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Borders - Part Three
By
Ellis Murdock
FEBRUARY 12, 1980
"You’ve been really pushing it the past two weeks. Why don’t you sit tonight out, huh? Mac could come back here when he’s through with the interrogation and you could go over it together then." Hutch knew all too well that the suggestion had the potential to be the opening volley in a new battle between them, but Starsky was still wiped from yesterday. He deemed it worth the risk.
At first, the man half-stretched-out on the couch made no reply. He sat up slowly, allowing his shoulders to slump forward, before finally giving his reluctant reply. "Yeah, okay."
Fully prepared for an argument, Hutch hadn’t even considered the possibility of anything else. It was with a deep sense of concern that he sat himself down on the armrest and lightly placed his hand against the other’s forehead.
"Hey, you all right?"
Gently batting the hand away, Starsky turned to face his partner, the smile plainly genuine. "I don’t only agree with you when I’m sick, you know. I’m fine, just a little tired still. Willya stop looking at me like that? You’d think I just announced I was joining the ballet or something."
It was enough to break the tension and Hutch smiled in spite of himself.
"Mac can do the interview solo just fine", Starsky continued. "And as much as I hate being left out, even I can see that my presence isn’t gonna determine the success or failure of what goes down at the warehouse tonight. I couldn’t do anything but just sit there anyway and you can do that well enough on your own. It’s a good plan."
Hate to break this to you, buddy, but riding along with us never was in the cards. Best intentions notwithstanding, Hutch knew full well that Starsky would never be able to remain a mere observer in the car if things were to get heavy on the scene. He’d be out in a flash, never giving it a first thought, let alone a second. Hutch readily acknowledged that he would do exactly the same were their roles reversed, and wasn’t about to take that kind of a risk with his partner.
Dropping his head down a little, Starsky mumbled, "Though I doubt Mac and I will have all that much to go over when he does gets here."
Thanks to a rookie patrolman with unusually sharp eyes, they had located the street bum who collected the one and a half million in Krueger’s name. As willing as he was to talk, no one was counting on him to provide them with anything particularly useful.
"You sure you’re okay? We could…" The beleaguered , long-suffering look his partner hit him with was enough to lay the subject to rest for good and Hutch good-naturedly raised up his hands in unilateral surrender.
~~~~~~~~~~
Starsky was still occupying the lion’s share of Hutch’s thoughts as he climbed into the car with Ross later that night.
"He all right?"
Ross’s soft question startled him on two counts: not only rousing him from his reverie, he also hated to think he was quite that transparent.
"I’m not a mind reader", she laughed, her assertion contradicting itself. She seemed to be having no difficulty whatsoever in reading his expressions. "I noticed he looked a little pale, and you seem preoccupied. That’s all."
"He’s fine. Just had a hard day yesterday."
"Oh."
Hutch was grateful that it was Ross alongside of him instead of McMahon. It would never even occur to her partner to leave a potential topic of conversation unexplored.
"I don’t mean to intrude, so please don’t feel obligated to answer this if it’s prying, but what are your plans for the future? Is it Starsky’s intention to get back on active duty?"
Hutch wasn’t sure why the question made him bristle slightly. "Yeah, that’s the goal. It’s what we’re aiming toward."
"What’s the timeline?"
"Hard to say, it’s pretty much of a guess at this point." He rubbed his hands over his eyes, tiredly. At this point we don’t even know ‘if’, let alone ‘when’. "We’re looking at one ‘n’ a half, maybe two months now… if there are no major setbacks." Hutch knocked on the wooden-paneled dashboard in a gesture of mock superstition.
"Have there been many of those?" Ross spoke without taking her eyes off the road.
Hutch thought for a minute. "No. No, not really. Considering all things, it’s gone remarkably well." The answer - the realization that it was true - was something of a revelation. There had been several points along the way when it had seemed like one setback piled on top of the next, with no recovery time in between.
"The pulmonary embolism was bad", he continued, shuddering involuntarily at the memory. "That happened just a few days after you left last time. Then there was the pneumonia…times two, if you count the bout he had in the hospital. Mostly, I guess, it’s just been a slow uphill climb. Did it, though." Overcome every obstacle with strength, courage, and grace left to spare. He found himself unsure if the last had actually been spoken aloud or just thought.
"Turn here?" Receiving an affirmative nod from Hutch, she put on the left directional. "How long has it been now?"
"On the fifteenth it will be nine months to the day." He could take it down to the minute if she asked, without having to calculate.
~~~~~~~~~~
They arrived at the warehouse just before ten, in plenty of time to watch Abolese and Mather come upon the scene and be greeted enthusiastically by Richter. Then it turned into nearly every other stakeout Hutch had taken part in during his career - the initial flurry of activity over, boredom quickly filled the ensuing vacuum. Everyone would presumably be awaiting the arrival of Tigo and the group from out of town before getting down to business. There was certainly no point in calling for backup until all of the players were present and accounted for. Nothing left to do but wait.
