Sinjin

   Dr. Lewis Cooper met Mr. Denney in the receiving area of Cabrillo State Hospital and ushered him into his office at the end of the hall. After Dr. Cooper had settled himself comfortably into his swivel chair behind the desk, he directed his gaze towards the bespectacled attorney before him.

   "I understand you want to discuss the financial situation of one of my patients," began Dr. Cooper.

   "Yes, indeed," replied Mr. Denney, handing over a folder. "I have the essential facts listed here. When Mrs. Grady passed away she left the sizable estate you see before you to the patient in question. The money from the estate is to be put in a trust fund to cover the costs of the patient's care."

   Dr. Cooper took a moment to glance through the file and then addressed the man across the desk. "I take it that Mrs. Grady wanted her niece to be moved to a private institution?"

   "No such stipulation is indicated in the records," said the attorney.

   Dr. Cooper looked at Mr. Denney knowingly. "How can I be of service?"

   "Well, I need to appoint an executor for the trust who has the best interests of the patient at heart, there being no other known relatives. Naturally, that should fall to you."

   "Naturally."

   "There is one more detail in question."

   "Yes?"

   "A beneficiary must be named in the event that anything should... happen to the patient in question while under the care of this facility. It is my recommendation that the stated responsibilities of that position also fall to you. Of course, if such a situation should occur, you would direct the aforementioned funds to be used for the benefit of this fine institution."

   "Of course."

   After some brief paperwork, the men shook hands and parted company. Once in his car, Mr. Denney pulled out the envelope that the doctor had handed to him upon his departure. It contained five one hundred dollar bills. He smiled and tucked the package away in the inside pocket of his jacket.

********

   Out on the streets the temperature was hovering around the 100 degree mark. Starsky was behind the wheel of the Torino humming softly and tapping his fingers on the dash, seemingly oblivious to the heat. Hutch sat beside him looking vacantly out the window and cursing the weather.

   "How 'bout we stop for lunch at this great new place I saw advertised in the paper?" ventured Starsky. It's just a few blocks from here."

   "How can you eat when it's this hot?"

   "I don't see what the weather has to do with an appetite. A man's gotta eat."

   Hutch just rolled his eyes. Taking this as a sign of consent, Starsky pulled into a drive-in called Benny's Big Dogs and drove up to a maniacal-looking clown's head to place his order.

   "You can't be serious," groaned Hutch.

   "Whaddaya want, Blondie? My treat."

   "Starsk, do you have any idea what's in hot dogs? God, they're just animalscraps!"

   "Oh, those cow lip stories are just a bunch of old wives' tales." He turned to the clown head and ordered a Big Dog Special and a cherry slush. "Hutch?"

   "Nothing for me."

   "We may not have time to stop later."

   "I'll take my chances," snapped Hutch.

   Starsky just sighed and waited in hopeful anticipation of his meal. What arrived was a foot-long frankfurter covered with mustard, relish, sauerkraut, and pickles. He eyed it with delight, absentmindedly handing Hutch the cherry slush so that he could get a proper grip on the monster dog. He was just about to take a bite when the dispatcher's voice came over the radio. Hutch grabbed it and responded.

   "ZebraThree, see the man named Huggy," came the voice from the radio.

   Without missing a beat, Hutch grabbed the hot dog from Starsky and tossed it into a garbage can outside of the car.

   "Whaddaya doin'?" yelled Starsky. "It's not an emergency. I could have eaten that in peace!"

   "I was about to be violently ill just sitting next to the thing," said Hutch. Seeing the pained look on his partner's face, he relented. "Look, I'll make it up to you later. Let's just go see Huggy." He tried to hand his partner back his drink but Starsky ignored him and started up the car. Hutch decided to finish the slush himself.

   When the detectives arrived at The Pits, they saw that Huggy was doing a bustling trade. They squeezed in at the end of the bar and waited for an opportunity to speak to their friend. Starsky soon became restless and started playing with a bowl of peanuts. Not content to simply nibble on a few, he began tossing them in the air and catching them with his mouth. Hutch finally grabbed the bowl and sent it down the bar. As Starsky started to protest, Huggy nodded to the detectives in acknowledgment and after serving a couple of drinks, he made his way down towards them.

   "I see you've got your hands full here, Hug," said Starsky.

   "That's an understatement if ever I heard one. I've got two waitresses out sick and a lot of thirsty souls in here."

   "What did you want to see us about?" asked Hutch, picking up a napkin from the bar and wiping his neck.

   "I see your partner's not in a sociable mood this afternoon," he said to Starsky, "so I'll dispense with the pleasantries. Mickey came in here late last night all hyped up about something." At the mention of the name, Hutch looked slightly taken aback. His reaction was not lost on his partner, but Starsky said nothing.

   "What did that little weasel want?" asked Hutch with an unmistakable edge in his voice.

   "He wouldn't give me any details, but he said he wanted to talk to you two as soon as possible. This time of day you can find him at his regular post in front of Joe's DeliMart on Tremont."

   "Thanks, Hug. And don't mind Hutch," the brunet said, reaching across the bar and grabbing a handful of nuts. "Some Minnesota boys never do adjust to the L.A. heat."

