Thanks again everybody!
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Chapter 8
"Oh brother I can't, I can't get through
I've been trying hard to reach you, cause I don't know what to do
Oh brother I can't believe it's true
I'm so scared about the future and I wanna talk to you" Coldplay
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Hearing no complaints from Bree, Hutch sat down alongside her on the couch. This wasn't going to be easy, but he had committed himself.
"Dobey got a package today, supposedly sent to me by Starsky. There was a note inside, along with his wallet." Bree sat stiffly, her eyes locked onto Hutch's face. "The note asked if I was missing a partner, and why hadn't I found him yet. It said he didn't have very long."
Bree was stunned. The cruelty of the note's message was unbelievable, and all directed at Hutch, but it didn't seem to justify why he withheld mentioning it to her. "What else did it say?" she asked.
"Oh—just something about me not being a good cop."
"Hutch." Bree sensed there was more. "Why can't you just tell me…please?"
She had to be a good mind reader, he thought. Either that, or he was doing a bad job of hiding his feelings. It was hard, but Hutch focused on Bree and, as calmly as he could, said, "Starsky's wallet was soaked in blood. His blood."
"Oh God…" Bree leapt up off of the couch, holding her hand over her mouth, not sure whether she needed to run to the bathroom or not.
Hutch silently cursed at himself. He got up and walked over to Bree, who stood by the bookcase now with both arms folded in front of her. "I'm sorry," he said, as he raised a hand and laid it along her upper arm. The muscles there were tight and trembling.
Before he had a chance to say anything else, Bree asked, "Hutch—is he gone?"
The question was achingly direct, and caught him unprepared to give an answer. Since seeing the wallet fall out of the envelope, he had also wanted the simple truth. He could only tell Bree the same thing he'd told himself in Dobey's office, after searching his soul for any indication that her brother was still alive. Starsky was his partner, and his best friend. Hutch was closer to him than anyone else in his life, and if Starsky was dead he would know it. The sense of loss and emptiness would be unmistakable. "No. He's not dead, Bree."
Bree didn't know whether to believe him or not. The sensation that had woken her up was horribly dreadful, and she feared it meant the worst had happened to David. But Hutch, who loved her brother like family, seemed convinced he was still alive. Should she be hopeful and face a terrible letdown if he were dead, or accept that possibility now and be ecstatic if it weren't true? Bree looked up at Terri's picture. The answer must be there, with her.
"Hutch, how well did you know Terri?"
"T-Terri?" Hutch followed Bree's gaze to the framed picture. He was surprised she knew about Terri. "I'd like to think I knew her pretty well. She and Starsky had been seeing each other for almost six months before she…died." Looking back at Bree, he said, "Why do you ask?"
"Did she love him? I mean, did she really love him with her heart?"
Hutch thought back to that night in Starsky's kitchen. The way Terri had shown her love and caring for both him and Starsky, even after she had died, was something he would never forget. Ollie still held a special seat in his bedroom, sitting on top of Terri's farewell note.
"Yes. She loved him very much." Hutch felt his despondency ease as he talked about Terri. "Someone like her is hard to find, especially when they love you as unselfishly as she loved Starsky. Even when she knew she was going to die, all she wanted was for him to keep being a cop. To go on living." Hutch let out a long sigh, thinking back to those difficult days. "Starsky had a hard time dealing with her death. Sometimes he'd open up a little and talk about her. Other times…well, you could tell he was hurting. I know a lot about what goes through that head of his, but with Terri—I don't know if he ever really let her go. At least, not in his heart."
Bree was glad Hutch had said nothing to change her impression of Terri. No wonder her spirit hung close to David. In a way, the two lovers were still together. She hoped wherever David was, that Terri was with him, as the thought of him lying alone and hurt without some kind of comfort was unbearable. Bree wanted to believe he was still alive, but there was only one way to find out. When Hutch left, she would try and contact Terri, the only soul who would know for sure. For the first time since walking over to the bookcase, Bree dropped her gaze from Terri's picture.
Hutch wanted to say more, but noticed Bree seemed to be lost in her thoughts, and he didn't want to intrude. When Bree lowered her head, she looked at him and gently smiled, then walked over to the couch and sat down. He followed, but remained standing near her.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, wondering if she had eaten anything since leaving the precinct.
"Not really," she said, leaning her head back. "I don't feel like eating. Oh, but are you hungry? I'm sure there's something in the fridge."
