PART THREE

Deadly Diversion - Part Four

by

Mani

   Since no introduction seemed to be forthcoming, and Hutch seemed too preoccupied to handle the formalities, Joyce tried to get Cleo to engage in some ice breaking conversation, extending her hand in introduction.

   "Hi, my name’s Joyce Carlson."

   "Cleo Garvey." Cleo shook her extended hand and then proceeded to stare out of her window.

   Joyce was not enthused by the prospect of riding in the backseat with a person who had about as much personality as a wet rag. She shifted her focus to the two men sitting in the front seat. She wondered if this was typical behavior for the two of them, or if it was just chance that had them dating two black women at the same time. She thought the blond one might prefer ladies who looked more like himself, the blond, blue-eyed and available type. And the dark one, well, he was a conundrum. She just wanted to have a chance at figuring him out. She so liked a challenge.

   In the front seat Hutch watched Starsky closely. The grin on his face was still as big as when they’d left the hospital, and to make matters worse, he was humming some annoying little off tune ditty as he drove.

   "I hate to burst your bubble, good buddy, but you still haven’t told me how you met this lovely lady. Is it a secret? Oh, wait, did you want me to guess? Okay, don’t tell me…she couldn’t possibly be your date for this evening, could she?"

   The smile slowly faded from his face. "What’s that supposed to mean? What’s the matter? Don’t you think I’m perfectly capable of…"

   Joyce chimed in before he could finish his sentence. "David is perfectly capable of attracting whomever he wants." She smiled. "He was so attentive and sweet to me before and after the hearing, I couldn’t help but find out if he was for real."

   Hutch’s eyes widened. "Oh, yeah. What about that hearing, Starsky? "He asked, trying to change what obviously was a touchy subject. "You said you’d tell me about it on the way."

   "Oh yeah, forgot. Joyce is on Carlisle’s legal team." He looked at her in the rearview and smiled proudly.

   Hutch directed his next question to Joyce. "That’s great. So what happened, counselor?"

   "SOP. Preliminary hearings over, now it’s pick the grand jury time. Of course, his lawyers will try to appeal the whole thing. But the case still looks promising."

   "That’s good."

   Cleo was still in the back seat staring out the window and sulking, trying to figure out a way that she could get Hutch to herself. She didn’t need some female city lawyer usurping what was already limited and valuable time. She unceremoniously leaned over Joyce’s knees to whisper in Hutch’s ear.

   "Ken, couldn’t we go to my place instead? We could watch a movie, and I can order pizza."

   Hutch turned to her and took her hand. "You know, I’d really like that Darlin’, ‘cept I promised ole Starsky here that we’d have dinner together. Rain check, okay?"

   "Okay, sure."

   Cleo nodded her head and leaned back, heaving a shallow sigh.

********

   The two couples sat in Hutch’s dining room at the small wooden table that did double duty in the mornings as a breakfast table. A carafe of wine, several half-empty cartons of Chinese take out and a small bottle of prescription medication sat between them. Starsky busied himself stacking the cartons inside themselves and Hutch was playing with the twist off cap on the medicine bottle.

   "That was absolutely wonderful!" Joyce announced as she dabbed her lips with a napkin. "I don’t think I’ve ever had Cantonese before."

   "Glad you liked it." Starsky began refilling her wineglass as well as his own, then set the bottle down and picked up a nearby water pitcher, tilting it over Hutch’s glass. "Care for a refill, Hutch?"

   "Sure, pal, I gotta have sumpthin’ to wash these horse pills down with." He showed Starsky the two pills in his palm. Starsky reacted with the appropriate concern and poured a glassful for him. He put down the pitcher and pick up the wine bottle again, then turned to Cleo. "Refill?"

   Cleo’s hand went up to cover the top of her wineglass. "No, no thanks." She looked at her watch. It was a quarter to eight. "Um, is there a phone around here? I have to…ah…make a call."

   Hutch pointed to the phone in the living room. "Right over there, on the coffee table."

   The detective’s apartment had that ‘bachelor touch’, but with a real eye for what was aesthetically pleasing. There were plants just about everywhere you looked, and the room was bright and cheerful. She could tell that he found decorating a pleasant task. Her eyes darted to the big wooden coffee table across from them. It was decorated with plants, a cherub statue, three graduated candles and two cherubs hugging.

   "A toast, a toast." Starsky set the bottle down and raised his glass. Hutch and Joyce raised theirs. Cleo vacantly raised her empty one. "Here’s to good food, good company and good health," he said.

   "Here, here!" Hutch and Joyce chorused. Cleo was silent.

   As their glasses clinked in mid air, Starsky and Joyce quaffed their wine, and Hutch swallowed his medication with his glass of water. Cleo lowered her glass slowly, her eyes darting about the living room, wandering. Hutch was watching her still. It was clear to him now that his new girlfriend was somewhere else. She definitely wasn’t here with him. He leaned toward her.

   "You okay?"

   "Hum?" she asked, startled. "Oh, sure. I’m okay." She got up from her chair and walked into the living room.

   There was something else she noticed about his apartment--there were essentially no dividing walls. His living room, kitchen and bedroom were almost one wide-open space. Certainly not the kind of environment needed to make the call she had to make. She turned to him. "Ken, don’t you have something a little more ‘private’?"

   "Nope, sorry, Cleo." Hutch shrugged. "Unfortunately, this is about as private as my place gets." Hutch saw her disappointment. "If you really want some privacy, the three of us can go out to the greenhouse for a little while."

   She looked at the three of them. "Oh, would you guys mind that very much? I’d really appreciate it."

   "No, not at all." Starsky answered accommodatingly.

   Hutch yawned a couple of times. Before he knew it, Starsky’s face was next to his own.

   "Don’t you think she’s actin’ kinda strange?" he whispered.

   Hutch blanched. "I hadn’t noticed." He picked up his crutches and shoved them under his arms, pulling himself up out of the chair he was sitting in. Joyce and Starsky escorted him out to the greenhouse while Cleo sat down to make her phone call.

   After she made sure they were out of earshot, Cleo dialed the number for her office. It seemed an eternity before the ringing stopped. Thankfully it was Piper, and not his secretary, who answered the call.

   "Hello?"

   "Allan?" she whispered. "It’s Angela. I’m so glad you’re there."

   "Where are you? The deadline to go to press is in a couple of hours."

   "I know, I know. I’m having second thoughts about doing the story." She was nervous as all get out.

   "You having second thoughts? I don’t believe it. Since when?"

   "Since I met this cop at the hotel. Turns out he’s protecting Carlisle. If this story goes to print, he’ll probably hate me for the rest of his life."

   "Sounds like hazardous duty to me. What do you want me to do about it?"

   "I was hoping you’d have some sage words of advice on how to get out of this thing without hurting the guy."

   "Sorry, sweetie, I don’t, but if it means anything to you, I feel your pain. Just do what you feel is right, but whatever you do, don’t disappoint Samuels."

   "I appreciate your sympathy, Allan. But you’re not helping me much."

   "Sorry."

   He didn’t sound like he was all that sorry to her.

********

   Hutch was sitting at the table in the greenhouse, while Joyce and Starsky sat on a nearby bench trying to get to know each other a little better, literally. Joyce looked past her amorous companion long enough to see his partner leaning on his fist, eyes barely open, trying to stay awake. Starsky was just getting ready to give her a kiss, when she patted him on his arm.

   "David, I hate to kill a great moment…but look."

   "What?" he answered, his eyes closed and his lips still in mid-pucker.

   "Look over there." She pointed to where Hutch was sitting.

   Starsky opened his eyes and followed her pointing finger to where his partner sat. Hutch was slumped over the table, nodding off. The detective shook his head.

   "That guy sure knows how to screw up a fella’s action." Starsky reluctantly pulled himself away from his ravishing guest and went over to where his very tired partner was sitting. He tried waking him with a tug on his shoulder.