   Starsky and Hutch walked out of The Pits and returned to the Torino. Hutch began to defend his mood, but decided it was too hot to argue the point. He climbed into the car and leaned his head against the door as his partner pulled onto the street, hoping for a breeze. Now the weather was not the only thing that was bothering him. In his mind Mickey had always been a low-life. He had never understood Starsky's soft spot for the snitch. Mickey may have given them some useful tips in the past, but Hutch had always had an uneasy feeling about him. He knew that survival on the streets was an uneasy bargain for informants. They had to protect themselves, and working with the heat was a risky proposition at best. But Mickey had just seemed somehow oilier than the rest. And there was a sense of desperation about him that had always spelled potential danger to the blond. It was that desperation that had led Mickey to play both sides when Forrest and his goons had pumped him full of heroin. He shuddered briefly at the memory and tried to push it from his mind, but he couldn't. Hutch remembered looking across the table at Mickey at the restaurant. He thought about how that scum had tried to give him some bullshit story about who had shot him up and strung him out, just biding his time until Monk and his boys showed up. He remembered trying to stave off his own dizziness and look Mickey in the eye. He'd thought if he could just focus on that face it would tell him something. It was then that Hutch realized it wasn't desperation that he had seen in those eyes, but simply the longing for a drink. Mickey had just wanted to keep himself in beer and pretzels. It wasn't even a question of betrayal, just one of expedience.

   Hutch felt another pair of eyes on him. He looked across the car and realized Starsky was looking at him with a fair amount of concern. "You okay, partner?"

   "Yeah, I was just thinking."

   "About anything in particular?"

   Hutch started to say something and stopped. If Starsky could not see what was wrong with talking to Mickey, he wasn't going to be the one to explain it to him. "It's nothing. I was just thinking."

   At that moment they pulled up to Joe's DeliMart. Starsky cut the engine and turned to Hutch, but the blond hurriedly got out of the car and approached Mickey. Starsky quickly followed him. The snitch was standing by the store's entrance and eagerly greeting customers while opening the door for each of them.

   "Now, remember, one good turn deserves another. Don't forget me on the way out in the way of your spare change."

   He was about to open the door for Starsky and Hutch when he stopped short.

   "This is a great little enterprise you've got going here," said Hutch. "I guess chivalry isn't dead, it just comes with a price tag."

   "You've got me all wrong," said Mickey. "I provide a valuable service and gratuities are strictly voluntary."

   "What information do you have for us?" asked Hutch.

   "Now, gentlemen, this is my place of business. Let's be a little discreet, huh? If you want to discuss information, I suggest you offer to buy me a cup of coffee across the street."

   "We ain't got all day, Mickey. Tell us here and now or forget it," said Hutch.

   Mickey turned to Starsky in hopes of more sympathy. "You understand, right? I've got what they call sensitive information." He turned to open the door for a young woman who was leaving the store and bowed slightly as she headed down the street. "That's all right, darlin', I know you'll do right by me next time." He turned back to the detectives. "Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. Now how about a little negotiating?"

   "Mickey, you keep jerking me and my partner around and you're gonna get yourself picked up for vagrancy," said Starsky. "What have you got?"

   With some reluctance, Mickey removed a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Starsky. "Starsky, you and me go way back. I know I owe you, but I don't want to go out on a limb for nothing."

   "Listen, you scum," said Hutch. "I haven't forgotten your habit for double dealing. I could break your damn neck right now."

   "No, Hutch, you've got me all wrong. I wouldn't do that. I know what you're thinking. But Monk -- may he rest in peace -- he threatened me. I didn't have no choice. I meant to talk to Starsky. I never asked for you. I was gonna help him out and just make it look like I was goin' along with what Monk said." He switched his nervous gaze from Hutch to Starsky. "Honest. You know I never took your money when I couldn't tell you nothin'."

   Starsky nodded and looked down at the paper Mickey had handed him. It contained an address. "What's this?" he asked.

   "It's worth somethin' to ya, ain't it?"

   Starsky wasn't quick enough to prevent Hutch from grabbing Mickey by the collar and shoving him against the building. "Listen, you turkey, how about you tell us why we're here and let us worry about an adequate payment."

   "Hutch, take it easy," said Starsky, pulling on his partner's arm.

   Hutch released Mickey and backed off a few steps. Several people on the sidewalk were eyeing all three of them with suspicion. Mickey turned again to Starsky. "There's this guy named Streeter. I don't know if that's his last name or just a nickname. He's a big guy, about 6'3" with stringy brown hair, wears an Army fatigue jacket. He's been hassling the owners of several stores around here about signing up for his protection services." He paused and eyed Hutch apprehensively. "Seems like more of a punk than anything else, but he's got Joe edgy and he didn't seem too taken with me working the door. I don't want some hothead taking issue with my gainful employment here." He nodded to the paper that Starsky was holding. "That's a cigar shop downtown run by a Mr. Martinez. Seems he gave Streeter an earful when he suggested his terms. Streeter's let it be known that he's gonna pay him a visit tonight at closing time and make an example of him." Mickey paused and licked his lips. "So, that oughta be worth twenty bucks, right?"

   "What about the other shop owners? We'd like to talk to them," said Starsky.

   "Hey, these people just want the harassment to stop. They don't want to broadcast the fact that they've been talking to the police."

   "What about Joe?"

   "Look, he's not even in town right now. He's visiting his sister. I thought it would be nice to clear this up for him before he gets back."

   "You're quite the Good Samaritan," quipped Hutch.

   "Now, Starsky, that's gotta be worth twenty bucks, right?"

   "Tell ya what I'm gonna do," said Starsky. He whipped out a bill from his pocket and ripped it in two. "Here's half a ten. If the information turns out to be good, I'll drop you the other half."

   Any protests Mickey may have made were silenced by a look from Hutch. Starsky gave Mickey a broad smile and a pat on the back and when Hutch wasn't looking he stuck the other half in Mickey's pocket. The two detectives roared off in the Torino.

