Point Blank

by Zebra 3 and Me

These are Starsky and Hutch stories of drama and suspense, with their friendship at the heart.

POINT BLANK

By TLR

Stories-

TANGLED WEB-S&H investigate a series of murders in the porno movie industry.

RACE-Starsky is kidnapped. Will Hutch find him before it's too late?

DANGEROUS GROUND-Trouble at the Dobey cabin.

HOW DEEP II-FRIEND IN NEED-Hutch is missing.

BITTERSWEET-The partners investigate a seventeen-year-old killer.

LINE OF FIRE-The partners respond to a bank robbery, with tragic results.

NO GOOD DEED-Hutch befriends a young gay man who appears to be the target of a serial killer.

SUSPICION-Hutch under suspicion of a vicious assault.

TANGLED WEB

"Update on the Producer Murders," Captain Dobey said to Starsky and Hutch as they entered his office.

Starsky took a seat in front of the captain's desk and propped his feet up on its corner while Hutch helped himself to a cup of coffee.

"Five murdered in the past six months," the blond detective supplied. "Same MO—"

"Throats slashed with a serrated-edge knife," Starsky added. "Found on S&M movie sets."

"Bondage positions."

"Any suspects?"

"Not yet."

"Then you two need to be out there beating the streets, not loafing in here with me."

Hutch turned with the coffee cup in his hand. "Loafing? Cap, we've been on this day and night since the beginning, plus loaded down with all our other investigations."

Dobey banged his hand down on his desk. "Not good enough, damn it!"

Hutch set the coffee down hard on a bookcase, then stormed out.

Starsky put his feet down and stood up. "See what happens when he doesn't get his vitamins in the morning? We want that psycho too, Cap. But if you got no leads . . . "

The ringing phone left his sentence hanging.

Dobey answered and listened, looking at Starsky while doing so, the look on his face causing Starsky to stay instead of follow his partner out.

"Well?" he asked when Dobey hung up.

"Another dead movie producer. Black and White Studios. I'll send a coroner's team and a crime lab."

Starsky hurried out the door to catch up with Hutch in the squad room. "Another one," he said snatching his jacket up from the back of his chair and pulling his partner along with him at a faster pace. "I'll drive."

XX

On the set at the cheesy, amateur movie studio-a "torture room" featuring wild animal furs and totem poles-the detectives stood with a bereaved, effeminate director near the murdered corpse—a nude black male chained to the wall by his wrists. The victim's head was down. Throat had been slashed. The blood that had poured down his chest and into his genitals had now congealed.

"Not real recent," Starsky said as he observed the consistency of the dried blood. "Maybe last night?"

Hutch crouched to get a better look at the fatal wounds, careful not to step in the blood. "Jagged edges to the slashes. Serrated edge, just like the others. We still don't have that knife."

A member of the crime lab dusted for prints, a second took photos, while a third questioned two film crew members next to a movie camera on a tripod.

"Not very well-endowed for a porn star," Starsky offered.

Still crouching, Hutch answered with a dry, "I hadn't noticed."

The director gestured in the air. "Mace isn't the star. He's the producer."

Hutch rose to his feet and stepped back to Starsky's side. "Why does the killer pick the producers and not the actors?"

"Producers call the shots?"

"No," the director injected huffily. "I call the shots." He gazed sadly at corpse, then looked away. "Mace had no enemies. Everybody loved him."

"Not everybody," Starsky reminded.

"Any disgruntled employees?" Hutch asked. "Grudges? Arguments lately?"

"He was passive. I mean, look at him. He was the M in S&M."

"Any nasty fan letters?"

"No."

"Protesters?"

"No, but this has sure scared the porn industry. I mean, if this can happen on a closed set . . . "

"What's that?" Hutch asked.

"You don't know what a closed set is?" the director asked incredulously.

Starsky looked just as incredulous, and added a touch of sympathy to his tone as he nudged the director. "He doesn't watch much Entertainment Tonight."

Hutch looked at him. "There are things called books. With pages and words, and sometimes you have to think when you read one."

The director clucked his tongue. "You poor deprived creature. A closed set is closed to outsiders. Only the cast and crew are allowed in while we shoot."

"So the killer is an insider."

"Like, brilliant, Columbo. We thought you cops knew that."

"We're just poor deprived creatures," Hutch told him. "We don't watch Columbo either."

Starsky jabbed him with his elbow. "Speak for yourself."

The director took Hutch's chin in his hand and turned his face aside. "Exquisite bone

structure. Intelligent eyes. And it looks like you're packing. Interested in auditioning for me?"

Hutch pulled his head back like a turtle. "Camera-shy."

"Don't worry," Starsky told him. "They only shoot you from the waist down. I'll be your stunt man."

"Very funny. Why don't you go down to the Laughing Hyena and see if they'll let you open for Rip Taylor?"

The director tugged on their sleeves. "Come on, guys. The murders, remember? Six studios. Six producers. This is our bread and butter. Harmless fun, y'know? What are we supposed to do?"

Starsky and Hutch stepped away to discuss details in private. "Shoot westerns," he said over his shoulder.

The director sputtered. A uniformed officer moved him away from the corpse and outside the yellow police tape.

"You two need your own sit com!" he shouted humorlessly after them.

Hutch pushed the exit door open and they started for the Torino. "Who has access to all those closed sets?"

"Who has it in for all those producers?"

"Our first black victim."

"Is that important?"

"Everything's important."

"Time to get organized."

"Lists."

"Names."

"Motive."

"Profile."

"Pattern."

"Computer."

Hutch winked at his partner. "You could always undercover as a porno producer."

"Don't tempt me."

XX

The jukebox featured a Rolling Stones song that evening as Starsky and Hutch were playing a game of pool at Huggy's. A few couples were dancing. Other patrons lined along the bar having a good time.

Starsky did The Bump against a pool table, then leaned backward onto it to sink a fancy shot behind his back while his latest date, a cute blonde in a waitress uniform, looked on eagerly.

"Show-off," Hutch said with the pool cue upright in his hands.

The girl smiled at Starsky. "You're so agile. Into yoga?"

"Nope."

Hutch held his hand up. "I am."

"Lived next door to a pool hall when I was a kid," Starsky told the girl. "Product of my environment."

"Who taught you that move?" Hutch asked him.

Starsky bent over the table for a regular shot. "An uncle."

Hutch's smile was half-sympathetic. "Bet you were a real hustler when you were a kid."

Starsky looked up from his shot. "Till a pro broke my arm."

"Who was he?"

"My uncle."

"How old were you?"

He made the shot. "Ten."

"Ouch."

The girl puckered her lips in extreme sympathy. "Poor baby."

Hutch stared at him. "People with your kind of upbringing usually end up dead or in prison. What kept you from staying in the gutter?"

"Aunt Rosie wasn't so bad, but Albert her husband was. 'sides, who said I ever got out of the gutter? Our job is a gutter. Look what we do for a living. Chasing lowlife. Dragging skeletons from everybody's closets. A better question might be, what are you doin' here?"

The girl smiled. "You could be a waiter, Dave. Work here with me. Huggy would let you."

Hutch leaned over to take his shot. "He's just blowing, Jody. He likes his job."

"Yeah," Starsky shrugged. "Not everybody gets to see dead porn producers chained to a wall."

Hutch looked at his watch. "Hey, Starsk, I gotta split. Abby's waiting for me. I promised I'd take her to the opera."

Starsky pulled Jody close to him and kissed her. "Don't let your stick die of boredom, Blondie."

XX

That night Hutch entered his darkened apartment and fumbled for the light-switch. He jumped when he saw Starsky sitting in his easy chair with the VCR remote in his hand.

Hutch tossed his keys onto the coffee table. "It's after midnight. What are you doing here?"

Starsky turned on the TV and VCR with the remote. "Catch the latest Disney flick?"

Hutch watched the TV screen. They saw what appeared to be the movie set of a dungeon, a naked man stretched on his back on a rack and screaming for help. Another figure of medium-to-small size in a long black trench coat, with back to the camera, stood over him holding a knife. The figure brought the knife hand around as if to backhand the

victim. When the arm came full around, the screaming stopped and they saw blood on the knife. The figure exited with knife in hand. The face of the figure was never visible.

The tape ended.

Starsky turned the TV and VCR off with the remote.

"What the hell was that?" Hutch asked.

"It was on our desk when I dropped by the station to pick up my jacket."

"Was it in a package?"

"No. I sent it to the lab first thing. No prints. Nothing distinguishing. A cheap tape you can buy anywhere for a dollar. Nobody in our squad room noticed anyone putting it on our desk."

"He's playing with us."

"Somebody knows our desk. Got close enough without rousing suspicion."

Hutch sat down hard on a kitchen stool. "Cop? Security guard? Maintenance?"

"They would have access to our police station AND any closed set without rousing suspicion. No questions asked."

"Seven murders now. Who's the victim?"

"Don't know. Nobody's discovered the body and called it in yet. Looks like we got a sneak preview."

Hutch ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Seven. Dobey's going to love this."

XX

In response to someone discovering the body sometime during the night and notifying the police, the next morning Starsky and Hutch were standing on the dungeon movie set they had seen on the video the night before.

The police photographer took photos of the deceased on the torture rack while the crime unit was bustling around collecting evidence. Starsky and Hutch were huddled in a back corner, whispering about the case, holding an 8x10 photo between them.

Captain Dobey barked some orders to the crime team, then passed Starsky and Hutch a glowering look on his way out. "If you two would work this case instead of goofing off in

the corner we wouldn't look like a bunch of baboons in the newspaper."

Hutch's posture stiffened. "You want to give it to somebody else?"

Dobey threw his hand up and walked on out.

Starsky turned his attention to the photo Hutch was holding. "Where'd you get this picture?"

"From a scrapbook over there. It's a cast and crew photo. Publicity shot, so the director says." He pointed to the cute auburn-haired girl in the picture. "See this girl? There was a cast and crew photo similar to this hanging on the office wall back at the last studio."

"You mean number six?"

Hutch nodded.

"Who is she?"

"Ginger Parker. Director says she's an actress."

Starsky grabbed the photo back for a closer look. "Ginger Parker. I know her movies. Man, what she can do with her mouth."

"She might know something. Right now she's the only connection to all of the studios."

"Let's go talk to her."

They started for the exit.

XX

Later the same day the detectives stood on the front porch of a Ginger Parker's small white house. Starsky knocked on the door, and it opened to reveal half a pretty face framed by luscious auburn hair.

Hutch showed his police ID. "Ginger Parker?"

The actress appeared a bit suspicious. "That's my name."

"Detectives Hutchinson and Starsky," Hutch said. "I'm Hutchinson."

Starsky peeked at her around his partner's arm. "I know you. You did all those Web movies. Web Of Desire. Web Of-"

Flattered, Ginger smiled. "If this is an interrogation," she said holding her wrists out to him teasingly, "you can take me in now."

"We just want to talk," Hutch explained. "About the Producer Murders."

"I've heard about them, but I don't know anything except that I sure am glad I'm acting right now instead of producing."

"Victims have been male so far," Starsky told her. "Look, you're not a suspect or anything. We saw a cast photo of you at a couple of the studios and thought you could help us. If you could just let us in . . . "

She reluctantly opened the door and let them in.

"Why don't I recognize her?" Hutch whispered to Starsky as he followed him in.

"You wouldn't unless you watch a lot of adult movies."

"Adult? You mean porno?"

"I mean Ginger Parker."

Hutch rolled his eyes. "I take it Meryl Streep can breathe a sigh of relief at Oscar time."

They walked into her house, which was cluttered mostly with film memorabilia- posters, scripts, videos, costumes, wigs.

It was when she turned around that Starsky saw the thin scar running jagged from her right temple, past her cheekbone, to the corner of her mouth, and down to her jaw line.

Starsky's voice was both sympathetic and angry. "What happened to you? Who cut you like that?"

She shrugged a little. "It was over a year ago. Old boyfriend. He didn't like the kind of movies I played in."

"Did you press charges?"

"No. He left town right after. There's no way I could prove it was him. He was wearing a long coat and a hat and some glasses. But I knew who it was."

"Hey, just give us his name. We'll get somebody on it."

"No, I'd rather forget the whole thing ever happened. I'm trying to put my life back together again." She glanced at her watch. "I have an audition in an hour. You said you wanted to talk to me?"

"Do you know who would want those seven producers dead?" Starsky asked. "Was there something going on? Feuds? Grudges? Sour deals? Double cross?"

She appraised him appreciatively. "Into movies, are you?"

"Dig 'em. Especially yours."

"Well, if you follow me at all, you know I haven't done any adult movies in a while. Trying to clean my act up and do something besides The Web Series. Porn studios aren't exactly begging for an actress with a scar on her face. So I'm trying to go mainstream. You came to the wrong person for an inside line on any recent porno gossip."

Starsky handed her a card. "If you hear something, call us, will you?"

"I will."

He smiled. "Lover's Web. Velvet Web. Silky Web."

She smiled sweetly. "Real fan, huh?"

Hutch looked from Starsky to Ginger; Ginger to Starsky, then took his partner's arm. "Let's go."

"Hey," Starsky said to her as Hutch kept backing him toward her front door. "Want to go out?"

She looked away briefly, her fingers brushing against her right cheek. "I'm not into dating right now."

"Well," Starsky said gently, "I'd like to be the one to change that for you."

She smiled at him, but made no more comment.

Starsky and Hutch left her house.

XX

Starsky was on top of Lisa on his living room floor and they were going hard at it, but his eyes were on his TV. Remote in hand, he played the video of porno murder #7 over and over. The video was only thirty seconds long, so he rewound frequently.

"A lot can happen in thirty seconds, Lisa," he panted as he pumped against her.

He rolled off her and onto his back, panting, looking up at the TV from an upside-down angle. "Thirty seconds."

Just realizing that he had been watching the video instead of her, she sat up and threw his T-shirt at him. "I have never been so insulted before. Your eyes were on that . . . that TV the whole time."

He grinned, eyes still on the TV. "Kinky, huh?"

She pulled her blouse on. "You rat."

"Sometimes I have to mix business with pleasure. It's for a case."

"Yeah, right."

Suddenly sitting up when something on the TV caught his attention, he pushed the rewind button again. "Did you see that?"

She looked at the TV screen. "See what?"

"The knife."

She looked closer at the TV. "I don't see anything unusual. Just a knife."

"That's why you'd never make a cop. Look at the handle. It's curved."

She looked closer. "So?"

He jumped to his feet and pulled on his jeans.

She looked up at him from the floor. "Gee, what is it, an exciting game show coming on now?"

"I'm goin' to the station."

"You're leaving me?"

"We have a video lab. They can blow up sections of it and enhance it and stuff. Make stills from it. I want to see that knife handle."

She looked as though she couldn't care less. "You're leaving just like that?"

He leaned down to give her a kiss. "Hate to leave you this way, but duty calls. You know how it is."

She threw her sandal at him, pouting. "No! I don't know how it is! It's midnight!"

He zipped his fly and pulled his shoes on, on the way to the door. As if from a twinge of guilt, he turned back, leaning over her impatiently, pulling out his wallet and giving her a twenty. "You could buy us a pizza while I'm gone."

She threw the money at him, sobbing. "Get out of here!"

"It's my house. You can't throw me out of my own house."

"YES I CAN!"

He kissed her again. "I'm sorry. This is the first break in the case. Murder weapon and all."

"No duh." She jerked the video from the VCR and threw it at him. "Don't forget this. Obviously it was a better lay than I was."

"Thanks," he said catching it. He fought with his pants and his shoes as he exited.

XX

Starsky and the lab technician were viewing a computer screen at the tech's lab desk. With each keystroke the tech enlarged an isolated frame of the knife handle until the

image filled the screen.

The knife handle had an unusual shape but the image was too grainy to make out.

"Dime store video tape," the tech said disgustedly.

"Dime stores are all gone now."

"Dollar store video tape then."

"Can you clean it up?"

"I'll try." He continued to strike the keyboard. With each stroke the image became clearer. "Look."

"It's coming."

The tech kept tapping. "Cool."

Starsky was growing more excited, shifting from foot to foot. "It's coming!"

The door opened and Hutch walked in and asked with a smile, "What's coming?"

Starsky grabbed his arm and jerked him to the computer, pointing to the screen. "Lookit!"

Hutch squinted at the computer. "What the hell is that?"

"A blow-up of the knife handle in our video. Look at it."

"I'm looking." He peered closely at it, murmuring. "Oh, I see it. It's serpentine."

Starsky looked from Hutch to the screen. "It's what?"

"Sssss. Snake head."

On the computer screen was now a crystal clear image of a mahogany-handled knife. The handle was carved with intricate detail into a serpent's head.

"Get us some 8x10s of that."

XX

Inside a knife shop they stood at a glass display case filled with unusual-looking knives. Starsky placed the 8x10 on the glass top and displayed his police ID to the owner behind

the counter. "See a knife handle like this before?"

The store owner, an older man with a graying brown ponytail and dressed in green camouflage, scrutinized the picture. "Don't think so. Similar, yeah. But not that one. If it was hand-made it could be an original. One of a kind, you know?"

"Know anybody who could make a knife like this?"

When the shop owner shook his head no, Starsky left the 8x10 and his card on the glass. "Call us if something comes to you."

XX

A sports shop was next on their list.

Starsky showed the 8x10 to the man behind the counter. "Ever see a knife like this before?"

The owner shook his head no.

Hutch tossed his card onto the counter and left another photo. "Show the picture around. Call us if you get something."

"Will do."

XX

Their next stop was a survivalist shop.

The owner behind the counter studied the picture, then handed it back to Starsky.

"Never seen one like that before."

Starsky tossed a card onto the counter and left a photo.

XX

A woodcarving shop was their next stop.

The detectives watched an old woodworker in the back of the shop as he carved the handle of a walking cane into a raven's head.

"Ever carve knife handles?" Starsky asked him.

"Yep."

Starsky showed him the 8x10. "Ever carve one like this?"

"Nope."

"Know anybody who does?"

"Nope."

"You've been a big help."

Starsky tossed a card onto the old man's table, an 8x10, and then he and Hutch left.

XX

"Dead ends," Starsky said glumly as they walked down the sidewalk toward the Torino.

"Let's go to Huggy's for lunch and give him some of these pictures. Wouldn't hurt to get him in on this."

"Sure. After I make a stop."

"What stop?"

Starsky grinned as he opened the driver's door. "Video store. I gotta see Ginger again."

"What?"

"I mean, now that I've met her in person, I want to see all of her movies again."

"Jody, Lisa, now Ginger. You've only got one chef for all those pots."

"Not really. Gina and I haven't gone out yet."

"You heard what she said. She's not dating."

"I hope to rectify that as soon as possible."

XX

Moments later Starsky was putting ten videos down on the checkout counter of a video store.

The clerk was an older man who eyed him over the edge of the glasses perched on the end of his nose. "Are we a Ginger Parker fan?"

Starsky gave him a smile.

"That'll be ten plus tax," the clerk said.

Pleased, Starsky's smile broadened. "Hey, that's dirt cheap."

"It's your lucky day," the cashier said dryly. "We have a special on porno movies this week."

As they left the store, Starsky handed Hutch five of the videos. "Half for me; half for thee."

XX

Just after their shift ended, Starsky went home and pulled the shades, turned the light off, then switched the TV/VCR on with the remote.

"Okay, Ginger," he said as he inserted a video and settled down with some popcorn on a beanbag chair near the couch to watch. "It's just me and you, honey."

The Ginger movie began with a close-up of the actress licking her tongue around her cherry-gloss lips.

XX

Later that evening, Starsky spoke to her through a crack in her front door. Intimately close. Their voices low. Mouths a breath apart.

"Come on, Gina. You're a pretty girl."

"I told you I don't go out, Detective."

"I just spent four hours watching two of your movies."

"I'm not that girl anymore."

"I don't care. I want you to go out with me."

"We don't have to go out to screw. We can do that here, in the dark, if that's what you want."

"It's not just that. I want to take you out."

"Why?"

"To show you a good time."

She was teary-eyed now. "Thank you, but I have to turn you down."

"Why?"

"'cause you just feel sorry for me."

"That's not—"

She closed the door softly in his face, and he had no choice but to turn and walk off the porch.

"I'm not givin' up," he said over his shoulder. "I'll be back."

XX

Later the same night, Starsky and Hutch went to Huggy's; Hutch checking with Huggy at the bar to see if he'd heard anything about the knife; Starsky at the pool table again, crouched on top of it to make a fancy shot.

His date for the evening, a raven-haired Chinese girl, applauded.

"Hey!" she said in broken English. "Are you so creating in the sacks?"

He was about to answer when Hutch walked over to them. "Nothing on the knife. Want to take me home?"

"Right now? Me and Ng are just gettin' acquainted."

Hutch took his arm and smiled at the Chinese girl. "Sorry, Ng. He has to go to beddy-bye now so he can get up for work in the morning."

She smiled. "Can I come to beddy-bye too?"

Starsky smiled back as he and Hutch headed for the door. "Meet me back here tomorrow night, okay?"

"Okay."

XX

Later that night Hutch emerged from his shower in his bathrobe and got a beer from the refrigerator before settling down on the couch to watch one of the Ginger Parker movies

that his partner had so kindly left for him.

"Well," he said with a sigh of rationalization, "it is work-related."

The TV screen showed Ginger walking down a dark street at night carrying a bag of groceries. A figure jumped from behind a dumpster and dragged her into an alley, clamping a hand over her mouth before she could scream.

"Yeah," Hutch remarked wryly. "Real original."

The figure brought up a knife and cut loose the spaghetti straps of her dress.

