This story was written for entertainment purposes only and was not intended to infringe upon the rights of the creators nor actors of the Starsky and Hutch characters. Comments on this story can be sent to: TibbieB@yahoo.com

GUARDIAN

by

Tibbie B
December 1999

Chapter 1

Starsky revved the engine of the Torino and honked the horn again. Patience had never been one of his virtues, and this morning his partner was pushing him to the limit. Usually, Starsky was the one on the receiving end of a tongue lashing for tardiness. He had no doubt that when they reported in late to Captain Dobey, he'd automatically assume Starsky was the culprit.

Dobey hadn't sounded in the greatest of moods when he called Starsky and woke him an hour ago. He'd made it clear that he expected both detectives in his office on time, not fifteen minutes late, not even five minutes late. There was a shortage of available law enforcement personnel due to the flu epidemic sweeping LA, and every able officer was expected to take up the slack until the crisis passed. This was supposed to be their day off, so Starsky understood why Hutch was running late. He'd probably gotten in from his date only a couple of hours ago, and most likely had barely had time for a shower and shave.

Just as Starsky decided to turn off the engine and go roust out his partner, Hutch dashed out the door, slamming it hard as he ran toward the Torino. He didn't look happy when he opened the door and hopped in on the passenger's side.

"Mornin', Sleepin' Beauty," Starsky said, pulling away from the curb and easing the Torino into the traffic flow.

"Spare me the humor. I'm in no mood," Hutch grumbled, buttoning his shirt as the car picked up speed.

So much for the niceties. "Not my fault half the LAPD is out with the flu," Starsky grumbled right back. "Think I wanna spend my day off with a grouch like you?"

He tossed a fresh bakery bag onto Hutch's lap. "Shut up and eat your bagel."

Hutch smiled, despite himself. He knew Starsky had gone three miles out of his way to stop at the deli that carried Hutch's favorite whole-wheat bagels.

"Coffee's in the thermos," Starsky added.

"Look, Starsk, sorry I growled at you, but dammit, I'm tired—I only got an hour's sleep." Hutch unscrewed the lid of the thermos, poured the steaming coffee into a Styrofoam cup, and handed it to Starsky before pouring a cup for himself.

"Yeah, but I bet she was worth it," Starsky teased.

"Well, yeah—you could say that." A wicked little smile tugged at Hutch's lips as he thought about the passionate night he'd spent with Marlene, a beautiful, uninhibited, long-legged stewardess who always made a point of calling him when she was in town. She'd still been cozily nestled in his bed when he left the house minutes ago. Before Starsky's unwelcome wake-up call, Hutch had looked forward to a leisurely breakfast and a lazy day with the saucy little red-head.

"So, what's up? Dobey say what's so important we have to come in on our first day off in two weeks?"

"Just that McNay, Whitley and Mills all called in sick this mornin' and that the arsonist hit again last night. I think he's gonna assign us to the case. Mills and Whitley have gotten nowhere on it. He said the Commissioner is breathin' down his neck."

"They must have hit someone with connections last night. Guess we'll know soon enough." Hutch had barely finished the last bite of his bagel when Starsky pulled into the parking garage at the station.

Starsky glanced at his watch and knew they were in for a lecture. "Damn, Dobey said don't be late." They took the stairs two at a time, hurrying to meet with their Captain. "Hutch, did you pick up my jacket at the cleaners like I asked? You know I may need it this weekend if Julia has a stop-over here."

"Yes. I said I would, didn't I? Why don't you get a dry cleaners closer to your place?"

Captain Dobey sat at his desk, overwhelmed by the mountain of paperwork which continued to grow daily, with no end in sight. It was bad enough that half his people were out sick, now he wasn't feeling so great himself, and the Commissioner had threatened to have his head if this arson case didn't break soon.

He'd never admit it, but he hated like hell calling Starsky and Hutch in today. He knew they'd been burning the candle at both ends, giving more than one hundred percent; and he knew they needed a break. But they were his best detectives, so he had no choice. With a short, loud rap on the door, the two young men strolled into Dobey's office and dropped into their usual seats without waiting for an invitation.

"Make yourselves at home," Dobey said, with the characteristic sarcasm he routinely used to maintain his hard-nose image with these two.

"Mornin', Cap'n," Starsky said for them both. Hutch, who looked like he hadn't slept in days, sat quietly nursing a cup of coffee.

"Good morning. I know today was supposed to be your day off, but I haven't had a day off myself in three weeks, so don't expect any sympathy from me." Dobey snapped, punctuating it with his most stern look before continuing.

"Like I told you on the phone Starsky, the arsonist hit again last night. As you know, until now, he'd only torched warehouses, two of which were abandoned. The third was full of expensive fur coats."

"Cap'n, we aren't arson investigators. I don't know what we can do any different than the team you already have on the case."

"Don't interrupt me Starsky!" Dobey barked. "Last night, they hit a jewelry store, and the retired cop working there as a night watchman was killed. So now, we're dealing with a homicide." Dobey tugged at his tie, loosening it a little before continuing.

"The store was owned by Frank Bradley, who also owned the furrier—and just happens to be friends with Councilman Marvin Gibbons."

"So the good Councilman called the Commissioner, right?" Hutch volunteered.

"That's right. Now, I had my butt chewed out early this morning, and I don't plan to let it happen again. Whitley and Mills have been working with the Fire Marshall on this case two weeks and have nothing. Not a single lead. So I'm reassigning the case to you as of this moment. Whether Jones' death was intentional or not, it's a homicide, and you two are going to handle it." Dobey picked up a file and handed it across the desk to Hutch.

"This is all we have. Just a few statements from people they interviewed in the immediate area. Of course, the fires took place in the middle of the night, and there were no witnesses. If the guard had made it, he might have been able to help us. We're waiting on the autopsy now to find out if he died from the fire or was murdered before the building was torched."

"How about the jewelry store security system?" Starsky asked. "No cameras?"

"The report from the officer who answered the call is not in here yet. Murdock's out there typing it up right now. I suggest you two start with him. And I want results, so get on it now!"

Following Captain Dobey's instructions, Starsky and Hutch met with Officer Murdock and got a first-hand account of what he'd found at the crime scene earlier that morning. Unfortunately, it amounted to nothing of much use. Their hopes that the security camera may provide a lead didn't pan out. Apparently, the cameras were disabled before the perpetrator entered the store. The tapes showed a black screen beginning an hour and ten minutes before the silent alarm went off and alerted police.

While Hutch scrutinized the files on the three previous fires, trying to find similarities which may indicate a pattern, Starsky sweet-talked Minnie into pulling the records on all the unsolved arson cases that had occurred in their district over the last six months. Once he had her working on that assignment, he went down to the lab to see if Murray had come up with anything useful from the samples the crime lab boys had collected that morning. There he found out that the Fire Marshall had dispatched a team of arson technicians who were going over the jewelry store with a fine-tooth comb. He didn’t bother checking on the autopsy. It was too early to expect results there.