   Starsky looked over to Hutch who was wiping the sweat from his forehead and then turned back to the road. "Hey, you had even me going there, partner. You played the heavy better than usual. You could have saved the act."

   Hutch turned to his partner and studied his profile. "Starsk, that was no goddamn act. I've been sitting here trying to figure out where the hell you're coming from."

   "What are you talking about, Hutch?"

   "I know this guy is your snitch, Starsk. And I'm sure there's some reason you're so damned loyal to him, but he sold me out. Hell, he sold us both out. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

   "What are you saying?"

   "I'm saying that bastard was willing to get us both killed."

   "I was supposed to get that message from Mickey, not you," said Starsky in a controlled voice. "I don't know what Huggy was thinking to let you out on the streets in the state you were in."

   "So now you're blaming Huggy?"

   "No, I'm just telling ya that the message was meant for me."

   "What difference does it make who the message was for?" yelled Hutch. "That no good scum wanted to see me dead. And here you are patting him on the back and handing out cash like it was all in a day's work." Hutch regretted his words immediately. What the hell was he saying? This to the man who had carried him out of the streets and held vigil. Held vigil while he had trembled and pleaded and vomited and called his partner every name in the book.

   Without warning Starsky pulled the Torino toward curb and slammed on the brakes. "Hutch, when I first went to Mickey, I threatened him within an inch of his life. I told him that if I ever found out that he was lying to me... that if I ever found out he knew where you were and wasn't being straight with me... Jesus, Hutch, what are you saying to me? That I don't care about you? That I'd risk your life? Mickey was playing both sides, sure. Who do you think told him to do that? I knew it was the only way we'd be able to confront the bastards that pumped you full of that junk."

   "Starsk, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm saying."

   "He's right about the money, Hutch. He wouldn't take it. I shoved it at him. He wouldn't take it. That message was for me." He started up the Torino and pulled back into traffic. He continued in a quiet voice. "Hutch, you are the most important person in my life. After all we have been through, I can't believe you would doubt that for a second."

   The words cut to the bone. Hutch couldn't believe it either. He knew he had never doubted Starsky. He never would. "Starsk, I don't know what to say except that I'm an idiot. It's probably this damn heat messing with my mind. What can I say?" He knew it was a lame excuse. He took a deep breath and looked at the floor of the car. "How about I buy you that lunch now? I'll even talk into the damn clown's head myself."

   Starsky kept a straight face. "On the condition that I can have seconds if I want."

   "You got it, partner." The conversation was closed for now. But Hutch knew he'd have to set this right somehow.

********

   Dr. Cooper sat in his office reviewing the medical records of several patients when the door flew open and a tall man in his late twenties with brown stringy hair entered. He slammed the door behind him and took a seat at the desk. Dr. Cooper was visibly shaken.

   "H-how did you get in here?"

   "Well, I walked in, ya moron. Dis place ain't exactly got state of da art security, no. But when da state's paying, what can ya expect?"

   "You should have met me somewhere else. You can't just waltz into the hospital. What if people see us together?"

   "You didn't seem to have an aversion to my presence when you needed my help," the man replied angrily, losing his accent.

   Dr. Cooper took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. "Yes, I know. Forgive me, that was out of line."

   "I should t'ink so. Now as we've got dat established, how 'bout discussing Mr. Perelli's payment plan."

   "Payment plan?"

   "Yes, Doctor, after all, we may be sharks, but we ain't Neanderthals. Mr. Perelli wants to work out an arrangement dat's fair for both parties. By my records, it seems as if you are in the hole for seventy grand." The man stopped to whistle between his teeth. "Dat's quite a sum if I do say so myself. Ya didn't lose it all on da horses did you?" he said laughing.

   "I don't see how the particulars of my gambling are any of your business."

   "Doc, I don't give a damn how you spend your money," ugliness creeping into his voice, "just so long as da payments are made on time. And starting next week, you'll make regular restitution at five grand a week until a full eighty thousand has been paid."

   "I can't come up with that kind of money! Listen, I have every intention of paying you back -- "

   "Well, dat's a given."

   "But you've got to be more reasonable."

   "Dr. Cooper, I t'ink we understand each other, and I am a busy man," he said running a hand through his greasy hair. "I'll be back next Friday for da first installment." He got up to leave and turned. "Mr. Perelli doan want to dirty his hands if things need to turn unpleasant. Dat's where I come in." With that the man left the office.

   Dr. Cooper leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He studied its pattern for a few minutes and then walked to his filing cabinet. He reached for the same file that had been put in his hands by Mr. Denney.

********

   After lunch, the detectives made their way downtown to Martinez's cigar shop, but there was a sign on the door stating that the store would not be opening until 4 P.M. They decided to return to the police station and try to find some information on Streeter.

   The partners drove to the precinct and found the squad room in a bit of an uproar. It seemed a well meaning rookie had commandeered a large fan from the maintenance room and had plugged it in set at full speed. Before he could adjust it, scores of papers had been blown off the desks, sending a fair number of detectives and officers scrambling for their airborne reports.

   "Anderson!" bellowed Detective Perrelli. "What the hell is the matter with you? And what are you laughing at, Hutchinson?"

   Hutch stifled a giggle and busied himself with finding information about Streeter in the police files. A couple of hours passed before the detectives would concede defeat, but there was no information about a man with a name or an alias of Streeter who fit the general description.

   "Let's run this by Dobey," suggested Starsky.

   "I know what he's going to say. He's not going to want us to set anything up without some more definite details. And definite details we ain't got."

   "Then we'll just have to go with what we have got."

