Sinjin

   Harry stared out through the grill that separated the register area from the rest of his pawn shop. He was a man in his late fifties with a sizable paunch and a receding hairline. What hair he had retained was rather long and disheveled. He absentmindedly stroked the head of a stuffed owl that was a holdover from his youthful attempts at a career in taxidermy. After taking a quick inventory of the shop from where he stood, Harry concluded that business was unusually slow. He had always credited himself with having the gift of the gab when it came to making sales, and even more so when it came to haggling some desperate junkie down a few extra bucks. After all, Harry reasoned, if he was willing to unload hot merchandise, he’d be a fool to pay top dollar. Over the years he had almost managed to convince himself that he was providing a valuable service to the people of the community. Somebody had to serve the needs of the underclass. Well, no, upon further reflection, Harry admitted to himself that he was no better than the next greedy bastard. But he knew what he was and didn’t make excuses for himself. And he was good at what he did. Only if he was so good, why was business so bad lately?

   Before he had time to pursue the thought, the door opened and two kids about sixteen entered the shop carrying four toasters between them. Harry sighed and shook his head.

   "How many times do I have to tell you two gentlemen to come around the back?"

   "Gee, hear that, Zach? We’re gentlemen," said one of the boys.

   "I use the term in its loosest possible sense."

   "Come on, Harry. What’s the use of all the cloak and dagger crap? You getting paranoid in your old age?"

   "The name’s Mr. Trask and I’ve stayed in business all these years by following a few points of protocol."

   "Whatever, Harry. How much’ll you take for this stuff? It’s straight from the ‘burbs." The boys approached the counter and dumped their booty onto it.

   Harry looked angrily at the two and his eyes narrowed. "I don’t want your stinkin’ crap. I ask you to follow a few rules and you don’t even have the decency to do that. Now pick up that shit and get the hell out!"

   "Harry, come on. We had an agreement."

   "I said get the hell out!"

   The boys exchanged glances and decided not to press their luck. They reluctantly scooped up the toasters and headed for the door, muttering to each other under their breath.

   "Rotten punks," spit out Harry as they left. "Someone ought to run their asses back to juvey." Realizing it was nearly five o’clock, he decided to call it a day and lock up. After turning out the lights, he retired to a small apartment upstairs.

********

   Joey Martin paced the floor of his hotel room, growing ever more restless. He was a tall man in his late twenties with a mop of brown hair. He had a gap-toothed grin that could readily transform itself into a deadly sneer. He flipped through the television channels, but couldn’t find a decent sports game. God, how he hated to wait. Although he was new to the business, he felt he worked best alone. He was less than pleased about the prospect of working with a partner. But his latest employer had insisted. And since work had been inconsistent at best lately, Joey couldn’t afford to be too picky about the conditions. His cut of the take would be fifteen hundred bucks and that would be more than enough to buy himself some much deserved company from down in the District. He had talked to his would-be partner only once on the phone. He had what appeared to be a Cuban accent and that made Joey nervous. He had no desire to be working with Ricky Ricardo. He decided he needed a beer to calm himself down and reached into a brown paper sack containing a six-pack of Coors he’d had the good sense to bring. A little Colorado Koolaid would put him in the right frame of mind.

   Joey was sitting on the bed and had downed two of the cans when the phone rang. He reached for it hurriedly.

   "Yeah?"

   "Joey, this is Tom. I want you to meet me at D’Angelo’s Diner on Washington in twenty minutes. I’ll be sitting at a table in the back and reading a copy of The New York Times."

   Joey tried to respond, but all he got was a dial tone. Damn, he hated that. He liked to have the last word in a conversation. It was bad luck not to. He grabbed his jacket and quickly headed to his dark green Buick Skylark parked behind the hotel. As he cruised down the street, Joey turned on the radio and hummed along to the music to make the time go faster. As traffic slowed in the midst of the rush hour, he became visibly impatient. When an elderly lady in a refurbished Studebaker prevented him from making a light, he could barely contain himself.

   "Come on, you old broad! Move that heap, will ya!" He leaned on the horn, even though he realized that it was impossible for her to make a move now that the crosstown traffic was steadily drifting through the intersection. But he raised his hands in disgust hoping she would catch a glimpse of him in her rearview mirror.

   "Damn old people. Someone oughta keep ‘em off the road," he muttered.

   When the light changed, Joey surged ahead, swerving around the Studebaker and skidding back into the right lane, barely missing the open door of a parked car. He traveled on to the diner without further incident.