Bree started to get up, but Hutch stopped her. "No, I'm fine. Just stay put." He sat down on the couch, and put an arm around her shoulder. Bree instantly nestled into his embrace as she folded her legs up on the couch, then extended an arm across his chest. Hutch kissed her tenderly on the forehead, and squeezed her body closer into his. Unlike the other night, there was no sexual longing in their embrace. He knew she needed reassurance and comfort, and was happy to offer as much as she needed.
Both sat silently for a short time, until Hutch realized he hadn't spoken to Huggy yet.
"Hey—," he said, looking into her sleepy face, "—why don't you get some more rest and I'll come by again in a couple of hours. Maybe you'll feel like eating something then. Okay?"
Barely moving a muscle, Bree nodded and muttered a weak "uh-huh." Hutch scooted over and eased her body down on the cushioned seat. He got up and carefully slipped one of the large couch pillows under her head. Unfurling the afghan, he draped it over her, tucking it in around her hips and underneath her chin so she would stay warm. Before he stepped outside, he checked the door knob, making sure it would lock once the door was closed.
Once he reached the driveway, Hutch walked over to the patrol car across the street, and spoke to one of the officers, letting them know he planned on returning. He then got in the LTD and headed over to The Pits.
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Huggy's place was busy for a Wednesday night. Hutch had to thread his way to the bar through a crowd and then wait another five minutes before Huggy could break away from serving his patrons.
Before Hutch could say one word, the usually effervescent bar owner gave him a worried look and nodded towards the kitchen. As Huggy called out asking his bartender to cover him for a few minutes, Hutch understood the gesture and walked towards the service entrance. Once inside the quieter kitchen, Huggy took hold of Hutch's arm and murmured, "Not here, out in the alley."
As they exited the rear door, Huggy took a quick look around then turned to Hutch.
"I know why you're here," he began. "Caught a couple of comments earlier from some really hurtin' junkies. Apparently the word's out that the intended recipient of a highly desirable product wasn't too happy when he didn't get his merchandise, and wants to take it out on those responsible for his loss."
"Huggy, are you telling me you know for sure Rothman's got Starsky?" Hutch was kicking himself for not coming by The Pits earlier.
Huggy glanced over his shoulder, wanting to make sure they were alone. "I wasn't sure who the responsible party was exactly until you showed up here just now, minus your twin."
"But you knew he wanted to get back at us?" He noticed Huggy had a familiar frown on his face, one that Hutch never liked seeing. "Hug, what aren't you telling me?"
"Okay, you've got it, but don't shoot the messenger, ya dig?"
Hutch closed his eyes briefly and nodded.
"Like I said, there's a lot of hurtin' people out there. They don't care about anything except their fix. That bust you made dried up the supply, but not the demand. Anybody who's got some for sale is makin' a huge, fat profit, which is causin' dissent amongst the rank and file."
"Huggy, has this story got an ending?" Hutch asked, folding his arms across his chest.
Smirking just a little, Huggy said, "Yeah, moral of the story is, don't expect any help out there. Not only are people pissed because they ain't got their dope, they don't want to snitch on their suppliers who say another shipment's due in real soon."
"Since when?" Hutch snapped, unfolding his arms. "There's always someone out there ready to sell their own mother! You're telling me this is the one time no one's gonna roll?" From the look on his friend's face, Hutch feared Huggy might be right.
"Hug, this is Starsky we're talkin' about. You mean nobody out there is willing to talk?" As he angrily pointed a finger towards the alley, Hutch said, "Half the snitches out there owe us favors!"
Huggy looked at him sympathetically, but Hutch wasn't going to get what he wanted. "Hutch, Starsky's close to my heart, too. I've put out offers, big ones, but no one's biting. It's not a matter of who needs money or a favor this time—it's a matter of principle."
"Principle?" Hutch spat the word out.
"It's like this; people see what's goin' down as a chance to get what they want. They keep quiet, sweat things out until the next shipment comes in, and everybody's happy. If that puts Starsky, or you, out of the picture, they're not gonna lose sleep over it."
Hutch looked at him like he was dirt. Huggy felt sick over what he'd just said, but he didn't dictate policy on the street, just lived under it. He was only one step away from standing on the same side of the tracks as the people he was talking about. If it wasn't for Starsky and Hutch looking the other way when he tried to make a buck, he'd want them to disappear too.