   "Hey, Hutch. You wanna go lie down?"

   Hutch was so out of it he didn’t respond.

   Starsky turned to Joyce. "I’ll gonna haveta put Sleeping Beauty here to bed. I’ll be right back, I promise."

   "Need any help?"

   "Nope, I think I can handle it."

   Hutch was as almost as limp as a rag doll, he offered no resistance as his partner took his arm over his own shoulder, lifted him up and walked him out of the greenhouse and into his bedroom. Starsky yanked the blankets aside with one hand and lowered the big guy down on the bed, then pulled his slippers off his feet. He pulled the covers over him and was about to leave when he heard the sound of Hutch’s girlfriend’s voice whispering on the phone. He knew he shouldn’t be listening in, but he just couldn’t help himself.

   "I think I need a little pep talk. I’m getting cold feet."

   He watched her tapping the tabletop nervously with her fingers as she hurried to end the incriminating phone call.

   "Thanks a lot, Allan. I hope this story’s worth it…Yeah, well…all I can say is, it had better sell a million copies. Okay, I hope you’re right…Thanks, Allan…goodbye."

   Starsky stood leaning against the doorframe, he cleared his throat as Cleo hung up the receiver.

   "Done with your phone call?" he asked her good-naturedly.

   Caught off-guard, Cleo turned quickly toward him and started to stutter, giving him a startled, crooked smile.

   "Ah…yes…"

   "Who are you, lady? Some kind of a reporter?" he asked, coming towards her.

   She shot up abruptly. "I…I can’t tell you that."

   "What can you tell me?" He was near the sofa now.

   "Nothing right now, really. I’ve got to go now. Please tell Ken I’ll be in touch with him."

   "If you stick around long enough you can tell him yourself."

   "I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ve got to go."

   By the time he was close enough to touch her, she had made her way to the door and was outside and down the steps. He followed her as far as the street and watched her until she jumped into a waiting cab. When it took off, he went back upstairs. On his way past Hutch’s bedroom door, he looked in. "Well, here we go again, buddy. All I can say is, whatever happens, I’m here for you," he whispered, then headed off to rejoin his guest.

********

   It was six o’ clock in the morning, and the appetizing aroma of eggs and bacon, along with the strong smell of coffee, woke Hutch from a deep sleep. The blond sat up slowly, his tousled hair matted against his forehead like a little boys. He yawned and stretched, and then grimaced as he eased his injured leg down onto the floor. He swung his good leg over the side and grabbed his crutches, pulling himself upright. He could hear strange noises coming from his kitchen and he was curious to know who was foolish enough to be in there this early in the morning. He followed his nose until he reached the source of the activity. When he looked in, he half expected to find that Cleo or some other young lovely had made her way into his apartment and was working her culinary magic to prepare him some heavenly concoction. But he was wrong…it was Starsky.

   And, he was…cooking. Hutch did a double take.

   "Hey, Starsk, good morning."

   Starsky turned away from his task of serving the eggs and bacon onto plates and wiped his hands on the damp dishtowel tucked in the waistband of his jeans. He looked over at his partner sheepishly.

   "Mornin’, partner. Sleep well?"

   "Like a rock." He sniffed the air. "What’s for breakfast?"

   "I’ll tell ya in a minute."

   Hutch moved over to the table and leaned unsteadily against it. He watched with wonder as his partner did his ‘Galloping Gourmet’ routine. Before long, the dark-haired dynamo had set two plates on the table, poured them each a glass of orange juice and filled two cups with steaming black coffee. He sauntered back into the kitchen just in time to capture two slices of bread as they popped up out of the toaster. Buttered them, sliced them on the diagonal and set them down on a plate in the center of the table.

   "Voila. A breakfast fit for a king!"

   "I’m impressed, Starsk. What’s the occasion?"

   "No occasion, just felt like cookin’."

   Hutch hesitated, not sitting down.

   "What’re you waitin’ for? Sit down, buddy."

   Hutch regarded his partner with apprehension. While he was wary of his partner’s arguable cooking skills, he really was starved. He eyeballed the plate. The appearance of the meal wasn’t entirely unappetizing. The eggs weren’t greasy or underdone, and the bacon wasn’t too burned. He sat down and forked in a mouthful of the eggs, followed by a bite of bacon, and then sipped the coffee to wash it down. Starsky looked on expectantly, apparently waiting for an acerbic review.

   "Well?"

   "It’s not half bad. With a little more practice, it’d almost be edible."

   "Hey, what’d you expect? Hangin’ around with you, somethin’ had to rub off." He smiled.

   The dark-haired man picked up a slice of toast from the middle plate and started nervously tear off pieces and devouring them. Hutch watched him curiously, pausing long enough to wipe his hands on the napkin covering his lap. Starsky had something on his mind, and judging from the way he was nibbling on the toast, it wasn’t that they hadn’t won the state lottery.

   "Okay, Starsk. I know you. What’s on your mind? Who died?"

   Starsky looked up at him, it was eerie how they were able to read each other sometimes. He decided to give him some trivial news first, and then he’d hit him with the major stuff. "Nobody died. Guess I’m just nervous about the trial tomorrow, that’s all. Joyce had a meeting at her law office early this mornin’ to prepare for it."

   Hutch sipped his coffee and curled his lips. "Ya know, Starsk, I have to hand it to you, you really lucked out, capturing the heart of a lady with beauty and brains."

   "Luck had absolutely nothin’ to do with it. She said she was intrigued by my devastatin’ charm and good looks."

   "If she says so. Speaking of dates, what happened to mine?"

   Starsky checked his watch, looking even more uncomfortable then when he first sat down. He hated giving Hutch bad news, and this news flash probably came a close second to the worse as far as he was concerned. Especially considering what the blond had said to him back at the hospital. He decided to be brave and jump in, regardless of his partner’s reaction.

   "You’re not gonna like it."

   "Spill it, Starsk."

   "She’s gone, man."

   The blond’s brow furrowed, he took the napkin from his lap and slapped it down on the table. There went his appetite. He pushed the unfinished plate aside.

   "What’re you talking about, Starsky? Where’d she go?"

   "I don’t know."

   "Whaddya mean, you don’t know? You saw her leave, didn’t you?"

   "Sure did."

   Hutch started to get up, and then thought better of it. He tried again.

   "Did she say anything before she left?"

   It would have been less painful if Starsky could just say she hadn’t. But he would have been lying. "Yeah, we talked."

   "Well, what did she say?"

   Starsky left the table, leaving his own breakfast untouched. He walked over to the sofa and sat down. His back was to Hutch now. Maybe it would be easier to say what he had to say if he didn’t have to look at him.

   "I’m not sure how to say this. I mean, it wasn’t so much what she said, as what she didn’t say. You know what I mean?"

   Hutch removed himself from his chair, secured one crutch under his arm, and left the other one behind. He hobbled towards the sofa and stood in front of his partner. Starsky kept his dark head of curls lowered, his eyes cast at the blond’s feet.

   "No, I don’t, partner. Give me a hint, huh?"

   Starsky looked up at him. "Okay, okay. But do me a favor, sit down first, before you fall down."

   Hutch obliged, leaning his crutch against the edge of the sofa. Starsky slid over and leaned back with his head against the pillows behind him.

   "Okay, spill it."

   "Look, I don’t claim to know a whole heckuva lot about women, but I do know a thing or two about people. If you ask me, Cleo was just way too classy to be a go-go dancer. I just happen to think there was a whole lot more goin’ on inside that pretty head of hers then she was lettin’ on to us."

   "What are you driving at?"

   The darker man crossed his arms. "You remember how antsy she was last night, right? You kinda dropped out on us after you took that prescription the doc gave you."

   "Sure, I remember, what about it?"