Hutch suddenly blinked his eyes hard and sat up, looking more closely at the screen. "What the . . . " He rewound the scene, watching the knife. "Oh wow. . . " He froze a shot of the knife with the pause button and went closer to the TV for a better view of the knife.

The snake-handled knife looked identical to the one the producer murderer used in the dungeon video, but just to make sure, he went to the coat closet and fished around in the pocket of his jacket for a folded photo of the knife.

"Yeah," he whispered, and grabbed the phone, punching Starsky's home phone number.

XX

Starsky knocked on Ginger's front door and waited.

XX

Hutch listened while Starsky's phone rang two times, three times, and then the answering machine came on.

Hutch left a message:

"Starsk, call me. It's about the knife. Ginger might know more than she realizes."

XX

Ginger opened the door and smiled at Starsky, who stood with a rose in his hand.

"Told you I'd be back," he said.

"You don't give up, do you?"

He held the rose out to her and she stepped aside to let him in. "Maybe the novelty will wear off and you'll go away."

"Not a chance. I still want us to go out."

Her smile indicated she was warming to the idea. "Where would we go?"

He took her hand and kissed it. "Wherever you want."

She glanced down. "My face . . . how could you . . ."

He lifted her chin, kissing her. "That's how. You're a sexy lady."

She slipped her arms around his neck. "Thank you, Detective. I didn't think I'd ever hear that again."

He pulled her close, his hands sliding down her back and over her rear, whispering; her hands sliding downward. "Mmmm. The movies could use a man like you."

"Ginger," he whispered as he smelled her hair.

"Forget going out," she breathed. "Let's just stay here."

"But-"

"No buts." She took his hand and led him to the bathroom, giggling. "Okay, you asked for it." Once they were inside the bathroom, she nodding upward. "Grab that shower rod."

He smiled and reached up for the rod. "Just like your movie Spider Web, huh?"

She slid her hands into the hip pockets of his jeans, found his handcuffs, raised his arms to the shower rod, then cuffed his wrists to it with a click. "Only," she said kissing him, "real is better." She pulled his shirt out of his jeans, unbuttoned his fly, and kissed the bare skin just above his briefs.

"Oh yeah," he said closing his eyes. "You got a point there."

He groaned in pleasure until his eyes fell on the door of the medicine cabinet that was ajar enough to reveal a snake-handled knife on the bottom shelf. He gasped as he stiffened and sucked in a quick breath. "Ginger . . . "

She offered a demure, throaty giggle and raised his shirt to send kisses up his belly and chest. "Hmmmm?"

He tried to conceal his sudden panic. A gasp escaped him, and he only hoped she would mistake it for enjoyment. He needed to get his hands free, and a tug on the shower rod

said it couldn't be done that way. She would have to unlock him.

"Let's do it in the bed, okay?"

"Not so fast, Detective. I'm just getting started."

XX

Hutch looked up Ginger's phone number in the directory and punched it, waiting impatiently, panting a little. Starsky had said if he got lucky he'd be out with her tonight.

XX

"Phone's ringin'," Starsky said as she pressed up against him. But she ignored the phone that was ringing on her pink bathroom vanity.

All at once she stopped kissing him and followed his gaze to the medicine cabinet.

She saw that he'd seen the knife. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Ginger . . . "

She slowly reached for the knife in the medicine cabinet and brought it out.

XX

"Nada, Hutch," Huggy said on the line. "He ain't here. No Starsky, no Ginger."

Hutch hung up, then dialed Captain Dobey's number at the precinct. After a few rings, he said, "Dobey here."

"Cap, it's Hutch. Starsk there?"

"How should I—"

Hutch banged the receiver on the wall. "Find out!"

There was silence on the line while he waited for Dobey to check the squad room. "Not here, Hutch. Bigelow says his car's not in the lot. Something wrong?"

"Maybe. Have some men on standby to move. Ginger Parker may know our Producer Murderer."

Hutch hung up, then ejected the Ginger video and read the label that said: A Victor Roy Production.

He looked up the number in the yellow pages and dialed.

A receptionist's voice came politely over the phone: "Victor Roy Productions."

"Victor Roy please. It's urgent."

"I'm sorry. Victor Roy is busy on the set."

"This is Detective Hutchinson. Put him on now or I'll have your job."

"You can't threaten—"

"It's about the Producer Murders."

"One moment please."

He checked his watch, whispering. "Hurry."

Moments later a male voice came over the line: "Victor Roy here."

"This is Detective Hutchinson and I'm investigating The Producer Murders. Tell me about the knife used in your movie Spider Web."

"The knife . . ?"

Hutch was impatient, urgent. "When Ginger gets pulled into the alley. The snake-handled knife."

"Oh, oh yes. Yes. Well. The knife. Um . . . it's a prop. Or . . . it was. Special made. She fell in love with it, so I let her have it when we were finished shooting."

XX

"You killed all those men?" Starsky asked in soft disbelief. He licked his lips, stalling. "Jus—just tell me why. You're so beautiful."

"Was beautiful," she whispered as she swiped the knife at his face.

He quickly dodged his head back away from the knife. "You still are."

She put the tip of the knife under his chin. "Liar."

"You didn't tell me why you're doing this. I like you. Why would you want to hurt anybody? Throw your life away? Why would you . . . "

She slid the tip of her knife down the scar on her face, slicing a thin red line. "My ex-boyfriend wanted me out of the porn movies. But he didn't have to do this, did he? He was this jealous. He couldn't separate me from my job."

Starsky stared at her in quiet disbelief. "A string of murders to cover up his? Is that what you did? Who was he? Which one?"

"The third one."

"Tony Alonzo."

She was tearful now, kissing him softly. "Why did you have to come back, Detective? I tried to make you stay away." There was a long pause, and then: "I think I could love you. You know that? Do you believe me?"

She began cutting the buttons from his shirt one by one.

He tensed at the tip of the knife. "Ginger . . ."

Her hair was suddenly grabbed from behind by Hutch, and he yanked her backward as she shrieked in pain and anger.

"No!" she screeched at him. "Let me go!"

He grabbed her knife-hand and banged it down hard against the sink. She growled as the knife clattered to the floor Then she tried to struggle, but he shoved her facedown on the floor, putting her hands behind her back to cuff her.

"You're under arrest, Miss Parker."

"Pig!"

Starsky was laughing now that the crisis had passed, even beginning to enjoy Hutch's struggle with her. "Oh man! Hold her, Hutch! I'd help you, buddy, but I'm in no position!"

The blond pulled the actress to her feet. "You have the right to remain silent."

"Filthy pigs!" she spat at them.

Starsky kicked at her behind, but missed. "You tried to kill me!"

Hutch pulled her into the living room and pushed her down into a chair.

"You're the pig!" Starsky shouted after her. "You were gonna kill me!"

Hutch leaned over her, trying to catch his breath. "You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you free of charge."

She kicked at him. "Go to hell!"

"Sicko!" Starsky shouted from the bathroom. "I liked you!"

Hutch ran a hand through his hair. "Do you understand these rights as I have given them to you?"

She flicked her tongue at him in a come-on gesture. "No, baby. Tell them to me again. Oooooh, baby. Do me. DO ME!"

Two uniformed officers rushed inside to assist.

"Get her into the car," he told them, then watched as they escorted her out the door.

When they were gone, Hutch went to the bathroom and looked at his partner. "Having fun yet?"

"Get me out of these, huh?"

"Where's your key?"

"Where it always is."

Hutch reached into the front pocket of Starsky's jeans.

"Easy," Starsky said. "I've had enough excitement for one day."

Hutch brought out the key and reached up to unlock the cuffs.

"You okay, Starsk?"

Starsky sank with relief to sit on the tub's edge, leaning over to collect himself, shirt unbuttoned, his jeans unzipped. "Almost got me."

Hutch heard the tremble in his voice and saw the shaking of his knees, then sat down beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. "You got a way with women, Casanova."

"Yeah. Think I'll stick with Lisa for a while."

XX

Captain Dobey popped the cork on a bottle of champagne and poured it into paper cups while Starsky sat on the edge of the captain's desk and Hutch sat in a chair in front of it.

Other officers were on hand to join in the congratulations and share a glass.

Dobey raised his to toast.

"Starsky, Hutch. I take back almost every bad thing I've ever said about you."

End

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

RACE

By TR

XXXXXXXXXXXX+

Starsky kissed the sleeping curvy brunette in his bed and was careful to lock the door behind him when he left. He whistled a happy tune and jingled his keys as he skittered down his steps and headed for the Torino to go to work.

But he only made it as far as sliding the key into the door when he was tapped on the shoulder from behind.

"Excuse me, can you give me some directions?" an uncertain voice asked.

Starsky turned to see a tall man in green coveralls, but before he could say anything, the man dropped him facedown to the sidewalk with a powerful chop to the back of his neck.

The man reached down and removed Starsky's gun, gripped the back of Starsky's jacket collar in one hand and his belt in the other, and heaved him into the back of the open van parked in front of the Torino.

"Now," the man panted as he pulled Starsky's wrists behind him and tied them, then did the same with his ankles, "it's my turn."

XXXXXXXXXXXX++

Hutch walked impatiently around his apartment, fully dressed and ready for work.

"Come on, Starsk," he said as he glanced at his watch. "What's keeping you, another rendezvous with Laken?"

When ten more minutes went by without a Starsky blowing the horn, Hutch picked up his telephone and dialed his partner's phone number.

Receiving no answer, he called the squad room to see if he had shown up, and was told by one of the cops that he wasn't there.

"Check the garage," Hutch told one of the cops.

"Are you kidding, Hutch? I got paperwork coming out of my-"

"Do it!"

A heavy sigh, and then, "Yeah, okay. Hang on a sec."

Hutch walked the floor some more, checked his watch, and then heard the cop's voice again: "Sorry, Hutchinson. No Torino."

"Tell Dobey we'll be in as soon as I can round him up."

"Will do. Wouldn't have anything to do with that cute little brunette he had in here yesterday, would it?"

"I'm sure it does," Hutch said, but it's not really what he meant.

With an ever-growing feeling of dread pooling in his stomach, he dialed Laken's number. When he got her on the line, he said, "Laken, I can't find Starsky."

"You're kidding. When I saw the Torino parked outside, I thought you'd picked him up."

"Did he say he was going somewhere else? Did he talk to anybody? Get any phone calls? Anyone drop by before he left?"

"I don't know. I was asleep when he left."

"If you hear from him, or hear anything about him . . . "

"I will, Ken. I'll call you."

XXXXXXXXXXXX++

Starsky groaned and came to, finding himself slouched in a chair in the office of a near-abandoned factory. He also discovered that his hands were tied behind him, and his ankles were bound as well. His head pounded like a sledgehammer.

The man in the green coveralls clutched Starsky's hair and held his head up.

"Think we can get your partner to join us?"

The pounding in his head prevented him from hearing all of the man's question. He felt like he was losing consciousness again, and fought to hang on. "Don't have a partner."

A hard kick to the face snapped his head back and made his eyes roll.

"Look at me, cop."

Starsky's eyes roamed, but, nearing unconsciousness, were unable to fix on him.

"You don't remember me, do you?"

Starsky sniffed breath through his bloody nose. "All you maladjusted freaks look the same to me."

The man punched him in the face, knocking him from the chair and onto the floor.

"I spent five years in the pen because of you and your partner. I owe you a little something."

XXXXXXXXXXXX+

Hutch raked the telephone book off of Dobey's desk.

"Who the hell has my partner!"

Dobey eyed the stalking pace of his detective from his office chair.

"They're playing with you. They'll call."

Hutch ran a hand through his hair. "What do they want, Cap? Money? All they have to do is tell me. I'll get it. They want revenge? They want to hurt me? They know if they hurt Starsky . . . "

Unable to finish, he stormed out.

XXXXXXXXXXXX++

Huggy was on the phone when Hutch came behind the bar and grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

"Huggy, you have to help me."

Huggy hung up the phone. "Hutch, what you think I've been tryin' to-"

Hutch shook him. "NOW!"

Huggy gripped Hutch's shoulders. "Hutch, nothin's turned yet. Give it time-"

"STARSKY DOESN'T HAVE ANY TIME!"

Huggy opened his mouth to say something else, but Hutch shoved him back and stormed out, the stunned eyes of the customers following him.

XXXXXXXXXXXX++

Hutch's phone was ringing when he got to his apartment.

He picked it up and walked restlessly around the living room.

"Speak fast."

Silence on the line.

Hutch started to hang up, but didn't when he heard Starsky's low mumble.

"Hutch? He made me call."

Hutch strained to hear. "Starsk? That you? Where are you? Who has you? Can you-"

Starsky's cry of pain cut him off.

"Son of a-!" Hutch yelled into the receiver. "Who are you?"

A different sound, of heavy breathing from physical exertion, was on the line now.

"Baker ring a bell?" the voice panted, and then the caller hung up.

XXXXXXXXXXXX++

Because he and Starsky had had so many cases over the years, and Baker was a common name, nothing came to mind immediately, so Hutch went to the police station to look through case records for anything on anyone named Baker.

Dobey helped him pore over the files in his office, and they were at it for a solid hour before the phone rang.

"Dobey here," he said into the receiver. He listened for a moment, then handed the receiver to Hutch.

Hutch caught the flash of worry on his superior's face as he took the receiver from his hand.

"I got your partner," the voice on the telephone said. "He wants you to come and get him."

Hutch's hand tightened around the receiver when Starsky's voice came on the line again.

"Don't, Hutch. Trap. Don't come. It's Chuck Baker. He's got a buh-"

Hutch heard the repeated blows of Baker's fists and feet against Starsky's body, and the sound of Starsky's groans and pants before they dwindled to silence.

Hutch's breath caught in his throat and he covered his eyes with one trembling hand.

Baker's voice came on the line again. "He's right, Hutchinson. I got a bomb set to go off in twenty minutes, and we're at the burned-out factory on Pennington and West. Come and get him. If you send a bomb squad, I detonate it when they get here. Come alone."

"I'll be there," Hutch whispered, and then slowly hung up.

Dobey stood up from behind his desk. "Be where? What did he say?"

Without a word, Hutch ran from the office.

"Hutchinson!" Dobey yelled as he hustled after him.

But Hutch was nowhere to be seen when Dobey crossed the squad room and stepped out into the hall.

XXXXXXXXXXXX++

Chuck Baker clutched a handful of Starsky's hair and raised his head.

"He's coming, pig. I've waited for this for a long, long time."

The only answer Starsky could give was a faint moan.

XXXXXXXXXXXX++

Ten minutes gone.

Hutch drove his car like a madman, weaving in and out of traffic, causing drivers to come to a screeching halt, and eliciting profanities, blaring horns, and angry hand gestures.

"I'm coming, Starsk," he whispered as he leaned over the steering wheel. "I'm coming."

He checked his watch and kept driving.

Three minutes later he was rounding the corner of Pennington and West and skidding into a vacant lot beside the empty factory.

Panting, he jumped from the car and scrambled through a partially- boarded window, leaving his motor running and his door open.

The factory, which once produced appliances, was now deserted. Only a few scraps of rotted building materials remained, scattered on the floor in piles.

"Starsk!"

He ran the length of the long, empty factory, head swiveling left and right.

"Starsk!"

Up ahead he saw a room off to the side with the smudged word "Office" over the door.

"Starsky! You in here? Call out to me if you can!"

A small groan of pain from inside the office made his heart surge with both relief and worry.

He ran faster toward the office.

The building would blow in minutes. He needed to get his partner and go.

"Star-"

He lay curled on his side, semi-conscious and moaning, a bleeding gash at his left temple.

Hutch hurried to him and cut the ropes at his wrists and ankles.

"Hey, come on," he said grabbing the front of Starsky's shirt and sitting him up. "Let's get you out of here."

The office door banged shut, as if by a powerful wind.

The steel bolt made a sliding sound as it moved across. He quickly lowered Starsky back down and ran to the door.

He tried the doorknob.

Locked.

"Baker!" he yelled as he pounded on the wood. "Open the door!"

He heard laughter and running boots on the other side.

"Baker! You can't let us die in here!"

He threw himself against the door.

"Baker! Come on!"

Hutch raised his foot and kicked at the door until the rusty bolt gave way, then he hurried back to Starsky, lugged him to his feet, and half-dragged, half-carried him through the door.

Starsky groaned as Hutch moved him as fast as he could toward the nearest door, then ran with him across the street just as the building blew in a deafening noise of heat and fire. The blast lifted them both into the air and slammed them against the side of a concrete wall, where they landed in a tangled heap on the ground.

The explosion shuddered the breath and strength from both of them.

Sprawled across his partner's back, Hutch tried to raise his head. "Star-"

Sirens were already sounding. The building was burning, the heat so intense it was reaching across the street.

Hutch fought against the coughing and choking that seized him, blinked hard through watery, stinging eyes, and carefully pushed his creaky way off of Starsky and onto his hands and knees.

Starsky was facedown and unconscious.

Hutch tried to climb up from his hands and knees, but he collapsed, unconsciousness too.

XXXXXXXXX

"My cats gonna be okay?" Huggy asked Dobey as he approached him in the hallway outside the emergency room at Memorial Hospital.

"Hutch is in better shape. Starsky took a pretty bad beating from Chuck Baker."

"Who is Chuck Baker?"

"He blew up a couple of government buildings before Starsky and Hutch caught him," Dobey explained to Huggy in the hall just outside the emergency room. "He always swore he'd get even."

"You get him yet?"

"A witness saw somebody fitting his description leaving the scene in a van. We set up a roadblock and got him thirty minutes later."

"My captain," Huggy grinned as he slapped his hand. "Give me five."

XXXXXXXXX

Hutch groaned as he opened his eyes in his hospital room, and saw a pretty female doctor writing on a chart at the foot of his bed.

"Starsk," he moaned in a weak voice. One side of his face was scraped from where he'd hit the side of the building.

"He's in ICU," she smiled. "I'm Doctor Jones. It was a very brave thing that you did, running in to save him. You're a hero. They're even talking about you on the news."

"Hero? N. He's my partner." He pushed the sheet aside. "And I need to see him."

She moved to the side of the bed and pushed him back to the pillows. "Not till you're stronger. Doctor's orders."

He groaned again and put his hands to his bandaged head. "Oh, man." He was about to rise up again when the door opened and Dobey and Huggy came in.

"Man, you are one lucky dude," Huggy said by way of greeting.

"We got Baker," Dobey added.

"Did you see what he did to Starsk?" Hutch said sinking back into the pillow. "Lowlife."

Huggy patted his sheet-covered leg. "Take it easy. He's gonna be okay."

"He's in the damn intensive care unit."

"I know, bro. But hell, it coulda been worse. You both lived to tell the tale."

Doctor Jones smiled at Dobey and Huggy. "Detective Hutchinson needs his rest. We're keeping visits short till he's stronger."

Dobey smiled at her. "Anything you say." He gave his blond detective an encouraging pat on the leg too. "See you later, Hutch. Good work."

XXXXXXXXX+

Hutch waited about thirty minutes after the three of them left his room, then he pushed the sheet back, sat up, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, holding his hurting, swimming head as he did so.

He saw a wheelchair near the bathroom, but then, deciding it could draw too much attention, rose to his feet by holding onto the dresser.

"Easy now," he told himself as he stood still for a moment to steady himself.

When he thought he was ready, he made his slow, unstable way over to the door.

Once in the hall, he made a right, toward the nurse's station, thankful that Intensive Care was just down the hall.

Several nurses were writing in charts and were on telephones to doctors, so he took the opportunity to slip down the hall, right hand on the rail and bearing his weight heavily on it.

The distance seemed like a mile, and he went with a few muffled moans into the back of a bandaged left hand, but he finally arrived at the unit.

He didn't know whether to feel relief or sadness. Starsky lay in the bed, swathed in bandages nearly from head to toe. His head was bandaged as well, he had a cast on his left arm, and numerous cuts and bruises on his face, most of which were sustained during his time with Baker. With the tubes and wires attached to him, Hutch thought he looked like a character from one of his late night creature features.

"Hey," Hutch whispered as he made his stiff, unsteady way to the bed. Starsky's eyes were closed and Hutch didn't know if he were awake or still unconscious. "It's Hutch."

But those three words opened Starsky's eyes in a flutter of drowsy lashes. His attempt to smile made Hutch squeeze his hand.

"Hi, Starsk. Don't try to talk, okay?"

As if he could.

Starsky continued to look at him, eyes made darker and softer by medication.

"We got Baker," Hutch told him. "Well, Cap did. Some blast, huh?"

Hutch's balance started to falter when a wave of dizziness washed over him, and Starsky's hand squeezed tighter.

Looking around, Hutch saw a wheelchair and pulled it over, sitting down in it before he dropped.

"Okay," he said with a half-smile. "Okay."

There was a polite rap at the open doorway, and Doctor Jones came in.

"I knew I'd find you here," she said as she walked over to them. "Detective Hutchinson, you need to return to your room, if you expect to be of any help to your friend."

"Yeah, yeah," he said giving her a wan smile.

She took the handles of the wheelchair to take him from the room, but stopped because Starsky was still grasping Hutch's hand, waiting for a see-you-later.

"Yeah," Hutch said squeezing his hand again. "See you later, Starsk."

End

DANGEROUS GROUND

By TR

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Hutch got out of the tan Ford in front of Captain Dobey's cabin, his head turning completely around toward the woods. "What a rack!" he exclaimed in awe.

Starsky's head swiveled too. "Where is she?"

"Not 'she'!" the blond explained excitedly. "HE! A buck! Damn, why didn't I bring a

rifle?"

"'cause you don't own one, that's why." Starsky carried a box of emergency supplies up to the front door of the cabin. "You could preserve the moment in pictures."