   Starsky headed for Captain Dobey's office and Hutch followed his lead. Starsky opened the door as he knocked and quickly settled himself into a chair before the desk. Dobey had a napkin tucked into his shirt and a half eaten lunch of a hamburger and fries lay before him. He was currently having a very heated debate with someone on the other end of the phone.

   "I don't care how politically sensitive the situation is, I need those statistics on my desk by five o'clock this afternoon! Let me worry about damage control!" He slammed the phone down and glared at the two detectives. "Starsky, don't you ever knock?"

   "I did knock, Cap'n, but you were probably distracted." With that he reached for some of the tempting fries.

   "Distracted?" yelled Dobey. "And let go of those damn fries!" Starsky dropped them immediately. "It just so happens that I've got a crisis on my hands to diffuse and I don't need my detectives barging into this office like it was the locker room!"

   "Captain," interrupted Hutch, taking a seat, "we're sorry, but we need to arrange for a stakeout tonight." He proceeded to give Dobey a rundown of their encounter with Mickey.

   "Seems like a pretty sketchy scenario to me. And you say you haven't been able to touch base with Martinez?"

   "No, Cap'n, but we'll head back there around four and see what he has to say."

   "Fine. But I want some more concrete information before we start talking about stakeouts," he said, wagging his finger at them.

   The detectives nodded and headed for the door. Just then the phone on Starsky's desk rang. "Starsky," he answered.

   "Hey Starsk, this is Huggy."

   "Hey, Hug, what's up?"

   "Mickey was in here just a little while ago bustin' my chops about the way Hutch was all over him. He says he heard from some guy named Streeter and he's scared for his life. He says he's got information, but that he wants enough bread so he can get out of town."

   "Where's he now?"

   "He told me he wants to meet you at the abandoned amusement park near Mandelay Heights. The one they used to call Adventureland. He's on his way there now."

   "Why way out there?"

   "I told you, this is one jumpy cat. He said he'd be waiting by the fun house. And another thing. He said he ain't coming near you if Hutch is there. He not so affectionately referred to him as the 'Blond Hothead.'"

   "All right, Hug. Thanks."

   "Anytime. Tell Blondie I heard that they're calling for a break in the weather soon."

   Starsky hung up the phone and looked into Hutch's expectant face. "Mickey crossed paths with Streeter and he is anxious to give some more information out at the old amusement park."

   "Damn Starsk, why the hell does he want to meet way out there?"

   "I don't know, but he only wants to meet with me. It seems your hospitality this morning rubbed him the wrong way."

   "Well, I don't care what he wants, you're not going alone."

   "Hutch, it's nearly 4 o'clock. If you check out Martinez's place, I can meet with Mickey and save some time. He wants to meet me at the fun house near the entrance and it's got one hell of a vantage point. He'll have plenty of time to spot you and split."

   "I don't like it. It's not the way we work."

   "Hey, I'm not crazy about the trek out there, but I don't want to blow a chance to get the lowdown on this Streeter." Hutch continued to look unconvinced, so Starsky added: "Look, I'll be careful."

   Hutch hated the idea, but he somehow felt the need to support Starsky on this one. He thought about what he had said earlier in the day and it made his stomach turn. He knew that Starsky's loyalty could never be in question, and yet he had practically accused him of knowingly endangering his life. "All right," he replied, "just don't take any chances." Hutch looked down at some paperwork before him and mumbled, "because I don't know what I'd do without you." He hadn't thought Starsky had heard but the brunet squeezed his shoulder and said: "Don't worry, Blintz, you're not going to get rid of me that easily. Now let's get outta here so I have time to stop by the bank."

   "Jesus, Starsk, how much are planning on giving him?"

   "I'll take care of it, Hutch." There was something in Starsky's voice that told Hutch not to push the issue and so he didn't, but he felt uneasy, just the same.

   The detectives headed to their respective cars. Hutch had some trouble starting his LTD. It needed a tune-up badly, but he was unwilling to return it to Merle and take another chance at a disastrous interior make-over. It finally started and with some ungainly lurching made it out of the police parking lot. Starsky waved to him and headed in the other direction. For some reason Hutch felt a chill go through him that could not be explained in the still ungodly heat of the afternoon.

********

   When Starsky arrived at the park, he cut the motor and coasted to a stop. He had to admit that there was something about abandoned complexes like this one that unnerved him. There was something almost sinister about rides sitting idle and empty concession stands. Starsky tried to cajole himself by admitting that it was probably his penchant for late night horror movies that made him shiver. He took a deep breath, making a mental note not to mention to Hutch how nervous he had been, and walked towards the fun house. He called out to Mickey a few times, but there was no response. He grabbed his gun and approached the door to the building. Starsky then flung the door open and tried to quickly adjust his eyesight to the darkness within. It took him a few moments to assess the situation. There were still a number of mirrors hanging on the walls that distorted images, but many had been smashed and the floor was littered with broken glass. The detective proceeded down the hallway slowly and realized that he was in a very vulnerable position. He rounded a corner and tried to step lightly, but with every footfall the loud echoing of breaking glass filled the building. At the end of the hallway, Starsky saw a figure sitting in a chair with his back to him. He approached cautiously and thought he recognized Mickey. But the figure was awfully still. All of a sudden the figure turned. It was indeed Mickey, but he looked pale as a ghost.

   Starsky put his gun back in his holster and took a deep breath. "Mickey, you sure as hell better have a good explanation for this one."

   "Streeter found out I talked to you and Hutch."

   "How did that happen?"

   "I don't know and I don't care. He told me that if I didn't keep my mouth shut, I was gonna wind up dead. Now I've done right by you, Starsky, you know that."

   "That's a two-way street, Mickey."