   Joey entered D’Angelo’s and after a cursory glance about the place, he spotted a well-dressed man in the back, reading a newspaper. He approached the table, remaining at a respectable distance. A few moments passed and then the man spoke quietly without raising his eyes from the paper.

   "Take a seat, Joey."

   Joey sat down, casting a furtive look towards the door of the diner to see if anyone was watching him. But the place was nearly empty and the few patrons present hardly appeared interested in anything but the food in front of them.

   "How long were ya gonna keep me standing there, huh?"

   "Take it easy, Joey. No need to be so uptight."

   Joey hunched slightly over the table and spoke in more hushed tones. "Look, I just want you to understand from the get-go that I usually work alone and I like it that way."

   "I understand your preference, Joey. But this job requires two people and the sooner you accept that, the smoother this operation is going to be."

   "Fine. Just don’t go breaking into any choruses of ‘Babaloo.’"

   Tom returned a puzzled look and then laughed. "Joey, I’m from Buenos Aires."

   "Yeah, well, whatever. Just remember what we’re here for. That’s all I’m asking."

   "Of course, Joey. I can tell I’m working with a true professional."

   In the squad room at Metropolitan Division, Starsky and Hutch were wading through a seemingly endless barrage of paperwork. Hutch was fully engrossed by the report in front of him, but his partner began to squirm in his seat, anxiously checking his watch every few minutes.

   "Do you think we can get out of here soon, Hutch?"

   "Not until we finish these reports. Dobey’s about ready to have a fit as it is."

   Starsky sighed and opened the drawer to his desk, dumping an odd array of paperclips, scraps of paper, and candy wrappers on top. He finally sighed with satisfaction as he unearthed a half eaten tuna fish sandwich from the inner recesses of the drawer. Hutch caught his partner eyeing the sandwich and shot him a look of disgust.

   "Don’t you think you ought to eighty-six that thing, Starsk? It’s probably taken on a life of its own by now."

   Starsky brought the sandwich closer and took a sniff. Concluding that it was rather ripe, he tossed it into the trash. "Man, am I starved. I gotta get somethin’ to eat."

   Hutch returned to the report in front of him. "If you’d quit doodling over there, you could make some headway."

   "I ain’t doodling. I’m just bored and hungry." When there was no response from his partner, Starsky reluctantly picked up the next report and tried to ignore his growling stomach.

********

   "Is that supposed to be some sort of crack?"

   "What do you mean, Joey?"

   "Me being a ‘true professional.’"

   "I meant that with all sincerity, Joey," replied Tom, with just a hint of a smile escaping his lips.

   Joey eyed the man suspiciously. "I don’t like people bullshittin’ me, that’s all."

   "Why don’t we order something to eat?"

   "Yeah, I could go for some food." Joey thought that what he could really go for was a couple more beers, but he didn’t want to lose his edge. Not until he’d had time to size up his "partner."

   Tom motioned to the waitress. A young woman approached the table with a disinterested air. She whipped out an order pad from her apron and took a pencil from behind her ear. "Whaddaya guys want?"

   "What would you recommend?" asked Tom.

   The woman popped her gum. "It’s all about the same, mister. Unless you’re up for a real challenge. Then I’d say the meatloaf."

   Joey laughed and glanced at the woman’s name tag. "Hey, Rhonda, I’ll take the meatloaf, but I don’t think my friend here is up for that type of challenge."

   The waitress gave Joey a bored look and then turned again to Tom. "So that’s a meatloaf and...?"

   "I’ll just take the soup of the day."

   The woman scribbled on her pad and turned away wordlessly.

   "Now there’s a class act," said Joey. "I can tell she’s a real ball-buster."

   Tom picked up a napkin and began cleaning his spoon with noticeable distaste. "Let’s get down to business, shall we, Joey."

   "Yeah, sure."

   Tom removed an envelope from a pocket inside his suit jacket. He took out two photos and passed them to Joey.

   "Look like some real goombahs. What’s their angle?"

   "They’re a couple of hotshots from Brooklyn, trying to make a name for themselves on the West Coast. Competition, you could say."

   "What do you mean, competition?"

   "In a similar line of work."

   "You mean similar to us?"

   "Precisely."

   Joey looked momentarily distracted and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I don’t know about this, man."

   "What’s the matter?"

   Joey lowered his voice. "Whacking these guys. It don’t seem right somehow."

   "What is it, Joey? Is this some sort of honor among thieves philosophy?"

   "I just don’t like it."

   "Mr. Foley said to thin the herd. And that’s exactly what we’re going to do."