"Deer is good eating," Hutch said as he followed his partner with their two suitcases of clothes. "Have you ever tried it?"

"'fraid not. And don't tell me it tastes like chicken."

"I won't. It tastes like roast beef."

"Then I'll stick to roast beef, thanks."

Hutch unlocked the cabin door, then they carried their bags in and set them on the table.

"We're catching our own food this time, Starsk. Really roughing it."

"Any place without a taco stand is roughing it."

"I'll show you how to trap some game."

"Terrific."

Hutch turned the CB on and made sure it was working, then notified the ranger's station that he and Starsky would be occupying the cabin for two weeks.

"How about these?" Starsky asked pulling a bag of marshmallows from his box of supplies. "Think we can roast 'em?"

Hutch walked over to him, his mouth agape. "Starsky, that is a luxury. We agreed no luxuries this time."

"Geez, Hutch, you know I have to have my sugar fix. One bag of marshmallows won't send us to outdoorsman hell, will it?"

Hutch stood with his hands on his hips while he watched him eating a marshmallow from a bag.

"Go," he said pointing at the door. "Go make your campfire."

Starsky smiled as he carried his bag of marshmallows toward the door. "Know why I can make a campfire, Hutch?" he asked with exaggerated syrup in his voice. "It's all because of you. You've made camping such an enlightening experience for me. When I'm in the wilderness, I feel one with nature. I feel . . . " He searched the air for the right word. " . . .

reborn. Like John Denver is right here in the cabin with us."

Hutch tossed a fishing cap at him, then picked up some steel traps and followed him outside. "You just don't get it, do you?"

Starsky set about gathering dried twigs and branches to build a campfire. "Hurry back," he said as he watched his partner carry the traps off into the woods. "Marshmallows won't be the same without you. We'll sit around the fire and tell Little House On The Prairie stories."

He laughed when Hutch merely waved a dismissing hand over his shoulder.

Starsky placed the twigs and branches into a cone-shaped arrangement on the ground, then took two of the sticks and crouched to rub them together to spark a flame.

"Friction," he said to himself as he continued to rub the sticks together. "Just like you showed me, Hutch."

He smiled when a wisp of smoke started forming between the sticks.

"Yeah, baby. That's it. You're gettin' it."

But the wisp of smoke didn't turn into a flame. He rubbed the sticks a while longer, then stood to reach inside his front pocket, taking a book of matches out. He looked guiltily from the matches to the sticks, then stuck the matches back into his pocket and crouched to continue rubbing the sticks together.

He began to hum a song to himself as he focused on his fire-building technique, but still didn't have a fire going by the time Hutch came back half an hour later.

"What's wrong?" Hutch asked as he emerged from the woods with a smile on his face.

Starsky rose to his feet. "Don't know. I'm doin' everything like you showed me."

"You blow on it?"

"Aw, man, I forgot that part. You get the traps set? Or maybe we could go fishin'? Gettin' kinda hungry. "

"No marshmallows for the wicked," the blond said as he reached for the sticks. "Here. Let me do-"

Suddenly the quiet air was split by the crack of gunfire, and Starsky was slammed against his partner's chest before the echoing subsided.

Hutch stumbled back from the force as he caught him, barely managing to stay on his feet. Color left his face as he held Starsky's collapsing form and looked around for the source of the gunshot.

"STARSK!"

Hutch was panting as he crouched with Starsky. Blood poured from high in his back, soaking his khaki shirt.

"Oh my God," Hutch whispered as he turned Starsky to examine the front of him, finding that the bullet had not passed through his chest and was still inside him. "Starsk?"

Propped against Hutch's chest, the only sound that came from his drooping head was his small, labored breathing. His hands lay motionless in his lap, and his eyes were closed.

Red hands shaking, Hutch tried to pick him up. "Come on," he whispered. "I'll get you to the hospital. I think a hunter's stray bullet found you."

"Wrong," a voice said beside them as a man in a brown uniform stepped from the woods. His clothes looked smoke-stained, his face sooty. A jagged bloody gash crossed his forehead.

Hutch stared at the prison number on the front of his uniform, then the pistol in his hand. "Who the hell are you?"

"Helicopter went down when they were transferring me to maximum. Pilot dead. Guards dead. Got their gun. Lucky break, huh? Except I'm not exactly familiar with the area, and not exactly an expert in the woods, so I need a guide to get me to Green River."

Hutch kept his hand pressed hard against his partner's back, angry tears in his eyes. "You didn't have to shoot him."

"I don't need two guides."

Hutch looked toward his car. "Take it." He fumbled for his back pocket and tossed over his wallet. "That too. Whatever you want."

"You're not understanding me. Get on your feet and get me to Green River. Won't be long before the prison finds out we crashed and will send out a posse. Air traffic probably already notified them."

Hutch stayed in his crouch, holding Starsky's chin up to keep his airway clear. "It's you that's not understanding me. You can take the car. Or we can take the car. But I have to get my friend here to a hospital right now."

"We don't go in the car. They'll be roadblocks all over. We'll go on foot, slip into town the back way. I got a contact there."

"There's a CB inside the cabin. Use it. Call anybody you want to come pick you up. Just leave us alone so I can get him some help."

"No way. Authorities'll be scoutin' this area soon, and I'm not going to be a sitting duck. Drop him and get on your feet."

Hutch didn't move. His upper lip glistened with perspiration. "You might as well kill me now, because I'm not leaving him here."

"He's not going with us. He'll only slow us down. And looks to me like the right thing to do would be to put him out of his misery."

Hutch's eyes held the convict's. "He stays, I stay."

The bear of a man walked over to them and put the gun to the side of Starsky's head. "You don't go, I kill him."

Hutch's eyes turned up to the man. "You kill him, you may as well try to find Green River on your own, because I won't lead you."

The man looked around, wiping his gun-hand across his forehead. "You got any food we can take with us?"

Hutch decided he was getting to the man, who was in a hurry and didn't have time to bargain. He also decided that he himself was in no position to bargain.

"No, but I set some traps, and if we're lucky we'll have some food on the way. There's water in the cabin. Canteens and a backpack."

Pistol still trained on Hutch, the man backed toward the cabin. While the convict was inside the cabin, Hutch patted Starsky's face. "Hey, buddy?" he said softly. "I'm gonna try to get you some help, okay? This is a fine mess we're in."

Only Starsky's faint, strained breathing answered him. The small wet, rattling sound of his air told Hutch that the bullet had probably pierced his lung.

"Keep breathing, buddy. I'll be with you every step of the way."

The back office of the Italian restaurant where Starsky was shot was a luxury compared to the outdoors. Here there were no clean towels, no hot water, and they would be traveling, which would only weaken and worsen his condition.

The con came back out and dropped the backpack beside Hutch, then motioned with his gun. "Get moving."

Hutch took his flannel shirt off, then wrapped it around Starsky's chest and tied the sleeves tight to try to control the bleeding. "Let me make a litter for him. He doesn't need to be-"

The big man reached down, grabbed Starsky by the wrists, and slung him over one broad shoulder. "I said let's move."

Hutch paled at the rough handling of his partner's injured body, but managed to move ahead of the convict and lead the way through the woods.

No gun, no first aid kit.

Hutch prayed Starsky would survive the trip. But even if he did, Hutch knew the con would kill both of them to eliminate witnesses once they reached Green River, unless he could think of a way out of this.

XXXXXXXXX

The walk was slow, but steady. The worst part for Hutch was not being able to tend to Starsky along the way.

The con was silent as he walked. One arm secured Starsky to his shoulder as if he were as light as a bag of seed, while his free hand held the pistol at Hutch's back.

"That gun's making me nervous," Hutch said. "If you trip over a root or a rock-"

"Shut up and walk."

They made their way through dense trees and brush, and then Hutch found one of his traps.

"Empty," he said as he pointed down to one on the ground.

"What'll we do for food?" the convict asked.

"I set others. We'll check those too."

Starsky groaned into the back of the man's uniform, then coughed.

Guessing that the coughing was due to blood or fluid seeping into his lung, Hutch turned to go back to him, but the convict pushed him ahead. "Keep moving."

But it was the second groan that made Hutch turn around again and go back to Starsky, squeezing his hand. "Hey," he whispered. "I'm right here. Hold on, buddy."

They kept walking.

XXXXXXXXX+

All of the traps Hutch had set were empty. Hours later they were still walking, but more unsteadily. The convict drank from a canteen, then handed it up to Hutch. "Have to keep my guide alive. Drink some."

Starsky made another sound, and Hutch thought he said his name. He wanted to go back and tend to him, but that would take up precious time, and also irritate the escapee. Starsky's only chance at surviving would lie in reaching Green River as quickly as they could.

Starsky groaned again, and reached for the sound of his voice, trying to raise his head.

"Hutch?" he coughed, and tried to struggle.

Knowing that the man was becoming more agitated with each mile they traveled and could easily toss Starsky onto the ground in frustration, Hutch handed the canteen back to the convict and decided to help his partner. "Easy," he said as he carefully took him down from the man's shoulder and sat him on a large rock, keeping one around him to steady him. "Here, Starsk," he said taking the canteen from the escapee and twisting off the lid. "Try a sip."

Beginning to become a little more alert, Starsky tried to raise his hand to the canteen but was unsuccessful, so Hutch held it for him and he managed to swallow a small sip.

"Hurtin'," he said in a small voice as his head fell against the blond's shoulder.

"Somebody shot you, remember?"

"Hunter?"

Hutch looked up at the convict. "Prisoner went AWOL when a helicopter that was transporting him crashed."

Starsky's voice was a bare mumble. "Lucky us."

"He wants to go to Green River, so we're obliging him."

Starsky forced himself to raise his head to see the man who shot him, having difficulty keeping his eyes from rolling. "Hey, shweetheart."

The man stepped toward him, but Hutch moved in between them. "He's disoriented, and he can't hurt you. Let's go, huh?" He closed the canteen and put it in the backpack, then helped Starsky to his feet. "Think you can walk with me?" he asked sliding his partner's arm around his neck. "One step at a time, okay? You can be my co-guide, all right?"

"Sounds good," Starsky said with a lowered head, but also with a conscious effort to take a step.

"Yeah, that's it. Let's keep going."

XXXXXXXXX

Hutch bore almost all of Starsky's weight, which made the traveling slower than before, but at least, he reasoned, it enabled him to keep a close eye on his condition.

Starsky faded in and out of unconsciousness, unable to keep his head up unless Hutch held it up. Small coughs of blood still came from him, and Hutch used the loose cuff of the flannel shirt tied around Starsky's chest to dab it away.

"Pour a little water on this," he said to the escapee as he reached his handkerchief back. "I need to keep him cool."

The man sent a vicious kick to the back of Starsky's legs, which buckled his already weakened legs and nearly knocked Hutch down with him. "Forget that. This ain't no first aid station. You should be finding us something to eat instead of playing nursemaid to a half-dead man."

Starsky's cry of pain made Hutch prop him carefully against a tree before turning and lunging at the man, gun or no gun. "You-!"

The con grabbed the front of Hutch's dark green T-shirt and planted the muzzle of the gun against his forehead. "You want to tangle, we'll tangle. But that won't get your pal to a doctor, now will it?"

They stood panting into each other's faces.

(Touch him again, I'll kill you)-is what Hutch's eyes said, but he kept the words tohimself. As hard as it was, he had to keep his cool, and come up with a plan. Slowly he backed away, the man eyeing him carefully.

Hutch walked back over to Starsky, took him under the arms and pulled him to his feet, then put an arm around him again. "Let's keep moving, buddy."

Starsky's legs were moving at an even slower pace, thanks to the kick.

"Wasn't nice," he mumbled to Hutch with his head down. "Wasn't nice at all."

"Let's keep going, huh? Easy now. I got you."

The big man followed behind. "How much longer's it going to take, Davy Crocket?"

Hutch moved Starsky along at an incredibly careful pace. "Hours," he lied. "Maybe into the night. We won't cover much ground then."

"We're almost out of water, and we got no food."

"We'll have to rest after nightfall. My partner's getting weaker."

"Hey," Starsky murmured groggily. "Didn't bring the marshmallows, did you?"

Hutch smiled and gave him a brief, affectionate squeeze. "There are some nuts and berries up ahead. Not a lot, but enough to keep body and soul alive till we get to Green River."

"Sounds good, Hutch."

They kept walking, and Hutch stopped when he reached an area where the ground was littered with nuts; the bushes scattered with red berries.

"See?" he said nodding his head to the convict. "Nature provides."

The escapee picked up two nuts in his hand and squeezed them until they cracked, then picked out the contents and ate. This he did time and time again, washing down the small bits of sustenance with sips of water.

Hutch set Starsky down against a log and patted his arm. "I'm going right over here to get us some berries and nuts, okay? You going to be okay?"

The dark head bobbed weakly. "Yeah," he whispered.

Hutch took a look at the convict. He sat on a flat rock cracking and eating the nuts he'd gathered, but his eyes and gun were trained on the blond as he moved over to the bushes and began to pluck the berries-some burgundy, some plum-colored, and some red-and dropped them into the hem of his shirt he'd turned up as a pouch.

"Lots of berries, Starsk," he said as he kept picking them.

"How do you know they're edible?" the man asked him.

Hutch popped a burgundy one in his mouth and ate it, then carried the rest over to Starsky and knelt down in front of him. "These are juicy, Starsk. Open up. You need some more liquids."

Starsky gave him a bleary-eyed look, then opened his mouth a little to receive the berries.

"Good, huh?" Hutch said as he dropped a few more into his own mouth.

The man walked over to the bushes to get his own berries, and Hutch watched.

"You got a name?" the blond asked him.

"Crowley," the man replied, and examined the berries in his hands. "These red ones okay?"

"They're all okay. But this is the only place we'll find them, so we should eat what we want now or carry some out with us."

"Not carrying any," Crowley said as he pulled off the ones closest to him and put them in his mouth.

Hutch and Crowley both stopped chewing when they heard a sound overhead.

"Chopper," Crowley said, but they couldn't see it for the trees. He tossed a few more berries into his mouth and waved the pistol in Hutch's direction. "Let's get the hell out of here. They'll have searchers on the ground soon."

Hutch helped Starsky to his feet and wrapped an arm around him again. "Let's go."

His partner moaned against him, his legs uncooperative as they bent.

"Down," he sighed. "Gotta sit down. Got a bullet in the back, don't I?"

Crowley walked toward them, and Hutch pulled Starsky to his feet again, causing a groan of pain to escape him. "Up we go. I know it's hard, but we have to keep walking, Starsk."

"I'm walkin', aren't I? Think I am."

Hutch held him a little closer to secure him, and kept him moving. (Chopper's overhead)-he wanted to tell him-(we have a chance)-but he didn't.

The three of them kept walking. Hutch kept looking over his shoulder, finding that Crowley dropped behind a step or two with every hundred feet or so.

"You all right?" Hutch asked. "Need to sit down and rest?"

"Not with those hounds on my heels." But he did twist the cap off his canteen and took a drink. "Must be drying out or something."

"Dehydrated," Hutch said. "You're a big man, you're wearing that heavy uniform, you're not used to the heat."

The helicopter sounded overhead again as it flew by, but this time Crowley didn't seem to hear it. He was more interested in unzipping the front of his uniform to cool off.

"What were you in for?" Hutch asked him.

Crowley didn't answer. His feet slowed to a faltered trudging and he used more limbs and trees to steady himself as he traveled.

Hutch saw that he became less and less concerned with holding the gun at his back.

A few more yards, and Crowley was laboring for breath, sweating, and moving the pistol around erratically.

"Dizzy," he mumbled as he swiped his gun-hand across his forehead and grabbed for a branch at his left to steady his balance.

"Oh, hey," Hutch said keeping his voice light. "We can stop and rest anytime you want to."

"No way. They're probably on our trail right now. How much longer's it going to be?"

"Not much longer."

Crowley squinted at him. "You just told me it'd be hours."

The big man stopped and sat down on a rock to catch his breath, which turned to wheezing, and then turned to choking.

Hutch stopped to watch, holding Starsky against his side.

"I lied."

It was then that Crowley, bent forward and gasping like an asthmatic, raised his eyes to the blond, and found him smiling.

"What," came Crowley's garbled voice as blood trickled from his mouth. "What'd you do to me?"

Hutch dropped a few red berries onto the ground. "Oh, didn't I say not to eat the red ones?"

Crowley tried to say something else, attempted to raise the pistol, but what he did instead was fall forward onto the ground in a dying heap, the gun dropping harmlessly out of his hand.

Just to be on the safe side, Hutch reached over and took the pistol, tucking it inside the back of his jeans.

Starsky sank against him, losing consciousness, and Hutch eased him down onto his side.

"Almost over," he whispered into his ear. "Lie here and rest. I'll go see if I can flag that chopper down. Hang on. Our convict won't be giving us anymore trouble."

Starsky didn't respond, and Hutch took off through the woods with a renewed energy and determination, heading in the direction of a clearing he knew was up ahead. He knew that the helicopter would need to land in it if they were going to search the area for Crowley.

"Hang on," he whispered as he ran through the trees. "Hang on."

Once he reached the field, he began to yell and wave his arms.

"Hey!"

The buzzing of the white helicopter came to his ears and he looked up, seeing its approach, and the word RESCUE in big red letters across the undercarriage.

"Help!"

His arms waved in the air as the helicopter circled near him, then landed, the wind off the long blades whipping his hair and shirt about.

He dropped the gun and pulled his badge as he ran toward the aircraft.

"Hurry! My partner's in the woods. Crowley shot him and I don't know how much longer he can hang on. He forced us at gunpoint to lead him to Green River. We have to get him to a hospital. Bring a stretcher and your supplies."

Two paramedics, a correctional officer in uniform, plus two police officers jumped from the helicopter.

"What about Crowley?" the correctional officer asked him as they began to walk urgently across the field and toward the woods. The men were barely able to keep up with Hutch's

pace.

"Dead."

"You get his gun away from him and shoot him?"

"Gave him poison berries."

The men gave him an odd look, then they continued toward the woods.

XXXXXXXXX+

Hutch skidded to Starsky's side and lifted his head. "I'm back, buddy. Help's here. You awake?"

A tiny moan escaped his pale lips, and his eyes remained closed.

"Hurry," Hutch told the others, and moved out of the way. "Bullet's still inside."

The paramedics knelt next to him while the correctional officer walked over to the dead body of Crowley, stooping to take a pulse to confirm he was deceased. Blood had seeped from the convict's ears, nose, mouth.

"Crowley all right," the correctional officer confirmed as he looked up at Hutch. "He'd have killed you and your partner once you reached Green River."

"We'll need your full statement," one of the cops told him.

"No problem. But I'm going to the hospital with my partner first."

XXXXXXXXX++

"I removed the bullet," Doctor Landon, a tall blonde said to Hutch as she removed her eyeglasses and folded them into her white medical coat. "He's in stable condition, so that should be a relief to you."

He stopped his pacing in the corridor outside the waiting room and leaned against the wall. His hair was mussed, he had smudges of dried blood on his face and hands, and his clothes were dirty. "Thank God."

"He'll be asleep under pain medication all night, Detective Hutchinson, so if you're interested, I think we can rustle you up a shower, change of clothes, and a sandwich."

He looked at the clock on the wall. "Yeah, okay," he said quietly as he unconsciously rubbed his arms, which felt, suddenly, strangely light and empty without the weight of his

partner. "But you're sure he's going to be all right?"

"It certainly looks that way."

XXXXXXXXX++

Fed, clean, and wearing fresh clothes that the hospital had kindly provided, Hutch settled into a comfortable chair next to Starsky's hospital bed and watched him sleep.

XXXXXXXXX++

Starsky's face was chalk-pale, and his eyes were heavy, but he wore a small smile when Hutch opened his eyes the next morning after feeling a tug on the cuff of his shirt.

"Hey, pal," the blond said sitting up and leaning toward him, careful not to disturb the tubes and wires attached to him. "How you doing?"

"Could use a vacation from our vacation," he whispered hoarsely.

"No kidding."

Starsky blinked drowsily, but completed the task he wanted to do, which was to look his partner over for injuries. Finding none, he smiled again.

"Dude shot me, right?"

"Right."

His dark-circled eyes closed for a moment. "Don't remember much about it, but I sure feel like I've been shot."

"Almost lost you. Beginning to wonder if I could even get you out of there alive."

Hutch lowered his head and swiped a thumb at his eye, as if the intensity of the ordeal, plus the relief that his partner had made it, was just now catching up to him. Starsky, the cuff of Hutch's shirt still in his hand, tugged harder on him until Hutch leaned over the bed and gave him a hug.

"No doubts from me," Starsky whispered. "Thanks, partner."

End

HOW DEEP II-FRIEND IN NEED

By TR

XXXXXXXXXXXX++

Hutch saw the black van parked in front of his apartment just as he was coming back from his morning run. He recognized it as the one belonging to a group of four teenagers he'd encountered the night before when some neighbors reported their pets had been butchered and left on their doorsteps as if part of the morning paper.

The teenage boys had not looked like the average teenage boys out for some mischief-making. They dressed in black jeans and T-shirts, had long witch-black hair, milky pale skin, and wore pentagram jewelry.

Into the occult, but he didn't know to what degree.

The neighbors suspected that this band of teenagers was responsible for the animal mutilations, but since the youths weren't owning up to it and there were no witnesses, it would be almost impossible to prove.

The most he could do was bully them and threaten them with charges if they were ever caught doing it.

Most of the teenagers he dealt with would have mouthed off, given him the finger, threatened, something. These simply drove away in their van, the driver smiling an unnervingly calm smile.