Both guys hated this nit-picky part of the job, but knew it had to be done before they could hit the streets and start pumping their sources for information. As partners, they'd worked this same routine countless times. It wasn't even necessary to talk about who would do what. They just did it. And by noon, they were on their way to the scene of the fur warehouse fire. Hutch was briefing his partner on what he'd found in the files when the dispatcher's voice sounded over the radio.

"All units, all units in the vicinity of 12th and Montreal, we have a 10-57, shots fired. Any units in the vicinity of 12th and Montreal please respond."

"That's near Slick Willie's place," Hutch said, lifting the mic to answer.

"Control, this is Zebra Three, we are responding. Current location Montreal and 5th. Do you have an address?"

"Possibly 1236, Montreal. Unconfirmed, Zebra Three."

"That's his address," Starsky said. He hit the gas and made a sharp left turn as Hutch slapped the red bubble on the rooftop of the Torino. Slick Willie was a small time drug dealer they'd busted twice before. They'd heard he was out on parole now, but he never stayed out of jail long. Just last week, Hutch had spotted him outside Huggy's arguing with a sleazy looking guy Hutch had never seen before.

Starsky brought the car to a screeching halt in front of a run-down 1940's bungalow just as another round was fired inside the house. Both detectives pulled their weapons and ducked out of sight. Hutch snatched the radio mic to the floorboard as he went.

"Control, this is Zebra Three, we are on location at 1236 Montreal. Shots fired from within the residence. At least one shooter on the scene—"

"Cover me," Starsky said, throwing open the door of the Torino and dropping to the ground as he rolled out of the car. Knowing Starsky wouldn't wait for back-up, Hutch dropped the mic and scrambled across the front seat, positioning himself behind Starsky's door. From there he had a clear shot at the house. Starsky crouched low as he ran toward the bungalow in a zigzag pattern, not stopping until he reached the outside wall on the east side. No further sounds came from inside the house.

Hutch anxiously watched the windows and back door for signs of movement. Still nothing. Cautiously, Starsky inched his way toward the back door, and once in position, he motioned for Hutch to join him. Following the same pattern his partner had used, Hutch quickly made his way to the house and flattened his body against the wall on the opposite side of the door where Starsky was waiting.

Once Hutch was in place, Starsky made his move. "Police! Lay down your weapons and come out!" he shouted as he rapped loudly on the door with the gun barrel. No response. Starsky nodded to Hutch, and then, on the silent count of three, they quickly entered through the open back door in tandem; as always, with weapons aimed forward, Hutch went high, swinging from left to right, while Starsky went low, from right to left.

Lying on the floor in a pool of blood was Slick Willie and the man Hutch had seen him with at Huggy's. Both were bleeding from gunshot wounds to the chest; each still had his weapon clinched in his fist. The two detectives scanned the room for a possible third shooter, but saw no one.

"I'll go this way," Starsky said, heading for the left side of the house. Hutch automatically headed for the right.

Silently and methodically, they searched the bungalow, then met back in the kitchen. On the floor around the two bodies, were the spilled contents of a clear plastic bag—a light film of white cocaine powder—evidence of a drug deal gone bad.

Satisfied they were alone, Starsky returned the Smith & Wesson to the holster, and squatted down to check both of the bleeding men for a pulse; as he expected, they were already dead. Hutch shook his head in resignation at a scene they saw all too often. "Looks like Willie and his new friend had a slight disagreement."

Hutch holstered his gun then picked up the telephone to report in and request a coroner's wagon. While he was doing that, Starsky searched the area for clues to find out exactly what had gone down. He was careful not to disturb anything before the crime lab team arrived.

Hutch had just hung up the telephone when he heard a faint scratching sound in the back bedroom. Starsky looked over at Hutch, a quizzical expression on his face. Hutch nodded affirmation that he'd heard it too. Quietly, they drew their guns and crept back down the hallway to the bedroom. Outside the door, they stood silently listening. After only a few seconds, they heard it again. On Hutch's signal, Starsky kicked the door open and they both entered the room in the same fashion they had entered the house minutes earlier.

Sticking halfway out from beneath a dilapidated cot in the far corner of the room was a scruffy looking dog, ears laid back, and his eyes expressing sheer terror. Instantly, he tried to retreat beneath the bed, but seemed to be stuck and couldn't move in any direction.

"Aw, jeez, dog, that's a good way to get yourself shot," Starsky said, still holding the Smith and Wesson in front of him. Hutch lowered his own gun, then reached over and laid his hand on Starsky's and lowered it as well.

"Starsk, I don't think he wants to hurt us. Look at him, he's scared to death. I don't think he's even fully grown." Hutch approached the trembling dog slowly, then knelt down to the animals level, and spoke to him softly.

"Hey, there, boy. You okay? We won't hurt you." The dog's ears perked up momentarily then dropped back flat against his head again. "You're scaring him, Starsk. Come and kneel down here next to me so he doesn't see you as a threat."

"No way. You know me and dogs, Hutch. Oil and water. It's not that I'm scared of 'em or nothin'," he was quick to add . "But I can't say I've ever been on real friendly terms with one, either."

Hutch knew this was true. During the time they'd been partners, Hutch could remember a couple of instances where Starsky had nearly lost the seat of his britches when they were being chased by guard dogs.

"Starsk, you can't judge all dogs by that crazy Doberman of Annie Oats'."

"Oh yeah? Well, how about those bad-boys that tried to make chop suey outta both of us at Thorne's Estate on Playboy Island?"

"Listen to me. I grew up with dogs, and most of them are friendly, even affectionate. You've had the bad luck to run into a few aggressive ones." Hutch felt naturally comfortable with dogs. He moved forward a little, speaking softly as he neared the frightened pup.

"Not too close, Hutch."

"It's okay. Come on out boy. You need some help?" Hutch continued inching forward until he was within reach of the dog. He offered his hand, palm up, as a non-threatening gesture. At first the puppy pulled back, but Hutch sat there quietly waiting, and finally the dog stretched out his neck and sniffed Hutch's hand. After a second or two, his ears lifted a little, and his pink tongue darted out to lick Hutch's fingers.

"That's a boy," Hutch said, smiling at the pup. He took advantage of the moment and gently stroked the puppy's head, then scratched his ears, speaking in a soothing voice the whole time. "Come on, fella, let me help you out of there." Hutch took hold of the dog around the shoulders, rotated him on his side, and then gently pulled him from beneath the raggedy bed. Starsky quickly retreated to the open door. "That's right, boy," Hutch said as the puppy inched closer to him, tail wagging submissively.

"Come on Hutch, he could have rabies or somethin'. Watch yourself." Starsky nervously shifted from one foot to the other.

"Oh, God," Hutch whispered. "Starsk, take a look at this,"

"What? Just tell me. I don't need to come over there."

"No, come here. You've got to see this." Finally, Starsky relented and reluctantly came toward Hutch and the pup. Instantly, the dog tried to retreat beneath the bed again, but Hutch blocked his way. Starsky knelt down beside his partner to see what he had discovered. Hutch pulled the dog's head closer and pointed to a tight plastic band around his neck, deeply imbedded in the skin.

"What the hell is that?"

