PART 1

Hutch slammed the door behind him and jogged toward the Torino. Almost the instant the door shut, Sam let out a loud, mournful howl, piercing the quiet neighborhood. Hutch stopped in his tracks and went back inside to scold the puppy. Seconds later, Starsky looked up and saw him leave the house again. This time, Hutch didn't even succeed in locking the door before another nerve raking howl sounded from within, this one louder than the first.

Hutch threw his head back, gazing skyward in a display of agitation. He opened the door and went in for a second time, taking a little longer before coming out again. Starsky was getting a real kick out of watching his partner's yo-yo routine. But when Hutch disappeared back into the house a third time, Starsky was beginning to get a little impatient.

He was just getting out to go see what the hold-up was when Hutch reappeared with Sam tagging behind him. The look on his partner's face warned Starsky he'd better not say a word. Hutch wrenched open the passenger door, flipped the seat forward, and guided Sam into the back seat. This brought Starsky out of his momentary speechlessness.

"Whoa! Wait just a minute now! Whattaya think you're doin'? You can't bring him with us."

"And exactly what do you suggest we do? You heard him, Starsky. I can't leave him here, howling his damn head off! All it's gonna take is one neighbor calling Mrs. Frye, and I'm history here."

In a show of incredibly bad timing, Sam flew over the back seat, landing between the two men, then deposited his oversized body onto Starsky's lap. His big paws went up on Starsky's shoulders as he covered his new buddy's face with wet, slobbery kisses.

"Knock it off, ya big dummy!" Starsky was fighting a losing battle as he tried to peel the big dog off his chest and face.

"Not so funny when you're on the receiving end, is it?"

"Aw come on, get 'em off me!" Starsky fussed. Hutch finally tugged on the leash and brought Sam to his side of the seat.

"This isn't gonna work, Hutch. How are we supposed to get any work done with him followin' us around? Huh?"

"I don't know. I just don't know! But I'll tell you this," Hutch pointed his finger emphatically at Starsky, showing he was in no mood to argue, "we're in this together. We'll have to deal with it together. Unless you want to take him back to the Pound right now, I suggest you try and cooperate a little."

Starsky sobered at the prospect of turning Sam back over to the Pound. He realized Hutch probably out of sorts because of the changes the dog had caused in his morning schedule. He figured it was best not to antagonize his partner any further.

"Okay. Alright. I'm sorry. I don't wanna turn him in anymore than you do. Maybe Huggy could help us out for a little while. I don't think Cap'n Dobey's gonna put out the welcome mat for him. Do you?"

"No, but I thought maybe we could go straight over to Bradley's and let Sam sit in the car. That building has an underground parking area, so it'll be cool enough for him to stay there a little while."

Starsky tipped his head, acknowledging that that might work. He cranked up the car while Hutch made Sam return to the backseat.

"So, how'd it go last night?"

"Okay, I guess," Hutch answered, his voice much calmer and more like his old self. "He slept on the bed. He got me up at 4:00 a.m. to take him out. I woke up and his head was on the pillow right next to mine." Hutch smiled, glancing back at the puppy who had resumed his favorite position—head and paws hanging over the seat between them.

Starsky smiled too, imagining the expression on Hutch's face when he opened his eyes that morning, nose to nose with Sam. "That'll go a long way with the ladies," he joked.

"Guess we'll just have to have joint custody, Starsk. You can baby sit when I have company, and vice versa."

Starsky gave him a doubtful sideways glance. "Got it all figured out, don'cha? You know, I hear tell the ladies go crazy about a guy with a dog," he said, flashing a hundred watt grin at his partner. He almost told Hutch about the snooty poodle and her good-looking owner, but decided he'd rather Hutch didn't know how that episode had ended. "How about some coffee and a donut on the way?" he suggested, changing the subject.

Hutch rolled his eyes at the mention of the word 'donut'. "Just coffee for me. You know I don't want all that sugar polluting my body this early in the morning. I had a power shake before I took Sam jogging." In return, Starsky gave him a look of disgust. It was too early for a lecture in nutrition; but that didn't slow down Hutch's warning.