Ross’s inherent quietness was a welcome relief from McMahon, but it wasn’t helping Hutch any in his bid to stay awake. He decided to test the waters and see how his very temporary partner felt about breach of protocol.
"Um, do you mind if I close my eyes for a few minutes? Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night."
"Be my guest. I’ll let you know when anything happens." A knowing smile crept across her face. "If anything happens."
Hutch was surprised to find himself transported back to the beach on a cool summer morning. He could see Starsky in the distance, but couldn’t seem to draw his attention. Strangely, no matter how fast he walked, he never seemed to get any closer to his partner and was becoming both tired and frustrated with the effort. Then Starsky just seemed to slowly dissolve away…
He was jarred from the dream by the sound of his name being called, repeatedly and with some urgency.
"Wake up! Something’s happening."
"Wha --?"
"I’m not sure, but I think the party’s breaking up. Tigo finally came about twenty minutes ago, but there’s no sign of anyone else and the way they’re moving in there, it looks as if they’re giving up and going home. What do you want to do?"
Hutch forced his brain to click into gear and looked at his watch. Quarter of one. If they’re not here yet, it’s a safe bet they’re not coming. One glance through the binoculars told him that Ross’s interpretation was dead on and he reached automatically for the radio, requesting immediate backup.
"I don’t think we can wait any longer", he said grimly.
"Four against two with backup on the way? I’ve faced worse odds." The words were cheerful enough, but Ross’s face was anything but.
Both drew their weapons and headed for what was apparently the only way in or out, unless one counted the broken windows. The group inside was still loosely held together in the northern corner of the room, to the left of the door, and conveniently shielded from view by a tall stack of empty crates.
Hutch wasn’t accustomed to having to discuss a plan of action with a partner - he and Starsky functioned seamlessly as a single unit - but this was different.
"I’ll go in first", he offered. "Draw their fire until you take up position."
"No", Ross whispered. "Other way around." Seeing his expression, she added, "I’m not being contrary, there’s just no time to explain. Trust me."
After a split second’s thought, he nodded.
Events unfolded in a dizzying blur after that: Ross moved into the warehouse with the grace of a cat, her approach so soundless that he didn’t have to provide any cover fire after all. Hutch took up his position opposite, both now covering the door so that anyone intending escape would have to go through them first. Maneuvering himself until he had all four of the suspects within sight, he waited until they were in relatively close proximity to each other before he alerted Ross and made his presence known.
"Police. Freeze! Right where you are. I want your hands where I can see them."
Richter looked too stunned to do anything else but obey, opening and closing his mouth like some water-deprived guppy. Mather seemed to judge discretion to be the better part of valor, too, for he obligingly raised his hands. It seemed, though, that there was always one who opted to make life more difficult all around and in this case, they had two. Knocking over the nearest crates, both Abolese and Tigo drew their guns and decided to make a run for it.
Diving behind the nearest crate, Hutch heard a bullet ricochet over his head and to the right, another following closely in it’s path. Abolese, two shots. He kept score by rote, having been a cop for enough years to make it second nature. Another shot came from close behind, this one at least not directed at him. Ross was doing her job providing cover fire until he reached safety.
As soon as he was settled, he returned fire in the general direction of Tigo, his shot shearing off a sizable chunk of wooden box. They’re still pinned between us and the door, he realized. It’s just a matter of time now before they make a run for it. Hutch felt the familiar adrenaline rush course through his veins, his entire body on high alert.
He didn’t have to wait long. Abolese and Tigo emerged from their stronghold at the same time, firing simultaneously, and sprinting in opposite directions. Hutch chose to focus his attention on Abolese, waiting until the large man had just passed his own position before making a diving tackle. It was during the resulting wrestling match that Hutch was visited by another all-too familiar experience: the strange sensation of seeing sparkling white blotches before his eyes as a powerful blow connected squarely with his jaw. Hutch let himself fall softly to the floor, remaining absolutely still until, through slitted eyes, he saw Abolese straighten and turn. Well matched in both height and weight, and using the element of surprise to his advantage, the blond detective jumped up to his full height and came at the other man from behind. In a well-practiced move, Hutch threw his full weight against Ray Abolese, spun the stunned man and tossed him, throwing his body against the wall with a sickening thud. Collecting Abolese’s gun from where it lay abandoned on the floor, he tucked it into his waistband. One down, three to go.
Turning, he was in time to see both Richter and Mather scurry to the door, taking advantage of the chaos wrought by their two collegues. It only took one warning shot from his Magnum to convince both men to stop where they were, but neither Tigo nor Ross was anywhere to be seen. Quickly handcuffing both men to each other and admonishing them to stay put or suffer the consequences, he arranged them next to the still-unconscious Abolese and headed for the door to look for Ross. He hadn’t yet reached the door frame when he heard a loud crash followed by a sharp cry.
"Ross?" He sprinted out the door, feet barely touching the floor.
The sight that greeted him outside would have been almost comical under other circumstances. Tigo was splayed on his stomach in an undignified pile on the ground, Ross atop his back, re-holstering her weapon now that the irate suspect had stopped struggling.