"It's a flea collar, Starsky. It was probably put on him when he was just a little puppy. The skin has grown up around it. I saw this once before on a dog that wandered up to the farm. If this is left on here another month or so, it will have to be removed surgically. Even if it's removed right now, it's probably going to be raw and sore. I don't see how he can swallow. Poor fella."

"Why would anybody do somethin' like that?" Starsky asked, a frown furrowing his forehead.

"There's all kinds of animal cruelty, Starsk. Take a look at this." Hutch pointed to several little red, oozing blisters on the dog's back and hindquarters. "Cigarette burns." The pup inched closer to Starsky, who in turn, backed up a few inches. "He's not going to hurt you. Just pet him," Hutch urged. "Obviously, he's starved for affection."

"Yeah, well he looks starved, period. Look at his ribs. Man this dog looks like he's never had a decent meal in his life. Hutch, you know I don't get along too great with dogs, but there's no excuse for somethin' like this." Despite his apprehension, Starsky leaned forward and patted the puppy's head. The pitiful dog immediately laid his chin on Starsky's knee and looked up with sad, grateful eyes.

Hutch smiled. "I think he likes you, partner."

"Nah, he just heard me talkin' about food." Starsky continued petting the dog's head and scratched his ears as he had seen Hutch do. "Right, boy?"

"I guess we better call Animal Control. He can't be left here. He'll finish starving to death, or get hit by a car."

"I'll call," Starsky offered. As he left the room, the puppy laid his head on Hutch's knee and waited to have his ears scratched some more.

Mary Peterson was an animal control officer who'd seen and done it all. She'd worked for the department twenty-two years and had a natural talent for handling animals. Many people despised her job, and she could understand why. Even her closest friends teased and called her "the Angel of Death." More than four million cats and dogs were put to death in animal shelters throughout the U.S. every year, all because of careless people who wouldn't accept responsibility for their pets.

If she was anything, Mary was a realist. Nothing would please her more than to see her occupation disappear altogether. But that wasn’t likely…at least, not during her lifetime. She was well aware that not all animal control officers felt the way she did. And only her love for the animals prevented her from throwing in the towel. Mary stuck it out year after year, knowing that at least the ones that crossed her path would receive only the kindest, most humane treatment possible—regardless of the of the final outcome. And for the majority, the future was bleak.

When Mary entered the house, a muscular, good-looking young man with dark, curly hair and midnight blue eyes approached her. Mary couldn't help thinking, if she was just a few years younger, he would definitely be her type. But in reality, she was old enough to be his mother. Oh well, didn't hurt to admire; and he really did fill those bell-bottom jeans out nicely!

"You must be with Animal Control," He extended his hand to shake Mary's. "I'm Detective Starsky; I'm the one who called you. The dog's back here with my partner."

By now the house was swarming with police and the crime lab team. A gurney bearing the second dead body was being rolled out to the coroner's wagon. Mary followed Starsky to the back bedroom where Hutch sat on the floor with the puppy half lying in his lap, looking up with unconcealed adoration. Starsky was surprised how quickly the pathetic animal had attached himself to Hutch.

The animal control officer introduced herself to both detectives, then sat down on the floor next to Hutch, situating herself close to the dog. "And this must be our poor little throw-away." she said, easing in slowly so as not to startle him.

"Thanks for getting here so quickly," Hutch said. He knew right away that he liked this lady. It wasn't anything tangible, just a feeling.

"Not in very good shape, are you fella?" Mary spoke softly to the puppy. The seasoned animal control officer assessed the dog's condition in seconds. "I'd say he's about eight to nine months old. He's a Rottweiler; although I can't say for sure if he's a mix, or just the mediocre product of a back-yard breeder. Tail hasn't been docked, but the other Rottie characteristics are here. Looks like a bad case of malnutrition—at least 15 pounds underweight—physical abuse, neglect, and probably emotional abuse too. Never, had a chance, did you little guy?" she cooed to the dog.

The pup raised his head from Hutch's knee and tilted it sideways, looking at Mary intently, as if trying to understand her words. Mary patted his head and casually let her hand move down to the collar imbedded in the skin around his neck. "Damn!" she uttered with disgust.

"Rottweiler?" Starsky asked, swallowing hard. Obviously this lady knew about dogs. "Aren't they dangerous…you know… attack dogs? I heard they're vicious." Starsky unconsciously inched back a few steps, then thought about what he was doing and felt downright silly. The malnourished animal sitting in Hutch's lap couldn't present a physical threat to anyone.

"They can be. But most dogs aren't vicious unless they've been conditioned to be. Don't get me wrong; I'm not saying that a good dog can't turn on a person. It's been known to happen. But in most cases, the dog has been mistreated, teased, deliberately bated…starved. You name it, someone will try it. Unfortunately, this breed has a reputation, like the Pit Bull and the Doberman."

"So you think Slick Willie was treating this dog mean on purpose, so he'd be mean?" Starsky was beginning to see where she was heading with this train of thought.

"Most likely. Jerks like him abuse a dog to the point that the animal believes the only way it can survive is to become the attacker rather than the victim. They train them to kill on command, using live kittens, or rabbits to practice on. That's also how dogs are trained to fight. Big money in dog-fighting—even though it's illegal."

"My God, that's disgusting," Hutch muttered, barely above a whisper.

"This dog's scared of his own shadow. The trainin' must not have been goin' too great," Starsky suggested.

"Early stages. They starve and break them first. Once the animal is totally under their control, then they begin training them to be vicious." Starsky felt a lump rise in his throat, thinking how a defenseless animal could be treated so cruelly.

Mary stood up and took a slip noose from the back pocket of her trousers. "Well, I'll take it from here, guys. Thanks for calling me. I know this fellow here is grateful too. No telling what he's endured in his short life." Mary reached down and gently slipped the noose over the puppy's head. He instinctively shrunk back against Hutch's thigh.

All the while, Starsky stood to the side and watched silently. He was experiencing an emotion completely foreign to him—compassion for a dog. He'd never had a dog when he was a kid; had never really had a pet of any sort, unless you wanted to count that pet rock Huggy sold him last year.

"You'll find him a good home, won't you?" Hutch asked, his voice sounding somewhat like a little boy needing reassurance.

Mary looked him in the eyes, then turned and looked at Starsky also. "Now, what do you think, detectives? Should I lie to you like I do dozens of other do-gooders every week and assure you there's a great home in the country just waiting for this wonderful dog? Would that make you feel better?"

Hutch looked at Starsky, who immediately glanced away; hoping Hutch didn't suspect how disturbing this whole thing was to him. Frankly, he was surprised himself.

"You guys are cops. You know what this world is like. You see human beings thrown away like garbage out there on the streets. This poor, unfortunate critter can't expect any better. The rotten thing is, more times than not, the people have done things to get themselves into that situation. This animal isn't guilty of anything, except being born into a world already overpopulated by unwanted dogs and cats."

The puppy cringed back, leaning toward Hutch as Mary tried to coax him to her with a gentle tug on the lead. Trembling, he struggled to stay with his new-found friend. Finally, afraid she would hurt his neck, Mary reached down and tenderly scooped the ill-proportioned, gangly dog up in her arms. Hutch's face was ashen as he watched the puppy swivel his head back around to keep the man in his view. Starsky felt a lump rising in his throat again.

