Sinjin

   Hutch spent the rest of the afternoon talking to the locals, but he didn’t get any more information. And he saw far more of the seedy living on the Strip than he cared to. Some of the people he approached tried to keep the detective talking out of sheer loneliness. When Starsky was with him, he helped to keep it all in perspective. When Hutch questioned people alone, he found it pretty depressing.

   Hutch arrived at The Pits to find Huggy in high spirits, but the partners’ most trusted informant hadn’t heard anything new. After leaving there, Hutch returned to the station.

   Starsky hadn’t been able to turn up anything on Bill Yancey. But he was happy to have avoided Dobey’s wrath for the better part of the day. He was anxious to get back on the streets but knew his partner and his Captain would be adamant about him following the doctor’s orders.

   The detectives met with Dobey briefly when Hutch returned but neither felt they had any strong leads.

   "Are you going to share the information we do manage to get with Miller, Captain?" asked Hutch.

   "Hey, I’m not looking to keep any secrets from the Lieutenant. But I don’t want him blowing his stack by finding out you were behind anything either, Hutchinson. If you do get something concrete, you let me handle it."

   "Okay, Cap’n," answered Starsky for his partner, rising from his chair.

   "You seem rather impatient."

   "Well, Cap’n. I do admit being cooped up in here all day can make a person pretty stir crazy. Besides, Hutch here has got a big date tonight."

   Hutch glared at his partner.

   Dobey just grumbled. "Well, unless you two have got something else, you’re free to go."

   "Nice going, Starsk," said Hutch once they had left the office.

   "Sorry, Blondie. I didn’t know it was a big secret."

   "It’s not a secret. It’s just, oh, never mind."

   "Has anyone ever told you how cute you are when you blush?"

   "I’m warning you, Starsky!"

   Starsky just chuckled. "Oh, take it easy. Hey, you better hurry home and get ready."

   Hutch glanced at his watch. "Yeah, got just enough time for a quick shower. I’m meeting Lauren at Mario’s at eight."

   "Pretty fancy. I ain’t been to that joint in ages. Did I ever tell you that place reminds me of of the place my grand—"

   "Yeah, you did. I’ll see you tomorrow, Starsk."

   "Sheesh," said Starsky to no one in particular after Hutch had left the squad room.

********

   Joey and Tom drove to Venice Place in Tom’s Cadillac at about six in the evening.

   "He ain’t seen this car, man. Make sure you park right in front."

   "Don’t worry, Joey."

   "Well, it’s bad enough we’ve gotta carry this joker down a flight of stairs. I don’t want to have to take any unnecessary steps."

   Tom parked the car near the entrance to the apartment and both men went inside. Tom had brought equipment to pick the lock, but out of habit and a bit of wishful thinking he did a cursory check for a doormat or a flowerpot. Then he ran his fingers along the top of the doorframe. He lowered his hand and showed what he had retrieved to Joey.

   "I don’t believe this," said Joey, flashing a big gap-toothed grin. "Looks like our luck is finally changing."

   Tom unlocked the door and replaced the key. "Now Joey, you stay in the bathroom. I’ll be in the bedroom."

   "Hutchinson may not be home for hours."

   "So, we wait."

   Joey headed straight for the refrigerator.

   "Joey, what the hell are you doing?"

   "Just ‘cause we’ve gotta wait don’t mean I’ve got to starve to death."

   "You should have eaten when you had the chance, instead of worrying about that stupid movie."

   Joey opened the door of the refrigerator and grimaced at what he saw. He grabbed a bottle and waved it in Tom’s direction. "Look at this, man! This dude actually has wheat germ." He scanned the shelves of the icebox. "And by the looks of it, not one damn decent thing to eat." Joey looked back at the container in his hand. "What does this joker think, that he’s gonna live forever?" Joey paused a minute and began laughing. "That’s pretty funny, man. Him thinking he’s going to live forever."

   "Yeah, Joey, the irony speaks volumes. Now put that thing back and get in the bathroom."

   Joey sighed and did as he was told. More waiting. He hated that.

********

   Hutch arrived home a little after seven. He entered the apartment, flipped on the light, and shut the door behind him. He took off his jacket and holster and tossed them onto the couch. As he turned to the bedroom, he sensed movement behind him. The door to the bathroom swung open and Joey flew out, driven more by adrenaline than by any specific plan of attack. He took a swing at Hutch, but the detective was able to dodge the blow and responded by catching Joey on the jaw. The young man flew backwards, taking a few plants with him on the descent to the floor. Wasting no time, Tom emerged from the bedroom and charged Hutch from behind. The last thing Hutch felt was a blow to the back of the head.

   "Well, you sure took your own sweet time," said Joey. He was still sitting on the floor amid the debris of wicker and potting soil and holding his chin in both hands. "That dude packs a helluva punch. Nearly broke my damn jaw."