********

   Huggy regarded the young black man who sat at the bar with a mixture of annoyance and concern. "Look, Cecil, you’re already into me for fifty bucks. Where’s it all going?"

   "I told you, man. I’ve got some stuff to take care of. Some debts to settle up." Noticing Huggy’s worried face, Cecil hurriedly continued. "Look, everything’s cool. I ain’t in any trouble. Just settling accounts. Huggy, you know I’m good for it."

   "Okay. Sit tight. I’ll be right back." Huggy called for one of his waitresses to cover the bar and then disappeared upstairs for a few minutes. He returned with five bills and reaching for Cecil’s hand, he stuffed them into the man’s palm. Huggy did not immediately release Cecil’s fist. "This is all she wrote, man. You got that?"

   "Yeah."

   Huggy looked up as the door to his place opened and Starsky and Hutch walked in. Cecil followed his glance and scowled at the two detectives who had stopped to talk to a couple of women at one of the tables.

   "You still doing business with those two?"

   "What you talking about, doing business?"

   "Damn, Hug, those two come in your place and shake you down. What type of shit is that?"

   "It ain’t like that, Cecil."

   "The hell it ain’t."

   "Man, I give you money and you’re giving me grief?"

   "It just ain’t cool to drop a dime on people, Hug. ‘Specially when it comes to messin’ with a couple of candy-assed white boys who couldn’t give a damn about you." With that, Cecil got up and left, nearly bumping into Starsky on the way out.

   The detectives took seats at the bar.

   "Hey, what it is, fellas."

   "Hey yourself, Hug. Give us a coupla beers, will ya."

   "You got it, Starsk." You sure look like you need a brew. Tough day in the trenches?"

   "Being in the trenches would have been an improvement. We were stuck behind a desk all day."

   "Aw, come on, Starsk," said Hutch, eagerly reaching for the beer that Huggy had put before him. "It wasn’t that bad. Dobey only had you rewrite two reports."

   "It just so happens that those reports were fine the way they were."

   "Wait a minute," said Hutch, reaching for something in his jacket. "I even wrote down one of my favorites." He unraveled a scrap of paper and read: "The perp was nabbed with a suitcase full of dead presidents."

   Huggy began snickering.

   "What’s wrong with that?" Starsky said defensively to Huggy. He turned to the blond. "So it’s a little bit colorful. I get to the point, don’t I? The junk you write puts people to sleep."

   "The ‘junk’ I write passes inspection the first time around."

   "Yeah, well, that’s ‘cause people ain’t got an appreciation for telling it like it is."

   "It’s all about kicking ass and taking names, huh, Starsk?"

   Starsky looked up at Huggy. He couldn’t quite decipher the tone of the remark.

   "Hey, Hug," called out a slightly inebriated man. "You got anything special goin’ on in the kitchen tonight?"

   "Hey, is the Pope Catholic?" Huggy moved down the bar. "I’ve got some fine burgers sizzling on the grill as we speak."

   Starsky looked at Hutch to see if he had detected an edge to Huggy’s voice, but his partner seemed preoccupied with draining his glass, so he let it go.

   When Huggy was again within earshot, Starsky ordered a couple of burgers.

   "Sounds good," said Hutch.

   "Yeah, well, Blondie, if it sounds good, you better order your own. Those two are for me."

   Ten minutes later, Huggy returned with the orders.

   "Hey, Hug. Wanna ask you something."

   "Starsky, in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a bit of a crowd here."

   Damn, there was that edge again, Starsky thought.

   The Pits was filling up quickly and once the detectives had finished their food, they left without talking again to Huggy. Hutch watched his partner as they headed down the alley to their respective cars.

   "Well..."

   "Huh? What?" said the brunet.

   "I can hear the wheels turning from here. What’s going on in that head of yours?"

   "I don’t know. It’s probably nothing."

   "Humor me."

   Starsky sighed. "It’s Huggy. It’s like he wasn’t real up for talking to us tonight."

   "It was getting pretty busy, Starsk."

   "Yeah, I know. But, I just got this feelin’. Like he was uncomfortable about us being there — Damn!"

   Hutch didn’t have to ask. As the detectives rounded the corner of the alley, they both saw the two flat tires on the Torino. A closer inspection revealed that they had been slashed.

********

   Starsky began a detailed inspection of the Torino to see if any other damage had been done, but he could detect no other injuries to his prized possession.

   "I can see they didn’t touch your clunker."

   "You almost sound disappointed," said Hutch.

   "It’s just... I don’t understand people who see a thing of beauty and then gotta go destroy it. What’s wrong with the world?"