   "Okay, since you don’t remember Cleo leavin’, I guess it’s a safe to say you don’t remember me cartin’ your carcass into your room for the night." Hutch shook his head. "Okay, so after I tucked you in, I was on my way back to the greenhouse to finish what I was tryin’ to get started out there, that’s when I accidentally overheard Cleo on the phone."

   "Okay, so what did you ‘accidently’ hear?"

   "Well, I didn’t get it all, but I did catch the name of the guy she was talkin’ to. His name was Allan. She mentioned somethin’ about an article she was supposed to be turnin’ in. Also said somethin’ to the effect of that whatever it was she was submitting, it’d better sell a million copies. So right then and there I figured her for some kind of a writer or a reporter or sumpthin’."

   "So you think she was here doing a story? On whom? No one even knew Carlisle was supposed to be here."

   Starsky was surprised how calmly his partner was taking the news, so he almost didn’t answer him immediately. "Ah…well…yeah. Somebody had to know he was gonna be here, she sure wasn’t doin’ a story on the two of us. I mean, think about it, here’s this guy who nobody’s supposed to be able to get to, and she’s close enough to kiss him."

   "Whom." Hutch corrected.

   Starsky accepted his partner’s redress without debate. Hutch leaned his elbow on the arm of the sofa and cupped his chin in his hand, contemplating the situation. Sometimes he wished his partner wasn’t so damned smart. Starsky leaned forward and patted him on the back.

   Finally, the blond spoke. "What’s the matter with me, Starsky?" He laughed. "Life just keeps kickin’ me in the pants and I just keep bendin’ over to take it."

   "There’s nothin’ wrong with you, pal. You fell for her--hard, but that’s just how it is with you, all or nothin’."

   "But you saw right through her, even before you knew anything about her. How do you do that? It’s like you’ve got a sixth sense or something."

   "Humph, too bad it don’t work the other way round. It’d sure have saved me a lot of pain and misery."

   "So you think she was hired to do a story on Carlisle, and ole gullible me just led her right to him, huh?"

   "If you’ll pardon me sayin’ so, if she’da been the hitman, Carlisle might be dead right now."

   "I played right into her hands, Starsk. I can’t believe it. She read me like a book."

   "Don’t be so hard on yourself."

   "Let’s face it, you were right, Starsk, sometimes I can be a real pushover." Hutch shook his head. "All she had to do was play the damsel in distress and I go automatically into White Knight mode."

   "Ya can’t help it, Hutch. It’s your way. I mean, let’s face it, you not wanting to help somebody in trouble would be like the Mona Lisa not wearin’ a smile. You’re just a natural caretaker."

   "Sounds like a load of bull, but I’m willin’ to buy it if you’re willin’ to shovel it."

   "Humph. I was just sayin’ it to make you feel better."

   "Thanks, Starsk, you’re a real pal. So what’s next? What do we do now?"

   Starsky took his hand off of Hutch’s shoulder long enough to pick up the crutch that was lying on the floor. He rested it against the arm of the sofa and got up.

   "First of all, you’re gonna lie down and rest that leg. Then I’m goin’ down to the law office and see if can help Joyce and Mr. Carlisle bury Bartok for good. After that, I’m comin’ back here to make you dinner."

   "Ooh, that sounds like a threat, or is it a promise?" Hutch stated, stretching his long legs out on the sofa.

   "That’s a promise at best, and a threat if you keep bad-mouthing my cookin’."

   Hutch put up his hand. "Sorry, it won’t happen again."

   Starsky went into the kitchen, got a beer out of the refrigerator and grabbed the morning paper off the counter. He brought them over and handed them to his partner. "Here. There’s a football game on in two hours, you think you can keep yourself entertained till I get back?"

   Hutch gratefully accepted the cold beer and the newspaper from his friend. "I’ll do my best." Then he got quiet for a moment, and before Starsky was even out of the door, the flaxen haired detective looked up at his partner. "Ah, Starsk, you’re so good to me, what’d I ever do to deserve you?"

   Starsky slipped on his jacket, retrieved the car keys from the pocket and opened the front door. "You’re just lucky, I guess." Starsky smiled at his partner cockily, then left. Hutch nodded to himself, and got the widest of smiles on his face. He popped open his beer, opened the paper and started to read.

********

   Joyce paced the expanse of the courtroom corridor, pausing every few seconds to check her watch. Where was David? She wondered. He’s twenty minutes late. As usual, she was dressed to impress, although a little less businesslike with him in mind. The courthouse was unusually quiet so early in the morning and she was alone except for the prerequisite guard or two at the entrance. She’d expected her detective boyfriend to keep her company until the trial started.

   Starsky parked the Torino in the lot across the street from the courthouse. He knew he was running late, so he jumped out and sprinted over to the attendant to pay for parking, then ran across three lanes of oncoming traffic just to get into the courthouse two seconds faster. He displayed his badge for the guards at the entrance, dashed past them and flew into the elevator on his way up to Judge Houghton’s courtroom.

   When the elevator doors opened, Starsky caught sight of Joyce, looking blindingly beautiful as usual, but with an agitated look on her face. He stepped out of the elevator and walked toward her.

   "You’re late!" She feigned displeasure.

   "I’m sorry." He held out both arms as he walked over to her.

   "Okay, I’ll forgive you." She gave him a hug. "But just this once."

   "Good." They walked arm and arm over to the bench outside the courtroom door. "So what’s on the agenda for today?"

   They sat down next to each other holding hands.

   "The arraignment begins in a half an hour. If Carlisle does what he’s supposed to do, Vincent Bartok won’t see the light of day for many years to come."

   "I think we can count on him to do that. He’s seems like a good apple that just got thrown into a rotten barrel."

   "What’s this? A little ‘there but for the grace of God go I’ philosophizing?"

   "You ain’t kiddin’. I coulda been him if my Mom hadn’t sent me to California when she did."

   "Bad Boy Starsky, hummm. I kind of like the way that sounds. It’s got a kind of a ring to it. But no, I think I’d rather have you on my side."

   "So would I." He kissed the space between her earlobe and her neck and she laughed.

********

   Angela was sitting in front of Ron Samuel’s desk, blankly staring out of his office’s picture window. She half listened as Samuels commended her on a job well done, spouting all manner of praise about the article and the photos she’d submitted. For all she cared, he might as well have been talking to a wall, because the only thing on her mind right now, was how to tell Ken Hutchinson the truth about herself. This man whom she barely knew, had risked his life to save hers. And damn it, she wasn’t used to people doing unselfish things like that. Who did he think he was, anyway? Now would come the hard part, owning up to the web of lies she’d weaved and hopefully salvaging a relationship out of it. Just as she was about to figure out how to address the problem, Samuels put his hand on her shoulder and interrupted her thoughts.

   "Did you hear me? I said you did a marvelous job, Ms. Garvey. You should be proud."

   "Yes. Thank you, I am, sir."

   Samuels held the mock up of the magazine in his hand, flipping through the pages while he commented on the photos and the story. Reading the front page out loud: "‘The Bartok Trial: Memoirs of a Mob Informant or, The Double-edged Sword Of Criminality’. Beautiful, just beautiful, and the pictures are spectacular!"

   "I’m glad you like it. Ah, Mr. Samuels, I have a question to ask you…actually, it’s more of a request." She smiled at him nervously.

   "By all means, Ms. Garvey, what is it?"

   "I’d like your permission to have a supplement printed with the story."

   "By all means, whatever you need to say, say it. Write it up, do whatever you need to do." He took her hands into his own.

   "Thank you, Mr. Samuels, this means a lot to me."

   She smiled at him, and he released her hands as she turned to go.

********

   It was day one of the Grand Jury trial, and David Starsky stood in the corridor of the courthouse pacing back and forth, looking very Gentleman’s Quarterly in a navy blue suit and burgundy tie. He was waiting for Drummond and his men to escort Carlisle from the elevator and into the judge’s chambers. It wasn’t long before a group of men in dark suits emerged from the elevator and Starsky walked over to join them.