   "Get up, Joey!"

   "All right, man. Give me a minute." Joey got himself to his feet and both men approached the detective. Tom reached down and rolled Hutch onto his back. He then picked him up under the arms and motioned for Joey to grab his legs. Tom managed to get the door closed to the apartment and together he and Joey carried Hutch down the stairs. Satisfied that no one was on the street, they hustled the detective out to the car and put him in the back seat.

   "Joey, you ride in back with him." Tom quickly got behind the wheel and pulled away from the curb. Reaching over to the glove compartment, he retrieved some rope and tossed it to Joey. "Tie him up good. I don’t want any unexpected incidents on the way to Foley’s."

********

   After leaving Trask’s Pawn Shop, Cecil returned to Merle’s and put in a few more hours’ work before heading home for the day. He was happy to have "put things right" as he termed it, and he padded his pocket several times throughout the day, reminding himself of the reclaimed jewelry. But his relief was somewhat marred by a disquieting feeling that he had stumbled across something at Trask’s place that was best left alone. He thought of mentioning what he had seen and heard to Merle but decided against it. In fact, he thought to himself, what actually had he seen and heard? Maybe it was something shady. Not hard to imagine in a pawn shop on that side of town. But Cecil realized the only thing that had really engaged his attention was the mention of the names Starsky and Hutchinson, the detectives that Huggy made a habit of keeping supplied in beer and pretzels. Well, he thought, the po-lice can take care of their own.

********

   Tim Delco picked up the phone and put it down several times. Finally he picked up the handset with resolve and dialed Lt. Miller’s number. He hoped to handle this on the phone, but Miller insisted on going to "the spot" to talk.

   Delco approached the Lieutenant quickly when his car arrived at the pier. He got right to the point. "I ain’t doing it, Miller. I ain’t taking a chance on getting mixed up with Foley again just to get you information."

   "Delco, I thought we understood each other."

   "I gave you a fair deal, Miller. And I held up my end. Linda’s cleaned up her act and it’s gonna be damn hard for you to stick anything on her. I’m calling an end to this arrangement right now." Delco returned to his vehicle without waiting for a response.

********

   At about 8:45 PM the phone in Starsky’s apartment rang. He was just getting out of the shower and was about to let it go but at the last moment he threw a towel on and grabbed the receiver by his bedside. "Starsky," he said, still in a work mode from a day spent at his desk.

   "Dave?" said a voice with some uncertainty at the other end.

   "Yeah. Who’s this?"

   "It’s Lauren Delaney. I’m sorry to bother you at home, but I was wondering if you knew where Ken was."

   "I thought he had a date with you tonight at Mario’s."

   "That was the plan. Only I’ve been here for nearly forty-five minutes and he hasn’t shown. I thought maybe he got held up. It was a more appealing idea than believing I’d been stood up. I tried calling his apartment a couple of times but there was no answer."

   "I’m going to head over to his apartment right now," said Starsky, his voice full of worry.

   His tone was not lost on Lauren. "Do you think something is wrong?"

   "Well, it ain’t like Hutch to stand up a pretty lady he’s been trying so damn hard to impress." Starsky took a deep breath to collect his thoughts. "Look, can you get home all right?"

   "Sure. What do you think happened, Dave?"

   "I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell going to find out."

   Starsky quickly got dressed and flew down the steps of his apartment. Dismissing the possibility that he was overreacting, he threw the gumball on top of the Torino and traveled at breakneck speed to Hutch’s pad. He noticed the LTD was parked outside. He took the steps at Venice Place two at a time and drew his weapon while outside the door, noticing that it was slightly ajar. Taking a moment to mentally prepare himself for whatever might be on the other side, he opened the door and surveyed the room. He noted the smashed plants and Hutch’s weapon on the couch in a single sweep of the livingroom. Starsky quickly checked out the rest of the apartment and concluded it was empty. Fighting a sense of rising panic, he grabbed the phone and called in Hutch’s disappearance to the Department. Then he called Captain Dobey at home. Cal answered the phone and Starsky tried his best to keep his voice calm as he asked the boy to put his father on the phone.

   "Dobey here."

   "Cap’n. Someone’s got Hutch."

   "Starsky? What are you talking about?"

   "He didn’t show up for his date, so I went to his apartment. By the looks of things here, he was taken by force."

   "Okay, son, calm down. Meet me at the station."

   Dobey gave Edith a look which conveyed that he would explain things later. He gave her a quick kiss and headed out the door. On the way to the station, he radioed ahead and asked to be patched through to Miller’s home.

   When Dobey reached the station, Starsky was already pacing nervously in his office.

   "Okay, what are you thinking on this one?"