"Thanks, again, guys. Don't worry about him. I'll see he has a good meal and a warm, comfortable bed tonight—probably the first in his life. That's the best I can promise. Besides, I learned a long time ago, there are lots of things worse than euthanasia."

She turned and walked to the door with the skinny, frightened puppy in her arms, then paused and looked over her shoulder. "It means 'kind death', you know. You have my word; he won't feel a thing."

As Mary and the puppy disappeared from sight, Starsky thought he heard a faint whimper.

Then the silence was deafening, in spite of the activity taking place only a few feet away in another part of the small house. When Hutch finally turned and looked at Starsky, he saw his own pain mirrored in his partner's face.

Quietly, Starsky eased up beside him, laying a hand reassuringly on his friend's shoulder. "Hey, you okay?" Hutch didn't reply.

"We didn't have any choice." Starsky consoled him. But the words rang hollow even in his own ears.

"Yeah…I know." Hutch stood up and brushed the short, black hairs off his jeans where the dog had rested his head. "Let's wrap up here and get on with the arson investigation," he said, a little too brusquely.

Chapter 2

The two detectives stopped on the way out and made sure the homicide investigator assigned to the case didn't need anything else from them. Within a few minutes, they were in the Striped Tomato, headed to the warehouse district.

Hutch used the mic to radio their location as Starsky pulled the car up to the curb in front of the burned out warehouse. Most of the roof had collapsed, leaving the structure open to the elements.

"Must be pretty rotten timber to burn so fast," Starsky observed, as he walked around the car and waited for Hutch in front of the building.

"Yeah, not much left, is there?" The two men entered the structure where a door had once stood, now only splinters left behind by the fireman's ax. Any evidence of forced entry had been destroyed, if it ever existed. It had been almost a week, but the pungent smell of the burnt timber and animal fur was still strong. They walked carefully through the debris, ever mindful of the weak boards overhead, while looking for some sort of clue that could help jumpstart their investigation.

"Man, it stinks in here!" Starsky briefly covered his nose and mouth with one hand trying to filter out the sulphurous odor, then quickly realized that wouldn't work.

"I read the arson investigator's report," Hutch said. "There was evidence of a liquid accelerate found throughout the place, but he said the fire appeared to have started in the northeast, back corner of the building."

Even though they weren't trained in the specifics of arson investigation, both detectives knew the point origin of any fire was the most likely location for clues. Starsky, already ahead of Hutch, turned and proceeded in that direction. It was easy to recognize. The entire area was burned so badly that even the flooring was scorched and buckled by the intense heat. The revolting stench of burned animal hair suggested that a huge supply of fur coats had probably been stored in this room.

"I'd bet this is it," Hutch said, squatting down to get a closer look at what was left of the floor. "See this pattern, kind of like the checks in an alligator skin? I read in the report that this is generally how the materials at the point of origin should look."

Clearly impressed, Starsky joined Hutch on the floor and examined the charred wood. Nearby, small remnants of fabric and hair, mostly degenerated to ash, lay scattered about. "Any evidence that may have been here, woulda burned up, Hutch."

"Yeah, or been collected during the initial investigation. But let's go ahead and do a walk-through anyway. Maybe the guy dropped a cigarette butt or a scrap of torn clothing…anything. We're here; we may as well give it the once over.

Just as expected, they found no new evidence, and left the building frustrated at having wasted their time. By then, it was noon and Starsky felt his stomach grumbling. The donut he'd eaten hours ago, was long gone.

"Where you wanna eat today? You pick."

Hutch sat gazing straight ahead, not really listening, his mind obviously elsewhere.

"Hey—I'm talkin' to you, Blondie—I said, where ya wanna eat?"

"I don't care Starsk," he answered distractedly. "I'm not very hungry. Anywhere is okay with me."

Starsky pulled the car into a drive-in Mexican joint and turned off the ignition. "Hutch—look at me." He waited until he had Hutch's attention. "What's buggin' you? Huh? Wanna talk about it?"

Hutch knew it was pointless to try and conceal what had been on his mind all morning. When Starsky wanted answers, he was relentless. "It's just…I was thinking about calling Mary Peterson. Just to ask about the dog. See if they’ve had any inquiries about adopting him yet."

"Why do you wanna do that? She already told us how it's gonna be. Look, I know you feel sorry for him. Frankly, I'm kinda surprised how much this is botherin' me too. But what good would it do to talk to her again? Huh?"

Hutch rubbed the back of his neck to work out the tension that had been building all day. "None, I suppose. I just hate to think he may be put to sleep. He's a nice dog." He paused for a minute, expecting Starsky to argue; but there was no rebuttal.

"I always had a dog when I was a kid, Starsk. They're great. They're loyal, they love you no matter what—and they don't ask for much, just to be loved back."

"Yeah, well, I never had a pet, so I guess I can't really relate to where you're comin' from. But I do know they gotta be a lotta trouble. You're too busy, Hutch. You couldn't take care of a dog with the kinda hours we work." Starsky laid his hand on Hutch's shoulder. "Listen, partner, it wouldn't be fair to the dog either."

"I know…I know, you're right. It's just, I didn't realize how much I missed having a dog around until that big lug laid his head in my lap this morning and looked up at me with those trusting eyes."

"Yeah? Well, I guess I'll have to remember to try that next time I want you to do somethin' for me," Starsky teased. But he could see even his wisecracking wasn't enough to improve Hutch's mood.

"Come on, partner; let's order lunch. Then we'll head over to the jewelry store and check it out." Starsky hopped out of the car. "Whattaya want? Huh? It's on me," he added magnanimously.

"Gee, thanks, Diamond Jim. How come it's always on you when we eat at one of these greasy spoons?" Now Hutch was the one making an effort. "How about picking up the tab at one of the finer restaurants, like The Fountain Bleu, or The Abby? You know, some place that serves real food?"

Starsky flashed him a Starsky grin, the kind that lit up his whole face. "Right…Got it. You want two bean burritos, two veggie tacos and an order of chili peppers," Starsky said over his shoulder as he walked toward the take-out window.

Hutch just shook his head, a slight smile curling the corners of his lips. If Starsky couldn't cheer him up, nobody could.

When the detectives reached the scene of last night's fire, they found two technicians from the arson investigation lab still collecting evidence. Starsky recognized them as Bob Jernigan and Gina Addison. He and Hutch had worked cases with them before. Bob was brilliant at his job, but somewhat a recluse, leaving the 'people contact' to his partner, Gina.

With a twinkle in his eye, Starsky approached the attractive dark-haired, twenty-something, female technician. Gina was one of those rare individuals who could keep the mood light, regardless of how gruesome the scene may be. And she particularly enjoyed a little suggestive bantering with Dave Starsky when the opportunity presented itself. Of course, he was always ready to match quips with her.

"Got somethin' for me, Gina?" Starsky asked, with a hint of smirk in his voice.