If he'd had more time and energy to put into it, he could have followed the van to their parents' homes to have a talk with them, (if they even had parents-more likely runaways or throwaways-) but it was late, he was tired from a long day of trial testimony, and Abby was on her way over.

Now he was thinking that it was brave of them to show up in front of his apartment the next morning.

"Help you boys with something?" he asked slowing his gait as he reached the van.

The back doors were open and there was a commotion in the back where several of them were gathered.

The driver climbed out of the back to clutch the detective's arm, a look of wide-eyed panic on his face.

"You're the cop from last night, right?" the boy asked as he gestured toward the inside of the van. "Somebody stabbed my friend. I called an ambulance, but you have to help. He's bleeding."

A groaning sound came from inside the vehicle.

For a moment Hutch thought they looked like any other teenage boys needing help. They didn't have weapons. They didn't appear threatening.

"Who did it?" he asked as he climbed into the back.

Once inside, the groaning teenager raised his head from the floor and began to laugh.

"Sucker."

Hutch reached for the gun that usually hung under his arm, but all his hand touched was the material of his white T-shirt. And then when he turned to jump out of the van, a crowbar cracked across his temple and the boys tackled him to the floor, shoving a rag in his mouth and tying his wrists behind his back.

"We don't like cops rousting us," the driver said smiling down at an unconscious Hutch. "So we're gonna make sure it never happens again."

XXXXXXXXXXXX++

Abby stretched like a lazy cat as she roused herself awake in his bed.

"Kenny?" she asked running her hand along his side of the mattress. "Want me to bake those wheat germ cookies this morning?"

She listened for his answer but didn't hear it, then rose on one elbow and listened for the shower, not hearing that either.

"Ken?"

When only silence answered her, she climbed out of bed, pulled one of his flannel shirts on over her bikinis, and padded barefoot through the apartment.

"Ken?"

He was nowhere in the apartment. Parting the curtains to look down on the street below, she didn't see his car parked below either.

No note.

No breakfast dishes.

And she discovered that his gun and holster were still hanging inside the closet door

when she opened it.

"Dave," she whispered as she hurried to the telephone and dialed. "Dave!"

XXXXXXXXXXXX++

Hutch came to, feeling the bumpy ride the van was making, and deduced that the young cult was driving him along a dirt road or across a field. The sound of birds in the air, and the feel of weeds or grass swiping under the van, confirmed it.

He opened his eyes to find three of the teenagers sitting and watching him, one holding a long dagger. The rag tasted oily and dusty, and he had to concentrate to keep from choking.

He winced from the gigantic throbbing in his head, and wondered just how he was going to get out of this one.

"You give us a hard time," one of the boys told him. "We give you a hard time."

He knew it was futile to try to talk with the rag in his mouth, but he hoped that he could scare them into letting him go by reminding him that they had assaulted and abducted a police officer.

One of the boys took the rag from his mouth and moved a canteen to his lips. "Drink."

Hutch tried to raise his head. "Poison? You must be joking."

The boy kicked him in the face, knocking him against the side of the van.

The boy crouched nearer to him and put the canteen to his bleeding mouth. "We can always go back and get your girlfriend."

Hutch looked from face to face, trying to remain conscious, reluctantly drinking from the canteen, hoping that, if death came, it came quickly.

That was his last thought before blackness crept across his field of vision and he passed out.

XXXXXXXXXXXX++

Starsky screeched the Torino to a halt behind Hutch's car and ran up the stairs of Venice Place.

"Dave!" Abby cried as she ran into his arms.

Even while he hugged her, his gaze swept over the apartment for clues as to what happened.

"He didn't come back," she sniffed against his shoulder. "He went out for his run, and he just didn't come back."

"Here, honey," he said as he escorted her to the door. "Let's get you to your sister's in case they want to come back. Did anything unusual happen last night? Anybody drop by? Call? Did he go out?"

"Nothing. Dave, if anything happens to him . . . please find him."

"I will," he said planting a kiss on the side of her blonde head. "Promise."

XXXXXXXXXXXX++

The teenagers parked the van alongside the two-lane highway, a densely wooded area to their right. They opened the back doors and pulled Hutch out onto the side of the road. Because the poison was in his system, he was no threat, and the gag, as well as the ropes on his wrists and ankles, had been removed. He tried standing between the two youths that held his arms, but his legs sank, and he was down on his knees, head drooping.

"Forget about it," he mumbled lazily. "Let me go. You don't want to kill a cop. My partner will find you, and he'll . . . put you away . . . if he doesn't kill you first."

"Tough talk," the leader said as he grabbed Hutch's hair and pulled his head back. "Don't you get it? A cop's just what we want. No better sacrifice than a symbol for whatever's good and just, right?"

He made another effort to get away from them, and he broke free and stumbled down the blacktop. They watched, laughing in amusement as he fell time and time again, then got back up to stagger again. When he was on his hands and knees, his head bobbing dazedly, the leader kicked him savagely in the stomach, sending him onto his back. Then they picked him up and carried him across the field and into the woods.

The cultists carried a duffel bag with them.

XXXXXXXXX

Huggy was on the phone behind his bar when Starsky ran in.

The breakfast crowd gave him curious looks, but Starsky ignored them and hurried behind the counter, taking the receiver from Huggy's hand.

"Hey, man!" Huggy said as he gestured toward the phone. "You have any idea who that

was?"

Starsky grabbed his shirt and pulled him into the kitchen. "I need your help. Hutch never made it back to his place after his run."

"Jivin' me?"

"His car's still there. Nobody's called with any threats or instructions. See what you can dig up, okay?"

"You don't gotta ask twice, amigo."

Huggy went behind the bar for his phone again, and Starsky ran out the door.

XXXXXXXXX

"Can you put it on the news?" Starsky asked as he paced around Captain Dobey's office.

"Starsky, it's not a missing persons for at least another-"

Starsky lunged toward the desk, clutching its edge and leaning toward him. "Hutch ain't just a missing person!"

Dobey's eyes briefly flicked away from his detective's, then lifted the phone. "I'll call the TV and radio stations."

A fleeting show of relief crossed Starsky's face. "Thanks," he said in a barely-audible voice, then walked from his office.

XXXXXXXXX

Mickey the stoolie was escorting a scantily-clad young lady to the door of his favorite diner when the wheels of the Torino pealed to a stop a few cars behind him.

"Mickey!" Starsky shouted as he jumped from the car and rounded the front.

Mickey said something to his escort, then walked toward the running detective, adjusting his jockey cap and taking a box of cigars from his sports coat. "Hey, Starsky, you look harried or sumthin'."

Panting, Starsky took the snitch's jacket sleeve. "Somebody got Hutch. I need your help."

He took his wallet out. "How much? Name it. Just tell me if you've heard any-"

The snitch pushed the wallet down. "This one's on the house, uh?"

Starsky nodded, then climbed back into the Torino and kept looking.

XXXXXXXXX

It was toward dusk when an elderly man in fishing gear walked into the police station, looking around uncertainly at the noisy activity of the police officers. Some were booking suspects, some questioning, some in conversations with attorneys, others cutting up and having a good time.

"Excuse me," he said politely to the busy station. "I'm here to see a Captain Dobey?" When no one seemed to hear him, he walked over to the front desk. "Pardon. But I need to speak to Captain Dobey."

The desk sergeant looked up at the elderly man. "The captain's a busy man. Is there someone else you can speak with? If you have a complaint, you can have a seat and I'll arrange for an officer to-"

"I saw him on TV. The captain. He said to notify him if anyone saw that missing police officer. What's his name?"

The desk sergeant picked up the phone at his elbow and pushed the button for Dobey's extension.

XXXXXXXXX

The elderly man stood with his fishing hat in his hand in front of Dobey's desk.

The captain gestured toward one of the chairs. "Please sit down, Mister . . . "

"Bradley."

The man took a seat before his desk.

"I understand you may have some information regarding my missing officer."

"I'm not sure what I saw. Or if it's him. But the hair coloring is the same, and the situation just didn't look right."

Dobey leaned forward on his elbows. "Go on."

"I was going fishing out by Lake Bernard. As I was driving past the area, I saw a black van, and some kids-teenagers I reckon-looked like they were dressed in Halloween costumes to me-heading off toward the woods. And they were carrying somebody. At the time I didn't pay much attention, because I thought the man was drunk or passed out. I didn't know there was a missing officer till I got back home and turned my TV on. Those

are big woods, Captain. If he's in there, and he's injured, it's not likely he'd be found in a hurry."

"Thank you," Dobey said reaching for his phone. "This may be the lead we're looking for. Did you happen to get the license number of the van?"

"Afraid not. Like I said, I wasn't sure what I was seeing. I didn't know there was a missing officer till I got back home. I just thought they were carrying a drunk or what not."

"I want you to stick around, Mr. Bradley. I have some more questions for you about what you saw. Besides finding our man, we have to find who took him into those woods. I want you to give me detailed descriptions of the van and the teenagers."

XXXXXXXXX

"Zebra 3," the dispatcher said over the Torino's police radio. "Patching Captain Dobey through."

Still covering the city blocks and scanning his eyes along every sidewalk, doorway, vehicle, and alley, Starsky lifted the mike. "Yeah, Cap?"

"Meet me out at Lake Bernard. I'll have a witness with me who saw some teenagers in a black van taking a man fitting Hutch's description into the woods."

Starsky's hand squeezed the mike hard. "Is he alive?"

After a silent moment, Dobey's voice came back, much quieter than before. "We don't know. The witness thinks he was unconscious. Though the man says it's going to be hard finding anyone in those woods, I've got a search team dispatched to the area and an ambulance en route."

"I'm comin'," Starsky said shoving his foot down on the gas pedal. "But I'm pickin' somebody up first."

XXXXXXXXX

Starsky parked in front of the fire station and hurried out of the car, already tugging his badge from his hip pocket as he approached the office of Chief EMT Brett Horton.

"Police!"

Firemen and paramedics were putting supplies into their vehicles. They stared curiously as their rescue dog, a huge white Newfoundland half-breed, bounded from behind an ambulance and made his way toward the plainclothes police officer.

Starsky knelt to receive the massive dog in his arms, the animal's momentum nearly knocking him down.

Snow nudged his muzzle against Starsky's neck, shoulder, and chest in an anxious greeting.

"Hey," Starsky swallowed as he took the big furry head in his hands. "I need your help."

Horton came from his office and immediately recognized the detective. "I saw the news report on TV about Hutch."

"We think he's in the woods near Lake Bernard. I'll need Snow."

"He's been pacing around the station all day," Horton said with a nod. "Wouldn't eat. Wouldn't work. Now I know why."

Starsky didn't have to tell the dog to follow him. He went with him to the Torino and jumped into the front seat when the detective opened the door.

"Sure you won't need a cadaver dog?" Horton asked, putting as much tact as he could into his voice. "He's been missing all day, right?"

Starsky rounded the front of the car and slid under the steering wheel.

Horton came out on the sidewalk, his voice a softened apology. "You might want to get one of Hutch's unlaundered shirts to remind him of his scent."

But Starsky knew that wasn't necessary.

XXXXXXXXX

Dobey and Mr. Bradley were standing by the trunk of the captain's sedan when Starsky pulled the Torino behind it. The two-lane highway was a scene of hectic activity: littered with black and whites, an ambulance, a TV news crew. One uniform was ushering curious drivers past to keep the flow of traffic moving. Other officers were combing the field and wooded area.

"Anything?" Starsky inquired of Dobey out the window.

"Still looking."

Snow was pawing at the passenger door to get out, whining until Starsky reached across the seat to open it.

Mr. Bradley turned in Starsky's direction. "I think the van was right along in here," he

said circling his finger around. "Or was it over here? Hard to recall."

But Snow needed no direction. His muzzle was to the ground, and once he caught the loving, familiar scent of his kind friend, bounded across the field.

Starsky grabbed walkie-talkies from under the front seat and pitched one to Dobey, then took off after the dog, finding it almost impossible to keep up.

Dobey turned to the ambulance driver, who was checking his supply box. "Get that ambulance as close to the woods as possible. Every second counts."

The paramedics did as they were told.

XXXXXXXXX+

Starsky heard the shouts of the other searchers as he ran through the woods, jumping streams, dodging trees, ducking branches.

"Hutch!"

His ears strained for the slightest sound, his eyes covered everything around him. As he followed Snow, he could see the mashed greenery where the teenagers had walked. Darkness was falling. Hutch had been missing the entire day, and Starsky didn't expect him to be in good shape if he found him.

Rather, when he found him.

With the dog hunting for Hutch, it was only a matter of time.

Snow's momentum slowed, and he paused to sniff the ground in several different directions at once, as if unsure about which trail to follow. Starsky attributed the confusion to a struggle, as if Hutch had tried to escape more than once.

Starsky took the opportunity to catch his breath, leaning over with his hands on his knees.

"Anything?" Dobey's voice asked over the walkie-talkie.

"Not yet," he panted back.

Snow bolted to the right as if picking up the scent again, and Starsky raced to catch up. The dog's furious speed and distressed barking told him they were very close, and when they reached a small clearing that looked like a campsite, Starsky knew he was right.

But the sight of his partner was almost as bad as not finding him at all. He was tied to a tree with ropes wound around his middle, hands bound behind his back, head down.

The front of his white T-shirt wore reddish brown bloodstains from his bloody nose, mashed mouth, and the gash in his head.

For a split moment Starsky froze as Snow whined and licked at the side of the blond head.

"Oh my God," he whispered shakily, and then panic propelled his feet toward the tree.

Hearing the searchers' voices nearby in the woods calling Hutch's name, Starsky raised his own voice. "Over here!"

Snow was pacing in a tight circle around Hutch's unmoving form, alternating between barking and lapping at his neck.

Starsky skidded in the dirt by the tree, crouching in front of Hutch, one hand cupping the side of his face while the other checked his throat for a pulse.

"Hutch?"

A pulse was there. Faint, but detectable.

"Cap," Starsky said urgently into the mike. "Found him. He needs help. Quick. Those kids beat the hell out of him. Tied him to a tree and left him to die."

"Paramedics on the way."

Starsky tossed the walkie-talkie aside, then took his pocketknife from his pocket and cut the ropes binding his hands, then the ones binding his chest. When he was loose, Starsky caught him with one arm and pulled him against his chest, running a quick, expert hand along his chest, arms, and legs to check for broken bones, finding a swollen and misshapen right forearm.

To Starsky's astonishment, but relief, Hutch regained consciousness with a moan, then flinched away from him.

"Hey," Starsky said taking the arm that wasn't broken and holding him closer. "Easy, boy. I got you."

Hutch moaned louder, still trying to struggle away from him.

Starsky rubbed his hair. "Take it easy. Gonna get you outa here. Just hang in here."

Starsky wasn't sure if his words were registering with him, or if he was simply too weak to protest anymore, but Hutch gave up his struggle and lay groaning in the crook of his partner's arm. Snow came to sit close by, giving a small whine.

"That's it," Starsky soothed as Hutch's eyes searched up and found his. "Look right here at me, buddy." He looked up at the medics as they carried a stretcher and supplies over. "About time you got here."

XXXXXXXXX+

"They gave him something to disorient and weaken him so he couldn't fight back," the doctor told Starsky just outside the emergency room. "Though I think he still managed to try to get away a few times. He's in critical condition, but I think he's going to be all right. He won't be able to have visitors until morning."

Abby leaned into Starsky's side, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Thank God," she sighed, then looked up at him. "Do you know who took him, Dave? Or why?"

"Not yet. Hutch'll be able to tell us more in the morning. Till then we'll keep a close eye on his hospital room." He looked at the doctor. "I know he'll be sleepin', but can we sit with him tonight?"

"Don't see why not. I'm sure he could use a familiar face or two when he wakes up. He's lucky to have survived."

The doctor smiled, then left for the emergency area again. Starsky walked Abby outside to the parking lot where Snow sat patiently, if not a little sadly, in the passenger seat of the Torino. The dog jumped through the open window when he saw him.

"Good boy," Starsky whispered tearfully as he knelt to give Snow a quick hug around his broad neck. It was only now, with his partner safe and mending in the hospital, that he could release the emotions he'd put on hold. "You saved his life."

The dog whined and licked at Starsky's ear.

XXXXXXXXX+

"Captain, my man," Huggy said as he met Dobey at the entrance of the hospital. "Hutchie boy gonna be okay?"

"According to the doctor, though I don't know how he held out for as long as he did."

Huggy slid a hand to Dobey's shoulder and opened the door for him. "Taught him everything he knows."

XXXXXXXXX+

"Starsk?" Hutch's weak voice sounded from his hospital bed the next morning.

Dozing in a chair next to the bed, Starsky heard Hutch say his name and sat up. Though his partner's face was bruised and swollen, he was a welcome sight.

"Hey, you," Starsky smiled as he reached for Hutch's hand and clasped it. "Abby's here too. She went down for some coffee. How you doin'?"

Hutch's eyes roamed the room, then rested on Starsky's face. "Thought they killed me."

Starsky swallowed a lump in his throat. "Me too. But we found you. Rather, Snow did."

Hutch's voice lifted a notch. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I took him back to Brett's and promised him we'd take him for a steak dinner once you get out of this place."

Hutch tried to squeeze his hand, but it was a small grip. "Thanks, buddy." He raised a cast-covered forearm and looked at it. "Man, they did a number on me, didn't they?"

Starsky nodded. "We know they're teenagers who drive a black van. Ever see 'em before? Know who they are?"

Hutch paused, piecing together the scattered memories in his mind. "Yeah. Some boys- budding vampires, cultists, something-caught in my neighborhood. Cutting up some animals. Can't prove it, but . . . you know."

"Think you could recognize them again?"

Hutch's voice was thinning out from the effort of talking. "Oh yeah," he said as he grew even quieter.

Starsky gave him time to rest and think. The door opened and Abby came in carrying some coffee.

"Oh honey," she said as she set the Styrofoam cups down on a small table and leaned down to give him a hug. "You're awake. Thank God."

He smiled, his cast going around her neck. "Hi, sweetheart." He brushed a clumsy finger at her cheek. "You've been crying? I'll be okay. Takes more than some voodoo kids to . . . " His eyes blinked heavily.

She lowered his arm to the bed and patted it. "Rest, Ken."

He closed his eyes, appearing to be drifting off to sleep again. Starsky rose to his feet and brushed a lock of hair from the white bandage around his head. "Got work to do, partner. I'll be back." He leaned over and kissed Abby on the cheek. "Hutch gave me some information on those kids. I'll make sure his room's guarded till I get those little freaks."

As Starsky walked down the hall toward the elevator, the door slid open and Mickey the snitch stepped out.

"Hey, Starsky, you're just who I was lookin' for."

"Yeah?" he asked as he stepped inside the elevator. "Whatcha got for me?"

Mickey stepped into the elevator with him. "Got some info on who took Hutch. Some weird devil worshipper kids or sumthin'. Got names, location, the works."

XXXXXXXXX++

"Cop's not dead?" the raven-like teenager asked as Starsky circled his chair in the interrogation room. "Thought for sure the poison would finish him off-"

Starsky grabbed the boy's black T-shirt and slammed him into the wall, holding him there. "You're gonna pay, punk. Big-time."

"Detective Starsky!" the boy's lawyer shouted as he jumped from the table. "Must I caution you against police brutality?"

The boy smiled calmly. "Take your hands off me. You can't touch a minor."

Starsky released the boy. "Attempted murder of a police officer," he said putting his finger in the disturbingly pleasant smile. "Tried as an adult. You'll be locked away till doomsday."

The youth's face was still unemotional. "That a promise or a threat?"

Starsky walked toward the door. "Both," he said without looking back.

"I'll have you in court for harassment!" the attorney charged at his back.

"Don't hold your breath."

XXXXXXXXX+

A nurse was checking Hutch's IV when Starsky came into the room.

"Hey, Starsk," the blond smiled wanly.

"Hey yourself."

Starsky waited until the nurse left, then said, "Got 'em, buddy."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

Hutch still looked drowsy; and pale beneath the bruising on his face. "The poison was a doozy, but . . . anything but heroin, you know? If I ever had to go through that again . . . I don't think I could."

Starsky sat down on the edge of the bed in response to his partner's unguarded statement and put his hand over Hutch's.

XXXXXXXXX+

Snow lumbered happily from the cool corner of the fire station, Brett Horton close behind, when Starsky helped Hutch from the passenger side of the Torino.

"Hey, buddy!" Hutch shouted as he limped toward the large dog. As if sensing Hutch's weakened condition, Snow came in a slow trot, wagging his fluffy tail and whining affection against the blond's neck when he bent down to give him a hug. "I owe you a big steak dinner, don't I? Did you see yourself on TV? Huh?"

The dog barked, and Starsky walked over to pet him.

Hutch straightened with help from Starsky, his hand on Snow's head, and smiled at Horton. "Like to join us?"

"Sure," Horton smiled as he patted Snow's side. "Who wouldn't want to have dinner with a celebrity?"

End

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

BITTERSWEET

By TR

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Starsky and Hutch exited the Torino and stepped over the yellow police tape to join two uniformed officers at the crime scene.

It was midnight, but a steadily-growing crowd was gathering to find out the details.

A lawyer was found shot to death on the railroad tracks, four bullets to his chest; his teenage daughter-who sat in the back of a patrol car in handcuffs, a blank look on her pale face-responsible.

She hadn't left the scene. A hitch-hiker had seen her huddling down next to his body, pistol in her hand, and he phoned the authorities.

The police photographer took some pictures, and now stepped aside to make room for the detectives.

"Murder weapon," a uniform said showing them a pistol as he dropped it into a large evidence baggie. "What's gotten into kids these days? Some of them are regular Manson chicks, you know? I knew Cal Durman. Good lawyer. Didn't deserve this, I can tell you. Nobody does."