   "Well, ruling out any number of scumbags that have a score to settle with me or Hutch, I can think of a few scenarios involving Miller’s cast of characters."

   "Like who?"

   "Monty Voorhees gave Hutch information about a gun dealer from New York who might be on the lookout for bigger and better things."

   "Is this from the Algonquin?"

   "Yeah, Cap’n."

   "Then why in the hell am I just hearing about this for the first time?"

   "I ran his name through the system, Cap’n. A Bill Yancey. Didn’t come up with a thing. But that’s not who I think is behind this."

   "Well?"

   "I think it’s got something to do with that guy from the Buick that Hutch was chasing last night."

   "Why are you so sure?"

   "Well, think about it, Cap’n. This guy spends half an hour at the Algonquin like he’s casing the joint and then he takes a detour to pick up a prostitute, leaving his partner behind? It doesn’t make sense. Unless it had nothing to do with the prostitute. Maybe he was just trying to get a closer look at us... or the car we were driving."

   At that moment, Miller entered Dobey’s office. Anticipating a dispute, Miller put forth a less than convincing show of bravado. "What’s going on, Captain?"

   "I’m hoping you can help us out with that one."

   "You told me you were taking your men off the Algonquin case. What’s Starsky doing here?"

   Starsky was in Miller’s face without missing a beat. "Your case may just be responsible for getting my partner kidnapped, so how’s about you drop the goddamn attitude and start cooperating!"

   "Call your detective off of me, Captain. I said CALL HIM OFF!"

   "STARSKY!" yelled Dobey.

   Starsky backed off, but slowly. And his smoldering midnight eyes never left the Lieutenant’s face.

   "Now, both of you, sit down!" barked Dobey. "It’s time to put everything on the table."

********

   Miller glared at Starsky. He had never particularly liked the detective. The Lieutenant considered him a cowboy of sorts who like to flout the system and he didn’t care for the sarcastic streak he had detected in the man’s partner. He’d never understand what Dobey saw in them and it was clear enough that in spite of all his professed gruffness, the Captain favored these two.

   The Lieutenant made a decision then and there not to reveal any more information than was necessary. He’d be cooperative to a point, but he wasn’t about to reveal that his ultimate mark was Foley. If there was still a chance of nailing a main player, he wasn’t about to tip his hand. It was going to be his bust, his way. He couldn’t imagine that Foley had anything to do with Hutchinson’s disappearance. God knows, he thought to himself, with the reputations they’ve developed on the streets, there’s probably a line of perps holding a grudge.

   Miller wasn’t prepared for the fact that one of the men that Delco had been unable or unwilling to name was called Bill Yancey and that Starsky had already put the man’s name in the computer to check for priors. He also wasn’t prepared for the fact that Monty Voorhees had given this information to Hutchinson when the weasel could only confirm to him that the men had used aliases. If Starsky got to this Yancey and his partner, he’d figure out the connection to Foley. And since the two men Starsky was convinced were involved with Hutchinson’s disappearance were last seen supposedly trying to make contact with them, there didn’t seem to be much chance of suggesting another scenario. But Miller was still unconvinced that Starsky was going to find his partner this way. He was convinced that his operation and hopes for promotion were in jeopardy.

********

   Hutch slowly became aware of a throbbing sensation in his head and the movement of a car. He tried to move but discovered that his hands were bound behind his back and that his legs were bound and twisted at an awkward angle. Hutch finally managed to open his eyes and looked up at Joey who was sitting in the back seat with him.

   "Where the hell are you taking me?"

   "You’ll find out soon enough, pig. Now shut up!"

   "Are you sure he’s secure, Joey?" asked Tom from the front.

   "He ain’t going nowhere."

   "I don’t know what all this is about, but —" began Hutch.

   "Joey, why do you always leave a job half done?" said Tom, with rising impatience. "There are some rags behind the front seat. Silence and blindfold him, will you please."

   Hutch tried to keep his voice calm and reason with Joey, but Joey only did as he was told with the rags and did so roughly. Hutch nearly gagged on the rag forced into his mouth and he concentrated on getting his breathing under control and fighting a wave of nausea. He wondered how long it would take for Starsky to figure out he was missing. Had Lauren contacted anyone or just figured that her date was a jerk? No, she would have called Starsky if only to tell him that his partner was a jerk. Wouldn’t she? What if these turkeys had plans to grab Starsky too? What if they already had? God, he felt so helpless.

********

   Cecil cursed out loud and decided to head for The Pits. He couldn’t imagine why the incident at Trask’s was bothering him so. He’d be damned if he cared about a couple of leeching cops.

   "Let me get this straight, Cecil," said Huggy when he had heard the story.

   "Look, man. That’s all I know. And I don’t even know what it means."

   "But you’re sure these dudes mentioned Starsky and Hutch by name?"