   "Well, sure, Starsky, I know that. But I gotta get out of town, at least for a while."

   "Tell me more about Streeter. There was no information under that name at the station."

   "I don't know him by any other name. But he's a mean son of a bitch and he's got one hell of a temper."

   "So he just blows into town without a real name and starts hassling the locals."

   "He's got an accent, sort of. Not Southern really, but he must be from down that way somehow. I think I heard mention of Louisiana. And he looks like a typical swamp rat. I guess he's handling business for somebody bigger, but I ain't discussed that with him. I just wanted him to stop giving Joe at the DeliMart such a hard time, so I wouldn't lose my spot as the greeter. Seems like I'm gonna have to give that up anyway."

   "So you don't really have any new information for me, do you?"

   "No, Starsky, but I know that something is gonna go down at Martinez's place at closing. Streeter doesn't know I told you that."

   "Okay." Starsky reached into his pocket and pulled out some bills which he handed to Mickey. "That's all I can get my hands on right now."

   "That's fine, Starsk, that'll do." He paused and licked his lips nervously. Starsky was studying him and Mickey felt like he was somehow being silently interrogated. "What, Starsky?"

   "I'm just trying to figure something out."

   "Well, spit it out, huh?"

   "I want to believe you."

   "Well, of course you can believe me."

   "I want to believe you were being straight with me about Forrest."

   "Starsky, I may be a lot of things, but I ain't a fink. I know what people are thinking when they look at me. They think I'm a drunk, that I'm a bum. And I may be those things, but I ain't a fink, Starsky, I swear to God. I know that partner of yours doesn't give a damn about me, and to tell you the truth he scares me. But I know what he means to you. I helped him for you, cause you've always been good to me."

   Starsky stood studying the man another minute and then smiled. "You take care of yourself, Mickey."

   "Thanks, Starsky."

   Starsky got back in the Torino, relieved to be out of the fun house. He wondered himself why he gave Mickey such slack. He had always sensed that there was a decent guy in there somewhere who had just stumbled down too many wrong paths. He usually didn't concern himself with the lives of the snitches who had fed him information over the years. It didn't pay to become emotionally involved when there wasn't much one could do anyway. He had seen Hutch learn that the hard way. The first couple of years of their partnership, he had seen the blond try to reach out to people who weren't interested or who were somehow beyond the point of salvation. Hutch had learned to pull back in recent years at least on the outside, but Starsky suspected that his partner still hoped to save a few souls along the way. Starsky always thought of himself as inclined to expect to be disappointed, but he knew deep down that in some ways that was a line he fed to Hutch for his partner's sake. He too was looking for the good in people.

********

   Hutch arrived at the cigar shop just after four. It was empty except for an elderly man who was rearranging the contents of a display cabinet at the far end. When he spied Hutch he smiled broadly. "I can see you are a man of distinctive tastes," he said with a faint Cuban accent. "Perhaps I can interest you in some new arrivals of superb quality."

   Hutch walked down to the end of the counter. "Are you Mr. Martinez?"

   "I am indeed. And you are wise to ask for me by name."

   "Mr. Martinez, my name is Detective Hutchinson. Did you have an altercation lately with someone offering your store protection." Even as he said it, it seemed unlikely. Mr. Martinez was awfully frail and affable to boot.

   "No, indeed. There hasn't been anything like that going on, Detective. And if so, my son Carlos would handle it."

   "And you are sure your son hasn't gotten into a heated argument with anyone."

   "No, and I'd know about it. My son and I are tight. I'm hoping to give the business to him in a few years when I retire. Seems like someone has been handing you the wrong information."

   Hutch looked about the store for a few minutes, trying to figure out what was wrong with this puzzle. He gave it one more try. "Listen, Mr. Martinez, I don't know if you feel you have to protect someone. But I've heard that a character called Streeter is supposed to show up tonight at closing time and teach you a lesson. Are you sure you don't want to tell me more about that?"

   "Detective, I'm an old man. I'm not hiding anything, but I do appreciate your concern. It's a changing world for sure, and it's good to know the police are so willing to help the little guy."

   "Yeah," said Hutch. But he was distracted wondering whether Starsky was wandering into a trap while he was investigating a bogus lead.

   Hutch thanked the man and quickly left the store. It was more than just wrong information. Everything about the situation was wrong. He called the precinct as soon as he got to the LTD and was patched through to Dobey.

   "Captain, you had better send the cavalry to the amusement park out at Mandelay Heights. I'm sure Starsky is in trouble. I'll meet you there."

   Without waiting for a reply Hutch roared off in the direction of the park, thankful that his car was cooperating in the crisis. He cursed himself for not trusting his instincts and insisting that his partner not check out this lead alone. Hutch tried to tell himself that he was overreacting, but he felt in his heart that he wasn't and he couldn't seem to make the car go fast enough.

   Just as he was turning onto the long inclined road that led to the entrance of the amusement park, he passed the Torino headed in the opposite direction. Both men slammed on the brakes and swerved back to meet each other.

   "Hutch, what the hell are you doing here?"

   "You met with Mickey?"

   "Yes, and he's on edge as it is. You don't need to be tearing up here in that lousy rat-trap car of yours."

   "Oh God, and I got Dobey to send out a bunch of uniforms."

   "Jesus, Hutch, what were you thinking?" With that Starsky roared down the hill to head off the squad cars before they got near the park. Hutch slowly turned the LTD around to join his partner. He knew he would get a reprimand from Dobey, but he was just so relieved to be wrong about Mickey, it didn't seem like too much to endure.