"She admitted it?" Hutch asked with a glance at the patrol car where the girl sat.

The uniform nodded. "Her mother's on her way. Attorney too."

Starsky bent down next to the blood-spattered body of the attorney he and Hutch both knew and worked with on occasion, observing first his face, then the red-soaked bathrobe. He glanced up at his partner. "What's he doing in his bathrobe?"

"What were they doing out here so far away from home in the middle of the night?"

Their discussion was interrupted by a hysterical "Oh my God!"- and the detectives turned to see a distraught woman in a nightgown rushing onto the scene. "Cal! Oh my God! Ken, is that Cal?"

Hutch caught her by the arms. "He's dead, Barbera. I'm sorry."

She put a shaking hand to her mouth, as if trying to keep her screaming in. Incoherent ramblings replaced her words.

"We need your permission to talk to Lori," Starsky said gently.

She nodded behind her clamped hand, her gaze flitting from her husband on the ground to her daughter in the patrol car.

"You should be present when we question her," he told her. "Even though she's confessed."

She shook her head no and swallowed with difficulty. "I don't want to speak to her again," she managed in a muffled voice.

When a young man in a hastily-put-together suit and ruffled hair approached with a suitcase, he said, "I'm Dirk Saunders, Mrs. Durman. Court-appointed attorney with Juvenile Justice. I'll be representing her."

Hutch led her away to sit in the passenger seat of the Torino.

"Detective Starsky," Starsky introduced himself as he and Saunders went to the patrol car to talk to the Durman girl.

"Mrs. Durman," the blond began, "do you have any idea why Lori would do this?"

"Yes," she said weeping into her hands. "Cal wouldn't let her get married. They must have had a fight about it tonight, but I didn't hear anything. I took a couple of sleeping pills, so I was out of it. Tempers have been escalating between them. Typical teenage stuff. Dating. Curfew. Grades. That type of thing. Lori's ran out before, and he always went after her to bring her back. She's seventeen. We can't let her do whatever she wants to do. Her boyfriend is no good. He tries to get her to run away. Cal tried to tell her that. We both did. When she left . . . oh my God. I didn't know she had a gun. I didn't know. We keep one in the top of the closet for protection. Her boyfriend is Bobby Glendale. I can see him doing something like this. He never liked Cal. But I can't see Lori doing it. She and her father were on good terms, till this year . . . till Bobby came along . . . "

XX

"Lori, I'm gonna advise you of your rights," Starsky as he and Saunders approached the open rear door of the patrol car. "Even though you've already told the first cop on the scene that you shot him. This is Dirk Saunders, and he's an attorney who'll advise you tonight."

The girl gave the barest of nods.

After Starsky recited the Miranda, Saunders said, "Lori, you don't have to talk to him."

When she didn't say anything, Starsky said, "Tell me what happened."

Waif-thin and appearing much younger than seventeen, she sat with her head down, her long brown hair partially obscuring her face.

She slowly moved her head no, but still didn't raise her eyes to him.

He sighed impatiently. "You shot your father dead on the ground over there. I think you owe him, and us, an explanation. You may be seventeen, but you can be locked away for a very long time, depending on how the courts want to handle your case. And you got a mother over there who's pretty damn upset, so you need to be spilling some information here."

"Lori," Saunders said again, "you don't have to explain anything. It's your legal right."

"We need some answers, Lori," Starsky pressed.

Head still down, her eyes were dry, her voice placid, as she spoke. "Daddy and I didn't get along."

"No kidding."

She continued to speak with a lowered head. "He doesn't like my boyfriend, Bobby."

"You mean 'didn't' like your boyfriend, 'cause your dad ain't here anymore to care one way or the other."

His words didn't seem to bother her in any way. "We argued about Bobby tonight, I ran away with his gun, and when he came after me like he always does, I shot him."

"Pre-meditated? You took the gun with you?"

"Lori," Saunders cautioned. "I would advise you not to say anymore."

But she nodded in answer to Starsky's question.

"And planned to use it?" he asked.

She nodded again, her voice almost a whisper now. "If necessary."

He waited to see if she would add anything else, and when she didn't, he walked over to where Hutch and Mrs. Durman were standing.

"Killed him over her boyfriend," he said with an uncomfortable shrug.

"I've washed my hands of her," the woman told him.

XX

Conversation at the police station was buzzing about the murder of Cal Durman when Starsky and Hutch walked in. Captain Dobey met them near the front desk, overcoat

draped over one arm and hat in his hand. "You two, somebody wants to talk to you about the Durman case."

"Who is it?" Hutch asked leaning over the water fountain for a drink.

"Bobby Glendale."

"Girl's boyfriend," Starsky said.

"He's waiting up in the squad room. I think I'll go give Mrs. Durman my condolences now. How's she doing?"

"How would you be doing?"

"How about the girl? Any past psychiatric problems?"

"No, but I'm sure by the time her attorney gets finished talking to her, there will be."

Dobey offered a smile that was half-sad, half-cynical. "See you two in the morning," he said, then put his hat on as he walked out the front door.

"Cup of coffee?" Hutch asked Starsky as they headed for the elevator.

"Why not?"

XX

They saw a young man with jet-black hair and dark, expressive eyes seated in an extra chair next to their desk in the squad room. His arms were folded tightly against his chest and he was biting down on his thumbnail.

"Bobby Glendale?" Hutch asked.

He looked up and nodded.

"Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson."

"When can I see Lori? She needs me."

"Needs you?" Starsky asked wryly as he sat on the edge of his desk. "Looks like she's a pretty big girl who can take care of herself."

"How old are you, Bobby?" Hutch asked him.

"Eighteen."

Hutch poured two cups of coffee from a coffee maker on top of a filing cabinet and handed Starsky one. "She'll be held in detention until her court appearance. What can you tell us about what happened tonight? Were you involved in any way?"

Bobby was quick to shake his head in the negative. "Oh no. No way. But when I heard what happened . . . I don't know if it makes any difference now . . . I mean, he's dead and nothing can bring him back, but when I heard what happened . . . man, I just have to tell you."

Starsky held his coffee cup but didn't drink from it yet. "You're rambling, kid. Spit it out."

Bobby seemed to appear younger and younger the longer he looked from Starsky to Hutch. "I know Mr. Durman's got a lot of friends here at the station. Reputation and all. But I bet Lori didn't tell you her big-shot daddy lawyer was molesting her all the time."

He looked around to see if any other cops had heard, but the rest of the squad room was too busy with phone calls and questioning their own witnesses on their own cases to be eavesdropping.

Starsky leaned down close to Bobby's face. "If you're messin' with us to get your girlfriend a lighter sentence, save it, 'cause Cal Durman ain't here to defend himself against those accusations."

The young man pulled his head back away from Starsky's intimidating closeness and raised his right hand. "I swear, man. She told me. She wrote me letters. She's got a diary. Some lingerie he bought her. I tried to get her away from it, but he'd just come and get her and bring her back. I tried to report it but no one would listen. She tried telling her mother but she didn't believe her, said she was making it up to get out of the house and be with me. Teachers said Daddy-o wasn't capable of doing anything like that."

The detectives exchanged a look, then Starsky turned back to Bobby. "She didn't tell me anything like that. She had her chance. All she said was that she killed him because he came after her when she ran off, and that they always argued about you."

"They did. He was jealous. You could see it once you knew he was messing with her. He didn't want me to have her because he wanted her all to himself."

Hutch sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Anything else?"

"Well, she begged me to kill him, but I told her I couldn't. I should've figured this was coming. But Lori wouldn't hurt anybody, see? I didn't think she'd do it herself. No way. I told her to stay away from him as much as she could till she was eighteen, and then we could get married and she wouldn't have to live at home anymore. I guess she just couldn't wait that long. I'm not condoning what she did, man, but he had it coming."

Like a tire leaking air, Starsky lowered himself into his chair and grew silent.

"If that's the truth, you can't call it self-defense," Hutch said quietly. "But it comes damn close."

Starsky finally looked up at his partner, his voice just as quiet, but with some bitterness. "How about justifiable homicide?"

All three sat in the silence of what had just been divulged, and then Hutch said as he handed Bobby a slip of paper, "Leave your address and phone number. Lori's lawyer will want to talk to you."

The detectives watched the young man cross the squad room. At the door he turned and looked at them. "You believe me, don't you?"

It was more of a statement than a question.

Neither detective answered, so Bobby turned and left.

Hutch sat down in his chair, looking as deflated as Starsky. "I can't believe Cal would do something like that."

"It doesn't excuse her. It's still murder."

"Yes. But at least we have a reason."

"Doesn't justify. Murder's murder."

"They could go for manslaughter instead of First Degree."

"Yeah, but she took the gun with her, like she knew it was gonna happen."

"She knew it would happen if he followed her again to bring her home. She was determined not to let him molest her again."

After about fifteen minutes of sitting in silence and dwelling on the events of the evening,

Hutch rose to his feet and patted his partner's shoulder. "Come on. Let's head for home.

We can talk to Lori in the morning."

XX

Lori sat at a polished cherry-wood table in a conference room at the juvenile detention center. Her attorney sat next to her, dressed in a crisply-pressed suit today, his hair neatly combed.

The teenager looked no more animated than she had the night before. She sat with her head down, her hair hiding her face.

Hutch shook Dirk Saunders' hand, then he and Starsky sat across from them at the table.

"Mother not here again?" Starsky asked Lori.

Lori still would not raise her eyes, so he looked at the attorney.

"Her mother still wants no part of her daughter," Saunders replied. "And before you do your fire breathing dragon routine on my young client, I want-"

"Hey," Starsky said holding his hand up. "Lay off." He looked at the girl. "Bobby came to the police station to talk to us last night, Lori. We know the real reason you killed your father. He told us he's been sexually abusing you."

He waited to see what kind of reaction his statement would elicit. Her eyes flickered upward briefly, but did not meet his. She shifted slightly in her seat.

"I beg your pardon?" Saunders asked in surprise.

"Just listen." Starsky watched Lori's face carefully. "I know why you didn't tell me last night. No one you've told so far has believed you, so there was no reason to think that I, or your attorney, would either."

"Bobby did," she whispered. "He believed me."

The attorney opened his briefcase and sorted around in his papers. "Lori, is what the detective saying true?"

When she didn't answer, Hutch said to Saunders, "She has a diary. And there's some lingerie he bought her. We'll see if we can't find the receipts in the house to back it up."

She raised her head, and Starsky saw the girl's eyes for the first time-a timid, fawn-like brown, clear and sad. A long, slow tear rolled down her cheek as she spoke. "I did a terrible thing. God can never forgive me. Mommy will never forgive me or understand. I'm sorry. I didn't want to do it. I just wanted him to stop. I heard him taking his shower, like he always does before he comes into my room. But this time . . . " She wiped at the tears on her cheeks, and accepted the handkerchief Hutch offered her. "This time I left before his shower was over. And I had his gun. I didn't want to hurt him. I was hoping he wouldn't come after me so I wouldn't have to shoot him. But I knew . . . if he did it with me one more time . . . I couldn't do it one more time . . . "

"You can't change the fact that you killed your father," Hutch told her gently. "But I think

that after a jury hears the whole story, they'll know the reason why."

Starsky didn't add anything to Hutch's statement. The attorney sat as if dumbstruck. His case had just taken a turn for the better. She would be charged with something less than First Degree Murder. He thanked them for the information, then escorted them to the conference room door.

As the two walked down the hall toward the front exit, Starsky said, "She coulda done somethin' besides kill him, Hutch."

"Like what? She's seventeen, and she felt like she was cornered and didn't have any choice. She tried to tell people what he was doing. Even her mother ignored it."

"Oh yeah," Starsky said wryly. "'The abuse excuse.' Lot of girls are molested, but it doesn't make them judge, jury, an executioner of their abusers."

Hutch placed his hand on the back of Starsky's neck as they walked. "Not an easy case, Starsk."

XX

Barbera Durman met the detectives at the front door of her home later that morning, blotting her red eyes with a tissue.

"Ken, Dave," she said making room for them. "Come in."

Starsky and Hutch stepped inside, their eyes drawn to boxes of what looked like Lori's belongings stacked at the foot of the staircase. A worn teddy bear was placed on top.

"Trying to make funeral arrangements," the woman said in a nasal voice as she moved some file folders off the flowered sofa and onto the coffee table. "Won't you have a seat?"

"No thank you," Hutch said. "We've been talking to Lori and her attorney, and also to Bobby Glendale."

"Trouble," she said sitting down on the sofa. "That boy's nothing but trouble. Willful. No respect for authority."

"Mrs. Durman," Starsky said quietly, "Lori said that Cal has been molesting her for years, and that she told you about it and you didn't believe her."

She placed a hand to her forehead. "Not this again. Don't you know that she would say anything to be with that boy? He's put her up to it, I assure you. She wanted to destroy him with those lies, and when I wouldn't go for it . . . I guess she decided to destroy him with bullets. Either way, she got her way. Her father's out of her way now."

Hutch looked at his partner, then at the woman. "She killed him to make him stop, Barbera. It wasn't because of Bobby. But if you choose to believe that-"

Mrs. Durman raised angry, bloodshot eyes to him. "How dare you? I know my husband better than anyone. And my daughter. I know exactly what happened. My husband is dead, and there is no reason good enough for what she did. She's a liar, and she'll have everyone snowed into thinking the worst about him."

Hutch set his jaw, and his eyes hardened a bit. "She told you and you did nothing. You're just as responsible for the abuse."

Starsky pulled a document from his hip pocket and handed it to her. "Search warrant for some items belonging to Lori. Items are listed there. Diary. Lingerie. Receipts."

Her mouth twisted into a hateful shape and she nodded toward the boxed items. "Take her things with you when you leave."

XX

Lori and Bobby were seated on a couch and holding hands in the visiting room of the detention center when Starsky and Hutch brought in her boxes of things.

"Bruno!" she said with a smile as she plucked the teddy bear from the top of one of the boxes and held it to her chest. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again!" She looked at both detectives. "Thank you so much. For Bruno. And for listening."

Starsky and Hutch nodded, then Hutch looked at Bobby. "Take care of her, you hear?"

The young man smiled and put his arm around her. "Count on it."

XX

"Looks like my two favorite policemen could use a pick-me-up," Huggy said as he watched the subdued detectives take a stool at his bar. "Got fresh iced coffee to go with the sandwich of your choice. On the house."

"BLT on wheat," Hutch said.

"Barbecue beef," Starsky put in.

"Comin' right up," Huggy said as he scratched their order on a ticket and handed it to his waitress Diane as she passed by. He leaned onto his elbows and gave the pair a close look. "Durman case, huh?"

"Yeah," they answered together.

"Heard about it on the news. Bittersweet, huh? She's finally free of him, but look at the price she's gonna pay for it."

End

LINE OF FIRE

By TR

XXXXXXXXX++

It was a routine bank robbery in progress, if a bank robbery can be routine. They're really not. Each different; life and death situations that have to be handled with the greatest of skill and care, because of the hostages involved.

Me and Hutch responded to the silent alarm at the People's New Bank and Trust just down the street from where we were having pizza for lunch at a picnic table.

Because we were first on the scene and knew black and white units were en route, we decided to go in without light or siren, with one of us walking into the bank like a regular guy to do some business. Except Hutch wanted to be the one to go, and I was to be his backup.

"Why can't it be my turn?" I pouted.

"Because it's mine."

We could hear shouts and screams inside the bank, but Hutch went whistling up to the door like one of the Beach Boys and went inside like he didn't know anything was going on.

I had my hand under my jacket all the time, eyes on the door and ready to back him up.

But something happened, I'm not sure what. Maybe one of the bank employees made a sudden move, maybe one of the hostages did, or the gunman. But shots were fired and I jumped out of the car. I could hear the sirens of the backup units as I ran to the front door with my gun out, hoping they'd get here quick and help us.

Chaos was inside the bank.

One guard lay dead on the floor, some tellers were behind the counter with raised hands, and there was only one gunman that we could see, and he was holding a female hostage-

a young pregnant woman-to his chest with a gun pointed at her head.

Now the robber could hear the approaching sirens too, and I saw the panic in his eyes. He had a bloody graze in the shoulder, and I guessed that's why he'd shot the guard dead.

"Police!" I yelled. "Drop the gun and let her go!"

I don't know how it happened, but by now I knew how the White Knight worked. The blood running down the girl's thigh and her frightened cries was what triggered Hutch. Suddenly he was running toward them, trying to grab the pregnant girl away from that lowlife. He figured if the gunman turned his gun on him, at least the girl had a chance when I got some rounds off into the geek's head.

Sure enough, the robber aimed his gun at me like we anticipated. I dove behind a pillar and we exchanged fire, which allowed Hutch to grab the girl and sling her out of the way, but somehow, in the rush of it all, the robber grabbed Hutch too and they both went down.

The bank was then as still as a freeze-frame. Black and whites arrived and a bunch of uniforms swarmed in. Bank employees were still standing with their hands up, even though the danger was over. The pregnant girl was being attended to by one of the older female tellers, who screamed at me to call an ambulance.

But I was already jumping toward Hutch, who was lying facedown under the robber's bloody body. I kicked the robber off.

So much blood. All over the dead guy. All over Hutch.

"Come on, partner. Party's over."

I reached down to help him up, but he wasn't moving. And it was then I saw that the blood on the side of his head was his own and not the robber's. With a cold, cold stone in my throat, I knelt down and pushed my hand against the wound.

"Hu-Hutch?"

When he didn't answer, the room began to swim. I got dizzy. I wanted to pass out, throw up, run away. All those things. But knowing I needed to keep pressure on the wound and stay close to him was the only thing that kept me from doing any of that.

I leaned down over him to see if he was conscious. His eyes were barely open and he was breathing in sharp pants.

"St-Star-"

Couldn't say my name. His fingers moved in the streaks of blood on the white floor. "What hap . . ?" His eyes, bright with fear and pain, moved to find me. He half-laughed and half-whispered, "You shoot me?"

I stretched out on my stomach beside him, our heads inches apart so he could see me. My breath was hot and shaky next to his ear, my hand still pressing on the side of his head. "I'm sorry, Hutch. I don't know how it happened. I don't know what to say. I just-I'm sorry."

He groaned and closed his eyes as he passed out.

All around me there were voices and hands trying to help. The paramedics came and had to move me out of the way so they could get to him.

I was standing there staring at my bloody hands, hoping it was all a bad dream, and praying for his life.

"Hurry up if you want to ride with him," one of the medics said as they carried Hutch past me on the stretcher.

I didn't have to be told twice.

XXXXXXXXX

"I just talked to the doctors," Captain Dobey said as he joined me in the waiting room. "Both the girl and her baby are okay."

I was sitting on the leather couch and leaning forward so I could study the floor. "What about Hutch?"

"They're getting the bullet out. Touch and go, they said."

I looked up, expecting to see some kind of blame on his face, but all that was there was concern and understanding.

"Mistakes happen, Dave," he sighed as he sat down next to me. "Even to the best of us."

I shook my head no. "Not like this."

"Pondering all the what ifs won't help matters."

My chest was hurting. A nurse had given me two painkillers already, Huggy gave me two more, and it didn't seem to faze it.

XXXXXXXXX++

It was a long time later that a female doctor named Shelia Stone came into the waiting room. She wore a sad smile, so I didn't know how the news could be good.

Cap and I rose to our feet and shook her hand.

"He's alive," she said, and I guess that was supposed to be the good news. "And we removed the bullet."

Her pause said there was something more.

"And?"

I knew there was more to come, but I didn't know what or how bad.

"During surgery he had a stroke, and it's affecting his right side. We hope this improves in time, but right now it's too early to tell."

Stroke?

I thought old people had strokes. Or people with heart problems or high blood pressure or something.

Stroke was the last thing I expected to hear.

Cap rubbed at his forehead. "When will we be able to see him?"

"Not till morning. We're moving him to ICU, and then to a recovery room in the morning if he's stable enough by then."

She was starting to leave, and I didn't want her to. I reached out toward her, but it was hard getting the words out. She must have known the situation-heard it from Cap or paramedics-that me and Hutch were partners and I had shot him.

"Detective Starsky, I'm sorry to have to give you the news. I understand you've been friends and partners for several years now. But let's hope that his situation improves with time. Different therapies can do wonders for stroke patients these days."

Stroke patient.

How could that be Hutch? He was active, strong, healthy.

As if she read my mind, she said, "Strokes can happen to young people too. He does have youth and stamina on his side."

I could only nod, then she walked out the door, leaving me standing there with the realization of what I'd done: Hutch had survived my bullet, but could be permanently damaged because of me.

I felt Dobey's hand squeeze my shoulder tight. Almost hard. "I know what you're thinking, Starsky, so don't think it. Let's just pray for a full recovery."

XXXXXXXXX+

And that's just what I did. Since the doctors wouldn't let me in his room, I went down to the Synagogue and prayed to a God who was supposed to know what you were going through, and could feel what you were feeling.

I knew I didn't have to go to a Synagogue in order to pray. God would hear me anywhere. But it felt nicer. It felt like the times Ma and Pop would take me and Nicky when we were kids.

I prayed till I couldn't pray anymore; cried till I couldn't cry anymore.

XXXXXXXXX+

The next morning I was pacing the halls of the hospital and waiting for Dr. Stone to give me the green light to see Hutch.

The elevator door opened around nine a.m. and she looked out at me. "Detective Starsky, he's in 314. Let's keep his first visit short, okay?"

Sure. Anything. I just wanted to see him.

She held the door open while I hurried down the hall and got on with her.

XXXXXXXXX+

My heart was pounding hard and my palms were damp as I walked down the hall to 314. What would I say to him? How could an apology be enough? Cap said it was an accident, but it felt like murder.

