"He didn't stay on long enough, Starsky, we couldn't trace the call."

"You know I am tired of hearing you say that!" Starsky slammed the phone into the cradle, cracking the box a little. "You've never once been able to trace a call. What the hell is the point with these wires, antennae, all the buttons and gizmos. They never work!"

"Starsky!"

"No...Captain Dobey, we are wasting time. My partner is out there, this joker on the phone wants me to solve riddles for him and Danish over there still can't seem to do his job."

"It's Danishevsky and I can only move as fast as the machine does-"

"Then the machine should be scrapped." Starsky looked for a moment like he might punch the machine, then pulled his fist back and swiped his leather jacket off the back of chair.

"Where are you going?"

"Roses are red, violets are blue, if you hit the ball, it spoils the view. What does that sound like to you?"

"Dodger stadium." Dobey said.

"We got two hours left before that joker says Hutch is going to run outta air. I'm going to go save my partner's life the old fashioned way. If the 'future of law enforcement' starts to actually work, let me know."

Starsky left the room and Dobey laid his hand on the machine that had rarely proven itself useful. He didn't blame his detective for snapping. Starsky's partner was kidnapped and potentially dying while some madman on the phone jerked his chain all over the city.

"He's right, Cap, this thing has never proven itself worth the money the department spent on it." Robert Danishevski shook his head and switched the machine off, then pulled the cover away from the inner workings.

"Buying that thing wasn't my choice." Dobey said glaring at the angry looking wires and electrodes inside. "The department heads feel there's an electronic breakthrough coming and they want the force to be at the head of it."

"Ha! This isn't the head, Captain, this is the tail end." Danishevski muttered. "If the street knows about it, we're already a year behind."

"If you had your druthers, Danishevski, where would you take this thing?"

"The trash heap."

Dobey barked a laugh. "To get it moving faster."

The young cop thought for a long moment. "I meet with a group of guys on Saturday nights. All of them are into this techy stuff, and at least one of them works for the phone company. We spend most of the time drinking beer and tinkering all night."

"Sounds like our kinda guys, how about-"

"The problem is, Cap, they aren't all upstanding citizens. Most of what they're tinkering for…"

"Go ahead."

"...they want to find a way to expand...gambling, sir. Make it faster to lay down bets, get results, calculate odds...you see the more information they can get as soon as it happens the farther into the future they can lay down bets."

"You hang out with these characters?"

"One of them is my brother, Cap."

"They're not doing any gambling, yet, right?"

Danishevki shrugged and Dobey checked his watch. "Can you get that group together in the next hour?"

The kid nodded and Dobey thumped him on the back. "Go to it then. Let's see if we can't get something faster ready for the next phone call."

Starsky

It wasn't Danish's fault any more than it was Hutch's fault for getting kidnapped, or my fault for not being able to find him. The guy I should have been blowing up at was this joker dragging me all over town. Guy liked riddles, and scavenger hunts and games.

The only reason I was going along with his gig was because he'd sent a photo of Hutch, beat up and stuck in what looked very much like an airtight container with the day's newspaper. Even then we'd had a black and white go by Hutch's apartment to make sure he wasn't there.

We'd offered this cat money, a ticket outta town, amnesty, but all he wanted was to play his game. I automatically assumed he had something against either Hutch or I, or both, to be doing this, but...he lived and breathed this game he was playing.

Until we could get an idea of where he was calling from, we had no power over him.

We might have even been able to use the photo to pinpoint Hutch's location but it started to disintegrate the minute I pulled it from it's envelope. That was my fault. So maybe I was to blame for what was happening. But how was I supposed to know it was made of a material that fell apart when it came into contact with oxygen?

I parked in the empty parking lot of Dodger stadium and got on the horn. "I just had a thought." I said to the radio. "Find out where you can buy that stuff the photo was made of, and who normally does the buying. Talk to all the places, and see if they remember any purchases that were...uh...strange. I'm at Dodger Stadium. Over and out."

"Rodger, Zebra 3." Came over the radio. But it wasn't the normal sweet voice of Mildred. It was Captain Dobey. I had to be grateful, I told myself, that I worked for a captain that cared enough about his men that he would man the radio himself when one of them was in trouble.

In fact all of the police in the city were on standby, searching for my partner while trying to do their normal jobs. Great guys. Somehow it was important that we not disappoint them by letting my partner die.

I headed into the stadium, climbed a fence and trotted out onto the field where the joker had left a large manila envelope. The riddle inside was annoyingly sharp.

"You can always find me in the past. I can be created in the present, but the future can never taint me. What am I?"

An idea was buzzing at the back of my mind and I raced into the stands, taking the wide steps two at a time until I could see over the back wall. There...just visible over a fifteen story bank building were the marble columns of the history museum.

I almost tripped on the way down, raced to my car and bellowed, "History museum!" into the radio before I put the car in gear and tried to drive it without the engine on.