   "Yeah, I’m sure. And you do what you want with the information, but you leave my name out of it, you hear?"

   "Yeah, man. I don’t reveal my sources." Huggy looked closely at Cecil and smiled.

   "And don’t get any ideas, neither. I ain’t planning on becoming no snitch for the po-lice. I only did this so’s I can get a decent night’s sleep tonight."

   "Say no more, my man."

   As soon as Cecil left, Huggy tried calling Starsky’s apartment and then Hutch’s. When there was no answer at either place, he deliberated about calling the station. Figuring that leaving the information to a chance encounter with the detectives may not be the best idea, he contacted the Department. The call was patched through to Dobey’s office. After a brief exchange, Starsky hung up the phone and was on his feet.

   "Huggy may have some information about Hutch. I’m heading over there now."

   "Okay, Starsky. Make sure you keep me informed."

   "Right, Cap’n," said Starsky. Miller had risen to go as well and the detective nearly knocked him over in his hurry to leave the office.

********

   The ride seemed to drag on interminably. Hutch tried to listen for traffic patterns or any other sounds that would allow him to get a fix on the car’s location, but it was impossible. The driver had turned on the radio and had effectively drowned out any activity beyond the confines of the vehicle. It did seem as though the longer they traveled the fewer times the car slowed. But were they leaving the city? Perhaps they were on some secondary road beyond the metropolitan area. The car never seemed to have gathered enough momentum to be on the freeway. Hutch thought the joker on top of him must have been convinced he would try to escape. In spite of being tied up, blindfolded, and gagged, this Joey seemed intent on keeping him pinned to the back of the seat. The few times Hutch attempted to move just to prevent his limbs from falling asleep, Joey had leaned on him hard and shoved him back into his former position.

   Finally the car came to a complete halt. The driver switched off he radio and rolled down the window.

   "We’re expected," he said.

   The car began to move again slowly. Hutch detected a South American accent in the driver but did not recognize the voice. He hadn’t had the opportunity to get a good look at his face. He was struck by the growing suspicion, however, that his captors were simply delivery men.

   When the car next came to a full stop, Hutch sensed a flutter of movement around him. He felt Joey’s hands and then several other pairs pulling him from the back seat of the car.

   "You! Untie his legs!" came a command from an unfamiliar voice.

   "Okay, man, take it easy," said Joey as he undid the rope from around Hutch’s ankles.

   "We’ll take it from here. Max will show you two inside."

   Hutch next felt himself being half dragged and half carried. He tried to walk on his own, but his legs were so cramped they would barely support him. His escorts were silent but impatient. Suddenly Hutch felt himself being forced down a flight of stairs and perceived a cold, clammy sensation, as if he were in a damp basement. He was soon pushed into a chair and tied securely to it. The gag from his mouth was removed but not the blindfold. Hutch tried to communicate with the men, but they said nothing. He heard their retreating footsteps go up the stairs and he heard a door slam. He shivered involuntarily and wondered whether it was from the chill in the room or his own mounting fear.

********

   Starsky was the target of several cursing motorists as he gingerly navigated traffic to get to The Pits. Finding no time for legal parking, he left the Torino double parked and ran inside the bar.

   "Say, man," said Huggy. "Any reason you hung up on me? And where’s Blondie?"

   "Look, Huggy. Hutch is missing. Now I want to hear what you know and don’t leave anything out!"

   "Hutch is missing?! Are you kidding me?"

   "No, Huggy. I ain’t kidding you. Now what do you know?" Starsky was nearly yelling. He had gotten the attention of at least half the people in the place.

   Huggy reached out and grabbed Starsky’s shoulder. "Get a hold of yourself, Starsky!" he said, his eyes full of concern.

   "Huggy, I’m sorry. I’m just wired."

   "It’s okay, man. Dig. I got word that there are two heavy hitters in town and they’ve been talking to old man Trask down at his pawn shop. Seems you and Hutch came up in the conversation. One of these cats goes by the name of Bill Yancey. Word on the street is that he and his partner are a couple of ironworkers from Brooklyn looking to get into a new line of work, if you know what I mean."

   "Gun dealing?"

   "For starters, but the way I hear it, they’re looking for bigger action."

   "How do you figure?"

   "Well, Yancey’s partner is a worn out looking dude by the name of Eddie. He’s been in here a few times. That cat is one serious drinker. Lately he’s been asking a lot of questions, like he’s trying to get a handle on the neighborhood’s current events. I even told him to leave once. My customers don’t need the third degree."

   "He ever mention any names?"

   "Not that I recall. And I wouldn’t have put much stock in it at all until my friend, who shall remain nameless, gave me a description of these two guys at Trask’s place. Nailed this Eddie dude to a tee."

   "Guess you got no idea where they’d be now."

   "Nope, but I’d be willing to bet old Trask has got something to say."