"Yeah, well, thanks for enlightening me, Hug." Hutch wanted to throw in what he thought about Huggy's assessment, but he couldn't—Huggy wasn't the enemy.
As Hutch turned to go, Huggy said, "Hey! I'll keep putting feelers out. Maybe somebody'll turn."
Hutch didn't acknowledge him; he still had a few snitches to find that owed him big.
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Muffled voices and the hard, cold feel of the floor underneath him seeped into Starsky's consciousness. He opened his eyes, focusing on the blurred view in front of him. Figures were standing close by—his kidnappers. He could hear their voices becoming clearer, and then the sensation of intense burning in his side. Oh God, that hurts!
He folded his legs up, placing his feet flat on the floor, hoping it would ease the tension on his stomach. He'd never hurt this bad before. The slug he'd taken in the shoulder at the restaurant had only stung, compared to this. He wondered if the bullet wound looked as bad as it felt. He had seen what happened to people shot point blank—it wasn't pretty. Another searing jolt of pain. Ah dammit, Hutch! Tears were forming, ready to roll down his cheeks. No! I won't give those bastards the satisfaction! His leg muscles started to shake, betraying his efforts to keep his body still, then his chest, trembling with each inhaled gasp. Fuck! C'mon! You can do this!
"Oh gaawwdd!!"
"Jesus, Suko! What the hell are you doing?" Vinetti yelled from across the hall. He'd only been gone for a minute. Was Suko going after the cop again?
"I ain't done nothin'! Just putting some iodine on this hole," Suko said, as Vinetti came storming back into the room. "How'd I know he was gonna scream like a girl?"
"Ah Christ, Su. That stuff burns like a son-of-a-bitch."
Suko watched the cop shaking like a scared kid. "Yeah, well, what else am I supposed to use? Rothman said to clean him up. Damned waste of time if ya ask me."
"You shot 'im. I keep sayin', don't let these turkeys get to you, but you still go flyin' off the handle."
"Oh, who died and made you king? Gimme some more of that." Suko grabbed some gauze out of Vinetti's hand and pressed it up against the entrance wound. Starsky flinched hard at the touch. His eyes opened wide for a few seconds then closed again.
"Hey," Suko called to Vinetti, "turn him over on his side so I can get this stuff in the other hole."
As Vinetti took hold of Starsky's arm, a weak but gritty threat pushed out through the cop's teeth. "Don't…touch me."
Suko glanced over at his partner, and tried to contain the laugh wanting to jump out of his mouth. "Can you believe this guy? Like he's got some vote in this!" Suko picked up the iodine bottle and lifted the shirt tail up from Starsky's back to expose the exit wound, which was larger and nastier than the one in front. Placing the mouth of the bottle over the wound, he nodded at Vinetti. "Hang on tight, this one's probably gonna hurt more."
Vinetti took hold of Starsky with both hands. The cop was fully awake now, tensing every muscle and looking scared to death. Vinetti couldn't blame him. The bullet wound looked bad, but the heaviest bleeding had slowed down in the last half hour. Vinetti had seen gunshot wounds like this before, and hoped he'd never have to experience one. They just looked too painful.
"You got 'im?" Suko squirmed ecstatically, ready to play doctor.
"Yeah, go ahead."
As soon as the iodine hit his skin, Starsky lost it. "Ohhh shit!! Son-of-a-bitch!!" Tears came even though he didn't want them to, but his side was being impaled by a red hot poker. He kicked both legs out, trying to escape the torment, and wished there was some way he could crawl out of his body. He couldn't imagine enduring any more pain without passing out.
Suko finished dabbing around the wound and stuck more gauze on it. With Vinetti propping Starsky up, Suko took a roll of surgical dressing and wrapped it around the cop's waist, securing both front and back pads in place. Checking the knife wound, Suko noticed it had scabbed over and become encrusted into the bandage. He knew Rothman expected the dressing to be changed, but the mixture of yellow and red on the gauze material turned Suko's stomach enough to convince him to leave it alone. He dribbled some iodine on the dressing and called it good. The cop wasn't going to be around much longer anyway, so what did it matter if any of the wounds got infected?
"Well, I think that's got it." Suko was ready to call it a night. He took another look at Starsky, then pulled the blindfold out of his pocket and tied it around the cop's mouth.
Vinetti wondered why Suko was gagging him. There was no way anyone outside the building could hear someone yelling in the basement, and the gag could lead to other problems.
"What if he upchucks with that thing on?"
