CHAPTER TEN

Starsky, now using the name Tony Rico, found himself spending the night in a one horse town just across the Florida state line. He had been on the road for ten days and felt confident that he had put enough distance between himself and Arizona that he could rest for a few days before moving on.

Personal experience over the years had taught him that people in small towns like this one tended to be more suspicious and guarded with strangers. And since his identification still read Mitch Conners, he couldn't risk checking into a motel for the night. So, that meant another night camping out under the stars.

He had found a quiet, secluded area near a small lake that made a perfect spot to camp out. It didn't take long to set up his tent and sleeping bag. Gathering some rocks he found along the shore of the lake, he made a fire pit for use later that evening. After washing his hands and face in the cold lake water, he changed into a clean shirt and pair of jeans before heading into town to get a bite to eat.

Since Florida was a tourist state, strangers weren't that uncommon, even in the hundreds of small towns scattered around the state. The weather here was milder than in Arizona. It was still hot but it wasn't the dry heat he had grown accustomed to in Mesa. Here, the humidity hung heavily in the air, leaving him sweaty and out of sorts. The faint aroma of the ocean lingered in the air, a smell he still associated with California and Bay City.

The tiny coastal town reminded him of the western set he and Hutch had been on one time while investigating a series of mysterious murders. The storefronts with their weathered wooden facades spoke of an earlier, more innocent time in this state's history. Starsky found a tiny café with a sign in the window that advertised authentic Cajun cooking. Starsky had never tried Cajun food but he was game to trying some. An elderly couple sat at one of the tables near the front door, and a younger couple sat in a booth near the back. Starsky made his way to a booth along the wall and sat down.

He was glancing over a menu when a waitress with dark hair streaked with gray and deep blue eyes approached his table. Her skin was deeply tanned, her skin almost leathery in appearance from years spent under the hot Florida sun. In the distinctively accented voice native to the region, she said,

"Hi, handsome. What can I get you to drink?"

"Coffee." Starsky said, gracing her with a warm smile.

"Would you like a few minutes to look over the menu?"

"What's good here?"

"Everything, of course…" the woman told him with wide grin.

"What would you suggest?" Starsky asked with a chuckle.

"The special today is shrimp gumbo and bacon wrapped catfish."

"Sounds good. I'll have that." Starsky told her, putting the menu back between the wall and the napkin holder sitting on the table. "Is it spicy?"

"A little." The waitress told him. "But not too bad." She nodded at the bottles of hot sauce and Tabasco sauce sitting on the table. "You can always spice it up if it's not hot enough to suit you."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." Starsky told her as she turned to walk away.

She returned almost immediately with a steaming cup of coffee that she sat down on the table in front of him. The rich aroma filled the air as Starsky picked up the cup and took a cautious sip. The flavor was rich with a slightly bitter aftertaste that Starsky wasn't accustomed to. He added some sugar to sweeten it, stirring the brew slowly.

When his food arrived, he saw that the shrimp gumbo was actually a thick soup containing boiled shrimp, carrots, potatoes, green peppers, celery, onions, and okra. The catfish was deep fried in batter and then wrapped in thick pieces of fried bacon. The food was delicious, spicy but not too spicy, the subtle blend of peppers and spices adding a distinctive flavor that Starsky enjoyed immensely. The food was both satisfying and filling. He finished off his meal with a second cup of coffee and a slice of pecan pie.

Pulling some bills from his pocket, he left the money on the table to pay for his food along with a generous tip. The waitress smiled and waved as he left the café. Walking down the main street, Starsky glanced in various shop windows as he passed, intrigued by some of the craftsmanship in the area. He passed a local tavern and considered going in for a couple of beers but changed his mind, continuing on down the street.

Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat, as he found himself staring at a sketch of himself staring back at him. It was posted in the window of the local post office and was an amazingly good likeness of him. His eyes quickly scanned the pertinent information that accompanied the picture. It gave his real name, the name he had been using in Mesa, and his vital statistics: Height, approximate weight, hair color, eye color, and birth date. The phone numbers listed at the bottom of the page weren't familiar to Starsky, but the name Hutchinson Investigations caught his eye.

He smiled thinly without any humor. The sketch confirmed that Hutch was on the case and that he was actively searching for him. He was surprised that Hutch had gone to the expense and time to send out the sketches. Hell, he had probably plastered every state in the United States with Starsky's picture which simply identified him as a missing person. Lowering his head and pulling up the collar of his jacket to help hide his face, Starsky hurried back towards his secluded camp site.

He would have to be more careful than ever now and alter his current appearance as much as possible. His face was covered with a week's growth of beard which he decided to keep. He would also let his hair grow so the natural curl would help make him look different from the sketches. Although he had originally planned on staying here for a couple of days, he abruptly decided to spend the night and then move on the next day.

With any luck, in another few days he would be in Miami or Fort Lauderdale, where it would be easy to blend in and hide in either one of the large tourist towns along the coast. Back at his hidden campsite, Starsky built a small fire to ward off the chill of the night air and then he settled in for the night.

He tossed and turned most of the night, finally rising well before dawn and breaking camp. By the time the sun crept over the horizon, Starsky was back on the road and back on the run.

Four days later, the latest good Samaritana to give him a ride dropped him off on the outskirts of Miami. With his heavy beard and his closely trimmed hair starting to grow out, he was confident that he had changed his appearance enough that the sketch he had seen a few days earlier didn't resemble him so much now. Still, he knew better than to let down his guard. Now, he had to worry about Hutch looking for him, as well as the FBI and Gunther. He knew that sooner or later, his luck would run out and one of them would find him.