   "Good mornin’, Sir." He offered his hand to Drummond, which he promptly took.

   Drummond had a monster of a handshake. "Detective Starsky, nice to see you again. How’s that partner of yours?"

   Starsky flexed his fingers. "He’ll be okay. He’s resting up at home."

   "Good, good. I’m glad to hear that."

   Carlisle made his way through the crowd of agents guarding him, and he was resplendent in a broad brimmed Panama hat, and an equally fashionable jacket and tie. He proffered his hand to the detective, who shook it warmly.

   "Well, don’t you look snazzy?"

   "No matter where I am or what I’d doing, I try to look my best, Sergeant Starsky."

   "Well, you do. So, how’s it goin’, Mr. Carlisle?"

   "Just fine, Detective. But I’ll be even better after this thing’s over."

   "Just go in there and tell them the truth. Everything else should fall into place."

   "I hope you’re right."

   Just then, the same attractive bailiff from the hearing opened the courtroom doors. "The judge is ready now, please come in and take your seats."

   The twelve-member jury had already filed into the courtroom, the lot of them an odd collection of modern day society. They were mostly Caucasian and male, with a token female and a Black or two thrown in for good measure. The female bailiff knocked on the judge’s chamber door and the judge came out.

   "All rise, all rise, the honorable Judge William Houghton presiding." She announced and stepped away to her post.

   Everyone rose as Judge Houghton strode in and took his seat behind the bench. "Please be seated. The hearing with regards to The State vs. Vincent Bartok, is in now in session."

   There was a focused rumbling from the gallery as everyone finished taking their seats and the judge began the proceedings. "We’ll begin with an opening statement from the prosecution and then the defense. Mr. Charles Harris for the defendant, Ms. Joyce Carlson for the prosecution."

   Ms. Carlson rose. "Thank you, your Honor. Good morning." She turned to the defense table. "Good morning, Mr. Harris, Mr. Bartok, and others for the defense and members of the courtroom. My name is Joyce Carlson and I am associate counsel for the above-entitled action, The State vs. Vincent F. Bartok, et al. We seek to confirm and prove the involvement of Mr. Bartok in numerous acts of extortion, murder and arson."

   She sauntered confidently over to the jury box and pulled her glasses down over her nose as she studied each one of them.

   "Members of the jury, I believe the evidence in this case will show beyond a shadow of a doubt, what we all know to be true about Mr. Vincent Bartok. That he is a well-known entity in the criminal world. That he has the means and certainly the power to make bad things happen to good people if they don’t settle the score with him. Up to now, he’s been very elusive and we haven’t had enough concrete evidence to put him away, that’s for sure. But that’s something that’s going to change, and it’s going to change today."

   She positioned herself directly in front of the jury members in the first row and placed both hands on the railing for emphasis.

   "The purpose of this trial today is to prove to you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that a verdict of guilty is the only one that could possibly be decided. No, Mr. Bartok didn’t actually go out and commit any the crimes he’s accused of, but he is an accessory to murder after the fact. I leave it to all of you, after hearing the witnesses and FBI testimony, to determine whether or not to put Vincent Bartok and his associates where they belong, behind bars. Thank you."

   She paused a moment for dramatic effect, pushed her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose and walked back to the table to sit down. Everyone, including Starsky, was clearly impressed. She really was a very good orator.

   The judge cleared his throat and turned his attention to the defense counsel table. "Thank you, Counselor Carlson. Counsel for the defense, are you ready with your opening statement?"

   "Yes sir, your Honor." Harris answered.

   Harris stood up, conferred with his client for a moment and then nodded to the rest of his associates before standing. Joyce leaned in toward Mr. Withers, who whispered something in her ear that she must have found amusing and she smiled. She turned to find Starsky, and gave him a conspiratory wink and a triumphant thumbs up. That was all he needed to see to know that she thought they finally had Bartok dead to rights.

********

   After the trial was over, Bartok’s counsel stood on one side of the corridor, while Carlisle and the Federal agents stood on the other. It was obvious from their facial expressions which side had won. One half of the room was adrift in downcast eyes and turned down lips, and the other half was strewn with smiles and handshakes. Into this throng walked the two people probably the most pleased with the outcome of the trial, the prosecution’s brilliant Counsel, Joyce Carlson, and the detective partially responsible for the trial’s success, Detective Sergeant David Starsky. Starsky eagerly walked over to Carlisle to congratulate him.

   "Mr. Carlisle, you did a great job in there!"

   "Call me John, Detective. You know I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you and your partner getting me here in one piece. Like I said before, I’ll be indebted to you two for a very long time."

   "It’s nothing you couldn’t have done on your own. But heck, if you want to heap praise on us, I won’t stop you."

   After doing some handshaking of her own, Joyce gracefully joined their little circle. She took Carlisle’s hand in her own.

   "Congratulations, John. You did wonderfully."

   "Like I was telling David here, I couldn’t have done it without your help."

   "So what are you gonna do now?"

   "Well, my friends over here," he pointed to the suited gentlemen adjacent him, "feel it would be in my best interest if I left the country. You know, travel, become one with the earth…"

   "In other words," Starsky assessed. "Disappear."

   "Correct, after today, John Carlisle will no longer exist."

   "It’s unfortunate the price you had to pay for freedom cost you so much." Joyce offered.

   "Yes, Counselor, but that price is small compared to losing piece of mind."

   "Touché."

   An enthusiastic young agent ran up to them, pausing to catch his breath. "Excuse me, Mr. Carlisle, sorry to interrupt, but Agent Drummond has a car ready for you!"

   "Ah, and so it begins. Detective Starsky, Counselor, I bid you good day. Oh, one more thing, Detective…"

   "Yeah?"

   "Tell your partner I send him my best wishes. Let him know he really didn’t have to get himself shot on my account."

   "I will." Starsky laughed.

   Carlisle tipped his hat to them as he was led out of the courthouse, still heavily shielded by several agents. He was pressed into a waiting limousine and whisked away by a sea of state license plates.

   Starsky turned to Joyce. "Just goes to show you, you can’t always tell the good guys from the bad guys."

   She tapped at her temple. "Sure you can, David. Just remember, the good guys always wear the white hats."

   Joyce laughed and Starsky joined her, remembering Carlisle’s unusual choice of head covering. "Well, you’re right about that. Come on, let’s go. I promised a certain blond dinner."

********

   It was no use, no matter what Hutch did, he still couldn’t figure out Cleo Garvey. He’d been laying on his bed the better part of the day, just thinking about her. If she was a reporter like Starsky thought, whom did she work for, how did she manage to infiltrate security during a federally mediated transfer of an important state’s witness? The questions were mounting fast in his head, but as yet he had no answers. It was five o’clock now and Starsky was due to drop by soon. He’d hoped to hear from her by now with a phone call or a visit, but since that didn’t happen, he could only assume that the reason was because she hadn’t really felt about him the way he felt about her. It had all been subterfuge to get close to Carlisle, and after she got what she wanted, there was no need for a blond patsy. He’d been a fool.

   When Starsky and Joyce came through the door laughing and carrying on, he sighed. The sounds of a happy couple wasn’t exactly what he needed to hear right now.

   "Hey, buddy, I brought company. Hope you’re decent!"

   Hutch rolled off the side of the bed and put on a game face. He picked up the crutches and eased himself up onto them, hobbling out the bedroom to greet his two callers.

   "Hey, Starsky, Joyce. How’d the trial go?" He positioned himself on the chair near the kitchen table and leaned the crutches against it.

   "It went wonderfully. Carlisle’s testimony was the coup de grâce." Joyce replied.

   "No kiddin’."

   The two of them sat down together on the sofa. A solemn Hutch remained standing.