"I’d ask if you need a hand, but you seem to have it all under control."
She went about the process of handcuffing the accommodating suspect without looking up.
"He ran for it", Ross puffed. "I jumped him and we both flew over those crates." She jerked her head back with a sigh, listening to the approaching sirens in the distance. "You take care of the others?"
Hutch nodded in the affirmative as he helped her lift Tigo to his feet. It wasn’t until then that the reason for the cry became apparent: both of her knees were badly abraded, gravel clinging to the bloody tissue in painful-looking mosaics.
"You’re hurt." Offering his handkerchief, he tried to guide her into an area with a bit more light to get a better look, but she deflected his efforts with firm politeness. Ross, it seemed, did not like to be fussed over.
Backup arrived within minutes and Hutch and Ross followed the caravan back to Metro, the lengthy process of booking, reports, and - if they were lucky - a series of interrogations promising to eat up the next several hours.
It was almost three o’clock when Hutch could finally break away long enough to give Starsky a call. Pausing with his hand on the receiver, he turned suddenly to Ross, a question nagging at him that wouldn’t release it’s stranglehold until answered.
"You mind if I ask you a question?"
"Not at all", she replied equably, dabbing at her left knee with a damp paper towel.
"Why did you want to go in first?"
She paused for a second, frowning, as if unsure of what he meant.
"At the warehouse", Hutch prompted.
She smiled and returned to tending her injuries. "Simple. You’re taller than me. If you would have had to provide cover fire you could’ve done it with me barely crouching down. It’s a better position for both of us."
"Oh." Come to think of it, he did seem to recall reading that once in the Policeman’s Manual, years ago. That was both the trouble and the blessing of working with one partner for so long a time, the tendency to develop your own customized operating procedure.
He rang home without further delay. Despite his reputation, Hutch knew that he didn’t hold the patent when it came to worry. Starsky would have to be decidedly on edge by now.
~~~~~~~~~~
Starsky consulted his watch for the third time in fifteen minutes. Come on, Hutch. It doesn’t take that long to stakeout a warehouse. He was unaccountably on edge; could already feel the muscles in his chest and abdomen constricting uncomfortably and knew that the next step would be all-out cramping.
Anxiety or legitimate trouble? He had always valued his ability to sense when something was wrong regarding his partner - it had come in very handy on more than one occasion - but wasn’t sure he trusted himself to tell the difference anymore.
"Hey, you okay? Y’ look a little strange."
The question abruptly brought him back from his thoughts. "Uh, yeah. I just need to stretch a little." Damn. If it was becoming obvious even to McMahon, it was definitely time to take preemptive action before the situation got any worse. Panic attacks were bad enough with Hutch present, much worse when alone, completely unacceptable in front of anyone else. He got up and headed for the kitchen.
"I’m making some tea. You want anything?"
McMahon, predictably, followed closely on his heels. "Nah, I’m fine. You must not’ve heard me, huh?"
"What? Sorry, guess not. Wanna try again?"
"I asked if you two shared this apartment or what? I mean, it’s a little small, isn’t it?"
Starsky felt himself tense further. As much as he liked McMahon and didn’t want to appear rude, some aspects their personal lives belonged only to Hutch and himself.
"Useta be mine," he said casually, "but now we share. Hutch let his go when we were still livin’ like beach bums. We’re looking for a larger place, but it’ll have to wait until we know… Well, everything’s kind of up in the air at the moment." Along with almost everything else in their lives, the choice of permanent living accommodations had been put on hold until they learned whether or not Starsky was going to be re-qualified. "The jungle out there’s his", he added with a grin.
"Oh. Plant lover, huh? Tressa grows stuff, too, only all o’ hers bloom."
Starsky braced himself for the next obvious question, but McMahon somehow refrained from asking it. Amazing. That either meant that he was at least occasionally intuitive enough to recognize when to keep his mouth shut or he assumed Starsky to be in need of a live-in nurse. Starsky was really pulling for the former.
"What’s that?" McMahon asked, watching as Starsky placed a handful of dried leaves and flowers into a saucepan.
"Tilia. Something Hutch found in a health food store; it’s a natural anti-spasmodic." Much to his partner’s chagrin, Hutch had returned to the whole nut-and-berry scene with a vengeance after the shooting, inflicting all sorts of horrors on Starsky in the name of ‘health’. He had to admit, though, that this tea was worth it’s weight in gold: it effectively eased even the most severe cramping and nausea, typically within five minutes and with no narcotic side effects.
"They go into spasm sometimes", he explained, rubbing the area around his ribs lightly. "Hurts like hell and this is a lot better than taking pills. You’re welcome to try some, but it don’t taste like much."
"I’m thinking that’s a "no", McMahon said politely. He seemed revolted by the very thought.
Hoping to steer the conversation in another direction, Starsky said, "You’re a good partner, y’know, coming with her like that."
"She didn’t see it that way", McMahon replied, pulling a face. "Mad as a wet cat when she found out."