"You know, buddy, that stuff's gonna kill you someday. But if you want to stop at the Krispy Kreme, be my guest. I'll check in with the station and let them know where we'll be."

Hutch called in while Starsky stopped at the drive-through for his calorie/cholesterol/fat laden breakfast. The dispatcher told Hutch that she was patching him through to Dobey, who wanted to speak with one of them right away.

"Cap'n, this is Hutch. Starsky and I are on our way over to see Bradley. We want to interview him before going any further with the investigation."

"That's fine. I expected he was at the top of your list. But I need you two back here by 2:00 this afternoon. The State Fire Marshall wants to sit down with you for a few minutes and compare notes. He was appointed only a few weeks ago. Name's Jerry Hunter. I told him you'd be here, so don't be late," Dobey said in his usual gruff manner.

"Got it, Cap. We'll be there."

Starsky handed a cup of steaming hot coffee to his partner, careful not to allow Sam to get close enough to burn his nose. The curious puppy licked his chops when Starsky pulled out a fresh, warm donut, and was within inches of helping himself when it was yanked out of his range.

"Oh no you don't, Bozo. This my breakfast. You already had your. Besides, didn't anybody ever tell you that dogs don't like donuts?"

"He's a lot like you, Starsk. If it's food—he likes it."

"Very funny," Starsky shot back. "Just keep him outta my donuts."

Starsky finished off the pastry in three bites and maneuvered the Ford back out into traffic, traveling toward 21st Century Towers. The high-rise office complex housed among other things, the corporate offices for Frank Bradley Enterprises.

"Did a little checking and it seems our boy Bradley's a high-roller, worth several mill. He has his hands in more businesses than the mob," Starsky said.

"We already knew about the fur trade and jewelry, but I found out he also owns an import business for pricey, custom built cars, from Jaguar to Rolls Royce. Add to that 'dealer of rare original artwork' and we got one filthy-rich dude." Starsky glanced at his partner as he talked. "With his import/export business connections, there's plenty of opportunity to smuggle drugs in and out of the country."

"When did you find out all that?" Hutch was impressed that Starsky had done his homework.

"After I left your place last night, I went by the station and asked Minnie to run a check. I just lucked up; she's working second shift this week."

"Starsky, why is it that Minnie just can't seem to say no where you're concerned? Don't you ever feel just the tiniest bit guilty about taking advantage of her affection for you?"

"Oh, come on Hutch, she could be my mother."

"You've heard what they say about older women and younger men," Hutch teased

"You know, Starsk, women don't even reach their sexual peak until they're in their forties." Watching from the corner of his eye, Hutch could see this conversation was beginning to make Starsky uncomfortable. Amused, he waited for a reaction.

"Oh yeah? For real? And what about guys? I mean, when am I supposed to peak?"

"Hate to tell you this, partner, but it's come and gone. Age nineteen." Hutch could barely repress a smile at the expression on Starsky's face.

"Nineteen! Are you kiddin'? That's not true. You're makin' it up."

"Absolutely serious. If you'd read something besides comic books and the funny papers, you'd have seen some of the more recent studies done by Masters & Johnson. Haven't you read their new book, "The Joy of Sex?"

"Don't need to read a book, partner," Starsky boasted. He gave Hutch a wicked grin and waggled his eyebrows.

Starsky looked at the street sign, realized where he was, and made an abrupt turn into a strip shopping center on the right. The car behind him skidded and blared his horn. "What the hell?" Hutch hung onto the dashboard and braced Sam with his left elbow.

"Sorry 'bout that," Starsky said when he realized the dog had nearly catapulted over the back seat. "Be right back."

Starsky stomped down on the emergency brake and left the engine running while he dashed into the Junior Supermarket. A few short minutes later, he ran back out with a large brown paper bag and dropped it on the front seat between them. Sam, inquisitive about the contents of the bag, quickly stuck his head into the open top and began snuffling and making loud snorting noises.

"What's in the bag, Starsk?"