Crossing town was a nightmare, and there wasn't any parking. The history museum was full of children and their guardians enjoying their Saturday afternoon free of responsibility. I put the bubble on the top of the car and left the Torino on, with the parking brake pulled. There was an envelope taped to the back of one of the columns. I got there seconds before a little kid reached it.

He gave me a glare and I stuck my tongue out at him then opened the envelope. Flash powder hit me, a blast of smoke and heat that choked me and burned my face, eyebrows and hair. Just enough to be annoying, just enough to make me really want to strangle the guy doing this to us.

I was crawling back towards the envelope, desperately trying to cough my way to breathing again when I realized I had drawn a crowd. It didn't surprise me. A pair of beautiful, jogger legs in high heels appeared, bent to pick up the envelope then walked my way.

I rolled over onto my back and followed the legs up to a brown skirt, fitted business jacket and dark black hair. She had a tag on that identified her as an employee of the history museum.

She wanted to know if I was alright. I reached for the envelope and she gave it to me. I asked her what she did here, and if she remembered seeing a man or a woman put this envelope on the column.

She said she had. She'd been watching the column for two days, waiting to see who would pick it up.

I asked her for her name. She smiled and said, "Gloria."

"Gloria, do you think you could identify the person that left this envelope? Describe him or her to me, maybe."

"Of course." She said, her face earnest and sincere. "He was blonde, a little taller than you, pretty blue eyes. Wore a leather jacket and jeans, a lot like yours."

"Blue eyes?"

"Mmhmm." she nodded.

"Did he...did he say anything to you? Try to give you a message at all?" I asked.

"No. He seemed in a hurry. Kept checking his watch, tapping it...like this." She lifted my arm, and tapped away at the face of my watch.

Running out of time, Hutch, I know. And you were stuck doing the joker's dirty work. I looked at my watch, one more hour.

Gloria helped me to my feet and I was reaching my hand into the envelope when I heard the Eastern Columbia building clock start to chime. It was distant. Almost three miles from where I stood, but I could see the "EAS" of Eastern.

"Did he look there?" I asked, pointing.

"Wa- What?"

"There...the Columbia-Eastern Columbia building, did he look in that direction, more than once?"

"Yeah, he kept looking there, like he expected someone to meet him."

"Thank you! Thank you, Gloria! You're getting a civilian commendation for this!" I shouted, kissing Gloria on her lovely lips and charging down the steps for the Torino.

I was only able to get half-a-mile closer before I had to park the car. On foot I could cover the ground faster. Seconds before I could get on the horn to tell Dobey where I was going, he called me.

"We got another call Starsky. We tried to patch it through to you, but you didn't pick up. We were able to trace it. The caller is somewhere near the Eastern Columbia Clock Tower."

I was stunned. "Captain Dobey, you're the best captain in the history of captains. I think Hutch is in that tower too. I'm headed there on foot. Get some guys down here to clear up this traffic."

"Will do. Starsky...STARsky….Starsky!"

I ran 2.5 miles faster than I had ever run them before. My reputation preceded me down the sidewalk, people moving out of the way after I busted through the flower seller's cart and nearly wiped out a gaggle of nuns. I kept my badge in one hand, the other hand free to grab for my gun when I needed it. The wind stung against the burns on my face, but I didn't care.

Hutch, the genius, had given that museum guide the greatest clue he could've given. The wild goose chase would have continued on if I hadn't been hit by that blast, and helped by that beautiful, observant angel.

Now...with whatever magic Dobey and Danishevski had worked on the call trace machine, we maybe didn't just have Hutch. But the crazy behind it as well.

By the time I reached the double doors at the base of the Columbia building I could hear sirens, officers in progress, trying to clear up the streets. I kept my badge out, pulled my gun, and cleared the lobby with the help of two security guards. Then I went for the secretary.

"Air tight room."

"What!? What's going on-"

"Is there...an airtight….room. Somewhere in this building?" I asked, gasping so hard I might have been able to breathe tacks.

"Th-th-the coolers, in the basement. They store food down there."

"How many?"

"Twelve."

"Thank you."

Twelve. Twelve coolers. I tried to call up my brief look at the kidnap photo. The area behind Hutch had been dark, but there might have been shelves behind him. Empty. The room had been almost completely empty but for Hutch. No windows, or doors.

And no frost. No puff of air indicating he was in a cold cooler.

I raced down the steps and through the kitchen shouting, "Police. Get outta here. Coolers, where are they?"

A balding man with a chef's hat pointed me toward a long corridor and I raced down it. "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6… Where are the other six?"

"Down the other way, but half of 'em don't work." The chef shouted.

"Down where?"

He pointed me down a short set of steps into a corridor that was poorly lit and obviously infrequently used.