"She was probably just trying to keep you gainfully employed", Starsky countered gently. "I realize that you couldn’t exactly take your vacation at the same time your partner was being exiled, at least not without rousing some suspicion, but you keep punchin’ senior officers and you’re gonna find yourself in the unemployment line. Besides, two week suspensions don’t look good on a permanent record."
"I don’t intend to take it up as a hobby", he admitted cheerfully, then seemed to grow suddenly thoughtful. "She can’t do everything on her own, though." He sighed. "Not many people really get her, y’know?."
"Hmm?"
McMahon was silent for a moment, seeming to gather his words carefully before proceeding. "There’s this story about her, something all of us are taught at the Academy." He took a breath and, when he continued, his voice was full of admiration. "Right after she made detective, she went into a hostage situation. You know? In exchange for one of the hostages, so that she could try and talk the guy out. Anyway, it didn’t take long to realize that he wasn’t going to leave alive and if she didn’t do something right then, he was gonna start blowing away the hostages. Like the others, she had her feet bound, her hands tied in front of her, and no piece. So she got innovative, right? She found a piece of broken bottle, got one of the other hostages to create a diversion, picked up the glass, and called him over to her. When he came, she gave one upward thrust, hit ‘im right in the jugular. She was a hero." McMahon paused. "What not many people get is the other side of that."
"What do you mean?" Starsky was truly interested now.
"Well, she basically killed a guy with her bare hands. Didn’t really mean to and it did save about five other people, but still. You can’t do that and not be affected, not if you’re human. Tressa’s had to be more together than anyone else around her, just to be taken seriously - viewed as an equal. But people sometimes don’t think…" He stopped abruptly, looking as though he had been caught talking out of turn.
Starsky thought he understood. "Barbara Peele?"
"Y’know how she found out?" McMahon asked, looking up. Starsky shook his head. "She heard it in the squad, other cops talking about it. No one even took her aside to tell her privately. I mean, she’s lost her real mother about ten months before and still nobody makes the connection?" He sounded remarkably sad. "It’s her own fault, too, though. She acts like nothing can get to her. It can."
You’re deeper than you let on, aren’t you, kid? Ross isn’t the only one with a deceptive veneer. Starsky found himself more and more impressed with the young man in front of him. His intended response was cut short by the ringing of the telephone, the sound making him jump slightly. Get a grip, Starsky, he thought grimly. You’re starting to look like an idiot.
He picked up and, as he’d hoped, it was Hutch on the other end of the line.
"What’s with you two? Did’ja get lost or something?" He hoped the feigned irritation would cover the unreasonable relief that would otherwise surely have been audible.
"No. Things just moved faster than we’d expected and not everyone decided to play nice. Made us work for our paychecks."
"Are you --?"
"We’re fine. There was some shooting, but we’re either unusually good or the bad guys were lousy shots. Listen, I can’t talk now. We’re at the station typing reports - should be done, oh, within a half an hour or so. See ya then."
"’Kay."
Starsky found himself relaxing somewhat as he hung up, the tension he’d been feeling earlier slowly evaporating away. He discovered something new there, in it’s wake - a certain degree of satisfaction, perhaps, that his instincts were still intact. Haven’t lost it yet, he thought, almost smugly.
~~~~~~~~~~
"You might want to let Hutch take a look at those", Starsky suggested after a quick glance at Ross’s badly abused knees. "He’s gotten to be a pretty good nurse over the last several months. Probably qualifies as a fully-fledged RN by now." Directing a bright grin at his partner, he added, "The things I do just to give you career choices."
"Yeah, well consider your work complete. I surpassed Florence Nightingale awhile back now and it’s time to stop."
Ross smiled, but looked drawn. "Thanks for the offer, guys, but I think I’d prefer to pick the gravel out myself. If you’ll just direct me to the medicine cabinet…"
Hutch pulled down the first aid kit and left Ross in peace, shepherding Starsky and McMahon out into the living room so he could re-cap the evening’s festivities.
"Everyone else lawyered up?" McMahon asked, when Hutch had finished.
"Everyone but Abolese", Hutch confirmed. "He laid it all on Richter’s doorstep, swears he thought it was a private deal."
"You believe ‘im?" Starsky’s expression was somber. "Because if he’s telling the truth, we don’t know any more now than we did a few hours ago."
"Square one." Hutch studied his hands for a moment. "And yeah, I think if he knew anything else, he’d of told us. The number of charges he was racking up tonight really scared the hell out of him - he’d have sold out anyone for a deal."
Quiet descended on the room for awhile, as each man became lost in his own thoughts. It was Starsky who finally broke the almost oppressive silence.
"Think I’ll go check on Ross. She should really be out here before we plot out our next move."
Or decide if there is one, Hutch added silently. One look at Starsky told him his partner was thinking the same thing. "You might want to bring her a glass of water", he suggested. "She’ll probably be wanting some aspirin and I don’t think there’s a glass in the bathroom."
Starsky raised a hand in acknowledgment and was soon headed in the general direction of the bathroom with a full glass.
"Maybe what we could do --" He turned his head mid-stride, didn’t hear the door open, didn’t stop his forward progress.