True to form, Gina wasted no time firing back a clever response. "That depends, Starsky. Are you talking about the case?" She smiled suggestively, waiting to see what he'd say.

"Uh, yeah…well, that too," was all he could muster at the moment.

Hutch joined them. Having missed the exchange, he couldn't figure for the life of him why they both were wearing such silly grins. "Hi, Gina. What's the word here?"

"Good to see you, Hutch," Gina said, not taking her eyes off Starsky. "Too soon to tell a whole lot yet, but Bob has collected quite a few samples that may prove helpful.

Of course, I've taken several shots you may want to examine later on when you look over our test results." Looking at the Polaroid camera hanging around her neck, Starsky couldn't help noticing what beautiful skin she had.

Seeming to have read Starsky's mind, Gina self-consciously turned her attention to Hutch, and continued. "Just as a preliminary, off-the-record comment, I'd say we're dealing with the same perp here that hit those warehouses down near the docks."

"Why's that?" Starsky asked.

"The point at which the fire began. Looks real similar to what we've found in all the other structures. Even though we've found traces of combustible substances throughout the buildings, I believe something much more powerful has been used to actually start these fires.

It's my guess he may be using a small incendiary device to trigger the initial explosion; but it would be premature to speculate on that yet. However, it would explain the massive damage where the fires originated."

"The police report Murdock turned over to us this morning didn't indicate if anything was stolen. Any sign of burglary?" Hutch asked.

Bob Jernigan joined the group at that point and responded before Gina could answer. "Nope. No apparent theft involved. Over here in the display case covered with smut…come here, I'll show you." The group followed Jernigan to the case. He took out his handkerchief and wiped the black coating from the glass top of a cabinet that was only minimally damaged. Beneath the newly cleaned glass was an array of expensive men's watches, from Cartier to Rolex, all neatly arranged and untouched.

"Makes no sense, man. Cool watches like this and nobody even takes one?" Starsky's face hovered above the glass top.

"Starsk, forget about the watches," Hutch grabbed the back of his partner's jacket and tugged him away from the display case. He knew Starsky's fascination with watches, especially expensive ones, could distract him from the business at hand. Sometimes you're like a big kid, aren't you, buddy? Hutch's memory flashed back to the day they were trapped in a burning barn, Starsky with a bullet in his leg; and all he could think about was giving Hutch his second most prized possession, his fancy wrist watch.

"Aw, come on Hutch; wait a minute, will ya?"

Quickly changing the subject, Hutch asked Jernigan, "Could you show us where the guard's body was found?"

Jernigan motioned toward the front door. "Halfway out the door. He was lying face-down, like he was trying to get out. Probably overcome by smoke. The autopsy should be finished by this evening. Want me to ask the M.E. to send you a copy of his report?"

"Thanks, but I've already done that," Starsky replied. "If you guys come up with anything—anything at all, would you give us a call?"

"Count on it," Gina assured him. "And we expect the same courtesy from you." Despite her earlier teasing with Starsky, Gina Addison was a professional who was considered one of the best in her field.

When they arrived at the station, Hutch called the Medical Examiner to see if the autopsy was finished. "Not all the results are back on some of the tests I'm running. But I can tell you one thing with certainty, Hutch; there was a blow to the back of the victim's skull."

"What do you mean? Like something fell on him? Or he was deliberately struck?" Starsky looked up questioningly when he heard Hutch's question.

"He was struck. Without a doubt, he was bludgeoned. I can't say yet if that's

what killed him. We're checking the lungs now. Could be the smoke got him. In any case, he couldn't very well have escaped from the smoke if he was unconscious from a blow to the head. Just remember, what I'm telling you right now is unofficial."

"Thanks. Uh...just get back with us when you're done, okay? Dispatch will know where to reach us."

Hutch hung up the phone and looked over at Starsky. "Well, it's murder, anyway you look at it. I guess we know now that the guard was either trying to stop the torch, or the guy just got the drop on him."

"Yeah, well…I doubt that's gonna make his family feel any better." Starsky stood up and walked toward Dobey's door. "May as well let Cap'n Dobey know what we've got so far."

Hutch followed him into the Captain's office. They were both more than ready to call it a day. They finished briefing Dobey and left the station at 4:30—early, in spite of the fact they'd been on the job since 7:00 a.m.

"Wanna grab a bite to eat?" Starsky suggested as he maneuvered the Torino out of the police parking garage.

"No, thanks, Starsk. There's something I have to do. And you can come with me or not…it's up to you."

Starsky looked over at his partner with a curious expression on his face. "I'm game. Whattaya wanna do?"

"I'm going over to Animal Control and check on the dog." Hutch held his hand up to stop Starsky from arguing. "My mind is made up, so save your breath. I've got to know what happened to him."

"Okay…okay…I'm in." Starsky cocked his head to one side and shrugged, gesturing surrender. "I just don't see the point…"

Exhausted from a busy day, Mary Peterson was putting on her jacket to leave for the evening when the two good-looking, young cops she'd met earlier in the day arrived. As soon as they spied her, she smiled and waved a greeting, then went over to welcome them to the shelter.

"What are you guys doing here?" Assuming they were just curious, she asked, "Come for the grand tour?"

"Well, my partner here refuses to go home without checkin' on Scooby-Doo." Starsky winked at Mary, amused by his own attempt at humor. Hutch rolled his eyes at Starsky's corny joke.

"Would you like to see him?" Mary asked Hutch.

"If it isn't too much trouble; I just want to see how he's getting along."

Mary lifted the flip-up counter and motioned for the men to come in. "Come on back. The barking is pretty loud, I know. But you get this many dogs in a small area, and it can't be helped, especially this near feeding time."

Starsky and Hutch followed the Animal Control officer to the holding area, walking past large, galvanized metal kennel pens with concrete floors. Even though the cages looked clean, they were overcrowded and noisy. Dogs of all sizes, breeds, and colors were barking loudly and jumping up against the wire of their pens as the three people walked past. Some huddled at the back of their kennel runs, frightened by the strangers and by the noise the other animals were making.

Starsky was intrigued by the variety. He knew very little about dogs, but some of these looked like the pictures he'd seen of purebred show dogs. How could that be? Hutch looked from side to side and wondered how many stood a chance of being adopted. He'd had no idea so many were abandoned to the shelters.

"Where are the cats?" Starsky asked, looking around and seeing only a sea of dogs.

"Oh, they're kept in a different part of the facility. Think how stressed out you'd be if you were a cat in this place," Mary answered. She stopped in front of the kennel where the Rottweiler puppy was caged with five other dogs, similar in size. When he saw Starsky and Hutch, he approached the wire and poked his nose through as a greeting. The Animal Control officer opened the door and slipped a lead around the dog's neck and encouraged him out, careful not to allow any of the other dogs in his kennel to escape.

Hutch stooped down and held out his hand to the pup. "Hiya fella," he said in a friendly voice. The dog looked at Hutch a little shyly, then ran directly to Starsky, happily wagging his whole body as he went. He nuzzled his cold, wet nose into the palm of Starsky's hand. Startled, the cop jumped back, only to be followed by the excited puppy. His huge head nudged at Starsky's knee as the dog tried to get closer.