********

   Detective Nick Perelli sat at his customary table at the back of a small dive called O'Malley's Tavern. It was an Irish pub that had seen better times and had become an odd mix of neighborhood bar, video arcade, and greasy spoon. Perelli was soon joined by a lanky man with stringy brown hair who grabbed a menu and began to scan its offerings. Without looking up Perelli grabbed the menu out of his hands. "You aren't here to fill your gut."

   "Fine. Da crud in dis place would probably rot my insides."

   "And you can drop that damn cracker accent. It wears on my nerves."

   "For your information, it's Cajun. And I think it gives me character. I've spent a while perfecting it."

   "And I'm telling you to drop it. All I'm asking you to do is keep to the script and get the job done."

   "Where's the glamour in that?" said the man stretching and looking around the bar.

   "Look, Streeter, if you're looking for glamour, join the actor's guild. Are you going to play it straight, or do I have to recruit a slightly smarter gutter rat? And speaking of gutter rats, why the hell have you taken up with that snitch Mickey?

   "I gotta get a handle on the action here. I'll tell ya, that bum don't miss a thing."

   "Just remember not to let your research interfere with your work."

   "Russo sent me to you as a favor. If you don't appreciate what I have to offer, I can go back to the Big Easy anytime."

   "You, my friend, were a pay-off. And I'm beginning to think that Russo gave me the shaft."

   "That's crap. What would an L.A. cop have on a syndicate man like Russo?"

   "Listen, you little son of a bitch -- " He stopped and lowered his voice. "You're just like Russo said: too many goddamn questions."

   "Hey, I want to know where I stand. I'm looking out for my future too. I don't guess a cop on the take usually gets to collect his pension."

   Perelli rose up and grabbed Streeter by the shirt, shoving him into a back room just behind his corner table. As the two men disappeared behind the door, a few patrons turned their heads. The scene proved to be of little interest, however, and they soon returned to the drinks and greasy food before them.

   "Now listen, you little punk," said Perelli, throwing the man against the wall. "Your job is to do what you're told, when you're told. You are to keep a low profile and lose the curiosity. You got that?"

   "Yeah, man, whatever you say," said Streeter a little breathlessly. The stench from a backed-up urinal over the wall was choking him. "Let's go back to the table, huh, before I get sick in here."

   Perelli took a few moments to look the man before him up and down. He released Streeter and they returned to the table. "Let's keep this short," said the detective. "I've got places to be."

********

   As soon as Starsky and Hutch returned to the squad room, justice was swift. Dobey's door swung open, followed by a bellowed "Hutchinson!"

   Hutch glanced towards the Captain innocently. "You want to see me, Captain?"

   "Yeah, immediately. And you too, Starsky."

   Starksy leaned over to Hutch. "You've gone and done it now, Blondie."

   They were barely in the office when Dobey started his tirade. "Do you have any idea how understaffed we are in this Department, Hutchinson?"

   "Captain, I..."

   "Do you know how many hours I spend trying to get the Commissioner to realize what we're up against every day on the streets?"

   "Captain, I..."

   "And here you are taking valuable officers off their beats so you can play posse! Do you have any conception about the paperwork generated, not to mention the areas left vulnerable by your actions?"

   "But, Captain, I..."

   "I think these are what's known as 'rhetorical questions,' Hutch. You don't gotta answer 'em."

   "And you!" yelled Dobey turning to the brunet. "What the hell were you doing out there without backup? I would think one of my best detectives would have more sense."

   "Captain, I was just going with my gut instinct and... one of your best, huh?"

   Hutch rolled his eyes. Leave it to Starsky to start fishing for compliments when they were getting their butts chewed.

   "Yeah, who just made a move a rookie would have more sense not to. Tell me Hutch, what did Martinez have to say?"

   "Yeah, Hutch, what did Martinez have to say?" Starsky added.

   Hutch was visibly uncomfortable and squirmed in his seat a moment before mumbling, "He didn't know what I was talking about."

   "What?" bellowed Dobey.

   "He didn't know what I was talking about," Hutch said in a louder voice. "He'd never heard of Streeter."

   "This story is getting better and better."

   "Something doesn't add up, Captain."

   "You got that right."

   "No, I think something is really going down. That's why I overreacted. I thought for sure Starsky was in trouble, but I still think something's going on. I want to check out the cigar shop at closing time."

   "Forget it," said Dobey. "I've wasted enough manpower on this goose chase. You two are supposed to be getting off duty right about now. I suggest you both go home and keep yourselves out of trouble!"

   Starsky felt he needed to defend Hutch's actions. But Dobey anticipated his speech and cut him off. "I suggest the two of you get out of my office before I get the notion to assign you to traffic control for a couple of weeks."

   The detectives decided not to push their luck and headed for the door. They bumped into Detective Perelli on the way out. "Sounds like the two of you got Dobey warmed up for me. I guess now's not the time to ask for a raise."

   "Very funny, Perelli," said Hutch.

   "I don't how the two of you got as far as you did in this Department the way you're always ruffling the brass."

   "That's because we have ineffable charm," mused Starsky.

   "Maybe it's because we do damn fine police work," said Hutch. He knew he was rising to the bait, but he couldn't help himself. Hutch was more on the defensive than he cared to admit.

   Perelli just laughed and closed the door to Captain Dobey's office behind him.

   Hutch felt Starsky's eyes on him and looked over to his partner. "What?"

   "Nothing," said the brunet with a half smile. "It's just that you seemed to be getting mighty sensitive back there."

   "I just don't like taking crap, especially from arrogant cops like Perelli." Hutch realized he was digging himself into a deeper hole, but he was smarting. "And you, with your ineffable charm. Have you been keeping Reader's Digest in the john or something?"