"Just somethin' to keep him busy while we're talkin' to Bradley."

Six blocks later, Starsky pulled the Torino into the underground parking lot of the 21st Century Towers office complex and located a fairly deserted, cool area to park the car. By now, Sam's head was completely buried in the bag and he was busy trying to retrieve the new toy.

Starsky smiled at Hutch with an "I told you so" look on his face. "So what's in the bag?" Hutch asked again.

"One of those big rawhide, chewy things. You know, the ones that look like giant bones. I figure he'll be quiet if he has a toy to chew."

Hutch thought Starsky was pretty clever, but to keep his buddy's smugness quotient at a tolerable level, he decided not to say so. Instead, he rolled his window down a couple of inches to give the dog some fresh air. Starsky did the same and they both slipped quietly out of the car while Sam wrestled with the large brown bag and its hidden treasure.

Bradley Enterprises was on the nineteenth floor. It was apparent the higher the floor, the more affluent the tenants. As they stepped off the elevator onto Italian pink marble floors, Starsky and Hutch looked around themselves in awe. Thick, richly colored, hand- woven, Persian rugs dotted the lobby area. Oversized, dark cherry chairs with matching sofas covered in intricately patterned brocade upholstery were placed just so, providing a place for visitors to wait in comfort. Tall, narrow windows spanned from ceiling to floor, their top panels fashioned of colorful, handcrafted, stained glass pastoral scenes.

"This must be the place," Starsky said under his breath.

"Don't break anything," Hutch warned him jokingly.

An attractive blonde woman about twenty-five to thirty years old looked up from her desk over dark framed bifocals which were perched low on the bridge of her nose. She waited until the two detectives reached her desk before acknowledging them.

"May I help you, gentlemen?" she asked primly.

Both men pulled out their badges and held them out for her to see. "I'm Detective Hutchinson and this is my partner, Detective Starsky. We're here to see Mr. Bradley regarding a police matter."

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked coolly.

"Well, no," Hutch answered tentatively; "but I'm certain he'll see us, since this is in regard to a crime investigation."

"Mr. Bradley is a very busy man." She opened a black suede calendar book and ran her finger down the page. "No, I'm afraid he has back to back appointments all day."

Starsky stepped up to the desk. "Look, this is official police business. I suggest you buzz your boss and tell him we're here. He's likely to be pretty upset if he finds out you turned us away without even checkin'," he said, the irritation obvious in his tone.

The receptionist lifted her chin arrogantly. "Sir, I believe I know more about what would upset my boss than you do. And I know he doesn't have time to see you right now." She reminded Starsky of a mother wolf guarding her pups, rather than a receptionist. Her high-handed attitude was starting to really grate on him.

Hutch could see where this was headed and decided to try another approach. "Yes, I'm sure you do." Hoping to soften her up a little, Hutch gave her his most appealing smile, the one that always worked with women. "So, when can he see us?" He quietly laid a hand on Starsky's arm, signaling him to back off. The blonde flipped through several pages and finally located an opening in the appointment book.

"A week from Tuesday. We have an opening from 11:15 to 11:30 a.m." She smiled rather smugly.

"This is ridiculous!" Starsky blustered. "I'm outta here.

Pointing his finger at the woman, he went on. "Let her explain to Councilman Gibbons and Police Commissioner Thompson why two of his hand-picked detectives were denied an interview with their close, personal friend, Frank Bradley. Let somebody else catch the creeps that burned two of his businesses to the ground." He turned on his heel and started for the elevator.

"Good idea," Hutch agreed, turning, and following his partner. He recognized Starsky's modified-for-the-circumstances 'good cop/bad cop' routine.

"Wait!" the receptionist called out. They both pretended to either not hear—or not care. They left that open to her own interpretation.

She rose from behind the desk and hurried after them. "Please?"

Hutch turned around first; Starsky was busy punching the elevator buttons.

"Please, gentlemen. Maybe I was a little hasty." She was visibly shaken now and Hutch enjoyed seeing her squirm.