"Starsky!"
Hutch’s shouted warning came too late and the collision with Ross, who had the misfortune to be approaching from the opposite direction, was nothing short of dramatic. While neither actually fell, the glass tipped forward and showered the already edgy female detective with it’s contents. She stood like some dripping sentinel in stunned silence for what seemed like an eternity, eventually lowering her head to stare down at her soaking purple blouse, while Starsky just stared, mouth agape. Hutch and McMahon, who had watched the scene unfold from the relative safety of the living room, did the same.
Starsky emitted what sounded like a poor attempt at a nervous laugh and began frantically reaching for something - anything - to dab the blouse with. Grabbing an errant sweatshirt of Hutch’s, he made a genuine-if-futile effort to rectify the situation.
"Didn’t see you comin’ out from there, ya need to wear bells or something." He flashed his most charming smile at her and was alarmed to discover that, at this point at least, she was decidedly immune.
"Uh, one or two hours, this’ll all be dry. No --"
The icy glare she fixed him with cut him off mid-sentence. Ross snatched the sweatshirt away from him, only lowering her eyes when she had it firmly in hand and began a halfhearted attempt to dry herself off. The silk chiffon had already begun to pucker and it was immediately apparent that the results would not warrant the energy expended. Defeated, she let the sweatshirt drop to the floor, her shoulders beginning to tremble slightly, although she made no sound.
For one horrifying moment, Starsky thought that she was crying. Placing a hand on each of her shoulders, he tried to make eye contact.
"Hey, it’ll be all right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…" It took a few moments to see the situation for what it really was. Ross wasn’t crying at all. In fact, she was laughing. Uncontrollably.
McMahon was the first to join in, after making a pointed comment about her resembling nothing so much as a plum left too long in the refrigerator, and Starsky and Hutch jumped onto the proverbial band wagon soon after. The absurdity of the current situation, coupled with the tension of the past several weeks, soon reduced all four otherwise mature adults into undignified, quivering heaps.
Dabbing his eyes as he tried to regain a little composure, McMahon maneuvered himself in front of his partner and extended a hand. "Keys, Tress. I might as well go after your cheesecake now."
"Cheesecake?" Hutch somehow managed to choke out. He had to know.
"Long story", McMahon replied easily. He winked at his partner. "It’s how we’ve learned to handle days like this. Anyone else want anything while I’m out?"
"Beer?" Starsky asked hopefully.
Hutch reached into his wallet to make a contribution to McMahon’s early morning food run. "Does beer go with cheesecake?"
"Tonight?" Ross threw in. "Oh, why not?
Upon McMahon’s return, the four settled themselves in the living room, contentedly surrounded by cake and beer. Starsky claimed the couch, as it was still somewhat easier to move off of than the floor, while Hutch sat with his back against it, below Starsky’s head. Ross and McMahon took up their positions opposite.
To Hutch it seemed that Ross - clad in one of Starsky’s newer shirts - had emerged from the experience transformed, as if the unbridled laughter had somehow lanced an invisible wound. I guess all of us had the need to decompress, he reflected, looking up briefly into his partner’s now tranquil eyes.
They decided to go over everything once again, the files passing from one detective to the next in an almost synchronized pattern, conversation still more banter than substance. They were about to make a serious start when McMahon casually consulted his watch and jumped as though he’d been bitten.
"May I use your phone?" he asked nervously. "It’s, uh, long distance, but I’ll call collect."
Receiving an affirmative nod, he scurried off in the direction of the bedroom.
Ross mouthed "Camilla" in answer to Hutch’s questioning gaze, and both men grinned. They had heard enough about McMahon’s beloved over the past few months to adequately pen her biography.
"He’s still on her? It’s not natural. I dated three at a time when I was his age," Starsky laughed.
"His age?" Hutch scoffed. "You were doing that up until a few years ago."
"People who live in glass houses…", was shot back.
"He’s courting her," Ross explained, her face a mask of solemnity. "They’re both taking this very seriously."
The three returned to sifting through the mounds of paperwork, the companionable silence broken only by an occasional commentary and the periodic rumblings of laughter coming from the direction of the bedroom.
"You believe in that?" Starsky asked finally. "All that ‘love at first sight’ stuff?" He directed the question at Ross, already knowing Hutch’s feelings on the subject.
She sat back off of her heels and stretched her legs out in front of her, arching her feet lazily before responding. "As a general rule, no. Then again, I’ve been reconsidering a lot of ‘general rules’ lately."
"Come to any conclusions?" Hutch didn’t bother looking up as he asked.
She sighed. "I don’t know. I’m beginning to think that maybe there aren’t many rules, after all." After a thoughtful pause, she added, "I don’t think that actual love happens as often as people like to think. You know the kind I mean? ‘Soul mates’? I think that’s the phrase du jour. Once in a lifetime and that only if you’re among the truly blessed. Maybe with that there is some kind of - oh, I don’t know - recognition, perhaps? There certainly seemed to be between those two", she nodded toward the bedroom.