   "Probably just a couple of bored kids," shrugged his partner. "Listen, why don’t you call it in so the Department can file a report. Then I’ll give you a lift home."

   "Are you kidding me? I’m not leaving my baby on the streets to get hit again. I’m going back to The Pits to call Merle."

   "It’s nearly seven, Starsky. You think he’s still there?"

   "Merle practically lives at his shop. You stay here and keep an eye on things."

   Hutch nodded and reached for the radio. Starsky jogged back to the bar. He made a bee-line for the pay phone and impatiently scanned the ratty directory. He dialed the number and suffered through six rings. He was just about to give up when someone answered.

   "The Earl speaking."

   "Am I glad to hear your voice. The Torino’s got two flat tires and I need it towed to the garage for safekeeping."

   "Starsky, is that you? Are you jiving me, man? You think I can just drop everything and send over a truck? I’m up to my elbows in custom interior work and I’ve only got one other guy pulling overtime."

   "Please, Merle. This is the Torino we’re talking about."

   There was a thoughtful silence on the other end. After what seemed to be an intolerable wait to the detective, Merle came back on the line. "Okay, okay. I’ll send my guy over. Just remember you owe me. I’ll put two Mags on order in the morning."

   "Thanks a million."

   As Starsky hung up the phone he thought of mentioning the incident to Huggy, but decided against it. When he returned to the street, Hutch was sitting on the hood of the LTD, gazing at the sky.

   "Hey, nature boy, you’re supposed to be keeping an eye on things, not staring at the moon."

   "Whoever did this is probably long gone. Did you reach Merle?"

   "Yeah, he wasn’t too happy about it, but he’s sending out a truck."

   Hutch pushed himself off the hood and patted his partner’s shoulder. "Sorry about this, Starsk."

   Starsky sighed. "Is that offer of a ride still good?"

   "‘Course."

********

   Harry stood at the stove in his barren apartment and began to heat up some soup. He didn’t have to live quite so frugally, but he believed in reinvesting his profits. He began thinking of the punks who had come in earlier with the toasters. Probably shouldn’t have been so hard on ‘em, he thought. Over the years, Harry had spent a fair amount of time watching tearful old ladies part with trinkets to bail some good for nothing relative out of trouble. He never did understand people’s attachments to things. He didn’t care to keep anything in his sparsely furnished apartment. Maybe that was the reason he had adopted fencing as part of the bargain. Petty and not so petty thieves he could work with. Little old ladies left him with heartburn. And here he was sending the reliable people away. Harry laughed to himself. Well, if not reliable, at least regular.

   Just then the phone rang. Harry turned down the flame and reached for the handset. "Trask here."

   "Harry, it’s been a long time."

********

   The tow truck arrived fairly quickly. The young man who climbed out seemed none too happy to be there, so Starsky made a point of tipping him well. He seemed familiar, but the brunet couldn’t quite make the connection. The man assured the detective that he would secure the vehicle at Merle’s. Starsky glanced at the embroidered name patch on the man’s coveralls.

   "Thanks again, Cecil."

********

   "It sure has been a long time," replied Harry into the phone. "This just a social call, or you wanting something in particular."

   "Fine, Harry, we’ll keep it strictly business. You want that I should start calling you Mr. Trask?"

   "Get to the point, Yancey."

   "I’m not a real fan of Ma Bell, Harry. How ‘bout I come by the shop?"

   "Fine, drop by tomorrow a little after five."

********

   Hutch picked his partner up in the morning to head for work. The day was fairly uneventful and unfortunately for Starsky involved another round of paperwork. Just when their shift was about to end, the detectives were summoned to Captain Dobey’s office.

   Without waiting to be addressed, Starsky started in. "Cap’n, there can’t be anything wrong with the reports. You couldn’t even have had time to read ‘em yet."

   "Starsky, quit complaining and sit down. This isn’t about the reports." Dobey looked over to the blond. "You too. Take a seat."

   "Of course, Captain."

   "I’ve gotta pull two of Lt. Miller’s men off a stakeout so they can make a court date tomorrow and have their wits about them. I hate to ask you two to pull a double shift, but we’re short-handed and there isn’t any way around it."

   "What’s the situation?" asked Hutch.

   "There have been several reports of suspicious activity at the Algonquin Hotel."

   "Gee, no kidding, Cap’n. It’s a pretty well recognized flop house."

   "Starsky, don’t talk to me like I’m some damn nitwit. I know what kind of place it is."

   "Sorry, Cap’n."