   "What’s the matter, pal? You look like you just lost your best friend."

   "Wouldn’t be too far from the truth. I guess I really thought Cleo and I had something."

   Joyce made some space between Starsky and herself. "Come on, take a load off that leg and come sit down."

   Hutch did as he was told, planting himself down beside them. His melancholy was palpable, but nothing his partner hadn’t seen before at one time or another.

   "Look, Hutchinson, if ya don’t put a smile on that ugly mug of yours, I’m gonna make ya regret it." Starsky said, doing his best Bogart.

   Hutch had to laugh.

   "That’s it, that’s what I like to hear."

   "I wasn’t laughing at your Bogart imitation, Starsk. I was just thinking about my love life. That’s the joke. Seems I’ve got no trouble attracting the opposite sex, it’s keeping them that’s a problem."

   Joyce put her hand on his shoulder. "Come on, a great looking guy like you? It can’t be as bad as all that. Even though she and I didn’t exactly hit it off, I got the impression that Cleo was a good person, just a little distracted. I’m willing to bet she’ll come around soon."

   "I don’t know, Joyce. I just feel like there’s a window of opportunity you give a person where they’re allowed to explain themselves and be forgiven, and she’s missin’ it. Maybe I’m too old-fashioned."

   Starsky made a face. "There you go again, beating yourself up."

   "Sorry, can’t seem to help myself. Guess it’s the old Hutchinson family guilt complex flarin’ up again."

   "Okay, that’s it!" Starsky got up and walked into the kitchen, throwing open cabinet doors, checking out seasoning bottles. Apparently he was taking stock of the contents of Hutch’s well-appointed kitchen. "So what would you like, Sport? Veal Parmigiana? Lasagna? What?"

   "I’m not really hungry, but lasagna sounds nice. Maybe by the time it’s ready I’ll have an appetite."

   "Good enough." He glanced at Joyce conspiratorially.

   "I’ll give you a hand, I’m great with lasagna." She said, joining Starsky at the kitchen counter.

   "Ah, yet another facet of your many charms."

   "You play your cards right, maybe you’ll get to know them all."

   He cocked an eye at her lustfully. She surveyed the kitchen and found an apron, tying it around her waist and bumping him with her hip as she did so. Starsky pulled down the ingredients for the lasagna, while Joyce started boiling lasagna noodles and putting together the filling. Hutch, left alone for the moment, reclined on the sofa clasping his hands behind his head, lost again in his own private thoughts.

********

   The glorious aroma of the lasagna pervaded the kitchen while its two chefs busily went about setting the table. Joyce took fresh baked rolls from the oven and put them into a cloth-covered basket, then set it in the middle of the table. Starsky put the lasagna on the table with a salad and set three places for dinner.

   The two of them stood back and admired their handiwork.

   "Not bad. Not bad." Starsky opined.

   "If you must say so yourself. Shouldn’t we wake up Prince Charming over there?"

   A deep voice came from the direction of the living room. "I’m not asleep. As a matter of fact, I’m wide-awake and I heard every word you two were saying over there. Including that remark you made about the getting it on on top of my kitchen table, Starsky."

   "What, who me? You musta been dreamin’, pal." He snuck a look at Joyce.

   Starsky walked over to the couch and helped his partner up to a sitting position. Joyce undid her apron and pulled out a chair to make it easier for him to sit down. Starsky, ever the gentleman, was next to her in an instant to pull out her chair.

   "Madam."

   "Why, thank you."

   She draped the apron on the back of the chair and sat down, placing a napkin in her lap. Hutch complained a little, but slowly ambled to the table without the aid of the crutches.

   Starsky noticed. "Hey, you must be getting better, you did that all by your lonesome."

   "It’s not as uncomfortable as it was before, that’s for sure."

   Starsky pushed his chair in for him. "So with any luck you’ll be back in the squadroom sooner than we thought."

   "Hey," he said, putting a napkin over his lap. "Don’t rush me."

   Starsky took the seat closest to Joyce and the two men picked up their utensils to start eating. As the two men prepared to dive into their plates, a look of surprise came over the counselor’s face. She instinctively pulled their plates away from them, effectively interrupting the movement of food from fork to mouth.

   "Don’t you guys bless your food before you eat it?"

   Starsky looked somewhat perplexed. "Oh, yeah, all the time." He answered, his voice affecting sincerity.

   "Sorry Joyce, I guess Starsky and I are so used to eating on the run that little practice just fell by the wayside." Hutch answered earnestly.

   "You guys." She sniffed. "Okay, I’ll say it. Close your eyes."

   Starsky screwed up his face into a pout, held his folk in his hand and waited.

   "Come on." She urged him.

   Soon realizing his meal was going to be held hostage and he had no choice, he closed his eyes with an, ‘Oh, all right, if you insist’ look on his face. Hutch closed his eyes as well. Once she was confident they wouldn’t start eating before she was done saying grace, she pushed their plates towards them.

   "Lord, bless this food we are about to eat, and please bless these two guys, because in their own weird and wonderful way, they’re doing your will and making this world a better place to live in. Amen."

   "Amen." The two men said in unison.

   Starsky looked at her expectantly. "Now?"

   She nodded. "Yes, now."

   She shook her head and smiled as they plowed into the meal.

********

   It had been four weeks since the Bartok trial had taken place, and just a little more than five since Hutch had heard from his missing love. The window of opportunity he’d given her was passing her by, and he was beginning to think he wouldn’t be able to forgive her even if she did show up now. He was in the office on this day, going over the reports for some old cases and getting them ready for the dead file. Starsky’s spot across from him was vacant for the moment, so he had a little time to himself.

   He stacked the last file folder neatly on top of the others, and then pushed the entire stack to the side. He glanced over at his crutches leaning on the corner of a nearby chair and heaved a sigh. The sight of them served as a painful and constant reminder of Cleo. He’d almost thought about turning them in to the hospital now that the pain in his leg had diminished to a dull ache.

   The arrival of three uniformed officers and his grizzly bear of a captain, Harold Dobey, soon intruded upon Hutch’s solitude. The big man pushed through the squadroom door using his shoulder, as his hands were preoccupied with the task of carrying in his breakfast. His fare of choice for this day was a greasy bacon and egg sandwich that would make Starsky proud, and a large cup of Coke to wash it down with. Loaded down as he was, he didn’t seem to notice the stifled snickers being held back by the officers in the room, including Hutch. He stopped in front of his office door and immediately acknowledged the detective’s unexpected presence.

   "Hutchinson, what are you doing here? I thought you weren’t supposed to be back here for another week."

   "Got bored, Cap. Couldn’t take sitting at home another week."

   "Well, make sure you take it easy. I wouldn’t want you to have a relapse or something."

   Hutch smiled. "I’ll make sure I don’t overexert myself filing. Thanks, Captain."

   Dobey headed for his office door, realizing too late that unless he somehow acquired telekinetic abilities, the door wasn’t going to open itself. One of the officers stood up to help him. "I can do it." He grunted. The officer sat back down. All eyes were on him. Dobey shifted the cup of Coke to his left hand and put the sandwich in his mouth, paper wrapper and all. Then with his right hand he successfully opened the door. He turned, took the sandwich out of his mouth and gave the officers a cocky ‘I knew I could do it,’ grin. "Tell your partner I want to see him when he gets here." He indicated before closing the door.

   "Will do, Cap’."

   Hutch was pouring himself a second cup of coffee when his partner walked in, armed with his usual exuberance. In his hand he was carrying a magazine, and there was a huge smile pasted to his face. Hutch looked over at him as he pulled up a chair and straddled it.

   "What’re you so goddamned happy about?" Hutch asked, setting his coffee cup down on the table.

   "Got something to show ya. By the time you’re done readin’ it, I think you’ll be pretty happy, too!"

   "I doubt it. What is it?"