"Hutch! Do somethin'!" Starsky said anxiously. Hutch grinned broadly, watching his tough partner panic at the touch of a wet nose.

"He's in love with you, Starsk." Hutch teased, looking over at Mary whose lips were twitching with amusement.

"He won't hurt you, Detective," she offered. "Pat his head, or scratch him behind the ear." Mary held the leash, not allowing the pup to pursue Starsky further. Slowly, Starsky regained his composure and actually reached down and scratched the Rottie behind the ear.

"Are you sure this is a puppy? I mean, he's kinda big for a puppy. More like a pony, ya know?"

"Well, let's just say he's a 'teenager'," Mary answered. "At nine months, he isn't quite done growing and maturing. Notice how long and gangly his legs are? He would have probably started to fill out by now if he'd been properly fed. But you'd be amazed how strong he is, in spite of his malnutrition. This is a very hardy breed. They have strong muscles and can inflict major damage if they bite."

"Terrific," Starsky said, quickly withdrawing his hand from the dog's head. "Just what I needed to hear."

Hutch inched a little closer and began scratching the puppy's ear. The dog turned his massive head and slurped his long, wet tongue across Hutch's cheek. Starsky found this hilarious and laughed at the surprised expression on Hutch's face.

Starsky kneeled back down and patted the dog's head. "Good boy," he said, inadvertently prompting the dog to treat him to a big, juicy dog kiss too.

"Oh man—don't do that!" Starsky fell backwards, trying to avoid the friendly assault. "Yuck! That's disgusting!"

The three of them laughed as the puppy proceeded to alternate between his new found friends, nuzzling each, to keep the much-enjoyed ear-scratching ritual going.

The door at the other end of the room opened. Looking up, they saw a husky, long-haired, young man enter, dressed in a uniform similar to Mary's. He was pushing a stainless steel cart filled with feeding bowls overflowing with food and fresh, clean water.

"Sorry, guys; time for Eddie to feed. We'll have to cut our visit short." Starsky and Hutch reluctantly stood up, much to the disappointment of the pup. Mary gently tugged on the lead. "Come on, big guy." The dog strained against the leash, trying to make contact with Starsky again, whining his disapproval of ending the visit. The two men exchanged glances, neither wanting to acknowledge he was troubled to see the dog's reluctance to leave them. Once the Rottweiler was back in his kennel, the three of them returned to the front office, and left him to eat his evening meal.

Mary hung the leash on the wall hook, picked up her jacket again, and walked toward the front door with the two police officers. "Thanks for stopping by, fellas. I think he really enjoyed seeing you both."

"Has anything been decided about him, yet?" Hutch asked.

Mary looked around at him, puzzled. "Well, yes. I'm sorry, I thought I made that pretty clear this morning. The dog will be euthanized. Tomorrow morning."

"Wait a minute," Starsky interrupted. "Just like that? I mean, don't ya have to keep him a few days and try and find him a home first?" Mary turned to Starsky, surprised by the note of anxiety in his voice. It was the blond one, she thought, who was interested in the dog's welfare. Now Detective 'Tight Jeans' was getting involved too? Somehow, she just didn't figure him for a dog person. She had thought he probably only came along in the first place because his partner had pressured him.

"Well, if an animal is lost and we pick it up off the streets, that's true. We give the owners seven days to show up and reclaim him. But when one is taken from a crime scene, with no apparent surviving owner; or if an owner voluntarily turns in an animal as unwanted, we're under no legal obligation to keep it the minimum seven days." Mary could see surprise register on both men's faces.

"But that doesn't seem fair," Hutch argued.

"No, it's not fair. But the fact is, we have ten times more animals than space. And quite frankly, that poor little guy isn't very adoptable. He would be taking up valuable space that a more adoptable animal could be occupying."

"You can't just kill him without even tryin'. I mean, he didn't bite anybody or do anything wrong, did he?" Starsky reasoned.

"Look, you two are nice guys, and I know you are genuinely concerned. But unless you want to adopt him yourselves, there's really nothing I can do." As she expected, that suggestion was met with dead silence. She watched the two men look at one another, as if communicating telepathically. Still, she couldn't read their faces.

"Okay," Hutch said quietly. "We understand. Don't we, Starsky?"

"Yeah." Starsky looked down at his sneakers. Mary had known they would react this way. Most people did. All talk and no action. They were indignant when they faced the realities of euthanasia, but not indignant enough to do anything about it.

"We understand," Starsky continued. "Go get him. He's comin' home with us."

Chapter 3

Starsky completed the necessary paperwork and paid the adoption fee while Mary took the dog to be checked out by the staff vet. "We'll give him all his shots and check him for heartworms, but you'll have to make an appointment to have him neutered later," she told Hutch before leaving with the pup.

Starsky abruptly stopped writing and looked up from the paperwork. "Have him what?"

"Neutered. It's a requirement if you adopt a dog from us. All females are spayed and males are neutered. You don't want him contributing the overpopulation problem, do you?"

Starsky looked at Hutch, a bewildered expression on his face. "It'll be okay, Starsk. Dad always had our dogs neutered unless they were his champion hunting dogs that he planned to breed." Starsky wasn't totally convinced, but thought he'd just have to trust his partner on this one. "It's not as bad as it sounds," Hutch reassured him.

"Maybe not to you," Starsky said. "But the dog may not agree with you on that one."

Once the paperwork was completed, they sat down to wait on an uncomfortable, utilitarian, wooden bench in the outer office. Neither had much to say, so they sat quietly, each mulling over his own thoughts.

Hutch couldn't believe what he was doing. A dog? He needed a dog like a hole in the head. But right now, all he was interested in was buying the animal a reprieve from the death penalty he was facing tomorrow morning. They'd worry about the details later.

Starsky had not considered owning a dog since he was eight years old. The year before his Dad died, he had begged, pleaded and badgered his Dad to buy him one. The closest he'd come to a yes was his father's promise to re-consider the idea for little Dave's birthday. But Michael Starsky was gunned down before his son's birthday, and Dave had never asked for a dog again. Then today that big, clumsy, funny-looking puppy had buried his cold, wet nose in Starsky's palm, and had touched his heart in that instant.

Another forty-five minutes went by before the animal technician came through the door with the overgrown puppy loping ahead of him, looking like he already knew he was being bailed out of jail. Hutch stood up and called to him, "Come here, boy. Come on."

Eddie dropped the leash and gave the dog his freedom to join Hutch. The pup stopped in front of Hutch and sniffed his thigh, then licked his hand; all the while, his tail wagged back and forth like a giant windshield wiper. Just as Hutch bent down to pet him, the puppy veered away, going straight to Starsky. He reared up, landing both paws on Starsky's chest; his huge pink tongue darted out and covered Starsky's face with wet kisses.

Starsky had trouble concentrating on the road with the Rottweiler's head and front paws hanging over the back of his seat; especially since he kept trying to rest his head on Starsky's shoulder. The vet had removed the embedded flea collar and replaced it with a wide, soft fabric one that wouldn't further irritate the dog's skin. Hutch kept a tight grip on it, trying to maneuver the pup away from Starsky's side of the car; but every time Hutch let down his guard for a second, the animal would slyly inch his way back to Starsk. Hutch didn't know whether to be hurt by the slight, or amused by the irony of it.