   "We’re no longer talking about working girls servicing their johns. Seems like some small time arms dealers have moved in as well. I don’t want you busting anyone. I just want you to document what you see. People coming in and going out. Miller’s trying to compile a preliminary profile to take to the D.A. The objective is to make sure there is enough evidence to nail these bastards, whoever they are, before going to court. Got it?

   "Got it, Cap’n."

********

   Back at the hotel, Joey was getting restless. Tom said the plan was to lay low for a couple of days. More waiting. Definitely the downside of what was otherwise a promising profession, Joey thought. He tried distracting himself with TV, but the reception was worse than usual. After cursing and pounding the set a few times, Joey decided to go find some company. He drove downtown and decided to avail himself of the services of a local message parlor.

********

   Hutch pulled his battered LTD to the curb opposite the Algonquin and put it in park. He sighed as he took in the sights of the street. When he complained to Starsky about working in a toilet this was the scene he usually conjured up. Liquor stores and sex shops and urban decay. He looked over to see what Starsky was thinking, but his partner was busy trying to reach into the back from the passenger seat. After a few moments, Hutch had to ask.

   "Starsk, what are you doing?"

   "I’m trying to find the binoculars." He groaned and leaned further into the back seat. "I’m more likely to find a lost civilization. Don’t you think it’s about time you cleaned this damn rat-trap."

   "Show a little respect for my wheels, will you? You’re just cranky because you didn’t get to bring the tomato."

   "You just had to mention ‘wheels,’ didn’t you."

   "Hey, either way it makes more sense to take my car. The whole point of a successful stakeout is to blend in with one’s surroundings, to be a nondescript entity in a clearly delineated setting."

   Starsky had finally located the binoculars and fell back into his seat, sighing deeply. He looked at his partner. "Do you ever stop and listen to yourself?"

   "Fine, let’s just drop it."

   "No, I’m serious. Do you ever? ‘Cause from where I’m sitting it sounds like a whole lot of nonsense. The whole point of a stake-out is to catch the bad guys. Who — if God forbid they decide to make a break for it — will be long gone before we can catch ‘em in this heap."

   "Hey, we’re just a pair of eyes, remember? There aren’t going to be any high speed chases tonight."

********

   "What did you say your name was, honey?"

   "Joey. Hey, can you put out the cigarette? You’re making me nauseous with that thing."

   "Sure, honey."

   "That’s better. Joey looked around the room. "Damn. Sure is a cramped room they got you working in."

   "So you noticed it ain’t The Ritz."

   "Don’t go getting an attitude on me. It’s just an observation."

   "Well, I’d like to observe a little money changing hands."

   Joey sighed and put his money on the table. "Sure is a helluva way to make a living." He tried to get a better look at the woman, but the light was too dim to make out her face.

   "I have always relied on the kindness of strangers," she purred, putting on her best Blanche Dubois and stuffing the money into her purse.

   "What’s with the mouth full of South?" Ain’t you from Los Angeles?"

   "Yeah, honey. Just lost my head for a minute."

   What a weird broad, Joey thought. Probably a real double-bagger. That’s why the light’s so dim.

   "What you looking at, honey?"

   "Nothing."

   The hours passed slowly. The detectives kept notes on the people going in and out of the hotel, but it didn’t add up to anything that would be useful for the profile Dobey was talking about. After a lull in conversation, Starsky was first to break the silence.

   "I’m thinking of a number."

   "Starsky, I’m not playing this game."

   "All right, all right. How about famous lines from movies? Or at least lines from famous movies."

   "Oh, God. You’re just determined to make this night drag on forever, aren’t you?"

   "Just the opposite. Now, think of a line."

   Hutch sighed deeply and resigned himself to the guessing game. "You first. I’m so tired, my mind is mush."

   "Okay, gimme a minute."

   Hutch rolled his eyes and then looked through the binoculars.

   After a few moments Starsky jumped up. "I got one!"

   Hutch flinched and nearly dropped the binoculars. "Just hand me that thermos, will you!"

   "Geez, don’t ya think you’ve had enough caffeine for one night, Blondie? You’re mighty jumpy already."

   "Just give me the damn thermos."

   Starsky shrugged and handed the thermos to his partner. "See, I’m with a guy who don’t know where Wyoming is. You think you got problems?"

   "What?"

   "That’s the line. Name the movie. See, I’m with a guy —"

   "Yeah, I heard you the first time. What kind of line is that? I thought you said famous lines."

   "No, lines from famous movies. Well?"

   "I haven’t the vaguest idea."

   "Can’t you guess?"

   "I just told you I don’t know."