"Starsky, hold on a minute." Starsky's back was turned, but Hutch was certain there was a mischievous grin on his face. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Perhaps I could interrupt Mr. Bradley. His barber and manicurist are with him right now, but maybe you can talk with him while they are finishing up."

Both detectives followed her back to the desk, where she picked up the telephone and spoke in quiet tones with her boss. She then led them to a massive, ornate door and ushered them in.

A graying, trimly built man in his late fifties or early sixties was sitting in an overstuffed, dark green leather chair while another man busily clipped his hair. Seated beside him on a stool, a young woman manicured his nails with quick, efficient strokes of the file.

"Welcome, Detectives. Marvin told me the Commissioner was sending LA's finest to handle my case. I trust I won't be disappointed. I must say, you are prompt." He smiled and motioned with his free hand for them to be seated.

They introduced themselves, but made no attempt to shake hands with the executive before taking a seat on the sofa. "We almost didn't get past your pit bull," Starsky said sardonically.

"Oh, you mean Francine? Yes, she guards me with an over-abundance of zeal, doesn't she? Well, that's what I pay her so well to do. I'm sure you can appreciate loyalty. I mean, being police officers and all. Now, what can I do to help with your investigation?"

Hutch began by asking him routine questions about any known enemies, recently fired employees, and individuals who would stand to gain from his losses. Starsky occasionally chimed in, but basically Hutch led the interview.

"I honestly cannot think of anyone who has a vendetta against me; but I'm sure you realize that a man in my position most likely makes enemies everyday he doesn't even know about. I can have my Human Resources person search the employee files and provide you with a list of terminated employees and those recently reprimanded or placed on probation."

"That would be terrific," Starsky said.

"What about in your personal life, Mr. Bradley? Are you married, any ex-wives, or maybe a scorned lover?" Hutch asked.

"I'm a happily married man, detective," Bradley replied lightly. "A scorned lover, indeed. My wife would have my head, after thirty-five years of wedded bliss. But you can eliminate her from your list of suspects. My wife loves beautiful, expensive things, gentlemen. She wouldn't bite the hand that feeds her."

Neither man was sure if he was serious, or just being facetious. Hutch stood up, signaling an end to the interview. "Well, if you think of anyone, or anything, please get in touch with us right away." He produced a card with his name and the station number printed on it. "You can ask for either me or my partner, Detective Starsky."

"I certainly will," Bradley replied without rising. "I'll have Francine call Personnel right now. They should have that list for you later today. Would you like to pick it up this afternoon?"

"Yes, that would be very helpful." Starsky and Hutch walked to the door. "Thank you for your time," Hutch said, politely.

As they walked past Francine to the elevator, the receptionist pretended to be very busy rearranging the articles on her desk. The two detectives stepped into the elevator, and as the door closed, Starsky said quietly, below his breath. "Man, what a bitch."

"Aw, come on, Starsk; you're just mad because she wasn't overcome by the irresistible 'Starsky charm'." Hutch snickered at the indignant look on his partner's face.

"Very funny, wise guy."

When they were in sight of the Torino, Starsky could see Sam standing up in the front seat with his paws balancing on the dashboard. Once he recognized Starsky and Hutch, the dog began barking and frantically wagging his tail like some sort of signaling device.

Starsky unlocked the car and saw dozens of tiny pieces of brown paper bag scattered over the seat and floorboard. The rawhide bone was halfway demolished.

"Aw, man, look at this mess," Starsky grumbled.

"Well, what did you expect, Starsk? You gave him the bag. He's a puppy. Puppies chew things; that just what they do. At least it was the bag and not the upholstery."

A horror-stricken look flashed across Starsky's face. The thought of the dog destroying part of his beloved car was sheer blasphemy! As they both got in, Sam jumped all over them, licking and playfully nipping at their faces. Starsky fought him off long enough to retrieve the car keys from the pocket of his jeans and insert them in to the ignition.

"You better walk him a few minutes," Hutch said before Starsky could turn the key. "He's been locked up in this car for awhile; he may need to be walked...you know, to relieve himself."

"Why me?"