The sight of him broke my heart. The man who just yesterday morning was bouncing into a bank with a plan for how to foil the bad guys was now looking as fragile as fine china in the white cap of a bandage around his head, and white hospital gown and sheet.

Tears came to his eyes when he saw me, and the arm that wasn't molded into a curve against his stomach reached out to me. There was a bend to his right knee. A sleepy droop almost closed his right eye. The right corner of his mouth was slightly turned down. He tried to speak, but only a groan came out. That almost sent me to my knees. I walked over

to the bed before I lost use of my legs altogether.

"Hutch," I whispered as I crouched by the side of his bed where he could see me. I squeezed his imploring hand. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen."

He looked tired and wasted, but his good hand somehow found strength to squeeze back love and forgiveness.

How? How could he give me that after what I'd done to him?

"I vow," I told him quietly. "To be here for you for the rest of your life, and help you any way I can."

He wouldn't let go of my hand. He was scared. So I stayed right there on one knee until he fell back to sleep, and he was still holding my hand when Dr. Stone brought me a chair.

"Improvement is," she said quietly because Hutch was still asleep, "of course, a day by day process. A stroke sometimes, how shall we say-short-circuits-some of the brain's activities, and that affects certain abilities: Muscular, mobility, intellectual, recall, language, communication. We will provide the best therapy there is to offer, and once he's home, the therapy will continue."

"I'll help him." I pulled a couple of pamphlets about stroke recovery from my back pocket and showed them to her. I'd gotten them from a bulletin board in the waiting room. "He's a fighter."

XXXXXXXXX++

A few hours later Huggy and Diane dropped by to see Hutch, who was still sleeping away. Huggy just couldn't come in at first. He turned in the doorway and pressed his forehead against Diane's shoulder.

She slipped an arm around him while he wept with a hand over his eyes.

I got up from my chair, fighting down a lump in my throat, and walked over to him.

"Hey," I whispered to him. "He's alive, and he's gonna get better. You'll see."

Suddenly he grabbed my shirt and jerked me out into the hall.

"How?!" he cried. "How could you be so careless!"

Anger and pain were in every angle of his face. I don't blame him. He couldn't tell me anything I hadn't already told myself.

"How could you even be here? You think you can make up for it?"

I shook my head no. He shook me some more, then broke down and jerked me to his chest, crushing me in a hug.

"Oh man," he said in an unsteady voice. "This is bad."

I patted his back while Diane wiped her own tears away.

When Huggy pulled himself together, he and Diane went into Hutch's room, and I followed. The three of us were mostly quiet as we waited for him to wake up, and when he did, he woke up crying and trying to talk and move his right arm.

Huggy placed his hand gingerly to the side of his head. "Hey, Hutchie my friend. Me and Diane here. You hang in, hear? You and Starsk got a lot more heads to crack together out there."

Diane bent down and kissed his cheek. "Get well, honey. We're all pullin' for you."

Hutch looked from Huggy, to Diane, to me, and, I don't know why, he got agitated like he was afraid or wasn't sure who they were, and he pushed at them as if to get them away from his bed.

"Gehh," he tried to say.

"It's cool," Huggy tried to reason with him. "We're your friends, and we ain't gonna hurt you."

It didn't seem to work. Hutch was trying to sit up, move, get away from them. His left hand clung to the safety rail and he tried to pull himself up.

"Huhh," he panted as he tried to talk to them. "Dehh."

I wanted to get out, run away, go get smashed. Seeing Hutch this way was crushing me.

But he was stuck here like this without being able to get out, so I was going to stay too.

"Sorry, Hutch," Huggy said as he looked at me, leading Diane from the room but looking over his shoulder at me trying to calm Hutch down.

"It's okay," I shushed to him as I settled him back against the pillow. "It's Huggy and Diane. Friends, okay? You remember?"

His attempt to pull himself up had drained him. A gleam of perspiration covered his upper lip.

"Friends," I repeated. "Like me."

I think it was my presence, more than my words, that was settling him down, because I don't think he could comprehend what people were saying just yet.

He was tired of trying to say anything else. His good hand stayed on my forearm until he went back to sleep.

I know he remembered me; it's just that he could only show it instead of tell it. And because I was something familiar to latch on to, maybe the only real thing he knew at the moment, I was even more determined to stay involved in his recovery.

When I was sure he was under, I walked down the hall to the nurse's desk where Dr. Stone was and told her what happened

She explained that it was typical. I explained that it may be typical, but it wasn't typical of Hutch. She said she understood, but unfortunately there wasn't much that could be done about it, and that, hopefully, we would see improvements with time and recovery.

"We must be patient," she told me. "Recovery doesn't happen overnight."

If at all, I thought.

What if he stayed like this for good? What if he got even worse? Or had another stroke? One of the books I read said that once the blood vessels weaken, there's always a risk . . .

I took some more pamphlets back to our room and sat down to read.

XXXXXXXXX++

Later that evening, Dr. Stone and a few nurses came into Hutch's room while I was reading, and they checked him out, plus the IV and the monitors around the bed.

This time when he woke up, he didn't seem as frightened, and his hand groped in my direction as he tried to say my name. But only "Ssss," came out.

XXXXXXXXX+

In the morning I felt his hand patting my knee to wake me up, and when I opened my eyes, I saw that he appeared a little more alert.

I smiled and leaned toward him. "How you doing? Can I get you anything? You hurtin' anywhere?"

I didn't know if he could understand what I was saying. He didn't try to answer, but the

hand that was partially paralyzed tried to move toward me.

"Right now you're down," I said squeezing his hand. "But you're not out. You'll get stronger every day."

He gave a grunt of frustration, but looked at me like I walked on water, with the trust of a child in his eyes, and that's why I didn't want to leave his sight.

"See?" I smiled as I placed my hand on his white-wrapped head. "Already tryin' to talk to me, aren't you?"

He couldn't nod yet, but I saw some kind of a yes in his eyes.

So many things I wanted to say to him, and wanted him to understand: I wish I could take it back. I wish it had been me. I didn't mean to do this to you.

"We'll get you back, Hutch. Talking. Walking. Working. I believe we can do that, don't you?"

The tears in his eyes answered me another yes.

It wasn't much, but Hutch and I were still communicating.

XXXXXXXXX++

There was an inquiry into the shooting, but since Hutch wasn't able to be questioned at this point, they relied on witnesses at the bank, and me.

The only day I left the hospital was to appear at the inquiry.

Hutch watched me put my tie on at the mirror on the wall of his room.

"Gotta go out for a while," I told him. "But I'll be back."

When I slipped a suit jacket on, his good hand came out and took the tie, pulling me closer to the bed.

The way he looked at me, I could tell he knew where I was going. And there wasn't an ounce of anger or blame in his eyes. Just a sadness and a love that reached beyond the words that could have come out of his mouth if he'd been able to speak.

He pulled me down even closer by my tie, and hooked his good arm around my neck.

Even in his condition, even though I'd shot him and had erased his life with one bullet, he was still concerned about my welfare.

What a friend. Everyone should be so lucky.

"Thanks, Hutch. See ya later."

Frankly, I was prepared for the worst, and would accept whatever actions they took, be it suspension, dismissal, legal charges.

"It was my fault," I told the panel seated around the conference room. Cap was there, and so were Internal Affairs, and the Commissioner, plus the independent team that was appointed to investigate what happened. "I was careless."

That's what I put in my written report to them.

No one was more surprised than I was when they dismissed my case. I mean, they concluded that Hutch shouldn't have jumped to save the woman, but still, his safety was my responsibility, and I should have been quicker.

They relied more on the witnesses' accounts than mine, because I wasn't willing to say officially that Hutch shouldn't have jumped to help the lady. He did what he thought he had to do, just like I might have. He wasn't thinking of his own safety at the time, just the girl. I wasn't gonna cream him on record for that. I'd already done enough damage to him by shooting him and disabling him.

Walking out of that review unscathed didn't make me feel any better. If anything, it made me feel worse. Punishment was due me, but Hutch was the one paying. That was a sentence I'd have to live with the rest of my life.

XXXXXXXXX++

Our fellow officers were terrific about coming by the hospital. By now Hutch was recognizing more people, and he was able to shake all the hands of the cops from our precinct that came to visit.

XXXXXXXXX+

It was days before they took the IV out and the monitors away. Physical therapists came into his room every day to exercise him so that he could maintain some strength and flexibility. They showed me how to work with him too, so that I could help him out while I was there and be something more than a bystander.

He got a little stronger every day; moved around a little more; squeezed a rubber ball in his hands; tried to reach for things that I held out for him.

I wanted him to learn everything at once, but Stone said not to push it, so I didn't. I

watched how the therapists worked with him on language and communication, and I began to realize that he understood a lot more than we thought; it was just hard for him to communicate to us.

XXXXXXXXX++

"Ken," the candy-striper said one day not long after we'd been to the therapy room, "you have a visitor."

We looked up from the abacus Hutch was using to count with, and saw Huggy standing in the doorway with a flourishing potted plant and a suspicious-looking health drink in a big glass shaker with a straw.

"The Bear returns," he said, but still didn't come in.

Hutch put his hand out, opening it and closing it, a gesture of invitation. He was smiling, and Hutch rarely had reason to smile of late.

"Huhh," he breathed, trying to force Huggy's name out.

Huggy brought the gifts over, set them down on the bedside table, then leaned over to give Hutch a tight hug and a clap on the back.

"Man, it's good to see you."

Hutch hugged him back with his one good arm, then looked at me, his hand gripping the cuff of Huggy's denim jacket.

"Dehh," Hutch tried to say.

"Diane?" Huggy asked him.

Like me, Huggy could usually figure out what Hutch was trying to say.

"She's comin' by tomorrow," Huggy said with a wink to me. We doubted that Hutch even remembered pushing the two of them away from his bedside. And I knew Diane. She wouldn't come if she thought it would overwhelm Hutch or hurt him. She'd wait for a cue from Hug.

Hutch turned his attention to the shaker on the bedside table and reached for it, Hug putting it in his hand.

"Kiwi and kelp," he said proudly. "Huggy's own creation."

My stomach winced at the thought. Right up Hutch's alley.

Hutch looked at our friend, putting his tongue against his teeth to make the sound "Th-" for thanks, but that's as far as he got.

"You're welcome," Huggy said as he patted his arm.

XXXXXXXXX

Doctor Stone explained that a small part of Hutch's brain had been damaged by the stroke, but that it didn't look like it was permanent and that he should, in time and with daily therapy, get back all he lost.

She told me she had worked with several stroke patients who made a full recovery and returned to work and performed their usual activities.

At this point in time it didn't look that way, but I was hopeful.

XXXXXXXXX++

"What do you think of these, Hutch?" I asked him one day when I brought some of those magnetic colored plastic letters that kids use to make words on a board.

He was able to sit up in bed now, his right hand lying in his lap. The doctors hadn't wanted to start any teaching until he was stronger, since the mental learning was often taxing. But now they said Hutch could be introduced to learning in small portions at a time.

"Letters, see?" I said laying them all out on the small table across his bed. I picked up a red A. "Know what this is?"

He pursed his lips and looked at it, face clouding in concentration. And then he just swept them all off of the bed tray, letters flying everywhere.

"Noh!" he yelled, and shoved the bed tray away too.

But I didn't show him that I was upset, I just picked the alphabet back up and put the letters into the bag.

"It's okay," I told him, and set the bag down on the bedside table, within reach of his good hand. Sometimes he would have no rhyme or reason to his emotions, but that was to be expected, according to Stone. It had to be sheer frustration from having only some control over his body and mind. "We can try it again tomorrow."

The next day when I came back to his room after getting some breakfast in the cafeteria, he had the letters spread out on the table, and he had spelled out S-T-A-R-S-K.

Man.

That got to me. He was smiling proudly. He was going to be a wiz with those letters. He knew more than he was able to convey, and the letters helped him communicate.

Once he got the hang of making words with those colored letters, he spelled out things like D-I-R-T-B-A-L-L.

One of the therapists brought him other kinds of things to communicate with, like a small chalkboard, some picture cards, and a writing tablet.

Since his right hand couldn't operate a pencil yet, or any of the other communication items he had, he had to use his other hand, so I took the chance to call him Lefty every chance I got.

Sometimes we'd write the same word over and over. One word could drain him, but each day he could do it a little better.

He even worked on words by himself, when no one was around, and the first phrase he wrote without any coaching was, "Thanks, Starsk."

I was so overcome I hugged him. I was beginning to see and hear the old Hutch I used to know.

XXXXXXXXX

The toughest times were when he tried to talk. The speech therapist would work with him on a few syllables, but he couldn't say full words. He was disappointed and frustrated that he couldn't make his mouth say what his brain wanted to say.

Whenever he got frustrated with the mental learning, we switched to the physical, and to get him out of the room for a change of scenery, I'd push him around outside in a wheelchair or go to the therapy room where he'd look around at all the equipment.

He wasn't ready for the heavy physical therapy yet, but me and the doc thought it was a good idea to prepare him. It gave him something to look forward to.

I crouched by his wheelchair and looked at the parallel bars. "Pretty soon, Hutch, you're gonna be strong enough to use those, and they'll help you walk."

He patted my hand that usually rested on his shoulder whenever I parked the wheelchair, his way of saying that he was ready to start.

He used hand-held weights too, and did flexing exercises on the mats, plus spent some

time in the therapy pool, always keeping a good sense of humor, asking me by writing on his slate how many ladies I thought he could pick up while he was there.

XXXXXXXXX+

"Time for walking," the physical therapist said as he wheeled Hutch over to the parallel bars. "We'll take it one step at a time. Literally."

The therapist worked with Hutch, while an assistant was giving blow-by-blow instruction to me for when Hutch was released from the hospital.

"We'll try standing for today," the therapist told Hutch. "Think we can do that?"

Hutch looked at the parallel bars. The bandages around his head were gone and his hair was growing back, but it was super short. With his good arm, though it was lean and pale, he pulled himself up out of the chair, but then collapsed immediately. His right arm had regained some strength and motion, but still had a way to go. Our hands caught him and eased him back in the chair.

I swallowed some tears. He'd been looking forward to this day since the beginning. But he couldn't even stand up.

But he was smiling, because he had tried.

And he tried it again, each time able to stand a bit longer than the last one. He kept reaching for the parallel bars. He wanted to start walking right then.

"Easy," the therapist told him. "Not all at once. Standing, remember?"

We worked with him over and over on standing, past the allotted time, until the therapist looked at his watch and said, "I think it's great you're so motivated, Ken, but my shift is over and I really do need to pick up my daughters from school."

It was okay. Hutch didn't mind. He waved the man on.

When the therapist was gone, Hutch looked at me from where he sat in his chair, a healthy shine of sweat on his face, working himself up to making some sound of communication.

I sat on a nearby weight bench and smiled at him. This wasn't Vinnie's, but it would do.

"Stah . . . " He leaned toward me with the effort of talking. "Skee."

"HALLELUJAH!" I shouted as I hopped around in exaggerated joy, clutching at my hair, his shoulders, my shirt, his shirt. It was his first real word. He'd worked so hard at trying

to talk. "AMEN TO THAT, BROTHER HUTCHINSON! PASS THE PLATE! IT'S A MIRACLE!"

It got a laugh from him, and that's exactly what I was trying to get.

XXXXXXXXX+

If there is such a thing as determination being the strongest medicine, next to TLC that is, then that's the medicine that helped Hutch improve with each passing day.

Once he got a taste of success, he didn't want to stop.

For one thing, he was restless and bored about being cooped up at the hospital. The learning exercises, and even the physical therapy, weren't enough to keep him satiated. He wanted out. So every chance we got, we went outside into the sunshine, sometimes in the wheelchair, sometimes with a walker.

"Out," he'd say over and over. And since he could say my name too now, he could make a whole sentence-"Out, Starsk," and he used it every day, sometimes twice.

There were a few more words he could say clearly, like "Doc" and "Eat" and "Bath" for bathroom.

One way the speech therapist worked with him was to show him which muscles of the mouth and throat said certain words, and the position of the tongue and teeth and throat for saying certain words.

Really, when you talk, you don't think too much about the mechanics, till you see it broken down like that. And then you see how intricate and complex speech really is. I used to take it for granted, till I saw Hutch struggling to make the simplest words.

XXXXXXXXX

I brought him lots of books to read, and we just took turns reading them out loud. I made it a point to read them too, so he could hear the rhythms of the sentences. Easy ones at first-Dick and Jane. Doctor Seuss. Batman and Robin comics. It was pretty funny, and we laughed a lot, joking it up and using dramatic voices and such. We were both big hams at heart, so we got a kick out of it.

XXXXXXXXX

When he was up and ambulating without the constant companion of a wheelchair, he became even more stir-crazy. One day he said, "Eat out," while he was standing at the window and pining for the outside. He had his cane in his hand and looked like he was anxious to go somewhere. "Want to . . . you want to, Ssss . . . tarsk?"

It was a beautiful day, and a real outing would do him-both of us-some good, so I said, "Let's clear it with Dr. Stone."

I went to her office.

At first she said no.

"Why not?" I asked her. "He's not a prisoner, is he?"

"Of course he isn't. But I don't want him having a relapse and undoing everything he's achieved."

"He won't, Doc. Besides, he's gonna be released next week, so we gotta try him out to see how I do with him, huh? It's not like we're gonna be tag-team wrestling or anything. He wants to eat out, for Pete's sake."

She cocked her pretty head sideways and gave me a dimpled smile. I'd been so busy helping Hutch along that I hadn't realized what a knockout she was till now. "But," I added carefully, "if you're really, really, that concerned about his safety, you could go along with us. My treat."

She blushed a little, so I must've gotten to her.

"Um, Detective Starsky-"

"Dave."

"Um, Dave . . ." She played with her hair. "I wouldn't want to complicate things. I'm a doctor. You're highly involved with Ken's rehabilitation."

"Hey, you're his doctor, not mine."

She was seriously pondering it, I could tell.

"I'm sorry," she said with a shake of her strawberry blonde hair. "Maybe later?"

"Hold you to it. Now just give Hutch the go-ahead on an outing. We'll keep it short and simple. I'll have him back here in a couple of hours, no sweat."

She smiled again. "No sweat."

XXXXXXXXX

He looked out the passenger window as if seeing the world for the first time. Really

enjoying the afternoon. It had been the first time he'd been off the hospital grounds.

"Like getting out of a prison," he commented.

Although he was getting some weight back, his older clothes were a size or two too big. He was wearing some new clothes I'd gotten for him. White turtleneck and some light tan chinos, somethin' light he'd look nice in to match the mood of the day, and because they were easy to pull on. He insisted on doing as much of his own dressing as he could with his right arm that was gaining more strength and mobility all the time.

We went to Huggy's. Somewhere familiar, where he'd feel comfortable; though I think he'd have felt comfortable anywhere. He was so much stronger now, and more relaxed.

We walked in, and Hutch's gait was slow, but steady. His right leg was almost straight, but still stiff, so he had to lean on a cane a lot when he walked for a long distance. It was hard to believe he'd come this far, when the doctors weren't sure how much he would recover.

Huggy and Diane clucked over him and brought him everything to eat but the kitchen sink. While we were there, Huggy snitched on us and called Cap and Edith, and we all had dinner together.

Hutch wanted to hear some music on the jukebox, so Huggy obliged, and we all ended up singing some songs together.

"It's good to be together again," Cap said as he raised his glass in a toast.

With Hutch being on medication and not being able to mix alcohol with it, we all decided to go with lemonade or iced tea.

We had a good time. Like old times, almost. The evening ended too soon. Everyone, even some of the regulars that knew Hutch, wished him well as we left and headed back to the hospital.

It was when we were passing the bank where he'd been shot that he turned his head to look behind.

"Starsk?" he asked shakily as he stiffened in the passenger seat beside me. "You see . . . see that?"

I glanced in the rearview. "Yeah. Sorry. Should've taken another way back to the hospital."

Damn. Why couldn't I have avoided that route, at least for now? I hadn't been past there either, and the sight of the building flooded all the bad images back.

"I . . . " He rubbed at the side of his head. "You shot me there, re . . . remember?"

I gulped down a sob. "Can't forget, Hutch," I whispered as I squeezed his arm. "You okay?"

He placed his hand over mine and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. "I think so. Just give me a minute."

When we got back to the hospital, his color had returned and he looked better.

I started to get out of the car, but he grasped my sleeve. "Wait, Starsk."

I sat there and waited.

"Before we go back in," he said quietly, "I want to say thank you for being here."

"God, Hutch, don't thank me. Please. If the tables were turned . . . "

"I know. But I wouldn't have come this far with . . . " He paused in that now-familiar way when he was putting his thoughts together. "Without you."

I pulled him into a hug, thanking God He had heard and answered my prayer, and that He kept Hutch alive, warm, and golden for me.

XXXXXXXXX+

A week later he was released, and was able to sign his own name with his right hand on the discharge papers. Seeing him standing straight and tall was a kick. He would only continue to get better at home and we'd be getting back to work when he got a clean bill of health from Stone and the department's doctor.

There were a lot of criminals to bust, doors to kick in, and heads to crack.

That's what we counted on and worked toward, and that's what we got.

Before long, he was running around his block again in the mornings, working out at Vinnie's Gym; going to the library for some new books; all the stuff he used to do and I wasn't sure he'd ever do again.

End

NO GOOD DEED

BY TLR

Starsky and Hutch met Captain Dobey just inside the emergency room at Memorial Hospital.

"Like the others?" Starsky asked as he watched the hustle and bustle of doctors and nurses urgently tending to patients.