   "Sonny says it about Sal in Dog Day Afternoon. You know, with Al Pacino. The one about the bank heist in Brooklyn. Didn’t ya see it?"

   "No, Starsk, I didn’t see it. When I go to the movies I’m trying to escape reality, not get an extra helping."

   "Okay, fine. Your turn."

   "All right, I’ve got one. ‘I’d almost marry you if you’d leave me.’"

   "Sounds like a real winner."

   "Well, any guesses?"

   "Gimme a minute to think."

   "Tell you what. I’ll say another line, just to give you a fighting chance."

   "Oh, you saying I need a handicap?"

   "Fine, go on what I gave you."

   Starsky took the binoculars and scanned the street.

   "Okay," he said still surveying the block.

   "Okay, what?"

   "Okay, give me another line," said Starsky somewhat impatiently.

   "Are you sure?"

   "Are you gonna give me the line or what?"

   "This was your idea, you know. Do you want to stop playing?"

   "Is there any reason you are dragging this out?"

   "Do you always answer a question with a question?"

   "What are you talking about?"

   "That’s the line. ‘Do you always answer a question with a question?’"

   "Oh." Starsky was silent for a moment. "It doesn’t really make much sense, Hutch."

   "It makes just as much sense as your Wyoming line."

   "Yeah, but that line is pivotal."

   "I fail to see what’s pivotal about not knowing where Wyoming is? It sounds pretty damn stupid to me!"

   "Well, for your information that’s just the point. Ya see these two guys are pulling this bank job and they ain’t even thinkin’ ahead about where they’re gonna go or what they’re gonna do. Not like ‘I’d marry you if you’d leave me.’ That’s just silly."

   "I think it speaks volumes about relationships."

   "How much longer we got on this shift?"

   "You give up?"

   "Yeah, I give up."

   "Carnal Knowledge."

   "Carnal Knowledge? You’re supposed to pick a legitimate movie, not some skin flick!"

   "Oh for heaven’s sake, Starsky. It’s not a skin flick. It had Jack Nicholson in it. And Ann-Margaret. It dealt with fears of intimacy."

   "Certainly doesn’t sound like anything I’d want to sit through."

   "Come to think of it, there weren’t any car chases."

   "Yeah, well, I’d take The French Connection any day over that one."

   "Actually, there’s a Gene Hackman movie I really do like that’s more down your alley."

   "Yeah?"

   "Yeah, it’s called The Conversation."

   "I know that one. The surveillance guy, right?"

   "Yep."

   The two were quiet for a while, watching a street that held little activity. Starsky looked at his watch and realized they had two more hours to go. He was beginning to think he’d never stay awake.

   "I’m not afraid of death. I am afraid of murder," said the blond quietly.

   "WHAT?"

   "Just a line from the movie."

********

   The detectives were relieved by the next shift at two in the morning. They returned to Metropolitan Division to make a formal report of what they had seen, which was precious little. Since Dobey had assigned them the same shift the following evening, both men were anxious to head home and get some shut-eye. Hutch dropped his partner off and then headed for his own place. Starsky raided the refrigerator and after making a snack of some left-over pizza, he headed for the sack.

********

   Joey returned to his hotel room a little after 2:30 AM. He cursed as he fiddled with the lock and finally pushed the door open with an angry shove. As he did so, someone inside switched the light on. Joey immediately drew his gun and aimed it at a figure sitting in a chair across the room. Seeing it was Tom, he quickly lowered the gun and shut the door.

   "What’s the matter with you, man? You trying to get yourself killed?" he cried, running a hand through his hair.

   "I was getting worried, Joey. I called several times and you weren’t here. I finally decided to come check out the situation for myself."

   "Hey, man. You said nothing was gonna go down for a few days. You expect me to hang around in this dump?"

   "Yes, Joey, I do. Where were you?"

   Joey pointed his finger at Tom. "That’s none of your business!"

   Tom’s voice remained calm, but his eyes were daggers. "It damn well is my business, Joey. And if you put your finger in my face again, I’ll break it off." He paused and added: "No doubt you were entertaining a lady friend."

   "Yeah, and what if I was?" said Joey, but the anger was gone; he appeared defeated and sat down on the bed.

   Tom rose from the chair and headed towards the door.

   "I don’t care what you do on your own time, but right now you’re on a job. You’ve got a reputation as a real loose cannon, Joey. But you are going to work out just fine, regardless. If that means you’ve got to be holed up here for three days then that’s what you’ll do. I can’t be wondering where you are when we need to move. Do you understand me?"