   "Thanks, Hug," said Starsky. He squeezed Huggy’s arm and headed for the exit.

   "Hey, man. Keep me posted!" yelled Huggy.

********

   Starsky ran to the Torino and after gunning the motor, roared back into traffic, heading for Trask’s place. He and Hutch had had some dealings with the pawnshop owner before. Starsky recalled that although Trask could not be called voluntarily cooperative in former encounters, he did get decidedly nervous when words like "accessory" entered the dialogue. Trask might have managed to stay in business for so many years because he knew when to keep his mouth shut, but Starsky reasoned that he’d also developed a survivor’s sense of when to "spill it." Remembering the small apartment above the shop, Starsky pulled up in the back and used a rear set of stairs. He pounded on the apartment door and identified himself as a police officer.

   "Just a minute," came a voice from the other side and Starsky listened as heavy footsteps padded across the room.

   Trask opened the door tentatively and peered out. Starsky shoved against the door with all his might, sending the pawnshop owner reeling backwards.

   Regaining his balance, Trask began to bluster. "Just hold on a minute! You’ve got no cause to start in with the strong arm tactics."

   "Harry, as far as you’re concerned, this is my friendly demeanor. If you’d rather I got pissed off, I’d be more than happy to oblige."

   "Detective Starsky, isn’t it?"

   "You remembered, Harry. I’m flattered. But then I don’t imagine that steel-minded little trap of yours forgets much."

   "What do you want?"

   "The word is, Harry, that you’ve been cozy with a couple of ironworkers from Brooklyn that are trying to make a name for themselves in our fair city."

   "Whoever gave you that idea is a lying son of a —"

   Starsky’s response was swift and unforgiving. With one hand he pinned Trask against the wall, knocking the wind out of the man mid-sentence. "I’ve got no time and even less patience. If I were to go downstairs right now and have a look around, I bet I could find enough stolen merchandise to have you doing a nickel in the joint."

   "All right. All right. Just so they never find out it was me that told you."

   "That ain’t how I operate and you know it. Start talking."

   "The main guy — Bill Yancey — asked me if I’d provide some... storage space for him."

   "For what?"

   "For some weapons."

   "Nice squeaky-clean operation you’ve got going here."

   "Hey, this Yancey is a real piece of work. Rumored to have ties to the bentnose battalion back in Brooklyn. I wasn’t about to turn him down."

   "There’s no record on him in New York."

   "That just means they never proved anything. I heard he killed a guy back in ‘64 while working on the Verrazano Bridge. Shoved some poor bastard into the concrete as they were pouring a column. A favor for a union boss. He still wears the medallion he got for working on that job like a goddamned medal of honor."

   "So why’d he come out here?"

   "Knees went bad, apparently. Couldn’t climb the iron anymore. And I think there were a few people back East that were getting a little nervous with him hanging around, so he decided to freelance out here," Trask snickered. "He came out here with a pal of his named Eddie. Don’t know about him, though. Yancey never let him talk much."

   "I’d like to know when me and my partner came up in the conversation."

   "Yancey and Eddie got nervous that they were being watched at the Algonquin. The circus geek that manages the place put the make on you two. They came over here to give me grief about the way I was storing their merchandise... And they said something about being for hire."

   "Who’s supposed to take the fall?"

   "You gotta be kidding?" said Trask, rubbing the stubble of his beard. "They didn’t offer and I didn’t ask."

   "But you know where they’re staying?"

   Trask hesitated just long enough for Starsky to realize that the answer was yes.

   "Now’s not the time to shoot yourself in the foot, Harry."

   Trask sighed deeply. "As far as I know, the Fairfax on Tremont."

   "Much obliged, Harry."

********

   Hutch didn’t know how much time had passed, but it seemed to be several hours. At last he heard the door open and a number of footsteps descending the staircase. The detective was still blindfolded and bound tightly to the chair. "What’s going on?" he asked, trying to keep any trace of fear out of his voice.

   But no one answered him. Hutch heard scraping sounds as if some sort of equipment were being set up, but he couldn’t figure out what was happening. Next he heard clicking noises that sounded like switches and felt the heat of bright lights on his face.

   "Talk to me! What the hell do you want?"

   "Shut up, pig!" said a gruff voice. The utterance was followed by a punch to Hutch’s jaw which sent the blond’s head snapping back.

   "Hey, Manny, don’t waste any moves! We’re not even rolling yet."

   "I don’t mind telling you this turns my stomach," came the gruff voice again. "I don’t mind wasting some deadbeat cop, but I sure as hell ain’t putting myself on camera doing it."

   "Don’t worry. Foley wants to star in his own show."

********

   Tom and Joey sat in D’Angelo’s Diner. Joey was fidgeting in his seat and quickly emptying his third beer.