Suko just frowned. "He's got nothin' left in his gut anymore…shouldn't be a problem. You ready to get goin'?"
He had a point, but the act still seemed unnecessary. Vinetti chalked it up to Suko's animosity towards Starsky and let it go. It had been a long day and he was just as anxious to get home as Suko was.
The two men left the room, closing the door as they stepped into the hallway. Suko flicked the light switch off, and once they reached the main floor, he turned the other lights off in the basement, leaving the only remaining occupant in total darkness.
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Hutch pulled up in Starsky's driveway. He shut the engine off and sat for a moment, not sure what to tell Bree. Huggy hadn't been exaggerating. None of his snitches were talking, too scared of retaliation from addicts hell bent on seeing the next drug shipment come in untouched. The fact that Rothman had snagged Starsky wasn't helping either. If the cops weren't safe, what chance did an informant have?
He got out of the car and slowly made his way up the stairs. When Bree let him in, she didn't need to say anything; her face showed what was running through her mind.
Putting off the inevitable, Hutch asked, "So, do you feel like eating anything yet?"
His question answered her most pressing concern, although not in a way she wanted. Hutch's avoidance of the main topic could only mean one thing.
"Yeah, I could probably go for something." Bree walked into the kitchen and opened up the refrigerator. She felt certain Hutch had more news, but, like earlier, wasn't going to share it with her. How'd you like it if someone kept you in the dark, thinking you were too dumb to know any different? You might be a blond, Hutch, but you can bet your sweet ass I'm not! Bree felt her appetite dwindle as she stood staring blankly inside the fridge. Not sure what looked appetizing, she called out a few options from behind the open door.
"Tacos sound good." Hutch sauntered in from the living room. He could tell Bree's attitude towards him had hardened in the last few minutes. "Can I help with anything?" he asked, hoping for a congenial response to prove his perception wrong.
Bree finished grabbing the last few items and set them down on the counter. "No. Why don't you just sit down…I'm sure you've been working hard," she said mechanically, then opened a cabinet door, reaching for a fry pan.
Her answer would have been okay, except she refused to make eye contact, and turned her back on him as he stood by the fridge. The loud bang of the pantry door as she slammed it shut seemed final proof she didn't like his avoidance on the topic.
Hutch took a seat at the kitchen table. He wondered if he was trying to protect her too much. From what? The truth? No, she knew that. Face it, Hutchinson, the note was right…you're not as good as you think you are. Can't even get a lowly snitch to feed you any info. So just go ahead, tell her you're a failure and don't have a fuckin' clue as to how you're gonna find Starsky.
"I stopped by Huggy's before coming over here," he said, watching Bree as she paused for a moment. "He's usually been able to provide us with good information when we need it. But nobody's talking right now. It's making it hard…" Hutch couldn't finish. He closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose, trying to lure out the oncoming migraine. Internally, he fought to keep the disgust over his inabilities, and Huggy's revelation, tied down in the pit of his stomach.
Bree shifted her gaze from the table to the stove and stabbed at the cooking hamburger. Was Hutch saying that no one knew anything, or that they knew and weren't talking? From the look on his face, it must be the latter. She thought back to when she first met Huggy and her opinion of snitches. It wasn't until she saw that look in her brother's eyes, the one reserved for people David loved and respected— two honors he never gave away lightly—that she knew Huggy had earned David's respect. But was he the only exception? Didn't any of these other people owe him or Hutch something?
She wasn't sure who to be mad at anymore…Hutch…snitches…the kidnappers. Either or all, it still sucked. As her appetite faded away, Bree gathered up two tomatoes and a paring knife, then set the items on a cutting board in front of Hutch.
"Here. You can cut these up." She stepped over to the fridge and opened the door. "There's some beer in here, do you want one?"
Hutch still wasn't sure how to interpret Bree's attitude, but decided to play it safe. "Yeah, a beer would be great," he said, and started dicing up the tomatoes.
After opening the bottle, Bree got a plate out of the cupboard and placed it and the beer on the table. She set down a box of taco shells along with a bowl of grated cheese in front of Hutch and said, "Go 'head and serve yourself. I'm not hungry right now."
"Bree…you gotta eat something. C'mon. Have a seat and I'll fix a plate for you."
"No, I'm fine. You eat. I'm going to take a quick shower." She headed off to the bathroom.
Hutch stared at the retreating form, then at the food on the table—his appetite started to mimic Bree's departure.