   "Yeah, I understand you, boss man." He added under his breath: "A man’s got needs, ya know."

   "Keep it in your pants, Joey," said Tom as he left the hotel room.

********

   Starsky stirred and glanced at the clock. It was nearly 4 AM. He wondered what had woken him. He padded to the bathroom and reached for the door; it was locked. Terrific, he thought. Must have pressed the stupid button on the knob by accident. He moved on to the kitchen. Not wanting to face the harsh fluorescent light, he remained purposely in the dark and rummaged around in the drawer. As he tried to clear his foggy head, he began to wonder what exactly it was he was looking for. He quickly became aware of a new thought. A realization that he was not alone. He swung around and was facing the profile of a figure that appeared to be, well there was no other way to put it, shrouded. Starsky wanted to confront this thing in front of him, but he was unable to utter a word. Suddenly the figure turned towards him and spoke. It was more as if the words were emanating from some inner recess. "I’m not afraid of death. I am afraid of murder."

********

   Starsky awoke with a start. Taking a few moments to convince himself that he was still in bed, that he indeed had never left, he took a couple of deep breaths. Wait ‘till I see Hutch. I’m gonna kill him! He got up and tried the bathroom door; it opened easily at his touch.

********

   Merle was back at the garage early to open up. Cecil arrived a few minutes later, rubbing his eyes and sipping a cup of coffee from the local Donut King.

   "Damn, son, you’re looking mighty rough this morning. Looks like someone done ate your lunch and breakfast ain’t even over yet!"

   "Jesus, Merle, get off my case, will ya," said Cecil. He tried to appear annoyed, but he couldn’t help smiling. It was hard to get mad at the ol’ Earl. "So what assortment of fender-benders do we got today?"

   "Much against my better judgment I decided to work on Mason’s Camero."

   "Why do you bother with that filthbag? You don’t need the money that bad."

   "Tell me about it. The man’s always bringing that muscle car in here with a headlight missing, a bumper pushed in, and all kinds of trouble. And when I ask him about it, he never can keep his stories straight."

   "They’ve taken to calling that cat ‘Alibi Ike’ on the street. He don’t even know what the truth is anymore."

   Merle laughed heartily. "That sounds about right."

   "Then tell me why you put up with the grief."

   "Ah, well. Mason may be a bit of a doofus, but he’s a colorful doofus, and his money’s good. Though by the looks of his short this morning, it seems like he got himself in some deep doo-doo this time around."

   Cecil downed the rest of his coffee and tossed the cup in the trash. He headed for the Camero parked in the back. Merle called out to him. "Hey Cecil, keep an eye out for the delivery truck. I’ve got a pair of Mag wheels on special order."

********

   Mid-morning Starsky called his partner.

   "Hey, Gordo, what are you up to?"

   "I could kill you."

   "Well, and top o’ the morning to you too, Detective Sergeant Starsky."

   "What was with that ‘I’m afraid of murder’ crap you laid on me last night?"

   It took a minute for the phrase to register. "Are you talking about that stupid game? If I recall, you started it."

   "Well, I just wanted you to know that I had a nightmare about that damn line!"

   "Okay, level with me, partner. And I want the truth. Did you eat pizza before going to bed?"

   "That’s got nothing to do with it!" cried Starsky. But much to his chagrin, Hutch erupted in laughter.

   It took a few moments for Hutch to regain his composure. "I’ll pick you up at five."

   "Yeah," grumbled Starsky.

********

   "Sophie, would you get that, please," shouted an irritated Huggy as the phone reached its fifth ring. He was busy handing around lunch specials during the height of the noontime rush.

   "It’s for you, Hug."

   Huggy finished distributing his fare and headed for the bar. He absentmindedly threw a dishtowel over his shoulder and reached for the receiver.

   "Yeah?"

   "Gee, Hug, that’s a real nice greeting ya got there. Must do wonders for business."

   Huggy softened his voice a bit. "Sorry, Starsky, but you caught me at a pretty busy time."

   "Glad to hear trade is so good."

   "Well, I serve a mean chicken casserole on Thursdays."

   "Just like Ma used to make, huh?"

   "Hey, Ma ain’t never made no casserole like this here. Shoot, they come from miles around. But you didn’t call to discuss my plate lunches. What gives?"

   "Listen, Hug, two days ago when Hutch and I were at your place..."

   "Yeah?"

   "When we left, two of the tires on the Torino had been slashed. Just wanted to know if you had any ideas about who might think that was a funny joke."

   "Damn, Starsk, I was up to my ears in orders that night!"