   "Slow it down, Joey. If there’s anything I won’t tolerate, it’s a person who can’t hold his liquor."

   "I can hold my liquor just fine. But is there any reason we keep coming back to this dump? The food stinks and the waitresses are all ball-busters."

   "If you’d stop trying to chat them up, we’d get better service."

   "Very funny, smart man."

   "Finish your beer. We’ve got work to do."

********

   Once Starsky had left, Trask briefly considered calling the Fairfax to warn Bill and Eddie. The idea was fleeting. The two obviously didn’t have much of a future on the West Coast and so Trask figured it was best to cut his losses.

********

   Joey and Tom left D’Angelo’s Diner at about 10 PM. Tom slipped in behind the wheel of the Cadillac and pulled slowly into traffic.

   "Okay, so it’s going down at 12:30. I figure it shouldn’t take more than ten minutes."

   "It’ll take as long as it takes, Joey."

   "And how do we handle the payment?"

   "Foley’s man, Max, is going to meet us at that bar downtown, The Blue Note."

   "I wonder why he picked that place. It’s a real dive, featuring some nasty gutbucket jazz."

   "Didn’t know you were a music connoisseur, Joey."

   "There’s a whole helluva lot about me you don’t know, smart man."

********

   Max and Mr. Foley sat in the study at the mansion. Although Max was apprehensive about orchestrating a double hit involving four hired guns, he was even more jumpy about the situation in the basement. He had tried every conceivable way to talk his boss out of both arrangements, but to no avail. It was a delicate balance between pressing home his points and avoiding raising Mr. Foley’s ire. What Max really wanted to do was tell his boss that these mechanics were simply amateurs that posed no threat to Foley’s operations. And that sending a message through them was a wasteful gesture. About the snuff films... well, Max just found that whole business distasteful — no — disgusting. But how could he tell his employer the man’s extra-curricular behavior made his skin crawl? Mr. Foley interrupted Max’s thoughts.

   "If you have nothing further, Max, I have some business to attend to downstairs."

   "No, Mr. Foley. I have nothing further."

   Foley stopped by the wet bar to fix himself a stiff martini. No one on his staff mixed them properly and he wanted everything to go smoothly this evening. He took a sip and judging the cocktail to be satisfactory, he left the study and proceeded to the basement.

********

   Hutch heard yet another set of footsteps making their way down the stairs. The chill he had felt for the past hour was replaced with sweat under the intensity of the bright lights. The detective was still blindfolded, but he could piece together the strange scenario he was in by the talk of the men in the room. And the news that a gangland boss like Foley was involved did little to calm his nerves. That line from The Conversation came back to him. "I’m not afraid of death, but I am afraid of murder." Hell, he wasn’t too keen on either one. Hutch tried to weigh his options. They certainly weren’t coming out in his favor no matter how he stacked the deck. Assuming Starsky had figured out he was in trouble from having missed his date with Lauren, his partner would be looking for him. But would he even know where to start? And what did Foley have to do with the two-bit hoods that had nabbed him at the apartment? His more immediate concern was surviving what threatened to be a show of violence captured on film. Although he didn’t want to consciously embrace the idea of what he figured was about to unfold in this basement, Hutch knew all too well what was in store for him. His mind became a jumble of seemingly disconnected thoughts. God, don’t let Starsky be the one to find me if I don’t make it. It’ll kill him. Followed by... If I’ve got to go let me not give this sick bastard any satisfaction by seeing me suffer. Give me the strength to curse him out until the end. Followed by... a flash of things and places he’d always wanted to see. Hell, he thought, what I wouldn’t give for one more ride in that damned striped tomato.

   "Everything up to speed, boys?"

   "Yes, Mr. Foley," answered an anonymous voice.

   "Remember, this ain’t about reviewing the dailies. We get this one on the first take."

   Foley walked behind Hutch and removed his blindfold. More than one man in the room flinched. Knowing full well the subject of these films never survived didn’t seem to make the unveiling any easier for Foley’s cohorts. The fact that this was a cop — and not just some homeless guy off the streets — just increased the collective tension.

   With the blindfold gone, Hutch struggled to adjust his eyes to the harsh lighting and survey the room. Seven henchmen plus Foley. Damn. He was at a loss for words.

   "Detective Hutchinson," began Foley. "Let’s not have dead air." Foley laughed a deep, throaty laugh at his own comment. It was not echoed by the others in the room. He turned to them rather disapprovingly.

   "Gentlemen, let this not be a mirthless set." With that he came around Hutch and hit him in the face. Hutch spit out some blood in the wake of the blow and turned to Foley with mocking eyes.

   "Is that the best you can do? Taking a swing at a man tied to a chair. I’ll tell you, Foley, that ain’t gonna make very good copy."

