into his face, knocking him out cold.

Frankie came running to intervene, waving some smelling salts under the man's nose, which revived him. The guys lifting weights came over and helped Frankie hustle the man to an exit and shove him outside.

Starsky went to the bench and picked up the muffin he'd brought for Hutch.

"Here you go, Sugar Ray. Avocado and lime. Just for you."

CHAPTER 2

When Hutch had changed into his street clothes—brown corduroys and a white shirt—and they were headed for the exit to leave for the precinct, Frankie called, "Hey Hutch! Phone call!"

"I'll be right with you," Hutch told Starsky as he went back inside, still eating his muffin.

Folding his arms across his chest, Starsky leaned back against the Torino to wait.

Inside, Hutch took the receiver from Frankie and said into it, "Hutchinson."

"Hutch, my mom was in a car accident and she's in the hospital."

Although the voice sounded nasal and weak from crying, Hutch recognized the voice of Kiko, the little boy he was Big Brother to.

"The welfare lady said I could call you. She—my mom. I think she might die."

"Are you at Memorial?"

"Yes."

"Sit tight. I'll be right there."

"Hutch, I'm scared."

"I know, buddy. I'm on my way."

Hutch hung up the phone, said "See you later" to Frankie, then went out to the parking lot. "Kiko's mother is in the hospital," he said to his partner. "Pretty serious."

"I'll drive you."

They got into the Torino and left.

CHAPTER 2

Kiko's mother, Camila Ramos, was in ICU. Kiko sat in the hall with a caseworker, who had her arm around his shoulder and was speaking gently to him.

When the boy heard the sound of the elevator, he looked up, saw Hutch, then ran to him as hard as he could, slamming into him and bursting into tears.

Hutch caught him and rubbed his back.

"I'm sorry, buddy."

"Me too," Starsky said.

The child welfare worker walked toward them.

"I'm Althea Jones. Are there any other relatives we should contact? Grandparents? Aunts or uncles?"

"No, Ma'am," Hutch replied to the older woman as he shook her hand. "Detective Ken Hutchinson. My partner David Starsky. I've known Kiko a few years now. We were paired in the Big Brother program."

Starsky took some money from his wallet and handed it to Kiko. "Let's go get something to eat so Hutch and the lady can talk, huh?"

Kiko looked reluctant to leave, but Hutch rubbed the boy's hair.

"Go ahead. I'll be right here when you get back."

The boy nodded and went with Starsky down the hall.

Althea looked at Hutch, and they were joined by Mrs. Ramos' doctor.

"It isn't looking good for her," the doctor said. "She's suffered multiple injuries, some of them internal. If we can't get the swelling in her brain down…we'll know in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours."

Hutch nodded.

When the doctor left, Althea said, "Mr. Hutchinson, if she doesn't make it, and if there are indeed no other relatives, the boy will need to be placed in a foster home."

"No," Hutch said calmly. "As long as I'm around, he'll always have a home. I'll be his legal guardian. It's a matter of paperwork, and I can get that in place when she…I mean if she…"

"We'll need to do a home evaluation, just as a formality. Like you said, it's all about the paperwork."

He nodded.

She said, "Would it be all right for him to stay with you until we know the outcome?"

"Of course. I may have to arrange a sitter for after school and when I have to work odd hours, but that shouldn't be a problem."

She smiled warmly and placed her hand on his arm.

"He's lucky to have you in his life."

"No," Hutch said smiling a little. "I'm the lucky one. He's a good kid. A sweet boy."

"How well do you know his mother?"

"Very well." He looked down, but she still saw the wet eyes he tried to hide from her. "We uh…we dated a few years back, when Kiko was younger, but it didn't work out."

"Really? What happened?"

Hutch lifted his head and offered a small shrug. "Kiko's father came home from prison. They were estranged, legally separated. She went back with him, even though I didn't want her to. He was killed by the police during an armed robbery a year later. She and I just…never tried to reunite after that. We stayed friends, though. And I stayed close to Kiko."

She nodded, then turned with a small smile when she heard the door at the end of the hall opening and saw Starsky coming back with the boy.

"Come on," Hutch said putting a hand on Kiko's shoulder. "Let's visit you mom, huh?"

CHAPTER 3

Kiko's mother looked nothing like her usual pretty self, but her little boy didn't seem to notice or mind when he put his hand over hers.

"Mommy, it's me. Please wake up. I miss you."

Hutch placed his hand over both of theirs.

"Camila, I'm here for you, and here for Kiko. I'll take good care of him for as long as you need me to."

Kiko looked at the machines and monitors surrounding his mother's bed, and the wires and tubes attached to her body.

"Is that one for her heart, Hutch?"

"Yes," he said softly, ever the mentor. "And this one's called a pulse oximeter, and it tells how much oxygen is in her blood. And this one is for her blood pressure. And this is a ventilator, which helps her breathe. And then you have this wire here, which is like a little alarm that lets the doctors and nurses know if something goes wrong. This tube here is called an IV, and it gives her nutrition and medicine."

Kiko didn't say anything, he just took it in. Hutch decided that it was better for the boy to have too much information than not enough.

"Hutch, can we sit and wait with her?"

"Sure, buddy. Let's send Starsky on his way, then we'll stay here for as long as you want."

CHAPTER 4

Starsky called Captain Dobey to tell him what was going on, and Dobey gave both of them the rest of the day off. Since it was Friday, they'd have Saturday and Sunday off as well.

"Thanks, Cap. See you on Monday."

CHAPTER 5

Starsky took a seat at Huggy's counter, and Huggy approached him behind the bar.

"Where's your fine-feathered friend?" he asked as he set a cold root beer in front of him.

"Hospital with Kiko's mother. She was in a serious car crash."

Huggy was quiet a moment, then said, "I remember when she and Hutch were together. I thought he was going to propose, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Starsky said taking a drink. "According to the caseworker, Hutch is about to become the kid's pop."

Huggy gave a thumb's up.

"Sounds tricky. But do-able."

"Man, I feel for Kiko. I told him about losin' my pop. I always had Ma after that. But this little guy won't have either of them."

"He'll have Hutch, though. Can't get much better than that."

CHAPTER 6

That night Starsky and his date Darcy were relaxing on his sofa together listening to music when the phone rang.

She lay in the crook of his arm while he twined the ends of her long blond hair between his fingertips, therefore his free hand reached for the receiver on the coffee table.

"Yeah?" he said into the receiver.

"Starsk, it's me. It looks like Camila is going to make it."

"Good news, man. Anything I can do?"

"Not really. Just let Dobey know where I am and what's going on."

"Already did. Call if you need anything."

"I will. Catch you later."

Starsky hung up and kissed the top of Darcy's head.

"Hey," he said moving her onto his chest so that he could see her face and kiss her. "Wanna burn about a hundred calories?"

She smiled and kissed him back.

"How about two?"

The End

::::::::

Breakthrough

By Zebra 3 and Me

It was one of those slow days when me and Hutch were on duty. When we were just observing a house, watching the comings and goings of a city official accused of killing his wife.

"He just got home," I said putting the binoculars down in the front seat of the Torino.

Hutch didn't answer because he was napping in the back. Something he sometimes did when he skipped lunch because of a fast, or wanted to get as far away from my food as he possibly could.

I was doing a personal pizza and cold root beer from a Thermos for lunch.

Hutch murmured something, then went quiet again.

I checked the new watch Hutch gave me for my birthday. It spoke the time and temperature, and played a few notes of music.

"Wow," I'd said. "Must have cost a few hundred bucks."

"It came from a Cracker Jack box."

He was joking. It cost a lot of money. I'd seen it in the window of a jewelry store a couple of months earlier, but passed on by because it was too expensive.

"Nnnn," Hutch murmured from the back seat.

I looked over my shoulder at him. His head was moving side to side. His breath was getting faster and harder, almost a pant. "No," he said softly. "Leave her alone."

A few times Hutch had awakened from a bad dream in the back seat before, but couldn't recall what the dream was about. It concerned me a little, because I could never make out more than a couple of words.

"Hutch!" I said reaching behind me to jostle his knee. "Wake up!"

His movements became a little more animated; his voice a little more emotional.

"No! No more!"

His cry of pain and fear made me scramble over into the back seat, catching his thrashing arms, which was not easy to do. Hutch was a very strong man.

A choked cry came from him then, no words. Just pants and whines.

"Hutch," I said as I braced myself on one knee in the back seat. Kind of cramped now with both of us, but I didn't care. His eyes were open and looking my way, but not seeing me.

"HUTCH!"

He came out of it then in a rapid pant, nearly hyperventilating, suddenly sweating.

"Starsk?"

He looked around the car as if lost.

"Yeah," I whispered as I patted his cheek. "What's goin' on? You okay?"

His eyes snapped shut again. "No, I—I don't know."

"You're in the car. It's lunchtime. You okay? What are you dreamin' about? Open your eyes and look at me."

He did. Looking at me in a way that suggested he was halfway with me; halfway somewhere else.

Where, Hutch? Where are you in your dreams? What happens there?

Fully coming to himself, he sat up and put his face into his hands. Rubbing his forehead, or hiding his eyes from me?

He trembled. I put a hand on his shoulder.

"Tell me, buddy. What was it?"

His head worked back and forth.

"I don't know. It couldn't possibly be real." He swallowed. "But I think it was."

"Okay," I said leaning him back against the seat. "Hey. Take your time. Let it come back to you. Don't push it away. One thing at a time. Tell me what you think you remember."

He rolled his head on the seat to look at me. "It's just bits and pieces."

"Doesn't matter. Start from the beginning."

He waited a few long moments. Took a deep breath, let it out, trying to calm himself.

"I was young. Very young. Maybe three, four. I don't know. And there was an argument. My mother and father. I think. That's the part I'm unsure of, Starsk. But they were yelling, screaming. He hit her. I think he hit her a lot, before that. She grabbed a knife to defend herself. I wanted to run and hide, but I couldn't leave her alone to fight him by herself. He was drunk, he got a gun. I tried to stop him. I tried to stop them both. But I couldn't. He shot her, he—"

Hutch jerked as if he himself had been shot.

I squeezed his shoulder. "Easy. It's okay. Keep talking. Keep remembering."

He closed his eyes again as the memories drifted in like fog.

"And then…he put the gun in his mouth and shot himself."

There was a long silence. I didn't know what to say, what to think.

"Hutch…"

"I'm not lying."

"I know you're not. But maybe you're…just confused? Maybe some story you heard."

"No. This dream. Brought it back." He looked at me with sadness in his eyes. "I was raised a Hutchinson, but that isn't who I am. I remember people taking me away. The police. I woke up in a strange house, with people I didn't know. I think I was adopted."

"We'll find out. We'll ask your parents, we'll check adoption records."

"So who am I?"

"Hutch," I said squeezing his shoulder. "I know who you are. The people who care about you know who you are. I don't care what name you were born with, or who your biological parents were, or weren't, or who raised you. I know who you are. You're Hutch."

His body visibly relaxed, and he nodded.

Whatever this was, whatever happened, we'd find out together.

End

:::::::::::::::::

Snuff

By Zebra 3 and Me

Around midnight at Hutch's cottage following a party.

"Yeah, that sounds nice," Hutch said as he and Starsky strummed their guitars together. "Try that new pick I got you."

Starsky sat in a chair; Hutch on the sofa.

Starsky took the pick from the coffee table and tried it.

"Cool."

Starsky stuck the pick in his back pocket and rose to his feet.

"Hate to leave good company, but we need to hit the hay or we'll be late for work in the morning."

"Yeah, Huggy's card tricks were—"

A knock at the door interrupted Hutch. He propped his guitar against the piano and answered the knock, finding Mrs. Ramos on his doorstep.

"Hey," he smiled softly, "what's going on?"

"It's Kiko," she said nervously. "He hasn't come home. I'm really worried."

Hutch moved her inside.

Starsky leaned his guitar against the piano too, asking, "Have you looked for him already?"

"Yes," she said wringing her hands. "He's been hanging out with new friends-older boys. I think they're a gang, but he won't say for sure. He told me one of them overdosed on the beach the other night. I'm afraid for him. I tried to find the gang, but I don't really know where to look. Kiko did tell me that the leader's name is Tony Rosa. He's old enough to drive and buy alcohol."

Hutch took her hands in his to stop their trembling.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, we'll talk to them, and find him. You go home and wait for him there. And when he shows up, tell him I want to talk to him."

::::::::::::

They found Tony Rosa drinking at a park with his younger friends. When the detectives approached the picnic table, Tony recognized Hutch and started to leave, but Hutch moved in front of him.

"We just want to find Kiko," he said. "No hassle. Have you seen him today?"

Tony glared at him, then Starsky. "No."

Starsky took out his badge and displayed it for the other six teenage boys. "Wouldn't tell us if you had, that it?"

"Something like that."

"Tony," Hutch said, "what's this about one of your buddies overdosing the other night?"

Tony's attitude of toughness changed into one of concern.

"We're not sure what happened. It wasn't like Reese to use, but I guess he did."

"How old was he?" Starsky asked.

"Sixteen."

"Where did he get the stuff?"

Tony looked around at his younger friends. "Get lost. We'll meet up tomorrow."

The younger boys left the park, leaving Tony to talk to Starsky and Hutch alone.

"You're Hutch, right?" Tony asked.

"That's right."

"Well, I think Reese got his stuff from an older guy. Some weirdo dude that likes hanging out here at the park talking to us. Reese went with him a few times, and came back with a bunch of money, and when we asked him where he got it, he said the old guy gave it to him for helping him make some movies."

"Weirdo's name?" Starsky asked.