"Because I walked him last time," Hutch said logically. He knew he shouldn't give Starsky a hard time; but it was so darn much fun.

"Aw, alright!" Starsky struggled with the enthusiastic, wiggling dog long enough to connect the leash, then got out and walked to the closest exit. There was a small park next door to the complex that served the purpose very well. Hutch pulled the car out of the garage and was parked at the curb when Starsky and Sam were ready to leave.

"Move over," Starsky said, standing on the driver's side of the car.

"Good grief, Starsky, just get in. I'll drive."

"Uh, uh. You know I don't like anybody drivin' my car." Sam was straining at the leash, obviously anxious to get into the car where Hutch was. "Move over," Starsky repeated.

Aggravated, Hutch muttered an obscenity, but climbed out of the car and went around to the passenger's side. "I swear, you are so damned possessive of this—this—hunk of red metal. You act like it's a living being, instead a…a…machine." Sam jumped into the back seat and watched the two men with interest.

"You don't even like my car. You're always insultin' it; so why do you wanna drive all of a sudden?" Starsky argued.

Hutch slammed the door and sulked. "Just forget it, okay? I don't want to drive this...this…this Striped Tomato!" he snapped. Hutch knew that name always got under Starsky's skin, and he was feeling particularly mischievous this morning. "Let's just go on over to Huggy's and drop off Sam. It's noon already and we have that meeting with the Fire Marshall at 2:00."

Starsky put the car in gear and cautiously pulled away from the curb. They drove along for awhile in silence. The only sound was Sam panting loudly from the back seat, his eyes darting back and forth between them. After a few minutes, Starsky glanced sideways at Hutch.

"Hey—Blondie...you mad?"

"No. Why should I be mad? Just because my partner, my supposed best friend, my buddy doesn't trust me to drive his car?" Hutch concentrated hard to maintain the sulky expression.

"Look, if you really wanna drive, I'll let you," Starsky said in his most conciliatory voice.

"No thanks." Hutch smiled at him now. "I just wanted to see if you'd let me."

Starsky rolled his eyes at Hutch and shook his head in disbelief. Sometimes he had to wonder at Hutch's warped sense of humor. Sam seemed to sense the tension had passed and was trying to climb over the seat just as Starsky pulled into his favorite parking space in the alley behind The Pits.

They hopped out of the car with Sam on lead, and entered the restaurant via the back door. Huggy was in the kitchen giving instructions to his latest new cook when the threesome entered. He stopped mid-sentence when he spied the dog. "What the hell?"

"Hey Hug," Starsky said, grinning from ear to ear. "Want'cha to meet our new partner, Officer Sam." In spite of the dog's wagging tail and friendly face, Huggy Bear took a step back.

"Hey, man, that's a Rottweiler. You know those dogs are killers, don't you?"

Hutch squatted down and put his arm around Sam's neck and hugged him affectionately. "Not this one, Huggy. Look at him; he's a big marshmallow. Come over here and get acquainted."

"I don't know, Hutch." Huggy wasn't convinced.

"Hug, you know I don't have much use for dogs, but this one's really nice. We rescued him from a crack house where he'd been abused. He's really funny when you get to know 'em," Starsky said encouragingly.

Huggy seemed to be softening up, so Starsky went to stand beside him and called Sam. The dog immediately came to Starsky and nuzzled his hand to have his head patted. Huggy smiled at the comical look on the dog's face. "Go on and pet him, Hug," Starsky urged. As if he understood the exchange, Sam turned and nuzzled against Huggy's leg, winning him over then and there. He stooped down and scratched the dog's ears.

Hutch began telling Huggy about how they found the dog, his stint at Animal Control, and their decision to bail him out. "Holy shit, man," Huggy said when he spotted the raw burn marks on Sam's back. "What's this?"

"Cigarette burns. At least, that's what Mary Peterson thinks—she's the animal control officer who picked him up. We been putting ointment on them," Starsky answered.

"Some people will do anything, man. This dude's only a puppy. If I'd been treated the way he has, I don't think I'd be this cool." Huggy shook his head in disbelief. "But then, the world's full of weirdoes and freaks. I know, cause half of 'em come in here."