   "Hey, you're not the only one who knows big words, ya know."

   "I think we should take the Captain's advice and get the hell out of here."

   "That's the first sense you've made all day."

   As they reached the police parking lot, Starsky turned to Hutch. "Martinez's place closes at 10 P.M., right? How about I pick you up at quarter 'till."

   "Two minds, one thought," replied Hutch as he headed for the LTD. He smiled to himself on the way home, taking the time to appreciate the fact that even though he had screwed up royally, Starsky still had faith in his hunches.

********

   When Dr. Cooper entered the room he saw the dark-haired woman curled up in a chair. He pulled another seat up to hers and studied her for a few minutes. She appeared unaware of his presence. "Miss Harmon?" he ventured. There was no response. "Miss Harmon," he said a bit more loudly, with a hint of impatience in his voice. He learned over and touched her arm. The woman flinched at the contact and became aware of the doctor for the first time.

   "Well, hello there," he said. "How are you feeling?"

   "I can't seem to find all the pieces I need," she began unsteadily.

   "I see," answered Dr. Cooper, summarily flipping through the notes in her chart.

   "Feeling angry are you? Frustrated perhaps?"

   "No... not angry. I feel sad. I feel sad that I can't find all the pieces. So it will make sense. I can't think straight." The woman curled even more tightly into a ball.

   "That's what the medication is for. It will help you to think more clearly. To remember the details exactly the way they happened."

   "But it's after they give me the pills. So many pills. It's then that I forget, just when the parts were coming together."

   "Nonsense, Miss Harmon. The staff here knows what is best for you. You mustn't question the people who are working so hard to make you well."

   "I want to get well."

   "Of course you do. How about we go back to some rather troubling times? Maybe together we can make some sense of them."

   "I don't think I want to go back. I'm frightened."

   "Nonsense, Miss Harmon. I'm here for you. Now why don't you be a good girl and sit up so we can get to the bottom of all this." The woman slowly sat up; she gripped the arms of the chair tightly and looked with hesitation at the doctor.

   "That's much, much better. Now, I want you to look at a photograph for me. Just look at it and tell me what you feel." The woman looked frightened but she agreed and straightened herself up more in the chair. Dr. Cooper reached into the file and removed a picture of Detective Kenneth Hutchinson that he had had sent from the Records Department at Police Headquarters. When the woman saw it she gasped and turned away as if viewing the photo were terrifying.

   The doctor grabbed the woman and forced her to turn back. "Miss Harmon, you cannot run from painful feelings. You must confront them. Who is this man?" he asked, pushing the photograph back into her line of vision.

   "That's Ken . . .Ken Hutchinson," she sobbed.

   "He hurt you terribly, didn't he?"

   "No, I don't think so. I don't remember, Doctor. Put it away, please!"

   "Stop repressing your feelings, Miss Harmon! This man hurt you, violated your sense of trust. Don't you remember?"

   "I only wanted to be with him. So many other people kept getting in the way. Telling him bad things about me; but they weren't true. I loved Hutch."

   "Diana," said the doctor with conviction. "This man, Ken Hutchinson, treated you...

   He treated you badly, didn't he?"

   "I don't know. You're confusing me. I...I don't remember."

   "You don't want to remember," Dr. Cooper said angrily, and then quickly softened his tone when he saw the woman becoming distraught. "Just relax, Miss Harmon. I'm putting the picture away now. You don't have to look at it anymore. Just relax."

   "I want to remember what happened. I do, Doctor!"

   "These things take time, Miss Harmon. But don't worry, together we will make sense of it all." He reached over and held her hand. "I'll come and see you again tomorrow. Then we'll talk some more." He squeezed her hand and then got up to leave the room. Before heading back to his office, he stopped at the nurse's station to speak to one of the aides.

   "Miss Diana Harmon will need another sedative. She was very disruptive in session today. I fear she may do harm to herself or others."

   "Dr. Cooper, I did give her the daily medication indicated on the chart this morning."

   "And I'm telling you what needs to be administered now."

   "I'm sorry, Doctor, I was just concerned that --"

   "You be concerned with doing your job and let those qualified to do so make the medical decisions."

   "Yes, Doctor," said the aide, and she hurried to fulfill the request.

   Dr. Cooper returned to his office and again opened Diana Harmon's file to make notes about the day's session. He began: Despite repeated efforts to disabuse Miss Harmon of notions that her ex-boyfriend is trying to harm her, she continues to harbor extreme feelings of ill-will towards him. She entertains homicidal thoughts and continues to be a threat to herself and others.

********

   Starsky got out of the shower at about 7 P.M. and decided to watch TV for a few hours before picking up Hutch for the stakeout at Martinez's cigar shop. Flipping through the channels he discovered a marathon in progress of Clint Eastwood's spaghetti westerns. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly had just started. Starsky sighed with satisfaction and noted with some regret that he'd have to tear himself away from this cinematic extravaganza before he had gotten his fill. He consoled himself with the notion that at least he had caught one of the true classics. Of course Clint was the king, but the comedic talents of Eli Wallach were not to be beat. It wasn't long before the detective realized that there was an important component missing from the scenario. Raiding the refrigerator satisfied that need, and he was soon enjoying the splendor of left-over lasagna, chased by potato chips.