"A cop and a sweet little flower vendor", Starsky mused. "Sounds like an early Hollywood movie, don’t it? Somehow that’s exactly the sort of girl I see him ending up with - perfect fit." He pressed his hands together for emphasis and said it with such conviction that Hutch had to smile.
"That in itself would be unusual, wouldn’t it?" Ross mumbled, almost inaudibly.
"Hmm?"
She shrugged. "A ‘perfect fit’. Love comes in all shapes and sizes, but almost never, I think, in the package we expect."
The two men exchanged the briefest of glances before Hutch spoke. "Maybe in the end it doesn’t really matter", he suggested softly, his gaze suddenly intense.
She returned the gaze and replied evenly, "I’m sure it doesn’t. It’s rare enough in any form."
McMahon chose that particular moment to rejoin them, studying their faces for a few seconds before speaking. "Okay, what’d I miss? You all look too serious."
His partner smiled up at him. "I was waxing philosophic again - it has that effect on people. How’s Cami?"
"Great! Said to say "hi" to everyone. Wonders when I’m comin’ home."
"What did you tell her?" Ross asked with a curious smile.
"That I did, too."
As soon as McMahon returned to his spot on the floor, Hutch cleared his throat. Somebody has to get the ball rolling and it might as well be me.
"What have we got?" he began. "Toby Debaran is either dead or isn’t dead, depending on who you talk to. We know at least a part of the nucleus of his organization has gathered here and they seem to be doing whatever it takes to get money. Why?" He looked from one face to the next, waiting for a response.
"Money’s always good", McMahon offered with a shrug.
Starsky laughed and looked down at Hutch. "Can’t argue with that, huh? Well, either someone intends to rebuild or they’re distributing the wealth before going their separate ways. Don’t see too many other ways of reading that one."
When no one else had anything to add, Hutch went on. "Why won’t anyone talk to us? Every lead just takes us to another dead end, or at least back to where we started."
Ross spoke up next. "I’m inclined to believe that most of the people we’ve spoken with genuinely know nothing more than they’ve told us, and that goes for both here and New York. It’s part of what’s so frustrating about this. You can eventually manipulate people into giving you what you want, but you can’t make someone tell you what they don’t know. Although I do sometimes have serious doubts about Mercury’s veracity", she admitted.
"She knows a lot more than she’s willing to share - I’d best my life on it." Starsky reluctantly took the last sip of his half-bottle allotment of beer, glaring at Hutch as the other cheerfully handed him a root beer as replacement.
"There’s something strange about her", Hutch mused.
Starsky nudged him. "Been tellin’ you that from the beginning."
"No, it’s more than that." Hutch furrowed his brow, tenaciously clawing at a rapidly retreating proto-thought. "Why you alone? Why none of us?"
"Good taste?" Starsky laughed, as Hutch shot him a withering look. "She remembered me from before, she said --"
"I know what she said", Hutch interrupted. "But just hypothetically, looking at all the other possibilities… Why would someone typically specify one person over someone else?"
There was silence as each searched for theoretical answers. It was McMahon who spoke up first.
"Fear of being recognized?"
Three pairs of eyes locked onto him like he had just spoken in Chinese, and he shifted uncomfortably under the spotlight.
"I mean", he continued, hesitantly at first, "it’s the first thing that you would usually think of, isn’t it? That someone would be trying to hide their identity?"
For almost a full minute, the sound of a pin dropping to the floor would have reverberated like thunder.
Hutch found his voice first and said with a shrug, "Okay. I don’t think we ever considered that. Does it fit? Who could the three of us know, that you wouldn’t?" He jerked a thumb in Starsky’s direction.
"Fitting the general description of Mercury", Ross added. She began listing the woman’s traits, "Female, mid forties, small build, short stature --" She was stopped mid-sentence by the sight of both Starsky and Hutch tensing in unison, wide eyes locked onto each other, experiencing a silent-but-shared epiphany.
Starsky reached down for the file, but Hutch got to it first and joined his partner on the couch. Pointing to the photograph within, he almost whispered, "Is it?" When there was no immediate response he tried again, only louder.
Starsky raised his eyes, a grimly triumphant expression on his face, and conveyed his answer silently to Hutch before letting the others in on what had just taken place. Holding up the photograph so that both Ross and McMahon could see it clearly, he announced, "Everyone, I would like you to meet Mercury Walker. Different hair, different make-up, different persona, but definitely her."
In his hands was a photograph of Lorna Jensen.
McMahon let out a low whistle while the other three attempted to integrate this newest piece of information into what they knew of the larger picture.
"So who does Lorna represent, anyway?" McMahon asked. "Debaran or someone else?"
"Debaran", Ross said with an air of finality. "At least I think we have to assume so until such time as we have another working theory." She paused. "My God. So many things make sense now. No wonder we never got very far with her leads, she’s been sending us down a progression of bunny trails from the very beginning."
"Even tonight has a certain logic to it", Hutch agreed. "Especially if it really was a private deal. Debaran, or whoever, found out about it and didn’t take kindly to his people freelancing - particularly with his property. There probably never were any out-of-towners. Through Lorna, he burned his own people and used us as the match."