   The dark haired man opened up the curled magazine and confidently handed it to his partner. "Take a look. I think you’ll find it’s a good read."

   Hutch at first gave the rag no more than a perfunctory glance. The magazine, befittingly titled Exposé, was a fairly innocuous publication he remembered seeing on the newsstands, but he’d never found it interesting enough to plunk down any change for it. It was definitely Starsky’s cup of tea though. The headline jumped out at him: ‘The Bartok Trial: Memoirs of a Mob Informant or The Double-Edged Sword Of Criminality’, photos and exposé by Angela Garvey. He was confused, who was Angela Garvey?

   "Is this the article…on Carlisle?" he asked.

   "Bingo!"

   "And Angela Garvey is…"

   "Cleo…"

   "Right again."

   Hutch put the magazine down as if it had a curse on it. Starsky picked it up again and thrust it back at him.

   "Read it!"

   "I-don’t-want-to-read-it." He insisted.

   "Read it," Starsky commanded, "or I’m gonna read it to you."

   Hutch refused to comply, folding his arms across his chest and staring directly at his partner.

   "Okay, Turkey Buzzard, if you’re gonna be stubborn, I’ll read it to ya. Mind you I’ll be skippin’ past the appetizers, so’s I can get to the entrée."

   Hutch cocked an insouciant eyebrow upward.

   Starsky began to read: "Okay, here goes. ‘This article could not have been realized without the dedication and perseverance of some very courageous individuals. Due to the nature of their professions, these individuals shall remain nameless, but for the sake of decency, I feel an obligation to right a great wrong that was done to one of them in the name of journalism. This ‘shining’ individual whom I must acknowledge, is someone who might have been considered a knight in shining armor in another age, but in this day and time he might be deemed somewhat of a bleeding heart.’"

   Hutch winced at this description of himself, but Starsky continued on.

   "‘This person, in the face of danger, risked his life for the life of another and expected nothing in return. For his unselfish act, you the reader reaped the reward of reading this exposé and I got to write it. But what was his remuneration? There was none. So, in an attempt to correct this dreadful oversight, I would like a chance to express my appreciation. If this individual is willing and open to receive it, a message will be communicated to him that will require a response, positive or negative, that will indicate to me whether or not the bond formed was irreparably breached or if it is repairable. It is up to him. P.S. Until contact is made, just know, I am in your debt and as always, UYS. Signed Angela Garvey, BKA "Cleo".’"

   Hutch was able to come down off his high horse long enough to reach for the magazine his partner was holding up to him. Starsky handed it over. The blond looked it over from the cover to the postscript. Then he put the magazine down on the table, careful to avoid knocking over the unstable stack of files.

   "Well, I don’t see any message."

   "I’ve got it."

   "You’ve got the message? How’d you get it?"

   "Easy. Joyce. Joyce has a subscription to Exposé magazine. She read Angela’s message and knew exactly who it was for. She called me at home."

   "Okay, you’re so smart, what’s the message?"

   "Okay, get this, according to Joyce…Cleo, I mean Angela, wants to meet with you."

   He tried to appear nonchalant. "Meet with me where?"

   Starsky leaned in close to the blond detective and whispered conspiratorially in his ear.

   "She wants to meet you at Huggy’s tonight, in the booth in the back, in the corner, in the dark."

   "At Huggy’s…okay, what time?"

   "Oh, ah…seven o’clock. She says to come dressed to impress."

   Hutch stood up. "Okay, got it. Oh…ah…by the way…the Captain wants to see you."

   "Oh, yeah? What does he want?"

   Hutch shrugged, grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and headed for the door. He was moving with just a bit more of the grace of his former self now. Starsky picked up the magazine started to reread it, then looked up.

   "Hey!"

   Hutch stopped at the door. "What?"

   "Let me know how it goes, okay?"

   "Yeah, okay." Hutch agreed, answering without much conviction, and departed without a second thought.

   The door to Dobey’s office opened quietly, and when he caught sight of Starsky sitting there blatantly reading a magazine he almost exploded. He knew good and well that Hutchinson had relayed his message. Mildly incensed, he decided to give the man a good scare and teach him a lesson at the same time. With his eyebrow raised in playful irritation, he walked up behind the detective, bent down to ear level and then whispered, "Starsky."

   The detective was so deeply engrossed in the article he didn’t even notice the captain was trying to get his attention. He dropped the magazine on the desk and stood up over the chair.

   "Yeah, Cap?" he answered a little shakily.

   "In my office, NOW!"

   Starsky stepped over the chair and followed the rotund black man into his office. Dobey was already in his chair, finishing off the last of his breakfast. He looked up at the detective and wiped the residue from the sandwich from his mouth.

   "Didn’t Hutchinson tell you I wanted see you?"

   "Ah, yeah, he did. I guess I got distracted. Sorry."

   "So tell me something I don’t know." He downed the rest of the Coke. "Where is he?"

   Starsky stood there quietly, waiting for him to finish his drink.

   "Well, don’t just stand there looking obtuse, sit down."

   Starsky sat down obediently. "Ah, he left for an…ah…appointment. What’d you want to see me about, Cap?"

   "I wanted you to try and talk your partner into staying at home and taking it easy for a few weeks. Why he came in to work today is beyond me."

   "Ah, you know Hutch, it’s hard to keep him reined in."

   "Well, be that as it may…let him know he’s got two weeks off with pay. I want him back on the job in tiptop shape. He’s no good to the department or me at half capacity."

   "You’re right about that, Captain!" Starsky enthusiastically agreed.

   "It’ll also be a chance for you to get off the streets, too." He added, smiling deviously.

   "Whaddya mean?"

   "I’m putting you on clerical detail for two weeks."

   Starsky’s eyes opened wide and his mouth dropped open. "Clerical detail!? You’ve gotta be kiddin"!"

   "Nope. You saw that stack of files on the desk out there. That’s a month’s worth of reports that didn’t get filed while your partner was laid up in the hospital."

   Starsky sulked. "Thanks a lot, Captain."

   "You’re welcome."

   The mischievous grin that crossed Dobey’s lips as one half of his top team rose to leave was undeniable. Serves him right, he thought, after some of the stunts the two of them have pulled on me.

   Starsky closed Dobey’s office door and picked up the magazine from the desk, then noticed that Hutch had left his crutches behind. He grabbed them and left the squadroom.

********

   Angela got to The Pits early enough to find street parking out front. She got out of her car and was as usual, impeccably dressed and coifed from head to toe. She was wearing another of her many form fitting outfits she favored. This time a Saturday Night Fever inspired number with spaghetti straps that bared her smooth shoulders, and accentuated her cleavage. A high side split above the top of her right thigh exhibited just enough of her smooth bare legs to entice. She was unadorned by jewelry, and a smooth silk wrap offered the warmth she needed for a cool evening. As she walked into Huggy’s establishment, the fragrance of lavender and patchouli lingered in the air. Of course, Huggy noticed her immediately upon entering. He stepped out from behind the bar to do a meet and greet, stopping her in mid-stride.

   "Hello, hello, hello, Foxy Lady. How may I assist you?"

   She smiled at him. "Oh, hi. I’m here to meet someone."

   "Ah, just my luck. I guess it’s true what they say about all the staggeringly exquisite ones being taken."

   She smiled again, a little embarrassed by his flattery.

   "Allow me, I’m Huggy Bear, the proprietor of this humble establishment. Let me show you to one of our better tables."

   Huggy put his arm around her lightly and led her to the booth area across from the bar, only candles lit this section of the room. It was far enough away from the bar patrons and their noise to allow for conversation and could also be suited to a romantic interlude if the situation warranted it. Huggy took her wrap from her shoulders and draped it over his arm as she slid into the middle of the booth.

   "What can I get the lady?"

   "How about a Rum Collins, on the rocks?"

   "Ah, the lady is not only foxy, but has taste to boot. Rum Collins on the rocks, comin’ right up."