Dobey took out his handkerchief and rubbed his bleary, bloodshot eyes. "Name's Jeffrey Diamond. Fits the victim profile. Young blond man attacked in his home. Much younger than the rest. He was quick enough and strong enough to fight back, though. Got in a couple of licks himself, he said. So there was no chance for drugging or sodomy to take place."

Hutch looked around, as if trying to pick out a blond patient on one of the nearby gurneys in the buzz of medical activity. "Lucky him," the blond said as his eyes scanned for light-colored hair. "He's alive to tell the tale. And lucky us. He can give us a lot on the killer. When can we question him?"

"Doctor says as soon as they move him up to recovery."

"Good. Why don't you go home, Cap? You look like you could use some rest."

"No real rest till this serial murderer is caught. You know as well as I do that the papers are having a field day with me on this one: Lax investigation because of the homosexual tones of the case."

Hutch patted his shoulder and gave a tired smile. "Maybe this is the break we've been looking for. We'll take it from here."

Dobey nodded and shuffled toward the exit doors. "Update me first thing in the morning," he said as he raised a hand without looking back.

"Will do," Starsky assured him.

He and Hutch exchanged a look of concern for their superior. Hutch pulled his shield out and displayed it to one of the emergency room doctors as he passed by. "Detective Hutchinson. We'll need to question Jeffrey Diamond as soon as we can."

"Yes," the physician with the receding hairline and strong jaw answered as he acknowledged the badge. "You can see him when he's in recovery. Give him a couple of hours."

"Sure."

"Any of his family here?" Starsky questioned.

"No one to notify," the doctor shrugged. "He said his family disowned him a couple of years ago when he told them he was, well, you know . . . gay."

When the doctor walked away, Starsky looked at his partner. "We could grab a late dinner at that new sub place down the street while we're waiting. It's after midnight, y'know, and I gotta keep my energy up."

"Oh yeah," Hutch said rolling his eyes, but leading the way toward the exit doors nevertheless. "Need all you can get for questioning a victim in a hospital room."

XX

Starsky was polishing off the last few of his chocolate covered peanuts as he and Hutch walked down the hospital corridor toward Jeffrey Diamond's room.

"Mr. Diamond?" Hutch asked rapping on the doorframe with his knuckles.

"Police?" came a hesitant voice from inside the room.

Hutch looked in to see that, although the young man had a private room, the privacy curtain was still drawn around.

"Yes," Hutch answered. "Detectives Hutchinson and Starsky. May we come in?"

"Well . . . I guess."

The detectives entered the room as the privacy curtain slid back by the hand of a young blond man lying on his side in his hospital bed, his other arm folded beneath his head. His face was quietly and youthfully handsome-almost shy and bookish- under the bruises and lumps on his face.

"You knew we were coming to question you, right?" Hutch asked as he held his hand out to the patient.

Jeffrey Diamond shook both detectives' hands, but didn't meet their eyes. "Right."

Hutch scratched his forehead, then smoothed his hair back. "I know this can't be easy for you, so we'll get right to it, okay? The sooner we find the guy who did this, the better. We have a lot of questions, so just take your time and answer them as completely as you can."

The patient finally made eye contact with them, laughing a nervous laugh. "They said I was lucky."

Starsky nodded. "We think this guy killed four men so far. And if his intent was to make you number five, then yes, I'd say that makes you lucky. How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"Look fifteen."

"We don't care about your lifestyle," Hutch said. "We're here to investigate a crime. We've been after this guy for months now."

"Okay, well, if it helps catch him. But when I first met him, he didn't seem like the type to be violent or anything."

"That's just it, Mr. Diamond." Hutch said as he took a notepad and pen from his shirt pocket. "Nobody looks the type."

The young man offered a small smile. "Call me Jeff. Everybody does."

"Okay, Jeff. What's this guy's name?"

"Mike. Mike something. I don't remember his last name. I don't even recall if he told me. It was a one-night stand thing, you know? Just for fun. I've done it lots of times before."

"You work the street?" Starsky asked him.

Jeff looked shocked. "No way, man! I was at Club Rudy's tonight-you can check it out. People saw me. And they saw me leave with this Mike guy. He was new. I hadn't seen him there before. So we just strike up a fast conversation, I asked him if he wanted to listen to some music and smoke some reefer back at my place, so we just left."

"Mike's description?"

"Tall, blond, wore a western embroidered shirt. Leather vest. Tan pants. Boots. And leather gloves. Everything tan. Should've known something was up when I saw the gloves. But I didn't. He was in full western get-up, so the gloves looked like part of it, you know?"

"He say where he was from?"

"No. We didn't ask info like that."

"What kind of vehicle did he drive?"

"I don't know. We left in mine. And he ran out of my place on foot. So I don't have an answer for that one."

"So the two of you left Club Rudy's and headed for your place. What did you talk about on the way there?"

"Nothing, really. We just had the tape player on and were grooving to some Frampton."

"About how old is he?"

"I don't know. Mid to late thirties I guess."

"And distinguishing marks? Scars? Tattoo?"

Jeff turned his head away, as if embarrassed. "Well, we didn't get that far. I mean, he was all over me, but he still had his clothes on. Said he really digs blonds. We didn't even have time to smoke a joint. We got inside and he just shoved me into my wall and tried to do me. I saw he had some kind of hypo with him, and that's when I knew I was dealing with a psycho. He had his pants unzipped, and he was tryin' to pull the back of mine down, and he busted my face into the wall a couple of times. That's where I got these bumps and bruises from. I knew I had to do something fast, so I rammed my elbow back into his throat, then into his gut. He couldn't breathe. Choking like. So I took the chance to go for my gun, and that's when he took off. When I ran back to the living room with my pistol, he was gone."

Hutch stood writing in his note pad.

"He leave anything at your place?" Starsky asked him as he extended his bag of chocolate nuts. "Anything we can use for a lead? Slip of paper with his writing on it? Jewelry? Clothes? Did he have an accent?"

"No."

"Did he have a weapon?"

"Besides the hypo we was going to use on me? No."

"And he had his gloves on the whole time?"

"Yeah. So I know there aren't any prints. Man, how stupid could I be."

"Go easy on yourself," Hutch said. "You had no idea who he was or what he was about."

"Did he mention the names of any acquaintances?" Starsky asked him.

Jeff shook his head no at the snack and sighed heavily. "No. I wish he had, because I want this guy caught. I mean, if he killed four guys already, and he knows I'm alive and can describe him . . . man, I'm really scared. I'm a long way from home. Minnesota."

Hutch glanced up from his note-taking and smiled. "No kidding. Me too."

"Not that anybody cares where I am, mind you. I hitch-hiked out here just to explore, you know? I just wish . . . "

Hutch smiled and patted the sheet-covered leg. "We heard about your family situation."

"Tough deal," Starsky added.

"Yeah, I mean, I haven't been in this city that long, I don't know that many people. There's nobody I can go to for help."

"Live alone?" Hutch asked.

"Yeah." His eyes grew more frightened as he considered his predicament. "What if he comes back? He knows where I live. I have a pistol, but still . . . "

Hutch tucked his notepad and pen away into his pocket. "You gave us a lot of good information. We'll talk to Rudy, see if he or any of the regulars can tell us anymore about this Mike fellow. We'll let you review some mug books. Hook you up with a sketch artist. Maybe even put his face on the news and get the public involved in the manhunt. We had nothing to go on before. Thanks to you, we may have this nut in a few days. Till then, what would you think about staying at my place?"

"Oh, no, Detective Hutchinson, there's no way I could impose . . . "

"No imposition. It's the safest place for you till we get our man." He glanced at his partner. "Right?"

"Right. Matter of fact, Hutch'll hang around the hospital and keep an eye on your room while I question Rudy."

"Oh is that right?" Hutch asked. "Why don't YOU hang around the hospital and keep an eye on his room while I question Rudy? You just want an excuse to leave so you can eat again."

"Absolutely not true."

Jeff was smiling at their exchange.

Hutch took the bag of peanuts away to polish them off. "Yeah, go ahead. And bring me back a tuna burger, will you?"

"With goat's milk?"

"No, butterfly milk. Of course goat's milk."

"What health food joint's open this time of night?"

"Organic Only is."

Starsky rolled his eyes and took his snack bag back. "Gross." He grinned to Jeff as he started for the door. "If I'm not back in an hour, send an ambulance after me. I'll be overcome by tuna burger fumes."

Hutch grabbed a box of tissues and chucked it at him as he made his way out.

"Thanks," Jeff said as he watched Hutch settle down into a nearby chair. "I really appreciate this."

"No problem. We're a lot farther along in the case now than we were this morning, thanks to you."

Jeff turned onto his back. "Guess the medication's making me tired."

"Sure, go ahead and sleep. I'll sit right here."

"What if he figures out I came to the hospital and comes here looking for me?"

Hutch parted his jacket open to reveal his gun. "More than likely he's on the run because he knows you can make him. But better safe than sorry."

Jeff closed his eyes, his face relaxing into sleep.

XX

"Rudy," Starsky said displaying his badge to the proprietor of Rudy's, a disco frequented by mostly gay males. "Police. My partner and I are investigating a string of deaths. The victims happen to be homosexual males, and we think one of your patrons last night-Mike something-may be our man. Tall, blond, cowboy. Ring a bell?"

Rudy, a bald man with an earring, polished some drinking glasses behind his bar. "I remember seeing a cowboy type last night. Left with a younger man. But as to his name being Mike, I have no idea. I hadn't seen him in here before."

"Did you see him talking to anyone else?"

"Not really. He pretty much had his attention on the blond."

"Thanks, man," Starsky said placing his card on the bar. "Anything else comes up about Mike, give me a call."

"Will do."

XX

"No dice," Starsky said to Hutch in the hallway outside Jeff's hospital room.

"Strike one," Hutch told him. "Hopefully he'll spot Mike in a mug book."

XX

The next day after Jeff was discharged, the detectives escorted him to the precinct, where he sat in an extra chair at their desk and examined some mug books.

"Hey, Stan," Hutch said motioning to the sketch artist. "Get with this young man over here. He can give you a description of our suspect. Blond cowboy."

While Jeff was looking at mug shots and talking to the sketch artist, the detectives went into Dobey's office.

"Cap," Hutch said to their superior, who sat dozing behind his desk with his chin down on his chest. When Dobey didn't wake up, Hutch tapped his shoulder. "Cap?"

Dobey woke with a start and looked around.

"Huh? What?"

Starsky grinned and sat on the edge of his desk. "The kid's with a sketch artist and the mug books. We got a good description and a first name. Talked to Rudy, owner of a gay joint. Rudy remembers seeing Mike but doesn't know anything else."

"Since Jeff got away," Hutch said, "Mike may be on the run. One thing we know for sure is that he won't stop killing. He'll just do it in a different place. I have an idea, if you'll go for it."

"Let's hear it."

"No way," Starsky said giving his partner a stunned look.

"How do you even know what I'm going to say?"

"'cause I know how you think, and you ain't goin' undercover as bait."

"Why not? We do it all the time. I'll cruise around the men's clubs, flash my flaxen hair, and lure him back to my place, where the attack is most likely to occur. Anything happens, you'll already be staked out in my closet or something."

"The guy's a psycho, Hutch. If he finds a wire on you . . . "

"I'll put it in the apartment."

"Or if he finds a gun . . . "

"No gun."

"He may decide to kill you before you get back to your place."

"That's not his M.O."

Dobey was stroking his chin. "It just might work. Let me think about it."

XX

Starsky and Hutch worked some other cases by phone from their desk while waiting for Jeff to finish up the mug books.

"Wish he'd hurry up," Starsky whispered across the desk at his partner. "Almost lunchtime."

The sketch artist handed Hutch the picture. "Looks a little like you, Hutch."

Hutch smiled at the picture. "Yeah, except I don't have a mustache."

When Jeff was finally finished with the last mug book, he closed it and pushed the stack toward Starsky. "Sorry. No Mike."

Hutch rose to his feet with the sketch. "We'll take this down to the TV stations and see if the public can call in with any information."

Just as they were leaving the squad room, Dobey poked his head out the door.

"Hutch!" he called.

The three of them turned around.

"Green light," he said, and gave Hutch a wink. "And be careful."

Hutch gave him a thumbs-up as they stepped out into the hall.

"Green light?" Jeff asked as they walked toward the elevator. "For what?"

"Hutch is goin' undercover tonight," Starsky said without enthusiasm.

"For this case? As what?"

"What else?" Hutch asked as he pushed the down button at the elevator. "A big beautiful blond."

XX

After their stops at the TV stations, Starsky let Hutch and Jeff out at Venice Place, then drove toward Huggy's for lunch and information.

XX

"You know," Hutch said to Jeff as he slipped his jacket and holster off and hung them on the inside of his closet door, "I'll need you to brief me on some of the places . . . well, you know. Where Mike might be to pick up a date. I know Rudy's, and I know the Green Parrot."

"Sure," Jeff said looking around the apartment. He took off his backpack and jacket, hanging both on the back of a kitchen chair. "But I don't know that many, since I haven't been here that long. Hey, you have a nice place here. Can I see your guitar?"

"Help yourself."

Jeff picked up the guitar that was resting in a corner next to a lamp stand. "I always wanted to learn to play."

"Never too late."

Jeff strummed a few times, then put it back. "That a greenhouse over there?"

"Sure. Check it out."

Jeff walked toward the greenhouse with a smile growing on his face. "Very nice."

Hutch went to the refrigerator and brought out two beers, handing Jeff one. "So, how does a young man from Minnesota like the big city? Or is that a dumb question considering

what happened to you last night?"

Jeff smiled again. "I liked it till then. But, hey. It won't be long till you get that nut. With that sketch, and the undercover thing . . . man, isn't that dangerous? I don't want to see the same thing happen to you . . . "

"It's my job, Jeff. We have to get this guy off the streets. And I have one advantage that the other victims-even you-didn't have."

"What's that?"

"I'll be expecting something to happen."

XX

Starsky showed Huggy one of the sketches, then said, "See if you can find anything about this guy and call me, okay? Hutch is goin' undercover tonight to try to lure this Mike guy back to his place."

"I'll keep my feelers feelin'."

XX

Hutch came from the bathroom that evening pulling on a black turtleneck and combing his hair.

Jeff, who was cooking in the kitchen, said, "Hope you don't mind me saying you look good tonight."

"Good," Hutch laughed as he sat down on the sofa and tied his shoes. "Maybe I'll look good to Mike too." He glanced at his watch, then said over his shoulder, "Hey, what smells so delicious?"

"Spinach casserole. Hope you're hungry."

"I am. I bet Starsky's starving by now. He's probably eating at Huggy's right now."

"Is Starsky going to help out with the undercover thing tonight?"

"Always does. Can't do this job without my partner."

"Let's eat while this is good and hot."

Hutch rose to his feet, brushed a wrinkle from his tan corduroys, then headed for the kitchen.

"What's this?" he asked with a touch of uncertainty as he looked at the candles, the wine already poured into glasses, and the fresh-cut flowers Jeff had gotten from the greenhouse.

"Not what you think," Jeff said as he pulled Hutch's chair out for him. "Just a way to say thank you for being so nice to me."

Hutch took a seat and sipped the red wine. "Thank you. But you really didn't have to."

Jeff dished out some casserole. "Try that."

Hutch tasted it, and then nodded. "Oh yeah. This is great. Starsky doesn't know what he's missing."

Jeff sat down across from him and began to eat too. "Who are those girls?"

Hutch swallowed a piece of dinner roll, then washed it down with a drink of wine. "What girls?"

"In your photo album. Jeanie? Vanessa? Abby?"

Hutch stopped with the wine glass in his hand. "Do you always go snooping around when you're a guest in somebody's home?"

"Not all the time. Only when it's . . . somebody special."

"Maybe me taking you in was a mistake after all, Jeff. I was only trying to offer you some protection. You're young. I didn't mean to mislead you in any way."

Jeff continued to look at him. "Oh, you didn't mislead me. I know exactly what you're about."

"Jeff, I . . . " Hutch blinked at him hard, squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. "What do you . . . " His head began to bob and his voice started to slur. "Wait."

The glass of wine dropped to the floor and his eyes rolled back as he started to slump in the chair. "What did you give . . . "

Jeff rose from the chair. "I know how to handle rejection."

XX

Starsky was just getting out of the Torino at the precinct when a voice behind him said, "You Detective Starsky?"

Starsky turned to see a tall blond man wearing a western shirt and cowboy hat. Jumping back in surprise, he reached under his jacket for his gun. "Don't make a move."

The blond man held his hands up. "Whoa. I know what you're thinkin'. That sketch of me's all over TV, but I'm here to tell you, you got it wrong."

Starsky eyed him warily, gun still trained in his face. "How?"

"It was that KID who attacked ME."

Starsky didn't put his gun down. "Why didn't you report it?"

"Kiddin'? I own a garage, man. A business to run. Ain't much, but it's mine. I didn't need the publicity. You think I wanted my wife knowin' anything about where I go and what I do? Now she and everybody else thinks I'm a KILLER."

"Turn around and put your hands on the car."

"Man, I'm tellin' you. You got the wrong guy. Look. Look."

He pulled his shirt collar aside to reveal bruises on his throat, then pulled his shirt up to show some on his stomach.

"He had a needle kit, man. Some little bottles. I didn't know what he was doing. Like he was some kind of doctor. I tried to run away when I saw the needle. I don't like rough stuff, so I fought back, busted his face into the wall a couple of times. He rammed his elbow into my throat and stomach. Man, get my face off the TV."

With a hasty, "Thanks, huh?" Starsky shoved the man aside and jumped back into the Torino, lifting the mike and calling for units to be dispatched to Hutch's place.

XX

Jeff rose from the table and caught Hutch as he slumped against him, stroking his hair.

"You don't really like me, Hutch," he murmured sadly. "Just like my father. It's just pretend. Nobody ever means it."

Hutch groaned against his stomach, his hands unable to lift from his sides. "Go. Let me go."

Jeff took the bottom hem of the black turtleneck and slid it up and over his head, then took his own shirt off and pulled Hutch gently against his torso, until skin was pressed to skin.

"Oh yes," Jeff whispered as he took Hutch's lowered head in his hands and lifted it to kiss him. "I love you."

Hutch's eyes roamed toward the ceiling and he tried to move away.

"Star . . . " Only half a whisper. Jeff held him up in the chair.

Jeff reached for the backpack hanging on the back of the kitchen chair, his hand fishing around inside until he found a syringe and a small bottle.

Hutch tried to move away from him again, but Jeff wrapped a belt around his neck and pulled him back, whispering, "Not so fast," and kissing him again.

Hutch bit down on Jeff's lower lip until Jeff cried out, then shoved him backward to the floor and tumbled sideways from the chair, tipping it over, the syringe skidding away.

"Help!" he yelled as he stumbled for the door.

Laughing, Jeff climbed to his feet and chased him, catching him halfway across the room and tackling him to the floor.

Hutch tried to throw him off, but diminished by the tainted wine, was no match for Jeff's strength.

"Why?" Jeff sobbed as he straddled Hutch's back and cinched the belt tighter around his neck. "Why don't you love me? I love you."

Face reddening, Hutch gasped and choked, trying to paw the belt away from his throat; then pawed for the closet door for his gun.

"Love me, Daddy," Jeff whined as he leaned down to Hutch's ear. "Why don't you love me?"

Jeff squeezed the belt tighter, teeth clenched with the effort, until Hutch's hand dropped to the floor, until his gasping was only a snuffing sound, until his head lowered to the floor.

"There," Jeff sniffed. "You love me now, don't you? Don't you, Daddy?"

He never noticed the sound of urgent footsteps pounding up the stairs; he only kept squeezing the life from the man under him.

"HUTCH!"

The door banged open, and Starsky fired on the young blond, the bullets knocking him backward and to the floor.

"Hutch!"

He ran over to his partner while two uniforms checked on Jeff.

"Dead," one of them said. "I'll call it in. Ambulance for Hutch too." He went to the phone and dialed.

The other uniform was noting the overturned chair, syringe on the floor, and backpack hanging from the kitchen chair.

Starsky knelt next to Hutch and took the belt from around his neck, turning him over and pulling him up into the bend of his arm.

"Hutch?"

He'd been choked unconscious.

"Here, buddy," Starsky coaxed as he lifted the blond head for a clearer airway. "Keep breathin'."

From the backpack, one of the uniforms brought out a small brown bottle with a dropper. "Think the guy used this to overpower Hutch?"

"I'd bet on it. Let's take that and the syringe to the hospital."

XX

Starsky was pacing the hall outside the emergency room when Dobey arrived.

"How is he?" the captain asked.

"Diamond drugged his wine, then tried to strangle him, if you want to call that okay. The drug was a strong tranquilizer so he couldn't fight or-" He kicked the wall. "Like Bellamy!"

Dobey pulled him away from the wall. "Settle down. Doctor say anything?"

"Said the drug was powerful, but not lethal. Called Q9 or somethin'. I'll get to see him pretty soon."

Dobey clapped him on the back. "Good work. You got our man."

Starsky gave him a bitter "Yeah."

Dobey left Starsky to stew while he went off to find the doctor.

XX

"Your detective is going to be all right," the doctor told Dobey near the water fountain. "We've given him some medication to fight the swelling, and he should be a lot better by morning."

XX

Hutch's eyes still looked drowsy the next morning when Starsky walked into his hospital room to see him.

"Hey," Hutch said in a faint, raspy voice. He offered a small smile

Starsky winced at the sound of his partner's voice, and the bruising around his throat.

"Hey yourself."

Hutch's hand went out and clasped his partner's. "Wha . . . what am I doing here? Thought I was . . . was dead."

"Lucky thing Mike got tired of everybody thinkin' he was a serial killer and told me about Diamond."