"Hutch, can't you keep that big dummy on your side of the car? Huh? I'm tryin' to drive here." Starsky complained, glancing sideways at the dog. "Awww, man! Will ya look at that? Hutch, he's slobbering all over the upholstery. Knock it off, dog!"

"Calm down, will you? It's only saliva. It's not going to eat through the seats or anything."

"Easy for you to say. It isn't your car he's messin' up," Starsky whined.

"Starsk, he needs a name. We can't just keep calling him dog," Hutch suggested, turning a deaf ear to Starsky's complaining. "You know, it'll be a lot easier to train him when he knows we're talking to him. Got any suggestions?"

"Yeah. I suggest I take the two of you home and you can pick out a name when you get there."

"Wait a minute—" Hutch's eyes went wide at the implication of what Starsky had just said. "Starsky, this dog is staying at your place."

Starsky's head snapped to the right, a look of determination set his face. "Uh-uh. No way, partner. It was your idea, so he's stayin' at your place."

"Starsky, you're the one that said 'he's coming with us'," Hutch shot back.

"Well, it was your brilliant idea to go to the Pound in the first place!" Starsky's voice went up a decibel.

"Be reasonable, Starsky. I have a 'no pets' clause in my lease. He has to stay with you!"

As Hutch's temper flared, he shifted in his seat and tried to maintain a hold on the dog as he began lecturing Starsky. "This is just like you. React without thinking. You never stop and think of the consequences. You just act, then expect me to clean up behind you!"

"You got some nerve, DOG BOY!," Starsky shouted back. "Look, if you think I'm gonna let you pawn this dog off on me, you gotta another think comin', buddy! And what the hell do you mean you have to clean up after me?"

Just as Hutch started to fire the next volley, the puppy, whose head was resting between them on the back of the seat, let out a pathetic whine. They both turned and looked at the pitiful face, eyes watering, ears flattened against his head in fear. Hutch held up both hands, signaling a truce, then motioned with his head toward the puppy, whose eyes kept darting back and forth between the two men.

Starsky pulled the car over to the curb and stomped down on the emergency brake. "Listen," he said in a calm, modulated voice, "you know I can't take this dog. I don't know anything about dogs. He's gotta stay with you, Hutch. I ain't tryin' to bail on you; I'm willing to do my share. I just don't think I'd know how to handle him yet."

Hutch was quiet for a few seconds, then reluctantly nodded. "Okay. Fine. I'll try it. But if Mrs. Frye sees him, I'll be evicted. She's not the most understanding landlady."

"We'll find him another home before that happens," Starsky assured him. All smug and satisfied about getting his way, he released the brake and guided the car back into the flow of traffic. The puppy promptly moved to the driver's side of the seat again and stuck his wet nose in Starsky's ear. Caught by surprise, Starsky almost lost control of the Torino, swerving into the on-coming lane, which luckily, wasn't yet congested with evening commuters.

Starsky pulled into his regular parking place in front of Hutch's house. When the car came to a halt, the puppy took that as his cue to sail across the front seat into Hutch's lap. Hutch snapped the leash to the collar and struggled to get himself and the over-eager puppy out of the car. Once out, Hutch walked briskly toward the house, not looking back, obviously upset with how things were working out.

"Hey, Hutch, wait up." Starsky hurried to catch up with them. "Uh…want me to take him for a walk or somethin'?" Starsky offered, hoping to mend fences.

"Not really."

"Well…okay. How 'bout I go down to that pet store on Kilgore and pick up some food and stuff?"

"Suit yourself."

Starsky started back toward the Torino, then stopped, and turned around. "Hutch…what about Sam?"

Hutch stopped fidgeting with the front door key and looked around at Starsky.

"What?"

"Sam. You said he needs a name. How 'bout Sam?"

"Fine. I don't care," Hutch snapped back. "Call him Sam if you want to." Hutch slammed the door firmly, not waiting for a reply.

Once inside, Hutch unhooked the leash and let the dog explore the house on his own. Sam ran throughout the bungalow sniffing, excited by the new sights and scents. Hutch enjoyed watching the pup and was glad to see he wasn't too frightened to make himself at home. Sam darted in and out of the rooms, briefly exploring each until he disappeared into Hutch's bedroom and didn't come out. After a few minutes, Hutch quietly peeked around the door, and saw Sam was sound asleep on his bed, cuddled up comfortably on Starsky's freshly dry-cleaned sports jacket.

Starsky rang the doorbell while balancing a twenty-five pound bag of premium dog food and three large bags of supplies and toys he'd just bought at the pet store. Hutch opened the door, his face not quite as grim as before.

"Good grief, Starsky, what's all this? Did you buy out the store?"

"Nah. Just a few things Sam's gonna need. I said I'd help, didn't I?"

"Yeah…well, if you think buying all this is gonna make me feel better about you dumping him on me, you can just forget it."

"Look, Hutch, I don't wanna fight about this." Starsky followed Hutch into the kitchen and set the bags on the counter before helping himself to a beer from the fridge. "To tell you the truth, it never occurred to me that you expected me to keep Sam. Honest. I'll help anyway I can; so could we quit with the attitude already? Huh?"

Hutch ran a hand over his face, considering what Starsky had said. In all honesty, he knew he was really the one who'd instigated bailing the dog out of the Pound. Finally, he nodded in agreement. "Okay. Okay. Sorry."

Starsky grinned and flung an arm around Hutch's shoulder, giving him a friendly squeeze. "That's better. We'll work it out, Blondie. I won't leave you hangin'. Promise." Starsky's eyes swept the room. "Where is he anyway? Out walkin' himself?" He snickered at is own joke.

"No, he's in the middle of my bed, asleep."

Still grinning, Starsky walked toward the bedroom. "This I gotta see."

"You're gonna think it's really hilarious when you see he's using your clean sports coat for a blanket," Hutch mumbled under his breath.

Sam bounded off the bed and ran to meet Starsky at the bedroom door, not giving him a chance to yell about the jacket. Sam seemed so darned happy to see him, that Starsky couldn't bring himself to chastise the dog. Nobody except Hutch, when he was pinned under a car at the bottom of a canyon, had ever acted so excited to see him.

"Sam, here boy!" Hutch called from the kitchen. "Come on, boy. Chow's on!" Hutch clanked a spoon against the side of the new bone-shaped, ceramic bowl, full of gourmet dog food, and sat it on the floor next to the matching water bowl. The hungry puppy forgot his excitement over Starsky's arrival and bolted past him to the kitchen. Hutch stood by watching as Sam tore into the food with gusto.

Starsky appeared at the kitchen door. "Man, look at him eat! I think he likes it. The lady at the pet store said it was the best they carry." Sam gobbled the food as though he hadn't eaten in days. They both suspected that until his meal at Animal Control a few hours ago, he probably hadn't.

"Starsky, don't you think you may have gone just a little overboard with all this stuff?"