"Last name, Ronson, I think. Something like that. And I can tell you about the car he picked Reese up in. New model Charger. White. This year or last year. No older."

:::::::::::

Huggy was able to give them Ronson's first name. Alec, over the phone. After running the info they had through the computer, they came up with an address, and a little more information: Alec Ronson was a small-time pusher who had been picked up in the past and questioned by the police concerning some missing boys, but was never charged.

"Looks like it's gonna be one long night," Starsky said as he and Hutch started for Ronson's residence.

"And still no Kiko." Hutch added.

"Don't worry, we'll find him. Dobey said he'd send out a couple of uniforms."

:::::::::::

The Charger was parked along the curb and no lights were on inside the home.

The partners could hear a dog barking inside Ronson's house as they approached the back door.

Hutch knocked on the door and waited.

No one came to the door, but the dog continued to bark.

Starsky knocked this time, but still no answer.

"Police!" Hutch said as he pulled his gun.

Starsky pulled his too, and kicked the door in.

The two went inside, and that's when the Rottweiler sprang at the first one in—Starsky.

Hutch fired off a shot that stopped the dog in mid-air, blasting it apart before it hit the floor.

Starsky uncoiled from his defensive crouch, swiping at the blood spatter on his jacket sleeves.

"Thanks, partner."

"Anytime."

They continued through the house with drawn guns.

"Ronson!" Hutch shouted. "Come out with your hands up!"

But when they reached the bedroom of the small house, realized Ronson wouldn't be coming out. Not alive anyway. He lay sprawled across his bed, dead from an apparent overdose, a needle still stuck in his arm.

Starsky went to a phone to call for a crime lab and a coroner's team while Hutch walked around the room, looking.

On the dresser across from Ronson's was a TV, a remote control, and an ashtray. Next to those items, a box containing a stack of adult paperbacks and magazines, Polaroids of teen boys and men in S&M getup, packets of heroin and other drugs, and a roll of cash.

"Hutch," Starsky said as he picked up a tin of film from Ronson's nightstand with a handkerchief. "Check this out."

::::::::::::

As a film technician set up a projector in a viewing room in the lab at the precinct, Starsky kept an occasional eye of concern on his partner, in the event Kiko was found on the film. Both detectives watched with grim professionalism but humane discomfort as the film progressed; Starsky folding his arms across his chest, Hutch all but covering his eyes.

Kiko wasn't on the film, but the teenager named Reese was, in a sequence of scenes depicting his tortured death by a masked figure: Hypodermic injections, sexual assault, and drowning, all taking place at the beach at night. Reese's identity was confirmed by his mother when the detectives took an innocuous still from the film to her home to show her.

"Are you saying my boy was involved in an X-rated movie? He brought home some money, but I had no idea…"

"I'm afraid it's more than that," Hutch tried to explain as gently as he could. "These are films that show real murders. I'm sorry Reese was used in this manner. I'm sure he had no idea what he was getting into."

The woman sat down heavily in her easy chair.

"I can't believe this. He ran around with that gang, but I never thought he'd end up doing…or…"

"We'll look into his death," Starsky told her.

"It makes sense now," she said looking from one face to the other. "He was terrified of needles. I think he smoked some weed, but he'd never use needles on himself."

:::::::::::

Janos Martini was arranging the cameras, lights, microphones, and backdrop in his porn studio when Starsky and Hutch knocked on his door.

"At this hour?" the man asked when he saw them. "Come on, guys, give me a break. I got a movie to make. I haven't done anything wrong. I thought you guys liked to roust me in the daylight hours?"

"Who do you know in the snuff business?"

Martini's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

"Nobody, man. That stuff's not even real."

Hutch grabbed the front of his shirt.

"Janos, we don't have time for games. A little boy I care about may be in danger, so if you know what's good for you, you'll tell me what you know."

"Honest, Hutchinson. I just do the kinky stuff. Hell, look around all you want. Ask anybody. What you see is what you get. You think I'd want to get into that stuff, and have the crime on film? I'm not that dumb, or sick. I could do it better with effects anyway. It's not my thing. But…"

When perspiration formed on his upper lip and he looked skittishly from one detective to the other, Hutch said, "But what?"

"But…I hear things."

"What things?" Starsky asked.

"Man, I could be in danger if I tell."

"You could be in danger if you don't," Starsky said.

"It could be nothing."

"It could be something," Hutch said.

"Okay, but, you gotta protect me. If it gets out that I told..."

"We'll do our best," Starsky told him. "But no guarantees."

Hutch released the hold on Martini's shirt.

"Somebody," Martini said. "Somebody high up in the city lets it in, tells the cops, or pays the cops, to look the other way."

"Names," Starsky said.

"No names," Martini said. "I have no names."

Starsky and Hutch looked at each other, then left the studio.

"Captain Dobey's gonna love this," Starsky said as they headed for the Torino.

"But let's talk to Huggy first," Hutch said. "We need all the help we can get."

:::::::::::

Huggy poured cups of coffee for Starsky, Hutch, and himself at his place of business at three in the morning.

"If what Martini is saying is true," Huggy said, "Do you know how much power and money it would take to keep something like this quiet?"

"We're beginning to," Starsky said as he took a drink.

"Right now I just want to find Kiko," Hutch said. "If you have any information at all…"

"I hear only one name, and it's just rumor, dig? If you can prove it, more power to you, but don't hold your breath. Word is that the underground filmmaker Gans Grande is into the Triple X trade, S&M, beatings on film, but it's all hearsay. He owns the Grande adult bookstore over in the barrio. Takes advantage of the Latinos comin' off the boat, and who knows, he may be why some of the workin' girls end up missing over there."

"Is he into hurting children?" Hutch asked. "Selling them?"

"I don't know, man. I wish I could tell you."

"Is he into snuff?" Starsky asked.

"I'll give you the same answer everybody else gives. Snuff don't exist. I hear he messed up his last fling pretty bad on film, though. Who's to say he don't take it one step further for the right kind of money?"

Hutch stood up from his stool. "Got an address for this Renaissance man?"

"I think the bookstore is over on Spruce."

Starsky got off his stool to join his partner. "Anything else you can tell us about Grande, Hug?"

"Pretty sharp dude. Speaks three languages, into art collecting, and has ties to organized crime and the immigration office. He has a crescent moon scar on his forehead and is into blonds." Looking at Hutch he said, "Of the male species."

:::::::::::

They had to wake Dobey up at four in the morning to tell him what they were working on and what evidence they had. He told them it wouldn't be easy, and, given the nature and secrecy of the case, might run into dead ends, but would do what he could to find Kiko and help bring any lawbreakers to justice, and this conspiracy of silence to light.

:::::::::::

Dawn.

Starsky watched from the Torino as Hutch walked up to Mrs. Ramos' front door and knocked.

She came to the door and opened it with a strained smile.

"You haven't slept all night," he said gently.

"You haven't either."

Fresh tears came to her eyes, and he brushed them away with his thumb. "I just wanted to touch base with you before I leave. I won't be around for a while, so If anything comes up with Kiko, call Captain Dobey."

She nodded and they moved closer toward each other, lips almost touching. He pulled her close, kissing her hair, closing his eyes.

Starsky blew the horn, and Hutch left her with a wave of goodbye.

:::::::::::

9 am.

They had both gone home to shower, change clothing, and get a fresh cup of coffee.

Sans driver's license, badge, or any other form of identification, and dressed in jeans, a white undershirt with a brown flannel shirt belonging to his partner, Starsky posed as a homeless person panhandling on the sidewalk near the sprawling, former hotel-turned Grande Bookstore, observing the comings and goings of the business because a wire on his partner was too risky.

Hutch was to get as inside as he could with Gans Grande, without pushing it or seeming obvious, gather whatever evidence he could find linking him to the deaths of Reese, Ronson, and the broader crimes (production, trafficking, financing, collusion)-even a confession if possible-and get out. If Huggy was right about Grande's obsession with blonds, Hutch already had a foot in the door.

If the operation wasn't fruitful in three-day's time, Starsky was to go in as another top-tier customer.

::::::::::

Standing at the cash register of the clean, well-organized bookstore, once a hotel lobby, Gans Grande left the customer holding money out to him, and walked toward the blond man dressed in a cream-colored button shirt and tan corduroys. He'd just walked in and began to nonchalantly browse the adult books, toys, pictures, and accessories.

Pieces of Grande's art collection and antiques served a décor.

Grande was a tall, fit man about the size of Hutch, with a high brow bearing a crescent moon-shaped scar. Small, gold hoop earrings glinted in the overhead lighting. Given to pleated slacks and pressed shirts, today he wore a gray shirt under a black blazer, and dark gray trousers.

"May I help you?" Grande asked as he walked up to his blond customer.

"No, thank you," Hutch said as he picked up a book and leafed through it. "Just browsing today."

The customer trying to pay cleared his throat loudly to get Grande's attention.

"Excuse me, Mr. Grande. I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"Of course," Grande said walking briskly to the counter. "My apologies."

After the customer left, the bookstore owner approached Hutch again, but Hutch began walking around the bookstore, eyes sweeping everything.

Grande followed him as if drawn by a magnet.

"With a few details, perhaps I can help you find what you're looking for."

Hutch picked up a stack of Polaroids, each encased in a clear plastic sleeve, and sifted through them. "Tienes sabor Latino?"

"Si, senor."

"Bueno."

Grande led the way to a table that displayed pictures of Latinas and Latinos.

Hutch looked through them, looking bored, then turned around and started walking toward the front door.

Grande hurried after him, as if about to lose him for good.

"If I may be so bold as to ask what you have in mind."

Hand on the door to push it open, Hutch said, "I don't think you can help me."

Grande's eyes glinted like sharp flint. "I have other inventory."

Hutch turned to give him a good look.

"I'm interested in custom films. High quality."

Grande locked the door, turned the window sign over to "Closed", then smiled at him.

"Follow me."

Hutch followed the man to the back of the store, where they stopped at a locked door.

Grande turned. "I need to know that you aren't wearing a wire."

"Certainly, Mr. Grande."

Hutch spread his hands out from his sides, inviting Grande to check him.

"I'm afraid I'm at a disadvantage," Grande said as he moved his hands down Hutch's chest, finding an envelope thick with cash tucked into the waistband of his shorts, but moving past it to have his hands glide down his inseams, his breath a bit heavier. "I don't know your name."

"Hunt."

"And your first?"

"Keven."

Grande's hands moved up the outside of his legs, then he straightened and unlocked the door that opened onto a staircase leading down to a well-lit, ivory-painted basement with rooms on either side of a wide hall (break room, mini studios, sets, props, storage, costumes, bedrooms, kitchen, offices, security), still basically the hotel it once was. At the far end of the basement was a garage door that opened onto a private, gated parking area. The garage door was open, and Hutch could see what he assumed to be Grande's Lincoln Continental.

Hutch noted the scantily-clad actors and actresses going from room to room, set to set, and going in and out of the open garage door.

"My studio," Grande said as he spread his arm.

Grande stopped at the first door on the right.

"This is the equipment room. Cameras, lights, tripods, props, microphones, scenery, backdrops, other things."

Hutch took in every detail, surprised at how businesslike and almost mundane it appeared to be.

"Interesting."

Before moving on, Grande turned to look at him again. "Have you ever thought about being in front of the camera? You're so…" Words escaped him.

Hutch smiled as if embarrassed. "I'm not sure what you mean."

Grande put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a direct look.

"A series of custom, high quality films. Whatever amount you intend to spend on purchasing one today, I'll double it if you agree to be my new actor. You can stay right here during filming. We have very comfortable rooms, and a chef that can't be beat."

Hutch looked down the hall, toward the other rooms with closed doors.

Grande smiled and smoothed the collar of Hutch's shirt. "I don't want to pressure you, but I would like to persuade you. You seem rather new to this, but we all start somewhere, don't we? Allow me to be your mentor."

Hutch returned the smile. "All I'm really here to do is order a custom film, but I will think about it."

Activity and boisterous conversations began to stir in the studio. Doors opened and closed, film crews escorted actors and actresses in costumes and makeup into rooms for scenes and carried equipment from one place to another. At least three men wore guns on their belts and appeared to be security. Security cameras were affixed along the corridor.

"Let's talk over a drink, Hunt. Come to my office. It's a few doors down. I'll help you if you help me."

Hutch followed the man down the hall, noticing a door marked "Props" that was half-open, which provided only a partial view of S&M props, torture devices, and a dog kennel that was big enough to house a Great Dane, but for now held a sleeping boy named Kiko Ramos.

"Excuse me," Hutch said as he took Grande by the arm. "I see what I want."

Grande stopped, and followed Hutch's gaze into the prop room.

Grande smiled. "Oh, that's right. You did say Latino, didn't you?"

Grande opened the door and stepped inside, Hutch following.

"My search is over," Hutch said crouching at the cage. "Name your price."

At the sound of Hutch's voice, Kiko woke up and looked at him.

Silent understanding and trust passed between Hutch and the boy: Kiko wouldn't say anything to jeopardize the safety of either of them.

"We have other plans for him," Grande said.

Hutch rose to his feet again and moved close to Grande, putting a hand on his shoulder, realizing the man wanted him so badly he would do anything he asked. "You want me for your films. I help you, you help me. Or was that just a lie?"

"No lie," Grande said as a hand trembling with desire came up to stroke Hutch's hair. "We have a deal. You can have him at the end of the day."

Hutch took the envelope of cash from his shorts and handed it to him.

"I'm all yours."

As Grande led the way to the door, Hutch looked over his shoulder at Kiko, whose eyes held both fear and hope.

"I'll be back for you later."