"At least she should be easy to pick up", McMahon said brightly. "We’ll grab her next meeting, won’t know what hit ‘er."
"I’ve been looking forward to interrogating her for a long time now." Ross’s face could have been chiseled from stone.
"No." Starsky, who had been uncharacteristically quiet up until then, finally spoke up. "There might be a better way." He looked at each face as if to see if anyone was going to contradict him outright. When no one did, he continued. "We’re assuming that Lorna transformed herself into Mercury for the express purpose of keeping tabs on what we’re doing, right? To get information from us, lead us in as many wrong directions as she could without rousing suspicion, to distract us from whatever’s actually going on."
"And bring regular reports back to her boss", Hutch added quietly. He had a feeling he knew where his partner was heading and wasn’t sure he liked it much.
"That, too", Starsky agreed. "Well, we might just have the chance to turn the tables on her. She doesn’t know I know. I could feed her some disinformation for a change, try and force her into giving us something useful."
Ross gave the proposition some thought, then shook her head slowly. "I don’t know. A bird in the hand…"
"Please", Starsky said softly. "At least let me try. It’s too good of an opportunity to just throw away."
"He’s right." Hutch spoke with grave certainty, smiling up at his partner as he heard the other man exhale the breath he had been holding. Starsky gazed at him, his expression a combination of relief, gratitude, and maybe just a touch of surprise. "She’s been smart, but let’s assume we’re smarter and see where Lorna leads us when she’s not holding all of the cards."
Ross cocked her head to one side and stared intensely at Starsky. "Are you good enough to pull this off without tipping her off?"
"I’ve never known anyone better undercover." It was Hutch who answered without hesitation. It was, after all, the truth.
With only a cursory glance at her partner, Ross turned back to the two men on the couch and smiled. "Sold."
15 FEBRUARY 1980
Lorna scoped Starsky out from head to toe and seemed satisfied with what she saw.
"You look one hundred percent better than you did the last time we met. Fully recovered I hope?" Her voice was light and almost bubbling over with confidence; completely at ease now in his company.
And that’s exactly how I want you to stay. "Amazing what a good night’s sleep or two will do for ya. I was fine by the next day."
"Glad to hear it. And I gather congratulations are in order." She bent down at the waist in a passable bow. "Was thrilled beyond words to learn you nabbed Abolese, et al. Under the circumstances, I wasn’t sure you had even heard what I was saying, let alone would remember both the correct warehouse and the time." She chewed enthusiastically on her bubble gum. "Sorry Marty wasn’t among the glistening jewels of humanity you picked up, but hey, you can’t win ‘em all."
"Funny thing about that", Starsky began, matching her amiability point for point. "They all swear that it was a private deal instigated by Al Richter. And ya know something? During the entire course of the interrogations, Marty’s name didn’t come up. Not even once."
Seemingly in an introspective mood all of a sudden, she furrowed her brow and blew a bubble thoughtfully. "Hmm. It’s a stumper, all right. Anyone mention Debaran?"
Starsky noticed that she was searching his face a little more closely than usual and worked to keep his expressions in line with what she thought he knew.
"Nope. Hutch says they all looked like at him like he was nuts when he mentioned old Toby. Everyone seemed pretty well convinced he was dead." Leaning closer to her, he almost whispered, "You don’t happen to know of anyone who’s actually seen him around, do you? Someone who might be willing to give us a lead? Even something insignificant would be helpful at this point. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re kinda hitting our heads up against a wall right now."
She considered for a moment. "Maybe. I’m working on someone, trying to earn his trust, but he hasn’t opened up to me yet. I don’t want to give you any false hope, but I think he might be the one. Wish me luck, huh?"
Yep, right after I sell all of my belongings and go raise yaks in Tibet. He nodded and flashed her his most engaging smile. "So what else have you got for me?"
She was staring deeply at him again and he returned the gaze, taking great care to betray nothing. Come on, don’t do this to me. Now’s a hell of time for a flash of woman’s intuition. He could almost feel the meeting degenerating into a subtle game of chess between the two of them and Starsky didn’t like it one bit.
Lorna gnawed away at her lower lip for a moment, seemed to reach a decision and finally offered, "You might not believe this, but I think that Marty’s decided to re-join the world. From what I hear, he’s going to be meeting personally with a local named Carl Wellman. Ring any bells?"
"Yeah", he said dubiously. "He’s one of our more colorful guns-for-hire. Who exactly does Banks want dead?"
"Don’t know, but maybe you can ask them. They’re meeting at the Hillcrest Hotel on Fifth and Pine, Room 22, seven thirty in the evening on the eighteenth." She grinned broadly and lightly poked him in the arm with an index finger. "I’ll be expecting my honorary badge in the mail, but you can pay me the cash now."
He slipped her a fifty, grateful that they were official now and the Department was picking up the tab.
"Thanks. Oh, and I finally got some solid news on Lorna."
"Yeah?"
"She’s officially flown the coop. Best guess is that she ended up in Rio, but nobody knows for sure."