   She took out a compact to freshen up her makeup a little, and then a thought occurred to her. "Oh, Mr. Bear."

   "That’s Huggy to you."

   "Huggy…I’m meeting a guy here. He’s tall, blond, and very easy on the eyes. He’ll be looking for someone sitting in the ‘booth in the back in the corner in the dark’."

   Huggy’s eyes perked up. "This tall blond, he wouldn’t happen to answer to the name of Hutchinson, would he?"

   "Yes, do you know him?"

   "Do I know him? I practically taught him everything he knows about women." Huggy turned back and leaned both hands on the table. "Now tell me something, how does a first class sister like yourself latch on to a no good bum like Hutchinson? And I ask this question with the utmost love and respect for the brother."

   "What can I say? He’s a good guy."

   "Truer words were never spoken." He straightened up. "I’ll be getting that drink for you, sweetheart. When Hutch gets here, I’ll definitely steer him your way."

   "Thanks, Huggy. I appreciate that."

   "No problemo."

   Angela looked after the tall, angular black man as he walked away and kept her eye on him until he was out of sight. She unconsciously bit her lip, a nervous response to the seriousness of the situation. She very anxious about the kind of reception she’d be getting from the blond detective. A few minutes later, Huggy returned with the drink she’d ordered and left her to herself. She sipped it slowly-clearly hoping the alcohol would calm her frazzled nerves.

********

   Hutch had nervously tried on several combinations of shirts and slacks before finally settling on a black turtleneck sweater and tan pair of gabardine slacks. He slipped a tan suede jacket on over it, dabbed on some cologne and gave his freshly shaved face a once over in the mirror. Satisfied, he ran his hand over the top of his thinning blond hair and turned to leave.

********

   Maybe he’s not coming. Angela eyed her watch, looking a little disappointed. It was now seven forty-five and there was still no sign of Ken. Even Huggy was chomping at the bit when he rejoined her at the booth.

   "Looks like my man got tied up." He pointed to her glass. "Care for another?"

   "Oh, no, thank you. I want to be clearheaded-I mean, you never know, I might have to drive home alone. By the way, do you have any appetizers?"

   Huggy smiled at her, if there was anything he liked better than serving his drink concoctions, it was the cuisine served up by his skilled cooks in the kitchen.

   "Do I have appetizers?" He repeated. "Now what self-respectin’ eating establishment you know of that doesn’t? One order of hot wings and potato wedgies are on their way to you, tout suite!"

   "Thanks again, Huggy."

   Huggy headed out to the kitchen just as Hutch was walking in the front door. He looked a little stressed out. He was holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Huggy stepped in front of him and put a friendly hand on his arm.

   "Hold on there. You’re looking good, man, but you’re late."

   "I know, Huggy. Where is she?"

   Huggy pointed to the booth section. "Back there. Waiting patiently, in the booth in the back…"

   Hutch cut him off. "In the corner in the dark…yeah, I know, I know. Where the hell is that from?"

   Huggy gave him a ‘you’re not hip to that?’ look and let the blond go past. "If you don’t know that question, then I feel sorry for the lady."

   Hutch didn’t want to appear too eager, so he paced himself as he made his way back to the booth. He found himself noticing how the atmosphere of the room changed the farther away from the bar he got. Huggy had really done a great job making the privacy booths more ‘private’. When he rounded the corner and caught sight of her, he almost tripped. She looked up at him with a mixture of delight and a tinge of regret in her eyes, the flickering of candle flames dancing across her face.

   "Ken?"

   "Hello, Cleo. Or do I call you Angela?"

   His voice was cold and reserved hostility seemed to roll off him like heat. Now it was the time to put out the flames.

   "Have we met before?"

   She’d caught him off guard. "What?"

   "Have we been formally introduced?"

   It didn’t take long for Hutch to realize what she was trying to do. He decided to play along, if nothing else to see where she would lead him.

   "Ken Hutchinson. But I’m sure we‘ve met before."

   "No, I don’t think so. I think I would have remembered meeting you." She replied. "My name’s Angela Garvey."

   Hutch grinned as he sat down, purposely staying some distance away from her. "Well, it’s nice to meet you, Angela." He handed her the flowers he’d brought. She took them guardedly. "Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?"

   "What would you like to know?"

   "Everything."

   "Okay, I was born in Connecticut on New Year’s Day."

   "Keep going."

   "I’m a writer."

   "Aha…a writer, and what sort of things do you write?"

   "Magazine stories, mostly."

   "Anything else I should know?"

   She cleared her throat and started to laugh a little. "I’m a photographer, and I’m pretty good at disguises."

   "Who exactly do you write for?"

   Angela looked into Hutch’s eyes and saw no warmth there. What she did see was a man seeking retribution, not reconciliation. Despite her wish to re-establish communication and get reacquainted, he wanted to interrogate. If he wanted to play hardball, she could play hardball with the best of them. But when the interrogation was over, and he found out all he could about her, the prospect of anything good happening between them would be over.

   "If you must know, I work for Exposé magazine, Detective Hutchinson. We do exposés on the backgrounds of criminals." Her tone was deadly serious.

   Hutch’s tone was getting more and more pointed by the second. "Just where do you get off, lady? Did you think I liked being suckered into being a part of your little exposé?"

   "Do you actually think I planned that? How I could have known you’d show up that night and come at me with that irresistible, ‘can I help you ma’am?’ look on your face. Maybe I should have blown you off. But would you seriously have let me do that?"

   He knew the answer was no. The ice was broken. Hutch’s temper started to cool and he leaned back. "I kind of stepped right into that one, didn’t I?"

   "You tried to help me out. There’s nothing wrong with that."

   "So you think we still have a chance?"

   "I should be asking you that question. How do you feel?"

   "Well, I..."

   Just as he was about to answer, Huggy came back in with the appetizers, setting the mouth-watering tray of chicken wings and potato wedges in front of them. "Ah, I see you found your blond. Tell me, can I get you two anything else? It’s on the house."

   Hutch picked up a potato wedge and took a bite out of it. "Thanks, Hug, why don’t you bring us back a bottle of your best wine?"

   "You got it. Say, I been meaning to ask, how’s the leg?"

   "It’s much better, thanks for asking, Hug."

   Hutch winked at Huggy indicating to him that he should be off fetching his best from the liquor cabinet right away. As soon as he was gone, Hutch turned to Angela and looked into her eyes.

   "So?" she inquired hopefully.

   "So, what?"

   "So, what’s the answer to the question?"

   "How about this?" He moved in very close to her and started whispering something very suggestively in her ear. Judging by her facial expressions and laughter whatever he was proposing must have been inviting.

   "Ooh, honey, if I could blush." She giggled, playfully nudging him with her shoulder.

   "So what do you think?" He leaned away from her slightly.

   "At this point, I’m not doing a lot of thinking."

   "Hmm. So, your place or mine?"

   They kissed. As their lips parted and they opened their eyes, Huggy was standing beside them, wearing a big grin on his face.

   "I’ll say one thing, Blondie, you do work fast."

   Hutch was thoroughly absorbed by the warmth of Angela’s eyes. "Beat it, Hug, I’m busy."

   "Your wish is my command, sahib." He replied, setting the bottle of wine down on the table, and then slipping quietly away. When he got back to the front counter the phone was ringing. One of his waitresses, Diane, stopped to pick it up.

   "You’ve got the Bear’s place."

   "Hey, Diane. It’s Starsky. Is Huggy there?"

   "Sure, he’s right here. One sec’." She handed the phone to Huggy. "It’s Starsky."

   "Thanks, Diane." He grabbed the phone and put it to his ear. "This is Huggy Bear."

   "Hey, Hug, this is Starsky, is Hutch there?"

   "Yeah, Starsky, he’s here, but I don’t think he’s exactly in a talkin’ mood."