   "Hey, Hug, it’s just a question."

   Huggy sighed. "Look man, I’m sorry about your car, but I ain’t heard nothin’ ‘bout no one trying to slash tires or piss off cops."

   "All right, thanks." Starsky hung up the phone and wondered if Huggy was being on the level with him. The next minute he chastised himself for the thought.

   As soon as Huggy got off the phone he called Merle’s.

   "Hey, Huggy, my man, I was just thinking about you and that chicken casserole of yours."

   "Say, Merle, how ‘bout you send Cecil over to pick up a couple of orders."

   "You got it, Hug."

********    

   Fifteen minutes later Cecil arrived at The Pits.

   "I need to talk to you, man," said Huggy as the young man approached the bar.

   "I’ll have your money in a few days, Hug. Merle’s been pretty cool with the overtime. I’m starting to get my head above water."

   "This ain’t about the money." Huggy paused and licked his lips. "I’m only gonna ask you this once and I want a straight answer."

   "Yeah, what’s that?" asked Cecil, growing wary.

   "Do you know anything about a certain detective’s car getting vandalized?"

   "Huh?... Oh, you mean that eyesore of a Torino? Yeah, I know all about it. I’m the sucker who had to tow that damn candy apple back to the garage. You shoulda heard the dude carrying on like it was his firstborn."

   "But you didn’t have nothing to do with it getting that way, right?"

   "Shit, Huggy. Those two really have you jumping through hoops for them. What, you’re gonna drop a dime on me now?"

   "You were pretty uptight that night."

   "Damn," said Cecil, his voice rising. I’m surprised you haven’t called the fuzz already to come bust my ass!" A few of the patrons turned around and eyed the two men curiously.

   "Take it easy, Cecil."

   "Take it easy? Man, I can’t believe you’d accuse me of this! What the hell’s the matter with you? You know when Butch and Sundance have gotten all they need from you, they’re gonna move on. But the people from the neighborhood will still be here. The same people who drink your beer and eat your food. The people who support this place."

   "All right, Cecil. I hear you. Let me pack up some lunches."

   "Screw you, man," said Cecil as he left the bar.

   "Damn," said Huggy under his breath.

   Hutch swung by Starsky’s place in the late afternoon and beeped the horn. A few minutes later the brunet emerged from his apartment and headed for the LTD. The first thing that Starsky noticed was the unmistakable smirk on his partner’s face.

   "So, feeling rested?"

   "I swear to God, you can ride a joke longer than anyone I know."

   "Ah, cheer up, Starsk. I thought of a whole bunch of material for the stakeout tonight."

   "Forget it, hot shot. I don’t need another meeting with the Grim Reaper."

   "I don’t know, Starsk, somebody could be trying to tell you something." Hutch tried to keep a straight face but was unsuccessful. He started up the car as he continued to snicker.

   "You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?"

********

   Shortly after five in the evening, Yancey arrived at Trask’s pawnshop. Harry let him in and secured the door.

   "Well, Harry, you haven’t changed much. And I must say that this dusty excuse of a shop hasn’t changed much either. How is the five-finger discount trade?"

   "Spare me the pleasantries, Yancey. What are you doing out here from New York?"

   "Got myself a new partnership. Me and Eddie. You remember Eddie, huh? We go way back to my boilermaker days. New York’s a little slow lately. We thought we’d make a go of it out here."

   "A go of what?"

   "Oh, this and that. Whatever the market will bear... or hire."

   "Forget I asked. What do you want?"

   "I’d like to know I’ve got a friendly depository for some goods in the next few days. Just storage. That’s all I’m asking. What do you say, Harry? Do you think we might could do some business?"

   "What’s in it for me?"

   "Two hundred for a couple days’ storage time and promise of more work in the future."

   "Very well."

********

   Bill Yancey entered the lobby of the Algonquin Hotel, casting a glance at the elderly man behind the desk. Some manager, thought Yancey, looking at the pile of peanut shells that surrounded the desk. He’d heard a few people refer to the old man as a circus geek. Yancey didn’t know what that meant and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He’d have to give this slumming scene the belt soon. It was definitely cramping his style.

   Yancey climbed the stairs to the fifth floor and headed for a room at the end of the hall. He was relieved to be moving his cache to Trask’s place. He knew Eddie liked his juice and he was beginning to think his buddy had started dropping a few too many hints to the locals. Yancey wanted to establish a reputation, but there was no sense in going gangbusters too soon. He pulled a few suitcases out from under the bed and viewed the high-powered weapons with satisfaction.

PART TWO