"About what we figured, huh?" You missed your calling, sweetheart. Should’ve been an undercover cop. He found himself smiling as he wondered if she wasn’t perhaps thinking he would have made a brilliant criminal.
"What we figured", she agreed.
Their conversation lasted a few minutes longer, but contained nothing that Starsky could identify as having any discernible substance. When the time came, she rose with dramatic flair, issued her standard wave to Hutch, and was gone.
As soon as Lorna was no longer in sight, Hutch joined his pensive-looking partner on the bench.
"So, how’d it go?"
"Not sure", Starsky replied softly. "It felt kinda weird this time."
"Weird how?"
"Not sure." He shook his head and turned toward Hutch with a smile, patting him lightly on the thigh. "I don’t know, it’s probably just me. I’ll tell you something that is strange, though: she gave me a line on Banks. Says he has a meet set on Monday with Carl Wellman."
"Paretti’s hitter?" Hutch asked, genuinely puzzled.
"The one and only. And before you ask, I have no idea." Paretti was the moderately-well-situated dealer who utilized Wellman’s particular brand of talent the most, usually to permanently dispatch rival dealers. How he would have gotten hooked up with a guy like Banks and, even more interestingly, why, was beyond Starsky just now.
Hutch looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, Lorna’s last tip was on the money. If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll get a line on Debaran next. If not, at least we stand a chance of bagging two wanted felons - that’s not a bad day’s work." When there was no response forthcoming, he glanced over at Starsky and found him staring straight ahead, as if in a trance. "Starsk? Hey, you still in there?"
"Hmm… Hmm?" He straightened then, surprised.
"You all right?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I was just thinkin’. Why would Lorna tell us this? I mean, I can understand the last one. Richter was freelancing and Lorna’s boss wanted both him and his friends out of the way, but why this?"
"Maybe Marty’s up to something, too."
"Banks?" Starsky snorted. "He’s never had an original idea in his life. Wouldn’t know what to do with one if it hopped into his lap and introduced itself."
"Diversion then. Gotta be. It’s about the only other choice."
Starsky exhaled loudly. "Talk about your needle in a haystack. It’s a big city out there and we don’t even know what we’re supposed to be being diverted from."
In an uncharacteristic display of optimism, Hutch cheerfully replied, "Well, we’ve got three days. Let’s turn the town upside down and see what shakes loose. Who knows? We’ve gotten lucky before."
FEBRUARY 18, 1980
Hutch fidgeted as he snapped on his holster. Gratified as he was that his optimism hadn’t been completely unfounded, it didn’t make leaving this way any easier.
Thanks mostly to the enlightened self-interest demonstrated by a prostitute busted for solicitation - she had been enthusiastically trawling for johns at Nell’s Club at the time - they had uncovered a scenario that at least hinted at being worthy of a diversion. James Lord and Mickey Pringle were rumored to be meeting with a known money launderer down by the waterfront, at roughly the same time and clear on the other side of town from where the supposed meet between Banks and Wellman was set. Just to be on the safe side, Metro was dispatching officers to both locations. It was, however, the Pringle and Lord meeting that was generating the most excitement, and it was to there that Hutch, Ross, and McMahon would be heading in twenty minutes.
What made it difficult was having to leave Starsky behind. While his partner was actively involved in every other conceivable aspect of the case, at least insofar as he was able, a planned raid was completely out of the question. Hutch glanced briefly into the living room where Starsky was dejectedly toying with the puzzle. He hadn’t asked to come and wouldn’t, Hutch knew, but the pain was an almost tangible presence.
He wandered into the living room slowly and sat down close alongside his partner. "Hey there, buddy…", he began, then faltered, not really knowing what else to say. With a heavy sigh, Hutch rubbed his hand up and down the other man’s back a few times. "I’m sorry."
Starsky smiled sadly at him. "Hey, it’s not your fault, is it? S’ okay." The way he spoke made it difficult to determine just who was trying to comfort whom. "Stop lookin’ at me like I’m freezing to death and you just stole my last blanket, huh? It’s fine. It’s not like I would be a lot of help if I did tag along, probably just get in the way."
"Never", Hutch replied with conviction. "It won’t be long now, you know, and we’ll be out there together…like we’re supposed to be." He hoped he was being reassuring. To him, the words were filled with as much dread as promise.
"Better believe it."
"I do", he said seriously. "I do."
Starsky snaked an arm around his partner’s waist and gave a quick squeeze. "Thanks. Well, fill me in on what goes down tonight, even if you have to take notes, okay? Now get outta here", he ordered, giving Hutch an energetic shove off the couch.
As the door closed behind him, Hutch found himself oddly looking forward to this case being wrapped up and going back on desk duty, boring as that was. Actually, he reflected, the boredom’s a good part of the draw. It was no doubt in large part because of it that Starsky didn’t particularly envy his days at work. Seeing the expression on his partner’s face minutes ago had cut into him on a deeper level than the physical could ever reach. A lingering pain, it was just getting too hard to keep walking out the door.