"Get your people outta here." I shouted, flashing my badge in his face before I charged down those steps. I should have been wondering where the guy was, but I didn't care. Hutch was there, somewhere in one of those four broken coolers. "Hutch!"

I grabbed the handle of the first one, found it locked, and shot the handle off. Dragging the door open got me a puff of air and an empty cooler. "Hutch! Answer me!"

The next one was locked and working, and the next one locked, broken and empty.

I was ready to shoot the lock off the third broken cooler when I heard the knocking. Tapping. Like Hutch tapping a watch. Only this was metal on concrete.

"Hutch!" Tapping, rhythmic. Morse code. I caught a "d" "o" and "n" together, then an "s" "h". "Don't sh-, Don't shoot. Hutch! Why…"

I tested the lock. It had no budge in it and I was running out of time. I ran back down the hall, searched the walls of the kitchen and finally found what I was looking for. I'd seen it used once in a fancy kitchen. It was one of those novelties that could kill ya if you used it wrong. On that particular day, however, I was grateful that whoever owned the Eastern Columbia Building, hired chefs with experience.

It took me two minutes to cake the lock in liquid nitrogen. It crackled angrily at me, reminding me of a book I'd read as a kid, about an explorer in the arctic.

I ran back to the kitchen and found two pot holders and a fire extinguisher, then ran back in time to hear "b" "o" "m". I smashed the lock with the fire extinguisher before I could hear the last letter. Frankly, I didn't want to know.

The lock shattered and I kicked the pieces away then forced the door open. I created a crack about a half a foot wide, then was hit in the chest with something heavy and metal. I backed away from the door, watched a small metal disc roll down the hallway, then called, "Hutch?"

There was gasping on the other side of the door, and I could hear the sound of a body dragging across the floor, before Hutch rasped, "Bomb...idiot."

"Hey! I'm saving your life."

The dragging continued until a grease covered hand appeared in the crack. I knelt and grabbed his hand and Hutch dragged mine into the cooler until I felt both his hands around mine.

"Grateful." He panted, "Grateful, but...tripwire."

He got to his knees and guided my hand up to the wire, pulled taut between the wall on the other side of the door and a pack of plastic explosives fixed to the door of the cooler.

"Did you see how he made the bomb? Or set the wire?" I asked.

"No." My partner panted, keeping hold of my hand.

"Why don't you ask this guy?" Dobey called from down the hall, pushing a bound prisoner in front of him.

"What? How?"

"I'll explain later, Starsky. You, how do we diffuse that bomb?"

Hutch

They kept me in the hospital for twenty-four hours, and Starsky was there with the Torino to take me home. I wanted a shower more than anything else, and time to sit on the porch, under the rays of the setting sun. Breathing as hard and as long as I wanted.

The absolute worst of my injuries, other than the possible concussion and the achyness that came with oxygen deprivation, was a cold. I'd caught the jokers cold. I think it was the cold that pushed Dobey over the edge, demanding that I take a week off.

My partner ordered a pizza and went out for some beer while I showered. I was hungry enough to eat the pizza and a burger, and a steak, and some fries, and maybe some ice cream. I wanted to drink a gallon of water and follow it with enough beer to make me numb for a while. A man has strange things on the brain when he's stuck in total darkness, not knowing how long he'll be there, or if he'll ever escape. I spent a lot of time dreaming about the food that might have once occupied the cooler I was stuck in.

My partner, the fourth quarter genius, arrived with two pizzas and a twelve pack. We sat on the veranda, surrounded by plants that needed some TLC, and stuffed our faces.

"How's your face?"

"It'll be fine." Starsk said, glancing at me through still growing eyelashes. "Doc says I was lucky. Any hotter and I'da lost my eyebrows for good."

"What a shame that would be."

"I know."

"You talk to Gloria?"

"I invited her to come over but she's busy tonight. She wants to meet you."

"She saved my life, I want to meet her."

"She's not the only one."

"I know. Danishevski is gonna bring his new machine over, show me how it works."

"You know he calls his pals, the "Dream Team"."

"What do they do on Saturday nights, anyway?"

"Build robots." Starsky said.

I laughed. "Robots?"

"Yeah." Starsk said. "Robots. You know...little guys on wheels. They put like...rocket launchers, and saw blades and hammers on them, and…" Starsky made his hands into fists and mashed his knuckles together. "...fight."

"Robot fights?"

"Yeah. It's real undergound-"

"I can see why."

"But they make bets on the robots. Like horses. And...Danish might've said something about improving the function of betting in general but-"

"We're overlooking that."

"Dobey is, anyway."

"They saved my life, they get a free pass this time."

"Your so magnani-mouse."

"Mus, Starsky. Magnani-mus."

"Mus, mouse, who cares."

"Shakespeare cares." I said.

"He's dead."

"And I'm alive."

Starsky grinned at me and raised his beer can. "Cheers to that, brother."