:::::::::::

Grande took him on a tour of the studio, introducing him to a few actresses, actors, and members of the film crew, including several sets: A Victorian bedroom, a torture room, a hospital room, a one-room cabin, a living room, a college classroom, a western saloon, a diner, and others.

As the two men sat in Grande's office having a cup of coffee, Hutch noticed a full-faced black leather mask lying on a table next to a tropical fish aquarium. It looked like the one in the Reese film, but the detective couldn't be sure.

On his desk were monitors that captured live footage of the films being shot in the various rooms.

"I'm the only one who can view the productions this way," Grande said as he pressed a button on a public address system and spoke into the microphone. "Esta Maria aqui, Raul?"

"Aun no," came the answer over a speaker on the office wall.

"Gracias."

Grande swiveled his desk chair around and said, "Hunt, this first film will be a test to find out how serious you are, and how loyal. Surely you realize that discretion and confidentiality are of the utmost importance. I don't tolerate leaks of any kind."

"That shouldn't be a problem."

"If you do as I say, you'll be handsomely compensated."

Grande opened a desk drawer and took out three tins of film, placing them in Hutch's hands. "And you'll receive bonuses like these. We'll enjoy a long, profitable relationship. But if you don't do as I say…"

Grande let the threat hang in the air as he opened his blazer a bit to reveal his semi-automatic weapon.

Hutch said, "I completely understand. I'm in for the duration."

Grande finished his coffee and rose to his feet; Hutch doing the same.

"Let me show you to a guest room."

Hutch followed him down the hall to a room marked "Guest 3", and opened the door. It looked like a typical motel room—bed, nightstand, lamp, telephone, chair, desk, closet, adjoining bath—except for the projector and movie screen.

Hutch set the film tins on the nightstand next to the phone.

Handing Hutch car keys as they stepped out into the hallway again, Grande said with a gesture toward the open garage door at the end of the hall, "Now for your acting debut. Get everything out of the trunk of the Lincoln and bring it to the torture room. The all-seeing eyes will catch everything."

Hutch followed Gans' gaze upward, again seeing the cameras mounted in the ceilings and above every door. He could feel the man's gaze on his back as he walked down the hall and out the garage door, then over to the rear of the car.

Hutch inserted the key and opened the trunk, nearly dropping to a knee when he saw Starsky curled unmoving on his side, a bloody gash at his left temple, dazed and disoriented from what looked like a blow to the head.

When Starsky's groan of "Hutch?" came, the blond quickly covered Starsky's mouth with his hand and leaned down to whisper.

"Sshh. Don't say my name. There are cameras and armed goons everywhere. I'm sure the phones are bugged. Grande's a sexual sadist, he wants me, very badly, and he wants me to work for him on film."

"Irresistible."

Hutch kept his voice low and quiet, his hand on the side of his partner's head.

"Starsk, I may have to hurt you a little bit. They'll be watching to make sure I do."

Starsky looked at him with wounded eyes.

Hutch continued: "You're a test to see if I'm legitimate. But I won't let it go too far. I'll save you."

Starsky offered a half-smile. "Sounds nice."

"I'm serious. Right now it's the only way to survive this. If we play our cards right, we'll be out of here with Kiko at the end of the day, then we'll bring their playhouse down."

"Want me to…" He blinked groggily. "…bring out Bogie for the camera?"

Hutch smiled a little. "You don't have to do anything. It's all in my hands. Just be yourself."

"Should I…fight back?"

"Unfortunately, I don't think you'll be able to do much of that."

Grande joined Hutch at the trunk.

"Do we have a problem here, Hunt?"

"No," Hutch said as he pocketed the keys, then delivered a punch that knocked Starsky out. He jerked his partner up by the arms and tossed him over one shoulder to carry him in. "Let's go."

:::::::::::::

"Don't worry about acting," Grande said as he opened the door to the torture room. "Just do what I tell you to do. These kind of movies take care of themselves."

"Where do you want him?" Hutch asked.

"Put him on that table. Do you know how to administer injections?"

Hutch tossed an unconscious Starsky onto a table.

"Uh, yeah. I was a medic in the army."

"Good," Gans said handing him a wooden cache the size of a shoe box. "He's a bum. No one will even notice he's gone. We're going to have a lot of fun with him."

Hutch took the box in his hands and looked down at the contents: Vials, syringes, tourniquets, pills, stun guns. "What is this?"

"Just some little goodies to keep him docile. But don't drug him right away. We want a little fight first." He pointed up toward the camera in the corner of the room. "All part of the custom story our customer asked for. I'll be watching from my office, and you'll hear any directions I may have over the speaker up there. Take all the time you like, and use your imagination."

Hutch looked at him, then nodded in understanding.

When Grande left, Hutch set the box down on a chair and took a look around the torture room. It reminded him in some ways of a morgue. There was a stainless steel table Starsky was lying on, a drain in the floor for fluids, a double-basin stainless steel sink, a cabinet that held a variety of drugs, poisons, chemicals, and medications, and a large, transparent tub of water against the wall.

In other ways it reminded him of any other torture room one would find in an S&M film—ropes, pulleys, and hooks suspended from the ceiling, chains and shackles affixed to the wall and floor.

An electric chair sat in a corner near the tank of water, and on the wall hung tools of torture: Whips, brass knuckles, handcuffs, body harnesses, muzzles, ropes, blindfolds, spiked gloves, and numerous bladed instruments, from straight razors to meat cleavers.

When Starsky began to regain consciousness with a groan, Hutch's first instinct was to go to him and help him, but what he did instead was grab him by the shirt and pull him off the table, standing him on his feet.

Starsky raised his head and looked at him, leaning back against the steel table for support.

"You want to fight me?" Hutch asked him.

Starsky moved his head no, then stepped away.

Hutch pulled him back and punched him, sending him reeling into the stainless steel sinks. When Starsky righted, he swung drunkenly at him, but Hutch ducked and threw a punch to his stomach.

As Starsky doubled over, Hutch brought his knee up into his face, which dropped Starsky face-down.

"Huh," he gasped into the stone floor. "Hunt. That all you got?"

He reached up for his partner, and Hutch pulled him to his feet again, shoving him into the electric chair, grabbing rope off the wall to tie his hands behind his back, and a blindfold to wrap around his head.

"Not so feisty now, huh?" Hutch asked him.

After Hutch tied the blindfold, Starsky plowed headfirst into his stomach, driving him a few steps back, the momentum sending Starsky to the floor again on his side.

But Hutch never lost his balance. He regained his footing and headed back toward Starsky, until Grande's voice of "Water torture," over the speaker stopped him cold.

Panting, Hutch leaned over to catch his breath, hands on his knees.

"Hunt, I'm waiting. Drown him. Then bring him back."

Starsky tried to get up, but fell back onto his side. "Hey. I don't think I want to do thi—"

Hutch grabbed Starsky by the shirt collar and pulled him to his feet, then muscled him over to the tank of water and pushed him to his knees next to it.

"Wait," Starsky panted. "Hey, wait a min-"

Clutching a handful of Starsky's hair, Hutch forced his head under the water.

Starsky struggled to move and breathe at first, but his attempts gradually weakened, until his body went limp. When he was no longer breathing, Hutch pulled him up and dropped him onto his back on the floor, forcing a sob down into his soul so that he could begin resuscitation and not blow his cover.

::::::::::::

Hutch sat in the electric chair, waiting for Grande's next verbal direction. The room was silent except for the soft whirring of the cameras, and Starsky, who lay on his side on the floor next to the water tank, hands restlessly turning in the ropes behind his back, moaning words Hutch couldn't understand—awake, dreaming, or something in between, Hutch wasn't sure.

"This is beautiful, Hunt," Grande's voice said with soothing passion over the speaker. "I can see you. You're beautiful."

:::::::::::

Starsky stirred awake on the floor, raising his head and trying to sit up.

"Hey, where-" He managed to get onto his knees, then up onto his feet, stumbling aimlessly until he bumped into the steel table.

"Where's the door?" he mumbled as he took a few more staggering steps. "Huh?"

"Go get him, Hunt," Grande's voice came through the speaker. "Take the blindfold off, cut the ropes, put him on the table, and drug him."

Hutch pushed himself from the chair and came up behind his partner, took his shirt collar, and moved him back to the table, where he sat him down and lifted off the blindfold, then cut the ropes with a knife he took from a shelf.

Starsky blinked up at him, eyes tearing at the look on his partner's face as Hutch brought over the box of drugs and paraphernalia. "Yeah," Starsky said as he moved to get off the table. "Think I'll be goin' now."

Hutch pushed him back into a sitting position.

"Don't move."

"Hey, come on, if you think—"

"Drop your arm."

Starsky's eyes slid over the contents of the box, then let his arm down to build blood pressure.

Hutch's eyes fixed on the vials, seeming to be transfixed, the tremor in his hands visible only to Starsky.

Grande's voice came over the speaker: "I need him pliable for the whip scene, Hunt. Do you need any help?"

"Uh, no," Hutch said warming his partner's arm in preparation for the shot. He then took the tourniquet and applied it, filling the syringe from the vial he'd selected. Then he slid the needle into the vein at an angle, pulled the plunger back, saw blood, loosened the tourniquet, and slowly injected the contents.

As Starsky's head went down and he slowly sank forward, Hutch held him by the shirt collar and whispered, "Tranquilizer with an analgesic," as he lowered him to his side on the table. "Should last about an hour."

"What's your hesitation, Hunt?" came Grande's voice. But this time it was in the room, behind him.

Turning to see the man wearing a black leather face mask, Hutch unconsciously placed himself between Grande and his partner.

"No hesitation," Hutch said quietly. "I gave him the shot."

"I understand," Grande smiled as his hand came up to stroke his hair. "It's your first time. And you're doing extremely well. I'm proud of you."

Hutch's brain tried to reconcile the man's tasteful street clothes with the zippered face mask he wore.

"But," Grande said as he gently moved Hutch aside. "this is the final scene, and it must be just right. Let me show you what I'm going for."

Starsky offered weak resistance as the man pulled his two shirts off and turned him onto his stomach. He then stepped across the room and reached for the whip coiled on the wall.

"Wait," Hutch said holding his hand out toward him. "I need…" He touched Grande's shoulder, caressing. "You. To teach me. How to separate myself from the work...to understand."

Grande turned with the whip in his hand, moving it down Hutch's belt, lingering.

"I've been waiting for this moment since you arrived. You see how beautiful the pain is, don't you? You see why it's so valuable. Why people pay extraordinary sums for it."

Slowly Hutch nodded, allowing Grande to slip an arm around his lower back and pull him close, until they were only a breath apart.

"Love is pain," Grande whispered as he moved his mouth closer to Hutch's. "Death…is sweeter. This is what our customers want." He closed his eyes. "Touch me."

Hutch's hands moved under Grande's blazer, around to his back, down his sides, then up to his chest, where he smoothly removed the pistol from its holster.

"Cover the camera and take off your clothes, Mr. Grande," he said, as he began to unbutton his own.

:::::::::::

After they had exchanged clothes, Hutch strapped Grande into the electric chair and put duct tape across his mouth, then moved over to the table to check on his partner, crouching next to the table so Starsky could see him.

"Like my new threads?" Hutch asked.

"Hey," Starsky mumbled as his hand reached for him. "What's goin' on?"

Hutch caught his hand and squeezed it. "We're grabbing Kiko and getting out of here as soon as your drug wears off, but we're going to have to stay in character until we're free and clear."

"Huh? What hap..?"

Hutch looked back at Grande. "Prince Charming let his guard down."

Starsky attempted to sit up, and Hutch helped him, steadying him for a moment.

"I don't feel so good," Starsky said dropping his forehead into his hand.

"Just give it time. Let me get you some water."

Grande tried vainly to free himself from the electric chair while Hutch tended to Starsky's cuts and bruises from a First Aid kit.

::::::::::

When Starsky had a clearer head and was able to stand and move on his own, he put his shirts back on, and Hutch pulled on the mask.

"Terrific," Starsky muttered.

After Hutch handed Starsky a switchblade, Starsky put it in his hip pocket.

Hutch gripped the pistol in one hand, Starsky's right arm in the other.

"Ready?"

Starsky nodded, and Hutch pressed the barrel of the pistol into his side as he led him out into the hallway.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Grande," one of the guards said as they passed in the hall.

Hutch nodded, then took Starsky to the prop room, where Kiko moved fearfully to the farthest corner of the cage.

Starsky started for the cage, but Hutch jerked him back and said, "Easy. We do this nice and easy."

Recognizing that the masked man was Hutch instead of Grande, Kiko gripped the bars of the cage.

Hutch looked around for a key to the padlock that fastened the cage, and opened it.

Kiko crawled out, and Hutch helped him to his feet, giving him time to steady himself.

"Play along," Hutch told him, and Kiko nodded.

When the three of them stepped into the hallway, Hutch reached in and locked the door from the inside, then he motioned with the gun for them to go down the hall. He walked a few feet behind them, holding the gun at their backs.

"Down the hall and through the garage door," Hutch said as they headed toward the bright sunlight at the end of the corridor.

Hutch tensed when they passed actors and crew, but the three of them blended in with the others wearing wardrobe and makeup, and drew no attention except for a polite hello or a "Hello, Mr. Grande."

To stall for extra time, Hutch also locked the door to the torture room from the inside, turning a Do Not Disturb sign outward for passersby to see, then did the same for Grande's office.

Once they went through the garage door and into the gated parking lot, Hutch helped his partner and the boy into the trunk of Grande's Lincoln, feigning an abduction or killing in prgress, then drove to the gate, where a guard opened it and allowed them to go out.