   Hutch slammed the door to the LTD with extra force. For the last few days this had proved necessary to get it closed at all. The heat of the day had subsided only marginally and it was weighing heavily on the blond detective's nerves. Once in his apartment, he made a point of surveying the damage to his plants. After a thorough round of watering his charges, he took a long shower and tried to wash the frustrations of the day away. Hutch emerged feeling a little more human. He picked up his guitar and tried to play a few tunes from memory. He wasn't feeling in the mood to work on his own compositions, so he settled for a few selections from Neil Young's Harvest and ended with the Beatles' "Golden Slumbers". Hutch glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearly eight. He was suddenly feeling as if the apartment were shrinking and he longed to be somewhere else. The blond decided to take a walk.

********

   Detective Perelli looked up from his paperwork. His partner of six months stood before him with a stack of files in his hand.

   "I don't think I'll ever get used to this part of the job," said the younger detective.

   "You'll get used to it, Bobby. Just remember to stick to the facts. If you start trying to impress with flowery language, you can get yourself into a real mess," said Perelli.

   "Don't worry. The pimps we busted might be characters, but I don't think I'll be wasting any 'flowery language' on them."

   "So you got plans for tonight?"

   "Well, now that you mention it, I do indeed."

   "With Carla, I presume?"

   "You got it."

   "You two seem to be getting pretty tight."

   "I don't want to jinx anything. But this could be the one." Detective Quintero looked a bit embarrassed in spite of himself. "They always say that the guy is afraid of commitment. I don't want to pop the question too early in case I scare her off."

   "You'll know when the time is right. I, myself, had an uncanny sense of timing. Just ask my two ex-wives," Perelli said laughing.

   "So you have plans tonight, Nick?"

   "Yeah, I got a little personal business to take care of. Sounds like you're going to have a helluva lot more fun."

   Bobby laughed. "Well, take care of yourself."

   "You know it."

   After walking for about fifteen minutes Hutch spotted a blues club and decided to check out the evening's talent. When he entered he was nearly overpowered by the smoke which seemed excessive even for a bar. Hutch ignored his impulse to return to the street and walk home. He decided since he was there, he would stay for a few numbers. He got a ginger ale at the bar and seated himself at a dark table in the corner.

   After a couple of minutes, an elderly black man approached the stage, picked up a guitar, and announced in a raspy voice that he would play some numbers before the main act. He said a few words about the musical genius of Mississippi Fred McDowell and launched into a memorable rendition of "61 Highway":

   Lord, that 61 Highway, she's the longest road I know
   She run from New York City down the Gulf of Mexico...

   Hutch let his mind wander. It felt soothing to allow the song to filter through the background of his thoughts. It wasn't much cooler in this place than on the street, but for some reason he was beginning to relax.

   ... I started school one Monday morning, baby, I throw'd my books away
   I wrote a note to my teacher, Lord, I'm gonna try 61 today...

   When the man had finished that number, he began "Mama Don't Allow":

   You may call me crazy, baby,
   But I know right from wrong...

   Hutch checked his watch and figured he had enough time to catch the first few minutes of the main act. After the old man left the stage, a woman took a seat at the piano. She paused to take a long drink from a glass put before her by the bartender. Then she began to sing "Black Night" in an irresistibly sultry voice. The crowd quieted considerably.

   Black night is falling
   Oh, how I hate to be alone.
   I say, black night is falling
   Oh, how I hate to be alone.
   I keep crying for my baby
   But then another day is gone.
   I have no one to talk with, to tell my troubles to,
   My baby's gone and left me, someone tell me what more I can do?
   Black night is falling
   Oh, how I hate to be alone...

   Hutch was mesmerized by the performance. It seemed so full of raw, but understated, emotion. He'd often heard that one had to earn the right to sing the blues. That it was a talent honed by heartache and tough living. Whatever it took, this lady had nailed it. He sat through a few more numbers before heading back to the apartment to meet Starsky. He nodded to the woman as he passed the stage and their eyes met briefly before she was pulled back into the lyrics of her song.

********

   Mickey sat at the table, nervously nursing his beer. He tried to look calm, but he knew his hands were shaking badly. He decided it would be enough not to spill the beer. Across from him sat a tall man in his late twenties with slicked back brown hair, a few strands of which had escaped and were framing a rather gaunt face. He dragged slowly on a cigarette and blew the smoke in Mickey's face.

   "Mickey, dis ain't no rocket science. Dere's no reason to get nervous."

   "Listen, Mr. Broussard."

   "I told you the name's Streeter. You hard a hearin' of somethin', cher?"

   "No, Mr. Streeter."

   "It's just Streeter, got it? Not Mister, not nothin' in front of it."

   "I got it." Mickey tried to pick up his beer. But his hands were shaking too much to hold the glass and he quickly put it back on the table.

   Streeter eyed Mickey with disgust. "Can't even drink a goddamn beer. Mon Dieux! But I tell you what. You going to get your act together and pull dis off. You hear me?"

   "I told you I'd do it, but I don't know if Starsky trusts me. He suspects that maybe I was helping this guy called Monk. I'll spare you the details, but his partner nearly got killed and he woulda been next. I don't think this plan is gonna work, Streeter. It might just blow up in our faces. I know I owe ya, Streeter, but maybe there's some other way I could --"

   "Dere's no other way, Mickey. I don't intend to be keeping company wit' a drunk like you any longer den necessary. Dis is it and you are gonna make it work."

   "But I don't get it. Why did you want me to tell them you're gonna make trouble for Martinez? It doesn't make any sense."

   "Don't you worry, dey'll get enough of a show to keep 'em interested. I'm just makin' sure I got a little insurance."

   Mickey decided to let it go, but he was already regretting his involvement in the whole business.

   Streeter took a long drag on his cigarette. "Just trust me, Mickey. After all, your whole future is hanging in da balance." He smiled evilly at Mickey and got up from the table, flicking his cigarette into the glass of beer.

PART TWO