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A sudden spasm hit, jolting him awake. The total darkness surrounding him had Starsky convinced he had gone blind until he remembered the lights were turned off. Once again, cold and stiff muscles greeted his awakening, and as he tried to shift position, the pain in his gut made it all but impossible to move. Starsky pressed his forehead onto the cement, wanting to soak up the coolness where it might do some good. He contemplated raising his head and bashing it against the hard surface in the hope it would knock him out of his misery for at least a couple of hours. But with his luck, he'd just end up with a cracked head and splitting migraine.
He gingerly managed to shift his body into a sitting position and leaned back against the wall. He tried to ride out the burning spasms in his gut by biting down on the stifling gag, imagining it was the groper's dick. God, he just wanted to smash the thug's face in, tie his hands up behind him, slice the bastard's gut wide open…and shoot him point blank. What a fool he had been all these years, thinking when it was his turn to die out on the street, Hutch would be there to hold him, seeing him into the next life. Never would he have guessed it would be some depraved pervert, probably holding onto something Hutch would never dream of.
The room's eerie blackness seeped in deeper, intensifying his feeling of loneliness. There was no one around who cared, and that was killing his will to survive more than anything. Damn, Hutch! Where the hell are you? Another jolt of pain tore through his gut. Shit! Why did it have to be the stomach? He could have taken someone breaking his leg, or pulling his arm out of its socket, but not this. There wasn't a single area in his abdomen or back that didn't feel twisted up, yanked inside out or beat on. For the first time since being poisoned by Bellamy, Starsky felt his life being pulled out of him. He was scared—scared badly. Oh God, please don't let me die here alone.
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The hot shower had felt good—even for someone who considered they had no right feeling good. Bree stood under the sprinkling stream for a long time, believing at some point it would dissolve all the worry inside of her. Truth was, it only loosened up some stiff muscles and drowned out her crying. She still held her pain, but it wasn't all hers. Standing in the shower, she hadn't been alone, at least not in her thoughts. David was alive, she could feel him, but he was hurting. She tried to reach out, telling him to hang on and that they were looking for him, but it was a one-way conversation. David wasn't able to sense her in that respect. He was helpless, just as she was.
After drying off and dressing, she returned to the living room. Hutch was still sitting at the table, the two tomatoes chopped up in little pieces and piled in a small heap in front of him on the cutting board. The rest of the taco fixings hadn't been touched. She looked at his face, now focused on her, but he'd been just staring blankly out into space. Bree walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Hutch. You should eat something. This stuff won't taste as good if you eat it later." Not seeing much of a response, she said, "This isn't helping David—neither of us are—we're just killing ourselves…worrying about him…not eating. You think that's what he would want, huh? He needs our help, not our pity." She went over to the stove and turned it on, preparing to reheat the hamburger.
Hutch got up and retrieved another beer from the fridge. Several minutes ago, Bree hadn't been hungry or wanted much to do with him. Now she seemed to be a rallying call to arms. Why? Because he wasn't doing enough?
Bree watched him grab the beer out of the corner of her eye. She stirred the meat, trying to keep it from burning in the pan. Turning the flame off, she grabbed another plate out of the cabinet and set it on the table. Hutch was leaning up against the counter, sipping his beer.
"It's ready. Go ahead and help yourself," she said, placing two shells on her plate. After assembling her tacos, she sat at the table and glanced at Hutch. She wasn't sure what to say anymore, but she was getting tired of the silence. "Are you going to eat, or not?"
Hutch straightened up and sat the half empty bottle on the table. "I'm not hungry. Sorry you went to the trouble."
"Hutch—what's wrong? David's out there. He's alive and he's hurt." Not seeing a response, she asked, "Why do you keep shutting me out? You know, feeling sorry for yourself isn't—"
"Just who do you think you're talking to?" he spit out. "You were right Bree; you haven't been in Starsky's life for a long time. You may be related to him, but I've been his partner for more years than you were living under the same roof with him, and that gives me some rights too. You make it sound like it's no big secret where he's at, that I'm too incompetent to go and find him. Since you seem to know so much, tell me what it is I don't know!"
Bree shot up from the chair. "I never called you incompetent! And where do you get off? I know you're frustrated, but the way you're acting—it's like—"
"Like what?" Hutch's face was livid, his blue eyes intensely blazing.
It was too late now. Bree had opened her own Pandora's Box. "You're acting like—he's already dead—"
Hutch stood frozen for a moment, his face locked in utter amazement. He turned his head and let out a heavy sigh.