Once on the street, Hutch removed the mask.

"Home free," he said out loud. "First stop, hospital."

He would call Dobey from there.

::::::::::::

Huggy brought his friends fresh clothes and two big boxes of donuts.

When Captain Dobey arrived at the hospital, Hutch handed him a bag of evidence: His and Starsky's clothes, Kiko's clothes, car keys, pistol, and mask; and Starsky was telling the emergency room doctor that he was fine.

"We're holding you for observation," the doctor told him. "Just for the night."

"I tell ya," Starsky said. "I'm fine."

"Come on," Hutch said. "It's for your own good."

"I'd rather go back and torch that place."

"Got it covered," Dobey told him. "You'll miss the raid, but you can catch it in the papers tomorrow. I'm assigning a couple of officers to guard you and Kiko for the night, maybe even longer. We'll see if Gans Grande will give up the big fish."

The captain carried the evidence bag toward the swinging double doors of the ER. "I'll call you two with updates. Try to stay out of trouble, huh?"

Hutch smiled at his partner. "Think I'll go check on Kiko, then head to the station to help Cap, but I'll be back tonight. Don't eat all the donuts."

"Yeah."

As Hutch passed Huggy, he whispered, "Keep an eye on him till I get back, huh?"

"You're looking at Florence Huggy Bear."

::::::::::::

Kiko rested comfortably in his hospital bed as Mrs. Ramos stroked her son's forehead.

The boy's face brightened with a smile when he saw Hutch coming in.

"Hi, Hutch!"

"Thank you so much," she said to Hutch as she stood up to embrace him.

Hutch held her, stroking her long dark hair.

"No need to thank me," he whispered. "I'm just glad he's okay. He's been through a lot, but I'll be around to make sure he's all right."

Arm still around her, Hutch held his hand out to Kiko, and they shook hands.

"Huggy brought donuts. Would you and your mother be interested?"

"Siempre."

:::::::::::::

Now that the case was in Dobey's hands and additional detectives were brought in to work the case, and Kiko and Starsky were resting safely in their recovery rooms with officers posted outside, Hutch allowed himself to defuse in Starsky's room in a chair near the window, defenses down, overcome by exhaustion.

::::::::::::

He fell backward down an endless spiral of black space into nothingness, where no dreams, no love, no light existed.

"No forgiveness," Hutch murmured in his sleep.

Awakened by the sound of Hutch's voice, Starsky got out of the bed and went to him, crouching to one knee and taking him gently by the shoulders.

"Hutch, wake up, buddy. It's okay."

Hutch opened his eyes and looked at him.

"No forgiveness."

"Hutch, we did what we had to do. You saved Kiko's life. You saved my life. And all the victims they would have had."

Hutch's eyes welled with tears and his arms went out, wrapping around Starsky's neck.

Starsky held him and patted his back. "It's gonna be all right."

When Hutch didn't move or make a sound except for his breathing, and his weight grew heavier on his shoulder, Starsky realized he had fallen asleep.

"It's okay, boy. Just sleep. I'm right here."

End

::::::::::::

Blood Brother

A Starsky and Hutch/Salem's Lot Crossover

Written by Zebra 3 and Me

Ben Mears was transfixed by the vampire Kurt Barlow's hypnotic gaze. It was as if all he'd fought for since he'd arrived in this town was a vain dream. Why fight? Why not give in? Eternal life? Susan? He understood so clearly now. All he had to do was give in, give up, let Barlow pull him into the casket and have his throat. His life would slide into an effortless oblivion where there was no life, no death, no pain, no running, no feeling. Only the desire for blood.

It would be so easy to let go. What if—

Just as Barlow raised his fangs to Ben's throat, the writer was joined by an intense-looking, determined-looking guy wearing around his neck a gaudy, convoluted garland of garlic and a dozen crucifixes.

"Let me at it, Blondie," he said shoving Ben aside as roughly as young Mark had been shoved aside earlier. The man named Starsky took the stake and hammer, then averted his eyes from the master vampire and looked at Ben as he swung down and drove the sharp point through its heart, striking again and again. "It's like takin' a Bandaid off," Starsky grunted as he kept hammering down. "Hurts less when you don't look at it."

Ben's trance was broken by the man's vivid blue eyes, nearly as riveting as Barlow's had been, but where Barlow's drew with evil, Starsky's draw was vulnerably human.

When the blond man opened his mouth to say something, nothing came out, so the dark-haired man kept talking.

"I heard you were havin' some trouble here in Jerusalem's Lot, buddy. Came to help out. I've had a little experience with vampires. But only a little, mind you. Mine was Nadassi."

Both men watched as Barlow translated from this world into the next with a hissing, receding sound, until the undead creature simply disappeared in a wisp of smoke, leaving only the brittle, pottery-like remains of his skull. And even that finally, blessedly, disintegrated into fine particles of dust before their eyes.

Ben finally found his voice.

"Uh, yeah, thanks. I owe you one."

End

:::::::::::::::::

Heart To Blame

By Zebra 3 and Me

::

Kiko was thirteen.

"Please don't go," he croaked tearfully as he hugged his mother in a last goodbye. "Mom. Please."

Hutch squeezed the boy's shoulders and leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Let her go, Kiko."

Mrs. Ramos' short battle with breast cancer was over. This time cancer won.

Kiko turned into Hutch's chest and cried. Hutch stroked his hair. "Let it out, boy. It's okay."

Starsky stood slouching his shoulder against the wall, head down and blinking back tears. A nurse stepped over to the hospital bed and spoke to Kiko. "You can stay a little while longer if you like."

"No," he said wiping his eyes. "I want to go. She isn't here anymore."

A welfare worker was waiting patiently and politely in the hall when Hutch and Kiko stepped into it, followed by Starsky.

"Your father is being released a week early from prison," she said to Kiko. "He'll be home to get you in the morning." She looked at Hutch. "We could put him in a shelter until then."

"That won't be necessary," Hutch said. "He can have my couch for the night."

The caseworker smiled sympathetically at Kiko. "Are you looking forward to your father coming home?"

Kiko's eyes were still wet, but he nodded. "He sent letters a few times, and we had a few phone calls. Mom took me to visit him a couple of months ago when she-"

Hutch squeezed the boy's shoulder. When she told him the doctors gave her only a few weeks to live.

Hutch had driven the two of them to the prison, and waited in the car until the two-hour visit was over. She didn't say much on the way home. Kiko held her hand all the way, trying to be brave and strong.

Please, Ken, she asked him later, when Kiko was in the Ramos kitchen making a sandwich. Please make sure he's okay after I'm gone.

I will. I promise.

"Good," the caseworker said. "We always like to put children with their families whenever possible."

Hutch had misgivings. Kiko living with an ex-convict? A father he barely knew outside prison walls?

"Can't protect him from everything," Starsky gently reminded him. "Can't fix everything."

Words spoken from the heart of a man who had lost a dear parent at a young age.

No one slept well that night. Starsky lay in his own bed in his own apartment, remembering the death of his father. Hutch lay in his bed wishing he could take Kiko's hurt away. Kiko lay on Hutch's couch wondering why God had to be so unfair and take his sweet, loving mother.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The next morning, Kiko kept watching the clock while helping Hutch make pancakes and sausage links.

Kiko was pale and his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, but he smiled wanly. "His favorite meal of the day. He'll like his welcome-home breakfast."

Hutch's smile was just as wan. "I'm sure he will."

"Maybe he had to catch a bus home," Kiko offered. "You know how slow they are."

Hutch nodded and glanced at Starsky, who browsed through Hutch's record collection but kept a watchful eye on both of them.

Maybe he isn't coming, Starsky's eyes suggested to Hutch.

"Or maybe he was hung up when they processed him out," Hutch shrugged to Kiko. "They aren't quick about those things. I called the prison and sent word for him to come here so he could pick you up."

"Well," Starsky said looking at his watch as he walked over to the table. "I'll eat if no one else does."

He set the table and watched Kiko watching the clock.

"I hope he wasn't robbed on the way," Kiko said. "Hutch, do you think we should go looking for him? Or call the prison to see if they let him out yet?"

"Let's give it a little while. If he isn't here within the hour, I'll call, okay?"

Kiko sat down at the table for a while, waiting, watching the clock, then went to his overnight bag and pulled out a picture of his mother and himself together at a street fair.

"We had so much fun," he murmured as he touched the picture. "She was a good mother."

The three of them sat and talked about some of the nice times they'd had with his mother. When the hour was up, it was Starsky's turn to look at the clock.

Hutch went to the phone, pulling a card from his wallet, looking at it while dialing the prison's phone number.

"Hey," Starsky said to Kiko, "We need to think about some funeral clothes for you, y'know. I can drive you over there and get you something."

But Kiko was watching Hutch's face, waiting to hear word from the prison officials.

"I see," Hutch finally said as he nodded into the phone. "Thank you for the information."

"Well?" Starsky asked.

Hutch hung up and looked at Kiko, trying to keep his voice light. "Well, they released him at about 6 this morning."

He's had plenty of time to get here, was what neither Starsky nor Hutch would say out loud.

Kiko looked over at his father's plate of cold pancakes and sausage links. "Well, you know how those buses are..."

"Yep," Starsky said rising to his feet. "Come on, kid. Let's go get some clothes. Maybe he'll be here when you get back. You know what they say." He winked at his partner. "A watched pan never boils."

"Pot, Starsky," Hutch said. "Pot."

Kiko nodded glumly, but got up to follow Starsky out.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

After they were gone, Hutch stood in his kitchen, hands on his hips, looking at the cold breakfast.

Clear it, or leave it?

He picked up the telephone receiver to call Captain Dobey, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

He answered it, seeing Martin Ramos in the doorway. He remembered his face from so many mugshots.

"Martin," Hutch said holding his hand out. "I'm sorry for your loss. Come in. Kiko isn't here, he's with my-"

With one hand, Martin pulled a snub nose pistol from his belt, and with the other he clutched Hutch's throat and muscled him back inside, slamming him against the wall. The pistol bore into the side of his head.

"THINK I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU WERE DOING WITH MY WIFE WHILE I WAS LOCKED UP?"

"Mar-"

Hutch tried to clutch the wrist holding the gun, tried to speak but a vise grip cut him off. Stars floated before his eyes. The room swam darkly.

Hard to breathe. Hard to think.

Reach. Reach for it.

Martin ranted, but his voice was far away to Hutch's ears.

Reach again. Reach farther.

Got it. Finally. Got it.

Hutch shoved his gun under Martin's chin and fired.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Hutch was sitting alone at his kitchen table and staring at the cold breakfast when Starsky and Kiko came in some time later.

The apartment was silent. Starsky looked around. The only thing that looked out of place was the blanket covering a shape on the floor. And the hurt, mournful look in his partner's eyes.

Softly: "Hutch?"

Hutch gave no answer.

Starsky and Kiko knelt to see who was beneath the blanket.

"No!" Hutch half-croaked, half-sobbed. "It's Martin."

Starsky's hand froze on the blanket. He looked at Hutch.

"What happened?"

Hutch could only move his head no.

"I had to, Kiko," he whispered without looking at the boy. "He pulled a gun."

Kiko rose to his feet, moving his head no, too.

"He wouldn't do that, Hutch. He said he was going straight now. For me."

Hutch rose from his chair, and now looked at Kiko. Starsky saw the clear red claw marks on Hutch's throat.

"Cops are on the way," Hutch said. "I'm sorry."

Starsky saw the snub nose on the floor beside Martin's body.

Kiko ran at Hutch, shrieking. "He wouldn't do that! He was a good person! He loved me!"

Kiko pounded at Hutch with his fists. Hutch brought his arms up, stumbling a little.

Starsky grabbed Kiko and pulled him off.

"Easy! Stop it!"

Kiko glared at Hutch.

"I hope you die too!"

Starsky shook him.

"Kiko!"

Kiko jerked and wrenched himself free, then ran out the door.

Starsky started to go after him, but Hutch stumbling toward him, sobbing, stopped him. Starsky came back, catching him as he slumped into his arms.

::::::::::::::::::::::

Starsky walked into Huggy's and stood looking around, catching Huggy's eye behind the counter. Huggy nodded toward the upstairs.

As Starsky passed him to go up the steps, Huggy said, "How's Hutchie doin'?"

"Better," Starsky answered when he was halfway up. "He's talking to Dobey at the station."

Huggy nodded, and Starsky went on up, knocking at the door.

"Kiko, it's me. Hutch isn't with me. I want to talk to you. I'm comin' in."

When Starsky got no reply, he turned the doorknob and went in, seeing Kiko sitting at the table, looking much like Hutch had earlier that morning.

Devastated. Empty. Hurt. Pale.

"Hey." Starsky pulled a chair out and sat down with him. "I lost my pop when I was young. But you've lost both parents now. That's gotta be tough."

He shrugged. "Why not? I already got my suit. I can wear the same suit to both funerals, huh? Maybe I'll bury them together. Do you think they'd like that?"

It was hard for Starsky to tell if the boy was being serious or sarcastic. He didn't know him as well as Hutch did.

"You gonna let Hutch come to the funerals?"

"Why should I?"

"He'd want to talk to you. Make sure you're all right."

"If he wanted me to be all right, he wouldn't have killed my father."

"Kiko-"

"Leave. Huggy said I could stay here for a while."

Starsky stood from the table. "Okay. I know you got a lot of anger and hurt inside right now. You know how to reach me if you need to."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

When Starsky entered Captain Dobey's office, Hutch was standing by the window looking out. The captain was on the phone talking to the commissioner about Martin's death.

Starsky looked at Hutch when he spoke, but it was directed at the Dobey too.

