CHAPTER 14

Diaz slid the card across the bottom of the time clock, waiting for the clicking noise before he shoved it into the slot on the other side of the machine. He considered himself tough and independent but he was never late to work. After all, it was this job on the docks that had developed his muscles which gave him the edge he needed to survive in his neighborhood. Not only did the heavy labor build up his body in order to fight for what was important to him, it provided money so that he could help his mother and sister. They both worked in the garment district, putting in long hours at sewing machines that didn't garner as much money as he made. So as the man of the house, he felt it was his duty to provide for his family. His father had killed a man and had been in jail since Diaz was fourteen. In the six years since, Diaz had taken over the responsibility of watching out for his family. He may be tough and street smart outside the home, but he dutifully respected his mother and protected his sister just as fiercely.

Diaz didn't consider the possibility that he'd end up in jail. He'd covered his tracks up till now and felt that he was street smart enough to avoid such a fate. What he lacked in brain power, he made up for it through his ability to physically protect not only himself but his pride. He belonged to The Blades and was well respected within that group.

It had been several days since the fight in the playground. He'd dismissed his concern for Chino, the gang member who'd gotten shot in the leg. He'd proven to be a weak link in the gang.

When the boss on the dock had come around asking where Chino and several other workers were, Diaz had sullenly answered with only the shrug of his shoulders. Those members were now barred from returning to the gang and probably even had left the area rather than face injury or death. Diaz felt it was his responsibility to avenge the outcome of the fight. The Blades didn't want to appear vulnerable.

He lifted the crates, sacks of flour and pallets while he thought about pay back. As he saw it, the cops needed to know that it wasn't smart to mess with The Blades.

Diaz took a break, wiping his sweaty face with a rag. He sat on the sacks of grain and flour he'd already settled on the flatbed trailer.

A sudden idea came to him. He thought back to the day of the fight. Specifically, he recalled how he'd dropped the cop with that piece of wood. But he also thought about the kid who had shown up to help the pig.

Diaz decided to prowl the streets to look for that damn boy. He was confident that the kid would lead him to the cop, one way or the other.

shshshshshshshsh^^^^^^shshshshshshshsh^^^^^^

Starsky huddled in bed, drapes closed against the bright day. He turned off his thinking because it just seemed to add to the pounding in his head.

This was the most severe headache he'd had in a few days. When it first started, he'd tried to ignore it but gradually, it over took him and he was forced to bed. He refused the medication that Hutch offered. His stomach was already burning, clenching until one pain blended into the next. He could barely breathe because of the pain so he curled up and closed his eyes.

Hutch stretched out on the couch in the living room. His arm draped over his head, eyes closed. He could hear Starsky moaning and the restless shifting of sheets. He resisted the urge to go to him, knowing that his friend would try to downplay his symptoms.

Hutch felt responsible that Starsky's headache had gotten so bad. The doctor said that stress could trigger one. The encounter with Ronnie had been enough stress, enough guilt, to reduce Starsky's resistance to an otherwise interesting challenge. He didn't know how he could have prevented any of it, but Hutch knew that the man in the bedroom was in agony because of Ronnie. Just another example of why Starsky shouldn't get any further involved with the boy.

He thought about Kiko and realized that the two boys were totally different. Kiko had a mother and a fairly stable home life before Hutch had gotten involved. It was just that without a dad, the boy was at an age that he was influenced by the wrong friends and his mother couldn't get it across to her son that to be a man didn't mean you had to follow the crowd. Hutch had been able to show by example and patience that he could be a friend without Kiko fearing an adult.

As far as they knew, Ronnie didn't have a home or anyone responsible for him. He hadn't given Merle any indication of an address or guardian. They'd already caught him trying to steal an elderly woman's purse and he had shown up at the gang fight at the playground. Hutch doubted that he was a member of either gang but that didn't solve the mystery as to why he was there and what, if any involvement he had in it.

Hutch pushed himself up off the couch and sat forward, his head in his hands. He had no way of checking on Ronnie since they didn't know his last name. The description that the old lady had given to the police artist didn't provide any clues either.

The encounter with Ronnie had obviously brought out Starsky's constant guilt about his brother Nicky. His friend still harbored long years of regret when it came to his sibling. Nicky had followed the path that their mother had worked so hard to get the young David away from. Starsky always felt that if he'd been at home, neither one of them would have been influenced by the wrong group of people. Now his partner felt that if he could turn Ronnie around, it would somehow make up for the failure at protecting his own family. Hutch had his work cut out for him.

He sighed heavily, thinking of the distress his friend was dealing with. On his way to the bedroom, he picked up his guitar. Sometimes the music would help, kind of like soothing Starsky's mind, helping him relax rather than fighting against the pain.

Music always helped untangle Hutch's frazzled thoughts. He was worried about Starsky. He knew the headaches were receding but when his friend was in any pain, Hutch felt it to the very core of his soul. Hutch needed to be near Starsky. He sat on the chair beside the bed, strumming the guitar lightly, letting the lullaby sooth both of them rather than conversation.

Starsky didn't speak. He moaned slightly, restless in a troubled sleep. But after a few minutes of music, the dark-haired man seemed to relax into a more restful posture. Hutch continued to play. He closed his eyes, letting the sounds wash over him until the room grew silent.

Satisfied that his friend was now peaceful, Hutch got up and went back to the living room. He continued to play as his thoughts moved on to the young boy that Starsky seemed to be so interested in.

Finally putting the guitar away, Hutch went to the kitchen to retrieve his own pain medication. He rotated his shoulder, massaging the tender area. The pill would held him relax enough to sleep fairly comfortably on the couch, without waking up cramped and sore.

After swallowing the pill, he set the glass back in the sink. He leaned his hands against the counter, wondering how he could help the intense need Starsky felt about Ronnie. Hutch didn't want to see him get hurt which could very well happen if the dark-haired man continued to concern himself with Ronnie. The only thing he knew for sure that would help was to stay close to his friend; be there for whatever the outcome.

They would start their search for Ronnie tomorrow.