"Nah. I figured he deserved it. Doesn't look like he's had a great life so far."

Hutch looked at his partner, whose face was as eager as a little boy's. Typical, he thought. Starsky worked hard at his tough guy image; but Hutch wasn't fooled for a minute. His friend's compassion and sense of doing the right thing always won out.

"You can walk him after he finishes eating." Hutch suggested. "We've got to get him into a routine as quickly as possible. A dog should always be taken out after he eats."

"By myself?" Starsky swallowed hard. "I mean, what if he gets away?"

"He won't get away unless you let him. You promised to help out. Now, if I have to get up in the morning and walk him before work, the least you can do is walk him tonight while I go take my shower. I'm bushed and want to turn in early."

"Well, alright." Starsky couldn't argue the logic; still he was a little nervous.

Hutch headed toward the bedroom. "Use your key to let yourself back in."

"Wait—Hutch. Uh, where do I walk him? And how long?"

"Around the block a couple of times should do it."

"Wait a minute—"

"What now?" Hutch asked, a little exasperated.

"Just…uh…I'll pick you up in the mornin'." He knew Starsky was stalling. "I think tomorrow we should question Frank Bradley first. You know, try and see if he's got a reason to torch his own stores. Could be up to his eyeballs in debt and needs the insurance money."

"Yeah, I thought of that. You're right; we'll start with him." Hutch headed toward the bedroom a third time, but paused. "Starsk—thanks for the supplies and for walking Sam."

Starsky smiled back at him, midnight blue eyes twinkling. "No problem. See ya tomorrow."

Starsky looked around just in time to see Sam lap up the last morsel of food from the bowl, and cast adoring eyes up at him. Obviously a ploy to get seconds. Starsky wasn't sure if the dog should have anymore, but Sam looked up at him so pitifully.

He smiled down at the dog and scooped another full cup into the bowl.

"Don't tell Hutch," he whispered conspiratorially. "He can be real uptight sometimes. So I won't tell if you don't." Sam was too busy gulping down the kibbles to acknowledge whether or not he understood the importance of discretion.

As soon as the dog had emptied the bowl a second time, Starsky snapped the leash onto his collar and started for the door. Sam's ears went flat against his head as he dug in his back paws, apparently frightened he was already going to leave his new home.

"Aw, come on, ya big galoot. I promised Hutch I'd take you out. It's gettin' late and I'm tired." Starsky gently tugged, afraid of hurting the pup's sore neck. "Come on now," he coaxed. Sam laid his head on the floor and whined softly. Starsky reached down and scooped him up in his arms and carried him out the front door. Even though he was grossly underweight for a dog his age and breed, he still was an awkward armful. Once they were on the sidewalk, Starsky gently lowered Sam to the ground.

"See there? This isn't so bad now is it?" Sam looked up at him, still unconvinced that this was a good thing. "Now we're just gonna walk around the block a couple of times, then we can both call it a night."

Starsky started walking slowly, at first sort of dragging the dog behind him. He talked as he walked, soft, encouraging words like "Thatta boy...Come on fella..." Step—drag—step—drag. Slowly Sam's ears perked up a fraction; then he actually began taking tentative steps without being dragged.

The evening air was cool and Starsky was beginning to enjoy himself. Sam was responding and Starsky felt really good about the whole situation. Approaching from the opposite direction was an attractive young woman walking a poodle. When she noticed them and said something cutesy to her dog about the 'nice puppy' up ahead, Starsky couldn't help swaggering a bit. Maybe this dog business was a good way to meet the ladies!

"Oh wow," she gushed, "a Rottweiler, right? I haven't seen you guys around here before. He's awfully thin. Has he been sick?"

"No, I just got him from the animal shelter today. He'll look better in no time," Starsky said nobly.

"You're kidding. What a wonderful thing to do. You must be a very compassionate guy. Look, Phoebe, isn't he sweet?" she said, urging her poodle closer.

"I'm a real dog person," Starsky bragged. "Can't stand to see an animal in need."

"I'm so happy to finally meet a sensitive man. Most of the guys I know don't care about a dog unless it hunts."

Starsky's chest puffed out noticeably. "Well...I do what I can."

The young woman's eyes strayed from Starsky's face downward, just as he felt a warm sensation beginning at his knee and flowing downward. Then she gasped as she realized that Sam was standing on one back leg—with the other hiked up in Starsky's direction. A jet stream of warm urine sprayed the leg of his jeans, dripping down to form a puddle on his sneaker.

"Oh no," she said, trying desperately to stifle a giggle. Starsky's surprise was surpassed only by his humiliation. The cocky grin slowly faded from his face as his pants leg became saturated.

"I have to be leaving now," she said politely and hurried past him with her prissy poodle in tow. As she disappeared into the darkness, he could hear her laughing hysterically.

"Terrific," Starsky said beneath his breath. "You really know how to hurt a guy, don't ya?" Couldn't hold it for even a minute? Huh? Huh? What are you tryin' to do to me?" Sam looked up innocently, his big, pink tongue lolling out one side of his mouth. Then he tore out in the direction his poodle friend had gone, dragging Starsky behind him.

"Oh no you don't, Casanova. You embarrassed us both enough for one night." Starsky reached down and picked him up. With his oversized front paws dangling over Starsky's shoulder, they headed back to Hutch's house.

Starsky quietly let himself and Sam into the house. Except for one lamp in the living room, the house was dark. Hutch had not been kidding when he told Starsky he was going to turn in early. Starsky unhooked the leash, draped it over the chair, and then started for the front door. Sam followed him every step of the way, his tail happily wagging. Starsky bent down and patted him on the head.

"See you in the morning, ya big dummy. Try to behave yourself, huh? I'm gonna let you by with peein' on me this time, but it better not happen again. I've got an image to protect. You understand?" Sam looked up, his huge black eyes dancing. Starsky couldn't help but think the dog looked like he was smiling. He gave Sam a final pat on the head, then slipped out, locking the door behind him.

The dog sat in front of the door and waited at least ten minutes, expecting Starsky to come back. Once Sam gave up on that notion, he found his way into Hutch's bedroom and hopped up next to the sleeping man. He slowly inched his way across the bed until he was nose to nose with Hutch. The puppy quietly watched his new friend sleep for awhile, but soon became bored with that pursuit. His tongue darted out as quickly as a frog's and licked Hutch across the lips.

Still sleeping, a pleasant smile spread over Hutch's face. His arm reached over and embraced Sam, pulling the dog close to his body. Slowly, awareness broke through the fog of sleep and Hutch's eyes flew open, only centimeters from Sam's. Hutch was so startled he rolled off the side of the bed and hit the floor with a loud thump. Instantly, the big dog jumped off and landed square on Hutch's chest.

Once the momentary panic passed, Hutch reached up and gave Sam a big bear hug. "What are you trying to do, boy? Scare me to death?" Sam continued licking and nuzzling Hutch until he pushed him off, and climbed back in bed. Sam jumped back up on the bed also and laid his head on the pillow next to Hutch's. Within minutes, both were snoring peacefully.

PART 2