"He's gonna stay with Huggy a few days, till we find him a new home."

Hutch nodded without looking at him.

Dobey hung up the phone. "Clear case of self-defense."

The office was extremely quiet for a few long seconds, then Hutch said softly with his eyes still looking out the window, "Open and shut. What more could you ask for when you ruin a little boy's life?"

Hutch turned and brushed past his partner's shoulder on his way out.

Gently Starsky took his arm. "Buddy."

Hutch moved his head no and walked on out.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Hutch trudged up his apartment stairs, shoulders slumped, body drained.

He felt for the key over the door, then, with it in his hand, paused, not yet as ready as he thought he'd be to go inside and face the traces left behind.

He turned to go back down the stairs, maybe to Huggy's for a drink, maybe to call Starsky and talk to him, but the door opened—his door—and three men in hooded sweatshirts rushed him against the opposite wall before he could reach for his gun, pummeling, punching, and kicking.

When he tumbled down the stairs and landed at the bottom in a silent heap, the three men walked calmly down the steps, stepped over him, and left.

:::::::::::::::::::::

Memorial Hospital.

ICU.

Starsky stood next to Hutch's hospital bed and looked down at his still form, then took one of his hands, squeezed it, and leaned over to place his hand across his forehead.

"Hutch," he said in a small, tearful voice. "One of your neighbors saw the guys leaving your apartment. We got 'em, okay? Martin's buddies. All you gotta worry about now is hanging on. You gotta fight, okay? Don't let go."

Starsky waited for a response, but all he got in return was the sound of the equipment keeping his partner alive.

::::::::::::::::::

They rode in silence to the funerals.

Kiko sat in the passenger seat wearing the suit Huggy had bought for him.

"Sky's overcast," Captain Dobey offered. "Looks like rain."

Kiko didn't answer.

Dobey watched the street signs. He'd been to this particular cemetery only once before, at the funeral of a fallen Latino officer, Paul Hernandez, who had died in the line of duty while trying to save a young girl from her father during a domestic violence situation that was quickly escalating into murder-suicide.

"Your aunt Rita will be at the funeral. She says you can go back east to New York with her. She has lots of room and a few kids you can hang out with."

More silence.

"Hutch is in the hospital, Kiko. Some of your pop's old neighborhood friends wanted a little payback."

Kiko looked at him.

"Turn the car around."

"What?"

There were tears in the boy's eyes. "Take me to the hospital."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

ICU was quiet, a twilight between life and death. A land of shadows where nothing seemed real or certain. No promises, no guarantees. Just whispers of prayers hovering in the ether.

::::::::::::::::::::::

Huggy and Starsky exchanged a look over Hutch's hospital bed, but said nothing. All that needed to be said, or could be said, was said in the way they each held one of his hands in theirs.

The sound of Dobey lightly rapping at the door made both men look around.

The captain's hand was on Kiko's shoulder as the boy walked to Hutch's bed, standing next to Starsky.

"He can't talk to you," Starsky said softly.

"Can he hear me?"

"They say he can."

Tears glistened in Kiko's eyes as he took Hutch's hand and kissed it. "Please live, Hutch. I know you had to do it."

Starsky stroked the back of the boy's head.

Kiko leaned down to whisper tearfully in Hutch's ear. "You were more of a father to me than he was. I want to be better than him. I want to be like you. Please come back, Hutch."

Starsky squeezed his shoulder and started drawing him away. "Come on, boy. Let him rest."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Kiko left Harold's side to place a rose on his mother's casket.

"I love you, Mom," he said as he kissed his fingers, then pressed them to the polished wood.

Harold put his arm around the boy's shoulder and led him back toward the car.

::::::::::::::::

"Hm?" Starsky murmured sleepily in the chair next to Hutch's hospital bed. "What was that?"

He stirred and sat up. Was it a dream? He thought he heard something.

Hutch's voice.

"Kiko? I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Starsky's eyes sparkled with tears of happiness and relief as he took Hutch's hand and brushed Hutch's cheek with his thumb.

"Hey. You're back. It's good to see you, partner."

Hutch came to with a slow flutter of eyelashes.

"Starsk?"

His voice was hoarse and weak.

Starsky's smile was from the inside out as he buzzed for the nurse, or a doctor, or anyone to come and see that Hutch had awakened from his coma. "Hiya, pal."

Hutch gave a small smile of his own.

"Hi yourself."

The sound of footsteps as a nurse and a doctor made their way down the hall.

"Kiko came to see you," Starsky told him. "He's gonna be okay."

Hutch nodded, the smile lingering on his face.

:::::::::::::::::::

Kiko stood at his father's grave, flowers in his hand.

Crutch under one arm, Hutch stood next to him.

"I don't know what to feel," Kiko said looking down at the headstone. "I feel...all mixed up."

Hutch nodded. "It's okay to feel that way."

Kiko knelt on one knee to place the flowers on the grave.

"I don't know what kind of flowers he would like, Hutch. But I know what kind you like, 'cause I've been in your greenhouse."

Hutch moved his crutch to one side so that he could kneel next to Kiko, even though it was painful.

"Hutch, I don't want to go to Aunt Rita's. I'd rather live in a foster home so I can see you. I don't want to go to New York."

Hutch gave the back of Kiko's neck a squeeze and smiled. "I'll see what I can do."

End

::::::::::::::::::

To Protect and Serve

A S and H story by Zebra 3 and Me

I stopped by the pharmacy to pick up some of Starsky's medication, plus an astronomy magazine and a Baby Ruth candy bar, and headed toward his place.

He was home convalescing after Gunther's bullets ripped into his body, nearly killing him, but, to the amazement of doctors, and even myself, he hung on. It was a miracle, because he flat-lined and the doctors had to bring him back from the dead.

Watching him struggle to live was a double-edged sword: Happy that he had survived and would live to fight another day. But grieved over the physical, mental, and emotional pain he had to go through getting there.

More than once I heard him let out a sound of pain in his bathroom, or during the night while he slept, and my heart twisted each time.

"Starsk, I'm here for you," I'd say time and again-sometimes through the bathroom door, sometimes at his bedside during the night.

I did all I could to help him recover, and I admired him to the ends of the earth for the strength and heart he possessed.

I felt partially responsible for the damage done. Even now, three months later, I still regret being unable to help him, protect him. I lived with inner pain of my own kind.

"Don't worry about it," he'd told me. "They didn't get us."

I kept my guilt to myself after that. He had enough on his plate without me adding to it.

We both tried to make each other feel better, make it easier to get through it and put it behind us so we could get back to normalcy—our work, our friends, our better lives.

What I wanted to tell him but held back was that if he had died because I failed him…well, I don't like to think of the possibilities.

I'd like to think that I could have remained strong, reliable, positive—that's me. That's Hutch. The one everyone knows and expects.

But the death of my best friend because I hadn't protected him would have made me a different Hutch.

I don't pray often, but I do for him.

It took a few weeks, but my despair turned into joy. The stronger he got, the stronger I got-each recovery point a victory, from getting out of bed to get into a wheelchair, to standing on his own, to walking across the floor without my help.

"Hey, Starsk!" I said knocking on his door.

I could have gone on in, but didn't want him to think that I thought he was a helpless invalid. He needed to be up and about, and I had to hand it to him—he never once felt sorry for himself or said why me.

Once in a while he'd say "You okay, blondie?", and I assured him I was.

Seeing him on the mend was a precious gift—all I needed in order to be okay.

I patiently waited for him to come to the door, and when he did, I saw that he had company of the female persuasion; a former girlfriend named Lana.

"Um," I said setting his medicine, magazine, and candy on the coffee table, "good to see you again, Lana, but this clearly is more than a social call…"

Lana was a pretty brunette with long flowing locks, and kind, expressive eyes, plus a sweet personality. She'd wanted to go into police work, but her policeman boyfriend Randall wouldn't allow it, told her it was too dangerous, so she opted to work in a crisis shelter helping victims of domestic violence, which had its own kind of danger, but different from police work.

Right now it looked as if she needed some protection herself. One side of her face was bruised and swollen, and she looked a little disheveled, as if she were running on fumes.

I knew that look, from the hundreds of abused women we encountered.

In time, if she didn't get help, the life in her eyes would fade to apathy, and she would feel like she wasn't worth saving anymore.

Starsky sat next to her on the sofa, strapping a small pistol to her ankle. He'd changed from his of-late fleece track suit into jeans and a red T-shirt.

"Dobey's got a few uniforms looking for Randall," he said as he leaned forward to pull on his sneakers.

"Good," I said as I touched Lana's un-bruised cheek. "I'll take you to an anonymous shelter where—"

"She's stayin' here," Starsky told me as he rose to his feet.

The small effort of putting on his shoes winded him, but he ignored it.

I took his arm and steered him, gently, toward the bedroom, where I closed the door and turned him around to face me.

"This is not a good idea, Starsk."

He tersely pulled his arm from my grip.

"He knows all of the shelters. He threatened to kill her. She'll be safest here. I always told her if she ever needed help leaving him, she could count on me—"

My heart pounded like a drum in my chest, my breath came hard.

"Starsk, I love what you're trying to do for her, but buddy, you don't need this right now. The doctors haven't cleared you for duty, Dobey won't allow it, and you're just now back on your feet—"

"My duty," he said firmly, "is to my friends," and went back into the living room.

He needed to rest up a while longer before playing the dark prince again, but clearly this was something he needed to do.

To help Lana, yes. But maybe to also become himself again.

I followed him into the living room.

"Lana," I said as Starsky loaded his gun and placed it on the coffee table amongst his medicine, magazines, tissues, water glass, and candy. "I'll get him, and bring him in, but you have to do your part if you want him out of your life for good. You have to press charges, file a restraining order, testify against him, and have no contact with him in the future, whatsoever. If you do, you're just back to square one, and he'll abuse you again."

It was the same spiel over and over. No matter how many times we cautioned the victims, lectured, rescued—most of them returned to the abuse, like a homing pigeon.

Starsky and I looked at each other, and he gave a nod of thanks: He would protect her here at his place while I went out looking for Randall.

Getting Randall off the street and behind bars was the best way to help all of us.

It wasn't easy bringing in a fellow cop—someone in our own department. It was always met with resistance from the brass-that silent vow most took to protect one another. And even harder when an abused woman can't or won't follow through, but this was long overdue and something had to be done.

Starsky took instant Polaroids of her injuries, and a statement, while I called Dobey from Starsky's phone.

"We need to pick up Randall Jackson today, Captain. Lana is willing to take it all the way."

I resisted the urge to call Huggy over to sit with Lana and Starsky. My partner was determined to help her, with or without my involvement. Better that I help too, than for something to go wrong.

"Okay," I said as I headed for the door. "You two stay safe."

Suddenly she ran to me and flung her arms around my neck.

"Thank you, Ken. I really will do what I have to do this time."

I gave her a hug and said, "Good girl."

I took the Polaroids and statement to Captain Dobey.

"Uniforms get him yet?" I asked as I handed him at least two of the pieces that would build the case.

"Nowhere to be found. He knows what's going down. He's on the run. We need to get that girl into protective custody."

"Starsky won't hear of it."

"Well I'm his boss, so he doesn't have a choice."

"She knows Randall can get to her anywhere. I mean, just about anywhere. Starsky has it under control."

"Does he now? He isn't even allowed to drive a car yet."

So much for covering for my partner. The captain knew too much about Starsky's condition.

"Go to his place and bring that girl here, and if you don't, Hutchinson, I will."

In a way I was glad Dobey slammed the gavel down. As I took the elevator down to the parking garage, I began to wish that I had done so myself. But sometimes loyalty begets poor judgment, in friendship and police work.

On the way to his place, I stopped by Huggy's to see if he'd seen Randall or heard anything.

Zero.

So I drove on to Starsky's, deciding that I would just take her by the arm and lead her out, whether he liked it or not.

But when I reached the top of his stairs, everything just kind of froze.

Someone—Randall obviously—had kicked the door completely in, and Starsky was lying on his back near the coffee table.

"Oh my God," I breathed as I ran to him and dropped to my knees next to him to check him out.

His face was bruised and cut from a bad beating, and he was moaning, drifting toward unconsciousness.

He'd put up quite a fight to protect her.

"Hey," I said turning his face toward me, patting it a little. "Hold on, Starsk. I'll call an ambulance. Help's coming."

His glassy eyes gazed at me, his right hand gripping my wrist, determined to whisper "Randall took her" before he finally passed out.

The ambulance, some uniforms, and Huggy arrived in just minutes, so I could safely leave Starsky's side to go after Randall, but before I did, I leaned over the gurney Starsky was on and gave his hand a squeeze.

"See you at the hospital, buddy," I said, then ran out the door.

I drove like a madman toward Randall's house. Chances were fifty-fifty that he was there. He could have taken Lana on the run, maybe to some family members, maybe to some old friends, or even a fellow officer that owed him a favor.

But I had to start my search there at his place. It could provide a wealth of clues—addresses, phone numbers, etc.-as to where the two of them may have gone.

A couple of black and whites were arriving just as I jumped out of the car and pulled my piece.

"Randall!" I yelled as I hoofed it up his stairs. "Come here!"

I was ready for anything—a fistfight, a shootout, an ambush, an arrest.

Ready for anything except what I found once I kicked the door in and ran inside: Lana huddled in the corner, her back against the wall, Starsky's small pistol still in her hands. And Randall lying dead on the floor in a pool of blood with half of his head gone, his own gun inches away.

A bullet hole was in the wall beside her head where he had fired at her and missed.

Her faraway gaze was fixed on his body.

I carefully moved toward her with my hand out.