   Foley laughed heartily again. "Don’t worry, my friend. I always make cinematic wonders. They never disappoint."

********

   Starsky parked the Torino outside of the Fairfax and approached the night manager. As the detective peered into the face of the toupee-wearing, bad-breathed, shifty-eyed character across the desk, he noted that this city seemed to suffer no shortage of flea bag hotels or frightening looking staff. He flashed his badge.

   "Bill Yancey. The dude who wears the medallion. What room?"

   The manager offered no resistance. He seemed almost eager. "Room 208. But they ain’t been here since this morning." He was quick to add, "But they usually check in for phone messages around midnight."

   Starsky made no bones about giving this man a good look up and down. "You certainly are a pleasure to talk to, Mr..."

   "The name’s Roscoe. And yeah, I don’t mind telling you, I got no love for those two, man."

   "Yeah? Why’s that?"

   "They treat me like dirt, that’s why. The two of them. Got this swagger about them, ya know. Typical New Yorkers. And I don’t mind telling you — I don’t care for the breed."

   Had Starsky not been worried about his partner, he might have smiled at the comment. As it was he thanked Roscoe for the information and returned to the Torino to wait. He radioed Headquarters and told Dobey of his plans. Starsky insisted on no backup. The detective didn’t want to take the chance on spooking these two before he got his hands on them. He hoped they would be true to their habit and return to check messages at midnight. Starsky tried to be patient as he sat in his car scanning the streets. But he couldn’t help but feel that he was losing valuable time.

********

   Foley took another sip of his martini and studied the detective who was bound to the chair before him. The cop was going to be a challenge. Fair enough. They had time. All the time in the world.

   Hutch watched Foley in return. The first thing that he noticed was that the man’s eyes were cold and dead. It was unnerving. Perhaps it was naive to believe one could judge a person by his eyes. Maybe that window to the soul stuff just sounded good when set to music. But the sight of those eyes was enough to convince Hutch that talking Foley out of his plan was probably futile.

   Hutch thought about the other times when he had been held against his will. With Forrest and his goons it had been an uphill battle. But he had held onto to the hope that he was protecting Jeannie. He’d had information that they wanted. And he knew well enough that they wouldn’t kill him while he still held onto it. He thought about being trapped in his car in the canyon. He had clung to the belief that the old Colonel would come around and take his ID to Starsky at Headquarters. But in this situation there was nothing to bargain for or with. Foley didn’t want anything from him. It wasn’t about revenge. And aside from some ill feelings the man felt about cops in general, it wasn’t even personal.

   Foley took another sip of his martini and walked slowly around the detective. It was almost as if he were exploring the best camera angles. Hutch thought idly that Foley might fix himself a few martinis, get drunk, and lose interest in the plot. But that seemed unlikely. If anything, Foley’s movements seemed quicker and sharper as a result of the drink. Terrific, thought the blond. The expression reminded him of his partner. Oh God, Starsk. How do I play this one?

   Starsky looked at his watch. It was nearly 11 PM. He began to drum on the steering wheel out of impatience and frustration. He played back the events of the day, searching for something he’d missed. After a few minutes he grabbed the radio.

   "This is Zebra Three. Patch me through to Captain Dobey."

   After a brief pause, a gruff voice came over the airwaves. "Dobey."

   "Cap’n. Where’s Miller?"

   "He left about an hour ago. Why?"

   "What do you know about the case he’s building for the D.A.?"

   "Only that he wants to go into court with rock solid evidence."

   "Yeah, but who are the real players in the game? Why is he so concerned about this case?"

   "Miller’s that way with every case. He’s a stickler for details and I can’t say it’s a bad way to be."

   There was a pause and then Starsky continued. "I ain’t buying it, Cap’n."

   "What do you mean you ‘ain’t buying it?’"

   "Miller wouldn’t be this apprehensive about a coupla guys from Brooklyn with no histories unless..."

   "Unless what?"

   Just then Starsky caught sight of two men heading towards the Fairfax. "Hold on a minute, Cap’n."

   "Starsky?"

   As the men passed under a streetlight, something around the neck of one of them glistened. Starsky squinted to get a better look. Convinced it was the medallion he opened the door to the Torino quietly, but quickly.

   "Starsky! What’s going on?" came Dobey’s irate voice over the radio. But Starsky was already gone.

********

   Foley drained the martini and set the empty glass down. Then he walked very deliberately back to where Hutch was sitting and putting his hands on his chest, gave him a violent shove, sending the detective flying backwards. There was nothing Hutch could do to cushion the fall, but he managed to keep his head from hitting the concrete. He felt lucky not to have broken his back, though it took the blond a good half minute to get his wind back. Hutch caught sight of Foley motioning to one of the men behind the camera. He then turned back to the detective who lay on the floor and began to kick him mercilessly.