   "So he’s hittin’ it off okay with Angela, huh?"

   "Boy, is he. I should be so lucky."

   "Well, tell him I got a message for him from Cap’n Dobey. Tell him it’s important."

   "Okay, Starsky. You want I should bring him to the phone?"

   "Yeah, wouldja mind?"

   "Sure thing, Starsk, I’ll go pull him away from one of the great loves of his life. I just hope it’s worth me getting slugged over."

   "Huggy, will ya just go get him please?"

   "Okay, okay, don’t get your knickers in a bunch."

   Huggy laid the receiver down on the counter and rushed back to the booth where Hutch and Angela continued to make out. Huggy scrunched one eye closed so he wouldn’t see what they were doing and cleared his throat to get Hutch’s attention. "Excuse me…sorry to intrude on your interlude, but your good buddy Starsky is on the horn. Says it’s important."

   "Tell him I’ll call him back."

   "No can do, Hutchie, he’s passing on an edict from the top."

   Hutch finally pulled himself away from the irresistible allure of Angela’s neck.

   "I’ll be just minute. Be here when I get back?"

   "You know I will."

   The blond slid out of the booth and followed Huggy out to the bar area. He picked up the phone with a sweep of his hand and put the receiver to his ear. "Speak to me, Starsky, and make it fast!" he said, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

   "Great to hear your voice too, pal. Guess you and Angie made up, huh?"

   "What do you think?" he answered sarcastically. "What’s the message from Dobey?"

   "The Cap’n asked me to talk you into taking some time off. I know what you’re gonna say…but I think you should really think about it…"

   Hutch’s eyes widened, "Oh, yeah? How much time off?" he asked, sounding pleased and excited.

   Starsky didn’t sound too happy in contrast. He’d thought Hutch would protest profoundly. "Two weeks, and guess what?"

   "What’s that, pal?"

   "Guess whose stuck on clerical detail until you get back?"

   "Minnie?"

   "Guess again."

   "Starsky…who?" he urged.

   "Me, you dummy. I have to file those reports that have been backing up and sittin’ on your desk. Not to mention the ones that’ll come in while you’re on vacation."

   "Well, if it’s any consolation, I feel your pain, buddy." He checked his watch. "Look I…"

   "Yeah, I know, you want to get back to your date, and I don’t blame ya. Gimme me a call when you get in, okay?"

   "Sure thing. I’ll talk to you later. Good night."

   "Good night."

   Hutch handed the receiver to Huggy. "Thanks, Hug. Look, I think Angela and I are going to get outta here. Put the wine and everything on my tab, willya?"

   "Sure, sure. I got you covered. See you on the flip side, man."

   Hutch made his way back to the booth area for the second time that evening. Angela was still sitting right where he’d left her. He leaned over the table.

   "Ready to go?"

   Angela nodded her answer and raised her right hand out to him. He took it and helped her slide out. She stood next to him with an inquisitive look on her face. He realized what she wanted.

   "Oh, that was my partner on the phone. Our captain’s giving me a few weeks off to recuperate."

   "You think you’ll need any help with that?"

   He pulled her to him and hugged her. "I need all the help I can get."

   The two of them walked to the front and sought out Huggy.

   "Hey, Hug!"

   "You two ready to make tracks?"

   "Yeah, Hug, do me a favor, keep an eye on my car for me?" He threw his keys over. "I’ll be back for it tomorrow."

   "Sure thing, man. Have fun."

   "Don’t worry, we will." Hutch answered, winking at Huggy as they left the bar. They laughed all the way across the street to her car. She shook the keys and threw them over to him, he helped her into the car and they drove off into the night.

********

   Angela opened the door to her apartment, and he waited for her to free her key from the lock before stepping in. He looked around, and was clearly impressed with what he saw. The apartment was painted in a sort of an off-yellow color with white siding along the ceilings and baseboards. Most of the furniture was khaki in hue and detailed with shams edged with a diaphanous skirting. It was very pleasing to the eye.

   "You’ve got a very good eye for color." he complimented her.

   "Do you like it?" She closed the door and then took off her wrap, laying it across the sofa.

   "Sure do. Does journalism pay that well? Maybe I should consider changing my line of work."

   "Depends on what kind of journalist you are."

   She sat down on the sofa and motioned for him to join her. He sat down next to her.

   "Well, I’d probably be no match for you."

   "Damn right." She drew herself to him and kissed him long and hard. When he did not return the kiss, she drew back. "What’s the matter?"

   "I was just wondering…"

   "Wondering what?"

   "How did you get into the penthouse?"

   She smiled and put her arms around him. "Mamie does have her ways."

   He practically gasped. "You were the cleaning lady?"

   She nodded and smiled.

   "I was wondering why the cleaning woman was coming on to me."

   "You met another one of my alter egos, too."

   "Don’t tell me, in the coffee shop? The bag lady."

   "You got it."

   "You know, you’re pretty good, maybe you ought to think about joining the department."

   "No way, I’ll leave that detective stuff to the big boys."

   "One more thing."

   "What’s that?"

   "What’s U.Y.S.?"

"U.Y.S, sweetheart. Under your spell."

   "Oh, yeah." He replied, slowly leaned her body against the arm of the sofa. She inhaled in anticipation of his touch and a warm feeling gathered in the pit of her stomach. She closed her eyes as he kissed her, his lips following a path that led from her lips and down her neck, to over the top of her shoulders. He stopped and looked at her as she slowly opened her eyes.

   "What’s the matter now?"

   "Nothing. I think I…"

   She put her hand to his mouth. "You don’t have to say it. I feel the same way. But tell you what, if you want to wait until we’ve gotten to know each other better before you say it, I’ll understand." She cuddled next to him, nestling in the bend of his arm.

   Hutch was speechless as he gazed into her wanting eyes, and it was all he could do not to take her right then and there. They would lie together in each other’s arms for most of the evening, making love and talking. He still wanted that committed, long-term relationship to happen, but he wasn’t going to press her for it, not just yet. If it was right, there’d be lots of time for them to spend together like this, and plenty of time for commitment, if there was to be any. For now, they were content.

********

   The next morning, there were gales of laughter escaping from the greenhouse of Hutch’s apartment where the two detectives were entertaining their lady friends. Joyce was dressed in casual clothes for a change, and was sitting next to Starsky, who was in his usual blue jeans and favorite black shirt. Hutch, also dressed casually, had his arms linked around Angela’s, thoroughly enjoying her company.

   Joyce put a hand on Starsky’s thigh and tapped her fingers on his chest with the other. She seemed to have something on her mind.

   "David, I have been wanting to ask you a question."

   "What’s that?" Starsky asked, playing with a ring on her little finger.

   "Promise you won’t take this the wrong way."

   "Promise."

   "I’m not complainin’, mind you. I just gotta know. This black, white thing, are the two of you for real?"

   Starsky thought for a moment. "Well, see, it’s like this. Hutch and I believe that love is blind, and so are we."

   Everyone started to laugh.

   "That’s color blind, Starsk, colorblind." Hutch corrected him.

   "Yeah, that’s it." He acknowledged, a little embarrassed.

   Angela piped in. "So what we’ve got here, isn’t this part of what the whole Civil Rights movement and Martin Luther King’s speech was all about?"

   "What? Us creating our own little United Nation’s panel?" Hutch smiled at her, "That’s one way of looking at it," he said, kissing her hand.

   "Well, if that’s the case, we’d better get started with negotiations." Starsky suggested with a leer. "We wouldn’t want to waste any time just sittin’ around, now would we?" He then placed a long, lingering kiss on Joyce’s lips.

   Hutch and Angela watched them for a second. "Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait for us!" He urged them.

   With that, Hutch wrapped his arms around Angela, and they kissed too, both couples making their own personal statement about what it might be like to live in a truly colorblind world. Nice.

THE END