"It's okay, honey," I said gently taking the gun from her. "It's over. He can't hurt you anymore."

"I'm sorry," she sobbed into my shoulder as I lifted her to her feet. "Randall had him on the floor, and Dave tried to fight back, but Randall kept punching him, and punching him. I went with Randall to make him stop hurting him. We got here, he started to…he started throwing me around, aiming his gun at me. He shot at me. I had to shoot him, Ken, I had to. I love him but I had to."

"I know," I said as I walked her out the door. "I think Starsky's going to be okay. He's at the hospital."

She was a mess, but hearing Starsky was alive and receiving medical treatment brought her around.

She nodded and leaned against me.

After helping her into the passenger seat, I talked to the uniforms and made a call over the car radio to Dobey.

I wrapped a blanket around her and left her at the precinct talking to the captain, then went to see Starsky at the hospital.

He was in better condition than I expected, alert and talking to the doctors and nurses.

He put his hand out to me when I walked up to his bed, and I gripped it.

How's Lana? his eyes asked as he tried to raise his head.

"Shaken, but okay," I told him, and he relaxed back onto the pillow in relief. "Clear case of self-defense. How about you?"

"You know me," he said with a small smile. "Hard head."

"In more ways than one," I smiled back. "In more ways than one."

The End

:::::::::::::::::

Silent

Writer: Zebra 3 and Me

Plot: A vicious assault on one of the partners.

CHAPTER 1

Hutch emerged from Frankie's Gym just after closing time. Since he and Starsky had been working odd hours on the Rawlings drug case, Frankie let him come in for a workout thirty minutes before closing, and let him stay a little after the other patrons went home.

"So you and Starsky are night watchmen, huh?" Frankie asked as he opened the door to let him out and began to lock up for the evening.

"Close, Frankie. Close."

"Where is your dark half anyway?"

"Tied up with a girl. I mean, er, you know."

"You said your car's in the shop. Need a ride home?"

"No. Nice breeze tonight, Frankie, I think I'll walk to Huggy's."

"Huggy Bear Brown?"

"Uh oh," Hutch grinned. "I think I said too much."

Frankie winked. "He's a good man."

Hutch raised a hand in goodbye and started out of the alley toward the sidewalk.

"Oh hey!" Frankie shouted.

Hutch turned around.

"Tell Starsky he left his Army jacket here. I locked it up for him."

Hutch raised a farewell hand, then continued toward the sidewalk.

He whistled a tune as he walked. Then the whistle turned into a hum, and the hum into the first few lines of a new song he'd been writing at home.

Life was good. He and his partner had busted District Attorney Mark Henderson, prevented a massive dynamite explosion in front of City Hall, and were now working the Rawlings case. His father, Will, had called to congratulate him on a job well done and said he was proud of him.

His voice was half-murmuring, half-singing as he repeated the phrases he'd written on a legal pad at home: "Seems to me…when the breeze…comes to me…"

His reverie was interrupted by a sound behind him, but when he looked over his shoulder, saw only a cat leaping across the tops of metal trashcans in front of a print shop.

Shrugging, he turned around and kept walking, and that's when another sound came behind him.

Turning halfway around, he saw three figures with iron pipes coming from an alley, and reached for his gun just as the brick hit his face from another direction.

Now that he was dazed, the four figures came and assaulted him with boots and pipes, even after he was motionless on the ground, then carried him into an alley to a dumpster and dropped him in.

CHAPTER 2

Huggy opened the back door of his restaurant and set out one big trash can, then a second.

He started to go back inside, but something light a few feet down his alley—Hutch's hair and the white sleeves of his jacket—caught the faint glow from inside the restaurant.

He was crawling toward Huggy on hands and knees.

Blood dripped from a gash at his hairline, from his nose, and from his mouth.

"Hutch!"

Huggy moved toward him.

Hutch opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. His arms trembled from shock as he tried unsuccessfully to rise up from his hands and knees, finally collapsing at Huggy's feet.

"Boy, what happened?"

Hutch lay gasping on his side, hand groping for Huggy's and finding it.

"I'm getting' you inside," Huggy said. "Callin' an ambulance. You just hold on to Hug."

But Hutch wasn't holding on to anything. He looked around with dazed eyes, as if unsure of his surroundings as Huggy pulled him up and helped him through the back door. "Sure did a number on you."

Once inside the restaurant, Hutch's knees buckled, and Huggy had to lower him to his side again, took off his own jacket, folded it, and put it under his head. Then he ran to the phone to call an ambulance first, then Starsky.

When Huggy returned to Hutch, he saw that his friend was clutching his throat, struggling to breathe and stay conscious.

Huggy sat in the floor and pulled Hutch into his lap.

Again Hutch tried to say something, but could only gasp for air.

Huggy's voice wavered as he caught Hutch's imploring hand again.

"Don't you go anyplace, blondie. You stay right here."

CHAPTER 3

Huggy snatched Starsky by the arms when he ran through the emergency entrance.

"He's in bad shape, Starsk."

Starsky tried to pull from his friend's grip, but Huggy held tight.

"Doctor Abram says keep you out here for now. They need to work on him. He got beat up pretty bad, but they said he's gonna make it."

Starsky looked toward the emergency room's double doors.

"Did he say who jumped him? Or what happened?"

"I don't know. He wasn't in much condition to talk."

Starsky's voice grew quiet, and he looked away so Huggy couldn't see his wet eyes. Then he pulled away from Huggy's grip and began to pace, just as Dr. Abram came from the emergency room, and didn't stop pacing, even when the doctor spoke:

"Captain Dobey is with him right now," Abram told both of them. "His father has been called. He has a concussion, some internal bleeding, multiple bruises and abrasions, but surprisingly, no broken bones. Boot prints are visible where the attackers stomped on his throat, and that's what we're most worried about. He's lost his voice and the ability to speak due to some damage to his larynx, and it could be permanent. If his voice doesn't return as it should, we may do surgery, but there are no guarantees. It's a wait and see thing. Right now we're working on keeping the swelling in his throat down and making sure he's breathing properly. He's heavily sedated and we're moving him to ICU. Frankly, he's lucky to be alive."

Starsky's right shoulder slumped against the wall, trying to absorb the information.

"I have to see him," he said softly. "Now. He needs to be guarded. The sickos that did this could come back."

Dr. Abram looked at Huggy, then at Captain Dobey as he came from the emergency room.

"I understand," the doctor said. "But as I told you, he's sedated."

Dobey moved closer to Starsky.

"I'm thinking it's Rawlings. Or it could be random violence. Or any of the other five hundred thousand enemies you two have out there. I'll assign it to Stein and Craig, and do some work on it myself, but you need to stay here with your partner."

Starsky raised his head to look at him. "You think you gotta tell me that?"

Dobey patted his shoulder, then nodded to the doctor and Huggy as he walked out.

"I got some people to contact about the Rawlings thing," Huggy said as he gripped Starsky's forearm. "I'll call you and the captain if something turns."

CHAPTER 4

ICU.

Starsky slowly entered Hutch's room and walked hesitantly toward the hospital bed, reliving the fear and dread he'd felt as he'd approached his father's casket when he was ten years old.

Hutch's features were bruised and scuffed, his eyes were closed, and he was breathing with the assistance of a ventilator.

A nurse was present, checking the devices that were helping his partner.

"Why the wrist restraints?" he asked the nurse.

"The medics said he was a little combative in the ambulance," she said checking the IV. "We don't want him pulling anything out. It's just a precaution."

Starsky put a hand across Hutch's forehead and leaned down, speaking even though Hutch was asleep, even though he knew there wouldn't be an answer.

"Hey, buddy. It's me. I'm gonna be right here with you until you get better."

CHAPTER 5

True to his word, Starsky stayed in the hospital room the rest of the night, dozing in a chair next to the bed.

It was daybreak when Starsky woke up to find his friend looking groggily at him.

A smile immediately came to Starsky's face as he leaned closer to the bed and placed a hand on Hutch's arm.

"Finally wakin' up, huh? Good to see you again."

Hutch nodded and made a listless attempt to move his wrists from the restraints.

"Easy," Starsky said. "Don't do that. Nurse'll come by to set you free. And don't try to talk. Not that you could with the ventilator, but still…"

Hutch nodded, turning his hand palm up so that Starsky could clasp it.

"Hey," Starsky said as he looked toward the door, "here comes a nurse now."

But his partner had already fallen back to sleep.

CHAPTER 6

Hutch slept most of the day. Huggy dropped by to sit with him while Starsky met with Captain Dobey just outside in the hall.

"Huggy busted your Rawlings case wide open," Dobey told him. "He found out there was a girl he and Rawlings both dated a few years ago. Huggy got her to give up Rawlings' location, so Stein and Craig picked him up at a hotel near the airport. He's being held for questioning on that drug shipment, and Hutch's assault. The drug charges might stick, but he was offended by the idea of leaving a cop alive. I'm leaning toward a random act, maybe a street gang out for some kicks. But we'll keep digging. When Hutch is stronger, he'll be able to provide us with descriptions and more details."

Starsky nodded. "Appreciate the update, Cap."

"How's he doing?"

"Better. Out of it most of the time, but he's comin' around."

"Good. His father on the way?"

"Supposed to be here tomorrow."

The captain started down the hall, then stopped at the elevator and turned.

"Oh, by the way. A Terry, a Berry, and a Sherry stopped by the precinct to talk to you, and left their numbers. Triplets, huh?"

"Well, um, I was kind of with them the night Hutch got hurt."

"You might want to return their phone calls. They were a distraction to the other officers in the squad room."

"Yeah," Starsky smiled as his superior got onto the elevator. "I'll take care of it."

CHAPTER 7

Hutch was asleep most of the day and night, but awake the next morning when his father, Will, arrived at the hospital.

Starsky sat quietly in the corner of the room as Will nodded hello to him and moved over to the bed. He leaned over to give his son a kiss on top of the head.

"Ken? I'm here, son. I'm praying for you."

Hutch's eyes fluttered open and he looked up. With the wrist restraints gone, he was able to reach a hand up toward the man.

Will took the hand and held it to his chest, just below the cross necklace he wore under a plaid shirt.

He was an older man, just past seventy, with a quiet, attentive demeanor that Starsky had seen in his partner many times. Now the frail gentleman had tears in his eyes as he watched his son breathe with the help of a machine.

When Starsky saw Will's knees give way a little, he took his chair over to the bed and helped him sit down.

"Thank you," Will said. "Are you his partner?"

"That's right. David Starsky."

Will held out his free hand and shook Starsky's.

"Happy to meet you."

With Will Hutchinson's scuffed shoes, white socks, plain clothes, and humble demeanor, one would never guess that, besides preaching, he had made a small fortune designing, building, and selling farm machinery.

"Ken, I wouldn't let your mother come with me. She has the flu, and I didn't think it would be healthy for either of you. She sends her love."

"Um, Mr. Hutchinson," Starsky said, "I think he fell asleep again."

Will saw that Hutch's eyes were closed, but he continued to hold his son's hand.

Starsky sat down on the floor and leaned back against the wall.

"Who would do something like this to him?" the man asked with a quiver in his voice.

"We think it's gang-related. Our captain has men assigned."

"I talked to the doctors, and they said Ken would be all right, but may have some trouble with his larynx. It'd be a shame for him to lose that pretty voice of his. I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, but he used to sing to me in church growing up. He was so nervous about it, but I encouraged him. I said, 'Just sing to me, son, like I'm the only one here'."

"Well, they aren't sure what's gonna happen there. Let's hope for the best."

"You know, I'm really proud of him for following his path. It's a dangerous job, but I guess the desire for justice and doing for others is stronger than self-preservation. Must have been all those detective novels we read together while he was growing up. That, and the fact that I'd very seriously considered being a gumshoe myself. I was torn between law enforcement and preaching. The call to preaching won out, obviously."

Starsky smiled a little. "Hutch does a little preaching of his own once in a while. Especially at me."

Will smiled a little at that. "I'm thinking of staying here in Bay City, to help him recuperate."

Starsky folded his legs Indian-fashion and leaned toward him. "Mr. Hutchinson, I know how badly you must want to help him, but I speak for him when I tell you he wouldn't want you anywhere near him until his attackers are caught."

"Do you think I care—"

"No," Starsky said gently as he placed his hand on the man's knee. "I know you don't care about the danger. But Hutch does. And since he's my partner, I have to do what's best for him. He's my best friend, Mr. Hutchinson."

"I know. He told me."

"He'd never forgive himself if something happened to you. He doesn't need the worry. Just…go back to Minnesota, and let us find whoever did this. That's the best thing you can do for him right now."

The man took a handkerchief from his back pocket and dried his eyes. "I don't want to leave him, but I don't want to burden him more than he already is…"

"That's right."

"And you two can come and spend a couple of weeks with us whenever you want to. Your next vacation even."

"Love to."

When Will put his handkerchief away and moved to get out of the chair, Starsky assisted him to his feet.

Will leaned down to kiss his son's forehead again.

"Goodbye, Ken. I love you." Looking back at Starsky, he said, "He said he trusts you with his life."

Starsky nodded.

"Keep me informed, will you?"

"I will," Starsky said walking him to the door.

"Oh, this is for Ken," Will said taking something from his back pocket and handing it to him. "Will you give it to him?"

Starsky opened his hand, and Will placed a paperback detective novel in it.

"I sure will."

Will gave one last look toward the hospital bed.

"You take care of my boy, David. And if you don't know it already, you will one of these days. When he pushes you away is when he needs you the most."

"Yeah," Starsky whispered with a lump in his throat. "Kinda figured that one out."