"Thanks, Starsk. Man, th . . . thought I was a goner."

"Stop talkin', Hutch. Gonna wear your throat out."

He nodded and closed his eyes. "Psycho."

"I'll say," he said stroking his hair. "If I hadn't saved your blondness again, you'd be victim number five."

End

SUSPICION

By TR

XXXXXXXXXXXX

It was hard for me to keep up with Hutch when we pushed our way into the emergency room at Memorial.

"Kiko," Hutch said to one of the doctors. "Somebody said he's here."

As usual, the emergency room was a chaos of activity. Hutch's head turned this way and that trying to catch a glimpse of the little kid he spent time with in the Big Brother program. Panic was building in him like a pressure cooker. One of us had to keep our cool.

One of the nurses tried to close a curtain around the gurney the kid was lying on, but before it closed completely I got a glimpse of a dark face, black hair, and a bloodied face. A doctor came over to us.

"Looks bad," he said to me instead of Hutch, like he knew I was the calmest one at the moment. "Beaten. Sodomized. Won't answer any of our questions, so we don't know who's responsible. His parents are in the waiting room."

Hutch sank like putty next to me. I took his arm and steadied him.

"Oh my God," he said in a thin-thread voice. "I just saw him this morning. Took him to the library. He . . . " He slowly raised his eyes to the doctor. "What do you mean, 'parents'? His father is in prison."

The doctor shrugged. "Not anymore," he said, then gave Hutch's arm a pat. "I'll keep all of you informed of his progress."

Hutch started to move around the doctor and the curtain, to get a look at Kiko, but I pulled him back.

"Why didn't Kiko or his mother tell me he was getting out of jail, Starsk? I could have prepared him."

"Maybe they didn't know he was gettin' out."

The doctor walked back to the hustle of the emergency room, and Hutch turned to me with a broken look on his face. "We have to find out who hurt that little boy."

"I know, Hutch."

"Do you understand?"

"I understand."

Without a word about where we were going, we both walked in the direction of the waiting room. Kiko's parents would need all the help they could get.

Before we got there, Hutch visibly pulled himself together. Control. I admired him for the

way he could do that. Me, I'd be throwing a chair through the wall.

Kiko's parents were despondent, not talking at all; she sat crunched up in the corner of the couch; he stood brooding out the window into the city night. I'd never seen the man before, but I could see a strong resemblance between he and his son.

"I'm sorry, Bonita," Hutch said as soon as he saw her. "I can't believe this happened. We were just together this morning at the library. I let him out at your place afterward. He was fine."

She jumped up to hug him, bursting into tears, but a dark look from Kiko's father stopped her and she backed away, left to wring her hands on the hem of her sweater.

Hutch gave the man a look back, but refrained from doing what he really wanted to do, which was slip an arm around her. He didn't want to cause any trouble between the two of them. "Captain Dobey called me," he said gently. "A couple of detectives named Harris and Rosetti are going to investigate. I'd like nothing more than to take it on myself, but I thought it best to make myself available to you and your family."

Juan walked over and pulled his wife a step away from Hutch, putting an arm around her and speaking in a thick accent. "I'll take care of my family now."

Hutch put his hand out. "Sorry to have to meet under these circumstances. My name is-"

"I know who you are," the man answered without taking Hutch's hand. "Savior of the world."

"Do you have any idea who did this?"

"Ask Bonita. Could be any one of her famous boyfriends. Talk is she had plenty while I was away. Huh, Bonita? You have an answer for that? One of your boyfriends have his way with Kiko? Why weren't you watching him closer? Where were you when this happened?"

Whatever sympathy Hutch had for the man hardened into a thin layer of frost across his eyes. "Where did Kiko go today after I dropped him off at home? Who was he playing with?"

"You should know," Juan said. "You spend so much time with him. He was with you this morning, remember?"

"Are you insinuating-"

"I think it's a little sick for a grown man to be spending so much time with a twelve-year-old boy."

Hutch put his finger in Juan's face. "I was doing YOUR job while you were in the pen, you degenerate lowlife."

"Keep away from him!"

"Juan!" Bonita cried as she clutched his red plaid shirt. "Hutch wouldn't do what you're saying! He's a good man! Good to Kiko!"

Juan backhanded her, sending her to the couch, and that's when all hell broke loose. Juan went for Bonita again, Hutch jumped him, and I jumped Hutch.

"Pervert!" Juan shouted after Hutch pulled him away from Bonita. "Keep away from my son!"

I pounced, driving the man back against the wall. "SHUT YOUR DIRTY MOUTH!"

Captain Dobey charged in like a mad bull and pulled me off. "Cool it!" he said panting from Hutch to me. "Both of you!"

We all froze, panting for breath.

I looked at Juan. Dobey's hand on my chest was the only thing keeping me from going at him again. "One more word out of your mouth about my partner," I warned him, "I'll kill you."

Dobey had two uniforms with him. They came in for reinforcements for what he had to say.

"Kiko regained consciousness," Cap said to the room that had grown still and attentive, but his grim expression settled on Hutch last. "He said you're the one who hurt him, Hutch."

Hutch stepped back, his face white, eyes glassy, his head shaking no over and over. Juan was growling like a Neanderthal and trying to lunge at him. That's where the uniforms came in. One held him back, while the other came to stand by Hutch and me, like one of us was about to go off again.

But we didn't have it in us. All out of fight. Bonita started to cry, Hutch started to sink down to his knees, and it was a miracle I could even catch his arm and pull him back up, because I was suddenly sapped of physical and emotional strength.

"Come with me to the station, Hutch," Cap said taking his other arm. "We need to talk. Harris is waiting for you. Rosetti's staying here at the hospital to question Kiko when he's

up to it."

I couldn't say anything. My whole body felt like petrified wood, so I couldn't begin to imagine how Hutch was feeling.

"I TOLD YOU!" Juan was bellowing and straining at our backs. "I TOLD YOU, CHILD RAPIST!"

Doctors and nurses in the hall were looking.

The uniforms were restraining him, and Hutch shuffled between us like a zombie. I think I'd have preferred him tearing the walls apart.

"I didn't hurt him," he said woodenly. "He must be delirious. Confused. Let me talk to him."

"No contact," Cap said. I could almost feel him biting down hard on his lip as he said it. He had a job to do, and he couldn't let it look like he was handling Hutch with kid gloves. "Were you with him at the library this morning like he said?"

"Of course. The librarian can verify that. She'll tell you he was fine then."

"Good. How about after?"

"I took him home and let him out of the car, then I drove home."

"Anybody at his house when you let him out?"

"I don't know."

"Did you go inside his home?"

"No."

"What did you do after you let him out?"

"I went home and read a book."

"Anybody see you that can vouch for that?"

"I was reading alone at home. Why would there be anybody to vouch for that?"

"Can anybody confirm that you dropped him off and drove away?"

"Yeah, Kiko. Ask him."

Dobey shook his head. "The boy's almost catatonic. All he would say was that you hurt him."

Hutch sighed heavily and shook his head.

"Do you want an attorney present when Harris questions you?"

For an absurd second I wanted to laugh, even though there was nothing funny about it.

"No," Hutch answered calmly. "I didn't do anything. I'll answer any questions you have. In the meantime, the person who really did this is out there . . . " He gave Cap a reluctant look, and swallowed hard. "He wasn't really molested, was he?"

Cap's silence was his answer.

Hutch closed his eyes. "Oh God. That poor baby."

"Hutch, I know you didn't do this, but we have to do this by the book. You need to cooperate with Harris and Rosetti."

"Anything. I'll do anything. I'll take a polygraph."

Again I wanted to laugh. Hutch knew as well as I did that polygraphs weren't reliable or admissible evidence-more of a tool to use for making a suspect sweat during an interrogation, hopefully to evoke a confession or spill out more information-but he was willing to do anything to clear his name.

"In the meantime," Dobey finished. "I'll see what kind of physical evidence they have. Something that will exclude you, hopefully."

But Hutch had stopped listening to him. "Why, Starsk?" he said as he looked at me. "Why would Kiko say that?"

"Don't worry," I said, trying to sound as reassuring as I could. "We'll get to the bottom of this."

But we both knew that with Kiko saying Hutch was the one who molested him, even when we knew it couldn't be true and Hutch would cut his arm off before hurting that kid, Hutch was in deep trouble.

We walked Hutch out the front doors of the hospital and across the parking lot to Cap's car. Me and Hutch exchanged a look. As much as I wanted to be with Hutch while they questioned him, I knew he could handle himself, and right now it seemed more important that I stay at the hospital to see if I could question Kiko myself.

XXXXXXXXX

"He's heavily sedated for the night," Kiko's doctor said. "If I were you, I'd go home and come back in the morning."

But I couldn't. Not with Hutch sitting in an interrogation room at our very own police station. I paced the halls and waited, tried again and again to think of why Kiko would say Hutch hurt him.

The media had already gotten wind of it, and they followed me around like a pack of hungry wolves:

-"Is it true, Detective Starsky?"

-"Your partner is suspected of sexual assault on a child?"

-"How long has he known this boy?"

-"What evidence do they have?"

-"What do the boy's parents say?"

-"Is your partner denying the allegations?"

-"Were there any signs that Detective Hutchinson was capable of-"

"My partner's innocent," was my answer to every question.

I couldn't take their questions anymore. Unable to stay at the hospital a second longer, I got in the Torino and left. When I drove by my house and saw two TV news vans, I decided to go to Huggy's for the night. It was after midnight so he'd closed up, so I climbed the outside steps up to his apartment.

"Man," he said when he let me in. "Hutchie's all over the news. What gives?"

"Not sure," I sighed as I dropped tiredly into his overstuffed easy chair. "Kiko's words are gonna bury him."

"Why would the kid make up somethin' like that?"

"Don't know, Hug. Somebody molested him, that's for sure, but it wasn't Hutch. And everybody's quick to want to believe that he did."

When Huggy gave me a wounded look, I said, "Everybody except you and Cap, that is."

"Tough luck," he said plopping down on the side of his bed. "You gonna sleep in that chair?"

"Guess so."

With an exasperated sigh, he went to the closet and pulled out a fold-up cot.

"Here," he said unfolding it and tossing a pillow and blanket on top of it. "Don't say I never did you no favors."

But even as I lay there, I couldn't drift off to sleep. Not with Hutch's situation on my mind.

It was sometime after three a.m. that I got back up, slipped past a snoring Huggy, and drove over to the police station. Crazy. I knew my presence wouldn't make a difference to the questioning, but I wanted to be close should things take a turn for the worse.

Harris was still questioning him inside the interrogation room, so I sat down on the floor just outside the door with my back against the wall and leaning my head back.

I heard snatches of Harris' questioning through the door . . .

"How long have you known the boy?"..."What's this Big Brother program all about?"..."What is your relationship like with his mother?"..."What kind of things do you and the boy do when you're together?"..."Why would he say something like this if it weren't true?"

I was almost dozing when Harris came out for a break. He knew Hutch wouldn't leave, so he left the door open and smiled down at me on his way to the men's room.

"Hey," Hutch said coming out in the hall to stretch his legs and get a drink of water at the fountain. "What are you doing down there?"

He put his hand down and pulled me up.

"How's it goin'?" I asked him.

"Good, I think."

"Still don't want a lawyer?"

"Nope. How you doin'?"

"Tryin' to keep the reporters at bay."

He smiled. "Yeah. Know what you mean. They came here for the scoop, but Dobey sent them packing." He kneaded the back of his neck. "Kiko say anything else?"

"No. Under medication. Gonna try to talk to him in the morning."

"Thanks."

Harris came back down the hall with two cups of coffee, giving Hutch one. Hutch followed him back inside, then sat down across from him while I stood in the open doorway. "Why don't you go home and get some sleep, Starsk? No need in both of us being up all night."

"I'll try," I winked as I closed the door.

But again sleep escaped me. I just gave up and drove around till daylight, trying unsuccessfully to block out the bits of news bulletins all over the radio-"allegations"- "young boy accuses"-"father convinced"-""Detective Hutchinson"-"unmarried"-"fond of the boy"-"trusted family friend"-

XXXXXXXXX

The next morning I sat in one of the waiting rooms at the hospital and stared at a blank TV screen. I was tired of hearing and seeing it on the news wherever I turned. Juan had wasted no time slamming Hutch to any reporter who'd listen. Bonita was noncommittal, thanks to her husband's own brand of a gag order. But I could see it in her eyes. She didn't think Hutch was guilty of what Kiko said.

Right before breakfast, Kiko's doctor told me that the boy was awake and resting in a recovery room. I took the elevator up to the third floor to find Detective Mark Rosetti talking with Bonita and Juan in the hall.

Rosetti was questioning both of them and making notes.

"No way," Juan said when he saw me approaching. "You get the hell out of here."

I ignored him and looked at Rosetti. "Hutch didn't do this, Mark. You know him."

Rosetti looked a little embarrassed, like he really DID think Hutch did it but was too uncomfortable to say so to my face. "I just questioned the boy again, and he says the same thing."

I wanted to punch the wall, but knew it would get nowhere. Showing my anger wasn't going to get me in to see Kiko. I had to keep my temper down.

"Mark, he must be confused. Maybe it's the heat, or a concussion, or amnesia or something. Maybe if you just ask the right questions-"

"Telling me how to do my job, Starsky? I've been at this longer than you."

"Hey, look. I didn't mean that. I mean . . . he knows me, okay? Let me have a shot at it. One shot." I looked at Bonita for backup. "You said yourself Hutch wouldn't hurt Kiko. If my questions upset him, I'll leave. But I gotta try it one time, for Hutch's sake."

Juan was shaking his head no, while Bonita was shaking her head yes.

"Please, Juan," she said holding to his shirtsleeve. "Just a few minutes. We don't want the wrong person to be accused."

"Are you calling our son a liar?"

"No, no, that is out of the question. But it's like Dave says. Maybe Kiko is mixed up."

"Dave, huh? He Kiko's Big Brother too? Or maybe yours?"

"Juan-"

He pulled away from his wife and walked down the hall.

"Three minutes," Rosetti said to me, holding up three fingers. "That's it."

Bonita followed after her husband, while I stepped into Kiko's room. Rosetti waited just outside the door, for two reasons: One, to hear me question the boy, to make sure I didn't intimidate him, put words in his mouth, or coerce him. And two: to give me and Kiko some space to talk.

In a way I was glad Hutch hadn't seen him yet. The bruises on his face and tormented look in his eyes were hard to process.

"Hey, kiddo," I said patting his forearm.

Somebody had beaten the hell out of this boy, and it sure wasn't Hutch. Nobody had to tell me he was lying on his side to ease the soreness of his bottom. I'd talked to male victims before.

I had to tread lightly. Couldn't spook him into more silence.

"You know," I said as I pulled a chair over and sat down. "Hutch came to the hospital as soon as Captain Dobey called us. Worried sick about you."

His eyes found a spot on the speckled floor tiles and stayed there.

"Your ma's worried about you too. And your papa."

I waited for some kind of reaction. He still looked at the floor, but there was a slight wetness in his eyes.

"Hutch and me were surprised to hear your father was out of jail. Shoulda told us about it, then we coulda met with him, maybe even had some kinda surprise party for him or somethin'."

I waited some more, and still got silence in return.

"Sorry about what happened to you, Kiko. No kid should ever have to go through somethin' like that. It was brutal, and it was terrible, and I know, like you know, that Hutch didn't do it. If you didn't see your attacker, that's okay, that happens, but you need to tell us. If he has blond hair, blue eyes, same build, okay. If there's some reason why you're saying Hutch did it when he really didn't . . . "

He was sniffing, and I couldn't figure out which of my words were making him cry, but at least it was better than nothing. I pulled a tissue from a box on the dresser and put it in his hand.

"I'm scared," he finally whispered as he wiped his nose with the tissue.

"Of what?"

He clammed up again.

"Kiko, if it's some gang member in your neighborhood, then tell me. I'll arrest him. I'll protect you. If it's some bigshot in town, somebody no one would suspect, I'll believe you. I just need the truth."

His eyes closed this time, and a small mewling sound passed his lips, and he cried like he was five instead of twelve. Clearly he was in turmoil. Scared. Hurting. I wanted to get through so badly. I wish Hutch were here. I couldn't think of any Hutch things to say.

I leaned forward in my chair, my voice low. "Kiko, Hutch is at the police station right now being questioned. If something doesn't break in the case soon, they're gonna arrest him and he's goin' to jail for somethin' he didn't do."

He broke down in loud sobs now, clutching the tissue and hugging his pillow tight. Rosetti stuck his head in to make sure I wasn't harassing the kid, and I held my hand up to back him out.

"He threatened me," Kiko whispered around the tissue. "Said he'd kill me and my mom if I told who really did it. I said it was Hutch because . . . because . . . I knew he wouldn't hurt me if I said it. He wouldn't hurt me no matter what I said. But I can't let him go to jail, Starsky. It's not fair. He's my Big Brother."

I leaned closer to him, my hand on his head. "Who's 'he', Kiko? I gotta know. Tell me now and I'll go get him, stop him, and put him in jail."

His eyes sneaked toward mine, and I knew I'd gotten through. "He'll go to jail, right?"

"Right."

"Where he can't hurt me again, right?"

"Right."

His eyes wandered toward the door, then darted back to me. "My father," he whispered, and new tears started again. "He took me into the bathroom. Said I wasn't his kid, I should belong to Hutch. Kept saying that over and over while he was . . . hurting me. I don't understand."

I leaned over and kissed the top of his head. "It's gonna be okay, Kiko," I told him.

"Hutch'll be here as soon as he can." Then I raced to the door.

"He said it was his father," I said hurriedly to Rosetti on my way out.

Juan was stepping off the elevator at the end of the hall, a fairly smug look on his face. He was so sure he'd terrified his son into silence. But when he saw me running toward him, I think he saw the light, because he turned and tried to get back on the elevator before the doors closed.

"Police!" I shouted as I ran after him. "You're under arrest!"

The elevator doors were closing, but I dove between them and tackled him to the floor just as they did.

My first instinct was to beat his face in for what he did to Kiko, but I couldn't blow the case. I'd let the courts handle him-something else I could hear my partner saying in my head.

I told him what he was being arrested for, read him his rights, then shoved him into the back of my Torino to book him.

When it came right down to it, Rosetti wasn't pissed that I'd collared the man instead of him. We were all just glad to have caught the right guy.

While Juan was being booked, I ran like a crazy man down the hall to the interrogation room Hutch was in.

"Hutch! Hey, Hutch!"

Cops stared at me, but I didn't care. I burst into the room like a tornado, nearly knocking Harris out of his chair to grab my partner by the shoulders.

"Kiko told me," I panted. "It was his father."

Hutch didn't look half as relieved as I thought he would. He looked kind of sad, because of the truth in the words I just told him. The boy's own father had beaten and raped him, stole his innocence and trust, and who knew how long it would be before they could be recovered, if at all.

"Thanks, Starsk," he said quietly, and gripped my hand.

Dobey was in the room with us. He was fuming back and forth across the floor, but looked relieved.

"Well?" I asked as I looked from Dobey to Harris. "He free to go?"

Harris looked at Dobey for confirmation.

"Get the hell out of here," he said nodding to us, and Hutch and me were out of there like a shot and on our way back to the hospital.

When we passed Juan and the booking sergeant, it was me who had to steer Hutch away from him. He wanted to tear the guy's head off.

XXXXXXXXX+

Kiko was crying when we got back to the hospital. Rosetti was trying to calm him down, but it wasn't working. Only Hutch would do. Even when the doctors and nurses stared, Hutch went to the boy's bed and scooped him into a hug.

"I'm sorry, Hutch!"

Hutch patted his back. "It's okay, Kiko. I know what happened."

"Please don't hate me."

"I could never hate you."

"I didn't mean to lie."

"I know. I know why you did it. It's going to be okay now."

XXXXXXXXX+

Juan denied everything, of course, and demanded a lawyer, which we gladly provided. Everybody said Kiko wasn't credible because he'd changed his story about who molested him, and they were right, but we still had to go with it, and use the physical evidence to back it up, which was that there was skin found under Kiko's fingernails where he had scratched his father during the attack.

We tried to get Juan to plead guilty to spare his son the pain of testifying, but he wouldn't. He thought Kiko would back out at the last minute, change the name of his attacker like he'd already done. But with a lot of coaxing from Hutch, he got on the stand and told what happened.

Though the jury found Juan guilty, it really wasn't a happy day for any of us. Justice was served, but Kiko was being abandoned a second time by his father, and his mother cried with heartache over what happened to her son. But just like before, Hutch would step into his Big Brother mode and would be a helping hand to both of them.

It was in the man's blood.

Many were the days I'd find Hutch and Kiko talking quietly together. Hutch's place.

Kiko's. I knew Hutch was helping him sort his feelings out about what happened.

XXXXXXXXX+

When the trial was over, me, Huggy, Cap, Hutch, all of us, made sure the media got the story straight. TV, radio, newspapers, magazines, all of it. For once we were happy to have the press involved, and we gave interview after interview trying to help Hutch restore his reputation.

XXXXXXXXX+

A few Saturdays after the trial, Hutch and I took some flowers and plants from Hutch's greenhouse over to Bonita and Kiko and helped them make a flower garden in their backyard. We had a good time cooking out and drinking herbal iced tea. Hutch's secret recipe, of course.

The garden was something to ease their minds. Something for them to do. You know.

Productive. Nurturing. Pretty.

When we were finished, we all stepped back to admire our group project.

"Nice, Hutch," Bonita said as she dusted potting soil from her hands and smiled up at him. "Thank you for everything."

He slipped one arm around her, the other around Kiko. "To new beginnings."

End