"Earlier today, it was you—asking me—if I thought Starsky was dead" he said pointedly, looking back at Bree. "I told you 'no', and I meant it."
Bree sank back in her seat. The anger had left Hutch's face, but he was coiled up tight, like a rattlesnake ready to strike. "I know he's alive, Hutch. I've felt his spirit—tried to let him know that we—you—were looking for him. But, he can't hear me."
"Bree, what the hell are you talking about? What'dya mean, 'he can't hear you'?"
"Hutch…" Bree decided to keep it simple. Well, as simple as she could. "I have a unique kind of gift. When I asked you about Terri, it was because she's been trying to warn me about something bad happening to David. I think I know how to help him, but I need your help and I need you to trust me."
Hutch cocked his head—maybe he had misunderstood what she just said. "You're talking to dead people—no, you're hearing dead people talking to you about Starsky. And you want me to help…to trust you." Hutch looked at Bree, amazed that she sounded so serious. "Bree, I think you need some rest. The stress of all this…"
"I'm not making this up, Hutchinson! God! I'm trying to save David, the only way I know how. C'mon, be honest. Is your way really working?" Bree saw Hutch's jaw tighten.
Hutch picked up the empty beer bottle from the table and threw it in the trash. He walked out into the living room and over to the front door where he grabbed his jacket off the coat rack. Bree followed halfway, and seeing him slip the jacket on, stopped and looked at him with eyes full of remorse.
"I'm going home to try and get a couple hours of sleep. You should do the same. I'll call you tomorrow." Opening the door, he quickly disappeared into the night.
Bree sat down on the couch, and scanned the room. "What have I done?" He didn't listen, Terri. Now what?
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After he arrived home, Hutch kicked his shoes off, and slipped out of his jacket and holster. He plopped down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, then over to the clock. Almost twenty-four hours had gone by since he was in this same spot, but it felt more like a lifetime. Bree was right. His plan wasn't working. He was no closer to finding Starsky than he was when he got the phone call. But what she had said about Terri, and hearing her voice, that had to be from stress. How could a ghost solve a crime anyway? Psychics. They could see things other people didn't. Collandra had that ability, and he had helped them with the Haymes kidnapping case. But Bree? Hutch shook the preposterous notion out of his mind, too tired to think anymore. Just hang on, Starsk. I'll find you.
Bree woke up and slowly opened her eyes, trying to adjust to the brightness in the room that clearly indicated another day had begun. She sat up on the couch and looked over at the clock, surprised to see it was almost ten. The ugly essence of the conversation from last night still hung in the air, and time was running out. If Hutch wasn't going to help her, she needed to find someone who would, and fast. She got up and went into the kitchen, relieved to find a phone book half hidden under a mound of papers on the kitchen counter. Opening it up, she prayed the person's number she was looking for was listed.
The LTD pulled up and parked in front of the Wild Pony Tavern. As he entered the empty bar, Hutch immediately saw who he was looking for standing behind the counter, wiping some liquor glasses. The man had called dispatch wanting to speak to Hutch. Charlie Knowle had been his snitch since the first day Hutch hit the street as a detective. The bar owner could be ornery at times, but his information was usually reliable.
"Ain't it a little early for you to be out checkin' the bars?" Charlie said, picking up a glass full of bourbon and taking a sip.
"Could be." Hutch said, then added "But isn't it a little early to be hittin' the hard stuff?"
"Maybe...for someone who isn't an alcoholic. But we know that ain't the case here though, huh?" He smiled, and took another swallow. Looking past Hutch for an instant, he asked, "Where's that partner of yours? He finally dump ya for a prettier blond?"
Hutch offered a slight smile, but then turned serious. "So what'd you want to talk to me about?" he asked.
Charlie pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, shook one out, and stuck it in his mouth. After lighting it, he took a deep drag, then placed both hands on the bar. He looked coldly at Hutch, and said, "Word's out someone's got your curly friend a little indisposed at the moment. Some say it's payback for that bust the other day. Others? Well, let's just say they think its part of a bigger plan."
Hutch narrowed his eyes. "What plan?"
"One that involves gettin' both of you off the street, permanently."
"Well, I already knew that, Charlie. Thanks anyway." Hutch gave him another bare hint of a smile and started towards the front door.
"But I bet what you don't know is the name of one of the guys who grabbed your partner."