The two shook hands again, and then Will made his slow way down the hall toward the elevator. Now Starsky realized why Hutch seemed to be an old, square soul.

CHAPTER 8

Hutch slept the rest of the morning, and just before noon, a nurse came in. Starsky watched her take a small flashlight from the pocket of her uniform.

"Ken," she said lifting his eyelids. "I'm going to shine a light in your eyes."

After she did, she turned the light off and put it away. Then she said, "Can you move your fingers?"

He did as she asked.

"And how about your feet?"

He moved those too.

She looked at Starsky. "Doctor Abram will be in tomorrow to examine him and discuss removing the ventilator."

"Thanks," Starsky said.

After she left, Starsky opened the detective novel and began to read aloud to his partner.

CHAPTER 9

Huggy came to sit with Hutch so that Starsky could go home, take a shower, check with Dobey, and make a few phone calls. Then they traded places again—Huggy going back to the restaurant, Starsky taking his place next to Hutch's bed.

By next morning, the swelling in Hutch's throat was down, he was breathing easier, and the ventilator was removed, but he was still unable to speak.

When he was moved to a recovery room, Starsky handed him a pocket-size notepad and pen.

"You're gonna like that new pen," Starsky told him. "It writes even when it's upside down."

Hutch laid the pen and pad of paper on the bed next to his right thigh.

Starsky made a point to ask him questions that could be answered with a yes or no.

"Remember your dad being here?"

Hutch gave a nod.

"Seems like a good man."

Hutch gave another nod.

It was past three that afternoon when Mrs. Ramos and her twelve-year-old son Kiko stopped by, bringing Hutch a pair of blue jeans and a white hooded pullover that he had left at her house. But the woman looked distressed today. Her son Kiko looked even worse, his young face expressing turmoil.

"What's going on?" Starsky asked. "Hutch'll be out of the hospital before you know it."

Mrs. Ramos put a hand on the back of Kiko's neck and moved him toward the bed.

"Hutch, Kiko has something to tell you."

Hutch looked from the boy, to the boy's mother.

Kiko spoke with his hand gripping the chrome bed rail.

"Hutch, I…there was this gang that kept asking me to join. They wanted me to carry drugs for them, break into some places, steal some purses from old ladies, even hurt some people. They said courts go easier on kids. I told them I couldn't. They said I could if I didn't have a cop for a Big Brother. They got really mad at me. I should have told you. I'm really sorry."

Hutch picked up his pen and wrote on the notepad with a weak hand, It's all right. You did the right thing. Don't worry about it.

When the boy's head lowered in shame, Hutch put his hand over Kiko's, which was still gripping the bed rail.

"He gave Captain Dobey the names of the gang members," Mrs. Ramos told Starsky. "I guess they'll go to juvenile detention?"

Starsky nodded. "Some of them could be tried as adults."

Mrs. Ramos caressed Hutch's hand. "Please get better soon."

CHAPTER 10

Starsky stood by the window in Hutch's recovery room.

"Ken," Dr. Abram said with his clipboard in his hands, "I'm going to release you in a few days, so I want you up and moving around until then. As for your ability to speak, it's still iffy. We'll keep checking it on a weekly basis, but in all honesty, we should hope for the best, prepare for the worst. I'll come back around."

Propped up in a sitting position in the bed, Hutch gave no reaction.

The doctor nodded to Starsky, then left.

"Wow," Starsky said softly. "That's…"

Hutch's fingertips pinched the place between his eyes.

"Hey," Starsky whispered as he sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed Hutch's hair. "It's gonna be okay."

Without looking at him, Hutch turned onto his side away from him, closing his eyes.

CHAPTER 11

That night Starsky was brought out of his chair by the sound of Hutch rapidly panting in his sleep.

"Hey, buddy," Starsky said going to the bed and taking his shoulders. "Just relax. Breathe slow and easy. You're okay. It's just a dream."

Hutch's eyes came open and met his partner's, making an effort to slow his breath.

"That's it," Starsky said. "That's the way."

He waited until Hutch drifted off to sleep again, then sat back down to doze.

But when he woke up in the morning, Hutch was gone.

His hospital gown was on the floor, along with the notepad and pen Starsky had given him.

"He must have slipped out during the night," a nurse told Starsky at the nurse's station.

"No kidding."

CHAPTER 12

Huggy was just getting out of his car near Hutch's cottage when Starsky parked behind him.

Together they walked to the front door, and Starsky knocked.

"Hey, Hutch! Open up! Me and Huggy came by to see ya! Not a good idea leavin' the hospital so soon!"

To their surprise, the door opened and Hutch stepped out in the clothes Mrs. Ramos had brought to the hospital.

Pale, Hutch moved between them and started walking away.

Starsky took a step to go after him, but Huggy gripped his arm.

"Give him some time alone."

CHAPTER 13

Starsky busied himself by catching up on reports in the squad room. Anything to expend his nervous energy.

In the middle of the night he found himself driving past Hutch's place. The LTD was in the shop, so it was hard to tell if Hutch were home or away, but the house always looked and sounded quiet.

Huggy tried keeping him busy at the restaurant by talking to him and playing pool or pinball.

Starsky even dropped by Frankie's Gym to work out his frustration on the punching bag.

Dobey tried to talk to him about his partner, but Starsky changed the subject or suddenly had something else he needed to do.

When Will Hutchinson called to check on his son, Starsky told him that Hutch hadn't regained his voice, but not to give up hope. He also informed him that the juvenile gang had been apprehended and would have their day in court. Two of them were just shy of being eighteen years old.

CHAPTER 14

Starsky gave his partner a couple of days to be alone, like Huggy said, then decided it was time to go check on him again. When Hutch didn't come to the door, Starsky took the key from under the mat and unlocked it. Walking inside carrying a takeout box, he said, "I have some homemade chicken soup and some of Hug's favorite herbal tea."

Hutch was sitting at the kitchen table. He watched Starsky set the box on the counter next to the sink, then wrote the word No on a notepad and held it up for him to see.

Starsky ignored him and opened the refrigerator, finding it empty except for half a bottle of goat's milk. There were no dishes in the sink, nor was there any food in the cabinets.

"You haven't been eating," Starsky told him. "You need to keep your strength up."

Hutch didn't write anything.

Starsky sat down at the table. "Look, buddy. I wouldn't like it either if I were in your shoes. But the doc says there's a chance you'll get your voice back. We just have to think positive. In the meantime…" He reached into the pocket of his Army jacket and set a stack of pocketsize notepads and pens on the table between them. "Please talk to me."

Hutch swiped the notepads and pens off into the floor, then walked over to his guitar and picked it up, swinging it like a baseball bat against the wall one time, making it splinter into pieces.

He then walked over to the piano and pounded his hands on the keys, making dark, distorted sounds.

Then he turned and looked at Starsky, hand to his throat, tears in his eyes.

"Hutch," he said with tears in his own eyes as he rose to his feet. "I know things are comin' down around you, but there is more to you than…"

Hutch opened the door and gestured for him to go.

"No," Starsky said standing in the same spot. "I ain't goin'."

Hutch walked over to him, grabbed him by the jacket, and hustled him across the room, where he shoved him out the door, closed it, and locked it.

Through the sheer curtain on the door, Starsky saw him sinking to one knee next to the sofa with his head down, crying.

CHAPTER 15

Starsky went into Huggy's just before closing time and took a seat at the bar.

"It's been weeks now, Hug. Even Doctor Abram doubts he'll recover his speech. We have to admit that he won't be able to talk again."

"Man, I don't even like thinking about it."

CHAPTER 16

His own guitar in hand, Starsky visited Hutch again. Again, not bothering to knock, just unlocking the door with his own key and letting himself in.

It was afternoon and the cottage was quiet.

"Hutch?"

Hutch's piano and broken guitar were gone. Looking down into a small wastepaper basket next to the sofa, he saw the song Hutch had been working on before the assault, torn in half.

Starsky went to stand in the doorway of his friend's bedroom.

Hutch lay in bed, on his back, hands folded behind his head and looking at the ceiling.

He watched Starsky prop his guitar in the corner, then watched him take a sign language paperback from his jacket pocket and toss it to him.

Hutch hurled the book back at him.

Starsky ducked, picked it up, opened it, and walked to the bed and sat down.

"Hutch, look. This has everything you need. Here's the sign for coffee, car, guitar, lunch, home, etcetera. Even friend."

Panting, Hutch reached for a small notepad under his pillow and scribbled, Leave.

Starsky looked through the book until he found the sign for "leave", and made it for him with his hand. "If you want me to leave, sign for it."

Lips pursed, eyes flashing, Hutch made the sign for it.

Starsky got up and walked from the bedroom, but Hutch ran after him and caught his arm just outside the doorway.

Starsky turned.

Hutch moved his head no, eyes begging him to stay.

Starsky walked toward him, and Hutch collapsed into his arms in tears.

CHAPTER 17

Huggy looked surprised when Starsky and Hutch walked into his place together that night, but smiled as he put two beers on the counter. "Now this is what I call a special occasion."

Hutch opened the sign language book on the counter and signed, I'm hungry, as he showed Huggy the picture.

Huggy thumbed through the book, nodding approval. "I'll bring you a Hutch special. All the seaweed-tuna patties you can eat."

CHAPTER 18

The next week went by with Hutch learning more words to sign, and Starsky dropping by the cottage to learn with him.

One evening when Starsky came by the cottage, Hutch had a steak dinner ready, and when they were finished, Hutch took Starsky's guitar and they sat at the table as he began to strum the song his partner had retrieved from the trash basket and taped back together.

"Hey," Starsky said. "That's beautiful."

Hutch mouthed the words "Thank you," but realized that the words were a hoarse whisper too.

Starsky stared at him.

"Starsk?" Hutch asked with wide eyes as he whispered again, holding his throat. "I think…"

"Yeah," Starsky said with encouragement as he leaned forward and patted his arm. "I think so too. But take it easy, okay? Don't say too much until tomorrow when you can see Doctor Abram. We don't want to overdo it."

CHAPTER 19

Hutch sat on the doctor's exam table, Starsky at his side.

After Dr. Abram gave Hutch a general checkup, he examined his throat, and the verdict was, "It looks good, Ken. It's been a long time coming, but it's finally healing."

"Good news, man," Starsky said. "But what about singing? Will he be able to sing again?"

"You won't know until you try," the doctor said. "But I wouldn't attempt it for another month or two, just to be on the safe side. Just keep pampering your throat and everything should be fine."

"Pampering?" Starsky echoed. "Are you kidding? We'll get honey, lozenges, sage, warm salt water gargle, steam bath, you name it. We'll do it."

Hutch held his hand out to the doctor and whispered, "Thank you," then he and Starsky left the hospital.

As they were getting into the Torino, Hutch signed, My car?

"Sure, I'll take you to the shop to pick it up."

As Starsky turned the key to start the car, Hutch put a hand on his arm and whispered, "Thanks for being there for me, partner."

Starsky smiled and gunned the engine.

"My pleasure, buddy. Now let's go get that prairie schooner of yours while I'm in a good mood."

The End

::::::::::::::::::

The Mistake

By Zebra 3 and Me

::

"Here, Starsk, you need to take these."

Hutch was referring to the pain pills he was about to give me, bringing them out of his jacket pocket, uncapping them, and dashing them into my hand. I put them into my mouth like so many other times Hutch had handed them to me since he moved in temporarily to nurse me back to health following the Gunther hit.

After I swallowed them with water, I settled back on the sofa to watch some late news on TV. "Thanks."

"Need anything else?"

"No, you wanna sit for a while? You look beat. What you been up to?"

I didn't have to ask him, but I did just to slow him down a little. Ever since I got home from the hospital, and ever since he moved in to play nursemaid, he'd been running on empty, and running hard—preparing for the Gunther trial, doing work on some other cases, and helping me.

He plopped down in a chair for a second, looking tired but not relaxed. Stressed is more like it.

"Hey," I said in a low voice. "You okay?"

He gave me a smile. It was a real one, but a faint one, like he just didn't have the energy for more.

"Oh sure, breaking heads, cracking cases, busting doors. When you get back on your feet, we'll-"

"No," I said simply, as gently as I could. "We may work together at something, but I know, and you know, if you'd just admit it to yourself, that we can never go back to what we did before, the way we did it. That chapter's over, and it's okay. You need for it to be okay too."

He glanced down at his thumbs, which were slowly twiddling in his lap. "Yeah, I guess. I hate it but…"

"No buts. You can take off with a singing career, or pursue art the way you want to. Teach, or something, or whatever you want to do."

He looked at me as if confused. "Don't you get it, Starsk? It won't mean much without-"

"Who says we won't be The Singing Duo instead of The Dynamic Duo? Who says I can't sculpt or shoot pictures right alongside your painting? Huh? Who says? We're alive. We got another chance, and that's what matters."

He sat and soaked in my words, while my eyelids got heavier and heavier from the medication. Next thing I know I'm out like a light.

::::::::::::::

And the next thing I know, after that, is that I woke up in ICU. Through the observation window I could see Hutch trying to push through a couple of doctors to get to me, and Dobey was there to muscle in with his two cents, and then Huggy was trying to sort them all out. The scene made me flash back to when I woke up from my coma after Gunther had me shot down.

Was I dreaming? What was going on? My head felt like a concrete block, my thoughts slow motion. I tried to stay awake, but a heavy curtain draped down around me, and I was out again.

Why am I in ICU? Oh well. At least Hutch is close by.

::::::::::::::::::

I woke up to bits and pieces of their conversations, or were they memories, or were they dreams?