   Hutch was sure that at least a few ribs were being cracked if not broken. The pain was intense, but he was determined not to cry out. He just gritted his teeth and tried to force his mind to dwell on other things: the ocean, his guitar, joking around with Starsky. Yet the throbbing in his chest would not let Hutch escape from the present situation. Suddenly Foley stopped and backed up a few feet. Hutch looked up at the man, trying to keep his breathing steady.

   Foley turned to one of the men behind him. "Manny, untie him."

   Hutch wasn’t sure what had prompted this decision. Was Foley going to make this a fair fight? At the thought, Hutch laughed bitterly to himself. Yeah, locked in a basement with eight bad guys. Fair wasn’t part of the rule book.

   Manny untied the detective and pulled the chair away from him, shoving him back to the floor.

   "Get up!" yelled Foley.

   Hutch painfully raised himself to a sitting position.

   "I said GET UP!"

   Damn, thought Hutch. I’ve got one good punch for this turkey and I’m sure as hell gonna lay it on him while I’ve still got the strength. He slowly got to a standing position, driven forward by a single sense of purpose. Hutch’s plan was to lure Foley forward by beginning to reel on his feet. To his dismay, it was hardly an act. He summoned all his might and willed himself to remain standing. Foley did indeed approach the detective, not realizing the fury that was about to be unleashed upon him. As soon as Foley was in range, Hutch lunged forward with a lightening punch to the jaw. As the man reeled from the blow, the blond delivered a quick combination to his mid-section. Foley went down in a heap.

   But retribution was swift. As Manny leapt to the side of his boss to revive him, three other men moved towards Hutch. The first one to reach the detective threw him against the wall and the other two began to pummel him. Hutch was able to get in a few punches, but he was quickly overwhelmed by the bitterly sustained attack of the henchmen. He soon lost consciousness and the men stood back allowing him to slide to the floor.

   About this time, Manny had managed to sufficiently revive his boss for the man to realize what had transpired. Foley angrily wrenched himself free from Manny’s grip and began to yell. "YOU IDIOTS! You’re not supposed to kill him all at once!"

   "Take it easy, Mr. Foley!"

   "Take it easy, hell!" He looked wildly around the room. "You," he said, pointing to one of the men. "Go tell Max to fix me a drink." The man quickly ran up the stairs. Foley looked over to the fallen detective and then back to Manny. "And you! When I get back down here I want him back among the living. We aren’t done here yet!" Foley turned towards the stairs and stumbled. Manny rushed to his boss’s side, but Foley waved him away. "I’ll be fine. Just do as I say!" With that Foley staggered up the stairs and slammed the door behind him.

   As Manny walked towards the detective, he heard rumblings of dissent from the men behind him. He wheeled around to nip it in the bud. "Johnson," he called to one of them, "you got something to say?"

   "Listen, Manny, how about we put away the cameras and just finish the poor bastard off. Just tell Mr. Foley he died. He’ll never know."

   "You listen to me, Johnson. And that goes for the rest of you! We’re all into this up to our necks. If Mr. Foley doesn’t get the film he wants, we all stand to get burned one way or another. So I suggest the lot of you keep your mouths shut and play the game. Mr. Foley’s a generous man. He’ll pay you amply for your cooperation."

   Manny approached the detective. Finding a pulse, he reached into his pocket for some smelling salts. One of the men swore under his breath and Manny glared at him. He turned back to Hutch and tried to revive him. It took a minute, but Hutch finally began to cough and to come around. He didn’t see Foley and wondered if he’d inflected enough damage to end the film project, but the blond quickly surmised that he was simply being brought to for another round. As Hutch became fully conscious, he bit back a groan and then wondered just who he was trying to impress. Manny grabbed Hutch’s shoulders roughly and sat him up against the wall. Seizing the opportunity to talk without Foley in the room, Hutch turned to Manny.

   "Right now it’s only assaulting an officer." More like attempted murder, thought Hutch.

   "It doesn’t have to go any further. I know this is all Foley’s idea."

   "Shut up, pig! I don’t like being lectured to by dead men!"

   The detective turned towards the others. "You’re all willing to go down for this?"

   "Hey, cop!" yelled Manny. "You hard of hearing? I’m gonna do a number on you myself if you don’t shut up!"

   Hutch pressed on figuring there was nothing to lose and maybe the promise of some dissension in the ranks. It hurt like hell to breathe, but he tried to keep his voice steady and hopefully convincing. "Whatever Foley’s paying you for this, it ain’t worth it."

   "That’s it!" yelled Manny. He grabbed the rag that was discarded earlier and gagged the detective. Hutch struggled to catch his breath and squeezed his eyes tight to get a handle on the pain. When he opened them, he caught sight of a slightly shaky Foley making his way down the stairs.

PART FIVE