Hutch immediately froze. Instinct told him Charlie wasn't going to say it was Rothman; that was far too common knowledge. He lunged back to the counter, and pointed a threatening finger. "You better not be playing with me over this one, Charlie."
The bar owner chuckled a little. "Okay, no need for the rough stuff. But seeing that this is real important to you, it's got a price attached."
"How much?"
"Oh, it don't involve money. I've got a cousin, lives down in Malibu. Got picked up on a felony burglary charge two weeks ago. Personally, I could care less about his predicament but he owes me three thousand dollars and I ain't gettin' it if he's sittin' locked up in jail. You get those charges dismissed, I'll give you that name."
"Charlie, that's not even in my jurisdiction. I can't just get another department to drop felony charges on someone."
"Well, maybe you can and maybe you can't. But I'm willing to bet you're gonna try real hard before you think about giving up."
Hutch reached across and grabbed Charlie's shirt. "So convince me that this name isn't bogus before I go out there and perform a miracle for you."
"Hey, easy Hutch. You know I've always been straight with you, but I'll give. My brother-in-law, he's a wise guy up in San Fran. Got a hold of him last night and ran this guy's name by him. He knew him. Said he's a big time enforcer. Use to work for some heavy syndicate players on the east coast, but for the last eight years, he's been on Rothman's payroll. My in-law says he's the highest paid hit man on the west coast. That enough to convince ya?"
"Just one more minor thing, Charlie. How'd you get this guy's name and from who?" Hutch tightened his grip.
"One of my regulars. She's a friend of a girlfriend of one of Rothman's recently employed associates. Seems like the boyfriend's been spending a lot of time in bed lately, on account of a bullet that found its way into his ass the other night. He was whining about how that was keeping him out of the action."
"What action?" Hutch asked.
"Watching how this enforcer earns his paycheck." Charlie glanced down to where the cop was holding onto his shirt.
"Yeah. Okay, Charlie." Hutch released him, smoothing down the rumpled fabric. "Give me your cousin's name. You gonna be some place I can find you later?"
"Right here, Hutch." Charlie said eagerly, writing a name on the back of a receipt. As he handed it to Hutch, he added, "I'll be here all day."
Hutch climbed back in the LTD and headed towards the precinct. He refused to dwell on what Rothman's gorillas were doing to earn a paycheck; he couldn't handle that right now. He tried to remember if he or Starsky knew anyone from the police department or county attorney's office in Malibu, but even if they did, chances were almost nil of getting Charlie's cousin off the hook. He could only try—this was the first good lead he'd gotten and maybe the last one he was going to get.
Once Hutch got to the office, he called the Malibu Police and learned that Charlie's cousin had been arrested for burglary and was being held in the county jail until his trial. Fortunately, he had been acting alone when he was caught and only had one other misdemeanor drug charge on his record. Armed with the information, Hutch prepared to go into Dobey's office.
.
.
Bree dialed the number out of the phone book. After the fifth ring, a voice finally answered.
"It's too early in the day, for me to know what to say, but we ain't open yet, if you're lookin' to come in and get wet."
"Uh…is this Huggy?"
"The one and only sweet brown bear. Who would like to know?"
Bree took a deep breath. "Huggy, this is Breanna…David's sister. Remember me?"
"Oh yeah, Curly's little sister." Huggy felt his heart sink. "I'm sorry to hear about what happened to you two. Have you heard any news?" Deep inside, Huggy was hoping if something bad had happened, he'd have heard it first from Hutch.
"No. I haven't heard anything. Huggy, I'm wondering if I can ask you for a favor?"
Brightening, he said, "For Starsky's kin folk, just name it."
She tightened her grip on the receiver. "I need a ride somewhere, Huggy. But Hutch can't find out."
Huggy's intuition kicked on. He sensed Bree was heading for trouble, but before he could judge just how bad it might be, he had to find out more. "Okay, little sis, I'm game. But when I get there, you're gonna have to tell me what's goin' on in that pretty head of yours or else you're gonna need to find another cab, ya dig?"
Bree breathed a sigh of relief. "I dig. Just one more thing though, Huggy. There's a police car parked out front. Is there any way you can bring another girl with you? About my size—" Bree did a quick mental inventory of her clothing, "—maybe wearing blue jeans and a white jacket?"
"Boy, next thing you'll be asking for is part ownership of my bar."
"Please, Hug. It's really important. I think I know how to find David."