…incident report…

…bottle of pills in his pocket…

…confiscated from an arrest earlier that day…

…didn't make it to the evidence room…

I tried to say "Hutch?", but I don't think I said it out loud—still groggy, but needing to talk to him. It was beginning to make a little more sense now.

:::::::::::::::

Even before I was allowed visitors, Hutch slipped in and went to a knee next to my hospital bed, squeezing my hand so I'd know he was there. I was still in and out, woozy. I didn't have the strength or sense to speak, but I could hear him, and my heart mourned at the sound of his small voice.

"Starsk, I…I don't know what to say, I…"

It's okay, Hutch. It was a mistake. An accident.

But the words were trapped in the sludge of my mind.

:::::::::::::::::

Hutch was pretty quiet as the doctors discharged me, which was different from the last couple of weeks, when he would go to any lengths to start conversations, keep my mood up, entertain me, etc. But now he seemed numb, almost defeated. And so, like a jillion times before, as our rhythm always seemed to be, when he was weak, I was strong. Or when I was weak, he was strong.

"Okay, so, when we get to my place, you wanna order a seaweed and goat cheese pizza?"

I hoped for a snide remark or a short laugh, but he said nothing, just moved his head no.

:::::::::::::::::

When we got to my place, he helped me up the steps and inside, where we found my younger brother Nick pacing around the living room.

Hutch helped me sit down in a chair, then Nick grabbed his arm and jerked him around to face him.

"How could you do that to my brother? You overdosed him!"

Hutch's head went down and he let Nick unload on him. I guess he felt he deserved it and had it coming.

"Brother?" I asked Nick with as much strength as I could muster. "Where were you, brother, when I was laid up in the hospital with holes like Swiss cheese? Huh? What, were you laid up in jail, or with some hooker, or had blow up your nose-"

Nick punched Hutch instead of me, just as I was tumbling off the couch to intervene. Hutch staggered back into the wall, holding his jaw. I grabbed Nick and shook him the best I could—a familiar gesture that went way back to childhood.

"Cool it!"

Nick shot me a look of disdain, something else I was familiar with since childhood.

"You always pick him," he muttered as he pushed past me to leave, slamming the door and swearing under his breath on the way out.

I put my hand down to Hutch to help him up. Usually he was at the ready with strength and reassurance, but now, he was deflated and lost-looking. He didn't take my hand. I crouched over him, looking at him closely. I could feel the tension, guilt, and agony seeping from him like a bleeding wound.

"He's right, Starsk," came his whisper. "I almost killed you. I'm sorry."

I knelt down in front of him. "You have nothing to be sorry for. It's not your fault. You're exhausted. Now it's my turn to help you."

He looked up at me with tearful eyes, dark circles beneath them. "Huh?"

I pulled him to his feet and nudged him to my bed in the other room, where I pushed him down and covered him.

"Sleep," I told him, and he did.

End

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It's A Wonderful Life

By TLR

Just before midnight.

One second they stood at the take-out ordering hamburgers at an all-night window, the next a coffee-colored van sped past with the passenger hanging out the window with a rifle.

"Starsk, down!"

Hutch's voice in time with the rifle crack. Jerked his partner down with one hand; reached for his gun with the other.

Starsky's gun was out but now dropping to the pavement as the van careened around the corner.

"Ambulance!" Hutch shouted at the burger vendor.

His hands were already red with blood as they parted Starsky's jacket.

Starsky's face was pale; eyes closed.

"Buddy," came Hutch's trembling whisper as he pressed the heal of his right hand against the chest wound. "Hold on."

No answer, no groan, no movement.

A small crowd started to gather. Hutch smoothly shrugged out of his jacket and covered Starsky to keep him warm, his breaths coming quick and deep.

(You can't, Starsk. You can't just die here on the sidewalk. Please live)

In shock, Hutch was unaware that the ambulance had arrived and the attendants were moving him out of the way to help his partner.

"Shot through the heart," someone speculated from the crowd.

By the look of the blond man, the same had happened to him.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Captain Dobey forcefully led Hutch away from the emergency room.

"They told you to wait out here. Just calm down and let them work. Did you catch the license plate?"

"Sorry," Hutch said jerking his arm away from the captain. "I was kind of busy tending to my partner."

"He'll make it. You'll see."

"You don't know that. Nobody knows that."

Dobey rubbed a knuckle through his mustache. "I have some men questioning witnesses at the scene. Did you get a good look at the gunman or the driver?"

Hutch's head was down and he stared hard at a speck on the floor. He ran a slow hand through his hair, leaving slight streaks of drying blood in it.

"No."

A pretty doctor wearing glasses approached them.

"Ken," she said squeezing his arm. "I'm sorry. It's pretty serious. If he makes it through till morning, he could have a chance. We'll just have to wait and see, and hope for the best."

"I'll call the family," Dobey said. "And Huggy."

The captain briefly squeezed the back of Hutch's neck, then walked down the hall to make phone calls.

Hutch stood in the middle of the hall as if numb. Dr. Perry put an arm around him to escort him to see his partner, but instead of Hutch going with her, he turned and walked in the opposite direction.

"Ken?"

Hutch kept walking. By the time he got to the exit, he was stumbling.

::::::::::::::::::::::

Hutch's hands gripped his steering wheel as he drove.

(Hutch, you're my better half)

(Me and thee)

(Closer than brothers)

(I don't deserve a friend like you, Starsk. I didn't save you. I didn't protect you. In fact, if you die tonight, it will be my fault. I don't deserve to live. I'll be your killer).

He looked at the dry stains of red on his hands, which somehow now looked bigger, redder than before.

Staring at his hands took his eyes from the traffic. Horns blasted, vehicles swerved, lights blared.

Hutch swerved hard to the right to miss a motorcycle, and plowed into the bumper of a truck parked along the curb.

Hutch's head hit the windshield, the engine died, steam hissed.

He tumbled from the car in a daze and stumbled onto the sidewalk, unaware that his forehead was bleeding.

"No," he panted as he trudged down the sidewalk, eyes glassy and far away. His hand reached inside his jacket, then pulled out his gun.

A couple of hookers gave him odd looks when he passed, a couple of passersby took shelter in a doorway.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Closing time. The place was empty.

Hutch sat in a back booth, one hand shading his eyes as if from guilt. The other gripped his gun on the table.

Huggy sat across from him.

Hutch's voice was a tearful whisper, almost like a prayer. "I'm sorry, Huggy. What kind of partner am I? What kind of friend? I let him down when he needed me most of all. It's my fault. I failed him."

Huggy's hands covered Hutch's hand and gun.

"Your head's messed up, friend."

"No. I was standing right next to him. I should have been looking. I should have reacted sooner. He...he's going to die tonight. I can't...live with myself if..."

Huggy squeezed Hutch's hand. "Easy."

"I wish I'd never been born. Starsky would be fine."

"Man..."

"It's true. If it hadn't been for me..."

"If it hadn't been for you?"

Huggy stood up. "Put your gun away and come with me. I want to show you something."

::::::::::::::::::::::

Huggy drove, but Hutch didn't put his gun away. He sat with it in his lap.

"Why are we in the park?" Hutch asked.

"Look over there," Huggy said pointing to a bench where a gang of teenagers were hanging out.

One looked younger than the rest, not a teenager at all.

"Kiko," Hutch said hollowly.

The boy snorted something from the back of his hand and laughed with the older ones.

"You weren't there for him," Huggy said.

Hutch opened the car door to go for Kiko, but Huggy pulled him back inside.

"He doesn't know you."

Hutch stared at him.

"Why are you doing this?"

Huggy stared back. "'cause I love you."

Hutch kept staring while Huggy drove toward the red light district.

When they got to a club, Hutch pointed toward a young blonde in shorts and a halter top speaking to the doorman at the entrance. There were bruises around her eyes, and tracks on her arms.

"Jeanie?" Hutch asked rolling the window down as if to speak to her.

Huggy reached over and stopped his hand.

"You never met her. She never had anyone care enough to help her leave Forest."

Hutch watched a little longer, until Jeanie slipped past the doorman and into the club like a wisp of smoke, and then he looked away.

"I've seen enough," Hutch said.

"Not through yet," Huggy told him as he signaled before easing into the street.

A short while later Huggy was driving in an area that Hutch recognized as Starsky's, yet it had differences in the landscape too. Different homes, different shops.

Huggy drove to a cemetery and parked.

"Come on," he said motioning for Hutch to go with him.

Huggy took out a flashlight and turned it on, heading toward a tombstone, but when they got close enough to it for Hutch to see the name "Starsky" on it, Hutch spun around and stood frozen, eyes closed.

"No," he said with his breath coming as icy air. "I can't look at that."

"You have to," Huggy said turning him toward it again.

Hutch read the date of birth—1943. And the death—1969.

"1969?" Hutch asked. "What?"

"Killed in his rookie year."

"He died at...25?"

(If this were a cowboy movie, I'd give you my boots)

(You're the best friend I got in the whole world)

Huggy placed a hand on his shoulder. "He wouldn't want you to blame yourself, Hutch. Even if the worst happens. You didn't pull that trigger. If you give up, they've done their job."

Hutch looked down at the gun in his hand, then nodded and slid it back into his shoulder holster.

::::::::::::::::::::::

"Hutch! Man, what happened? You okay? Starsky's pullin' through!"

The hand that shook his shoulder, and the voice that shouted at him, seemed far above him, as if he were hearing from the bottom of a deep well. Had he driven for hours before hitting the parked truck? How long had he been unconscious?

Up. Go up to the surface. To air and light and sound.

"Huggy?" Hutch groaned as he lifted his head from the steering wheel and held it. "What happened?"

Huggy opened the driver's side door and took Hutch's bleeding head in his hands to check his injury.

"You wrecked in front of my joint. Come on. I'm takin' you to the hospital. Starsky's doing better. Captain Dobey just called me."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Hutch was treated in the emergency room, but insisted on seeing Starsky before going to recovery.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Hutch sat next to Starsky's hospital bed, clutching his hand.

"Come on, Starsk," came his weak, exhausted voice. "I need you to live. I'm here. We got a lot of work to do."

Huggy stood nearby, as if to guard them.

And then, amidst the sound of beeping, clicking, hissing machines, Starsky stirred and squeezed his hand in return.

"It's gonna be okay, partner," Hutch murmured as he leaned closer. "It's gonna be okay."

End

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A New Year

By Zebra 3 and Me

Hutch sang a Christmas song along with his Perry Como album, sounding quite a bit like him when he wanted to, while pouring eggnog into a couple of glasses. Elegant ones, because it was a celebration, of sorts. The end of the year marked the end of the hardest part of Starsky's recovery from James Gunther's bullets.

His partner would be all right. Changed, some. A little weaker. A little slower. A little paler. Still unable to walk but working like hell at it.

"He has a 50/50 chance of walking again," the doctors had advised. "But it will take time, and patience, and work."

Starsky's improvement in all other areas was obvious. Which of the 50/50 would they have?

(Don't get too used to that wheelchair, buddy. You'll be walking again in no time)

(Sure, Hutch. Piece of cake)

There were some thoughts, though, that Hutch pushed inside himself, that surfaced only at night as his head sank into the pillow after a long day on the beat and then coming home to help Starsky after the visiting nurse had left.

(I'll take you this way, Starsk. It will be hard, but I'll take you this way. You're frustrated because you can't do the things you used to, but look how far you've come. Far from the deadness I saw in the slits of your eyes as you lay there on the pavement by the car. Your eyes disturb my dreams at times, wakes me up still. But all it takes to settle me is the sparkle of life I saw in them when you woke up in the hospital and saw me, and I imagine your voice saying 'Hey, it's just me'. So yes, I'll take you alive and brimming with determination and fight, over the still form on the ground. Any day).

Hutch had lived in Starsky's house for weeks now, going on a few months, helping him cook food, wash up, take his medicine, do his physical therapy, keep him company, all that you do with someone you thought you'd lost forever. Venice Place would feel cold and empty when he returned, just like the squad room felt without his partner. A part of him wanted to stay here for good, to make sure his partner would be okay. But Starsky was like a mother bird pushing her baby bird from the nest.

They took rides together. Hutch made sure he got out in the sunshine at least once a day. And they went places together, like the market and the parks and Huggy's or the beach. But no more would there be days when they responded to a call together, helping a victim, busting a criminal, making a difference. He shouldn't miss that—he still had his partner—but sometimes he did anyway. He knew Starsky missed it too.

They both had adjustments to make.

Trying to push the melancholy aside and concentrate on the positive, Hutch sang Perry Como a little louder when he carried the glasses of eggnog into the living room where Starsky camped out most days on a sleeper sofa, where he had transitioned from a hospital bed. Progress.

He stopped short, though, at the sight before him.

Starsky was standing up next to his bed.

A first.

And he had done it all by himself.

Hutch's mouth opened, but there were no words, just a blue light of love, pride, and respect in his eyes.

"You...you're standing?" Hutch finally asked in a near-whisper.

Starsky, who had been intensely involved with standing alone and keeping a steady balance, raised his head and smiled back at him. It seemed the color had instantly returned to his face. His eyes were no longer just brave and strong. They were happy. Alive. Thrilled.

Clutching a full glass in each hand, Hutch resisted the urge to set them down on the coffee table, run to him, hug him, lift him off his feet in joy. Instead, he stood still and took in the awesome sight of Starsky taking a few small, unsteady steps toward him.

"Don't worry," Starsky smiled as he reached Hutch and took one of the eggnogs from him, enjoying a small sip. "I've been practicing with the nurses. Wanted to surprise you for the new year."

This time they both set their glasses down to give each other a warm, tight hug.

Hutch closed his eyes. "Happy New Year to you too, Starsk."

The End