When Starsky and Hutch left for their meeting with the Fire Marshall, Sam was snarfing down a large bowl of meat scraps that Huggy had rustled up. They knew Sam was in good hands until their return.

Chapter 5

"Starsky, Hutchinson, this is Lt. Jerry Hunter, the new Fire Marshall for this district. I want you two to cooperate with him in any way possible on this investigation," Captain Dobey said, motioning for the two cops to have a seat.

Both shook hands with Hunter before settling in their favorite chairs. "It's nice to meet you. I'm looking forward to our working together," the distinguished looking man said as he sat back down. "I've only been in LA for two months, and this is the first big case I've tackled since arriving. You two have the reputation of being the best detectives in this district, so I'm sure if we combine our resources, we can solve this case fairly quickly. That's why I asked that you be assigned."

Starsky and Hutch exchanged a look of surprise. During the initial briefing that morning, Dobey hadn't mentioned that Hunter requested them specifically. At first impression, Hunter seemed like a nice enough guy, one that they could enjoy working with. Probably in his early forties, he wasn't a handsome man, but had an air of dignity about him that compensated for his lack of good looks. He wore his ebony black hair swept back, smooth against his head, emphasizing dark brown eyes, which looked more black than brown, unless he was in the sunlight. He was all business, as he moved on quickly with the meeting.

Reaching into his briefcase, Hunter took out a large manila envelope and handed it to Starsky. "I think we need to share what information we already know before taking off in separate directions," he said. "Captain Dobey just gave me a copy of everything LAPD has, including the autopsy report on the watchman."

"That pretty much clinched it," Dobey added. "This is now officially, a murder investigation as well as arson."

"Cap'n, we checked on the autopsy report and were told it wasn't back." Hutch said, directing his attention to Dobey.

"Just came in a few minutes ago," he replied, handing a copy of the autopsy to Hutch. "It says the guard died from a blunt trauma wound to the head. There was very little evidence of smoke damage to the lungs."

"That's right," Hunter confirmed. "Meaning he was dead before he could inhale much smoke. This narrows it down somewhat. We can eliminate the probability that this was an act of pure vandalism done by vagrants or teenagers high on drugs or alcohol. This is an individual who means business."

"We just came from interviewing Bradley," Starsky told them. "Seemed more than willing to help with the investigation."

"One thing we have to consider is that Bradley, himself, may be responsible. Don't forget that arson has been dubbed 'a white collar crime'," Hunter interjected. "We find that it's frequently the handiwork of the supposed victim."

"We thought of that," Hutch said, "and are checking out that angle."

"There are several motives for arson." Hunter continued, "To defraud an insurance company, to put the competition out of business, or to destroy records if the individual is involved in tax evasion or fraud are all common-place when a business burns down. But we also have to consider the more personal reasons, such as good, old fashioned revenge. Maybe a disgruntled employee, or a rejected lover or spouse." Hunter turned and looked at Dobey, "I realize this is a political 'hot potato', but we'll have to discretely investigate all these possibilities."

"Bradley's already asked his personnel manager to draw up a list of potential suspects for us. Hutch and I are supposed to pick it up after this meeting," Starsky said.

"That's probably where we'll find the culprit," Hunter replied. "But it's still too early in the investigation to completely rule out the possibility the perpetrator may be doing this to fulfill a psychotic need. Pyromaniacs can't suppress the impulse to start a blaze. Watching the flames and smoke gives them a rush. Nothing excites them more."

"Is there anything you can tell us about how the fires are being started?" Hutch asked, while glancing over the autopsy report.

"Unfortunately, they're being started with one of the most common accelerates available—gasoline. If a more unusual substance was involved, we'd have a better chance of tracing it back to the guilty party. But we've got your basic 'Class A fire' here. and sometimes these are the hardest to solve My best team is on-site now, searching for evidence of how he's actually igniting the blaze."

Hunter looked around the room inviting other questions. "In any case, I believe you guys are on the right track, starting with Bradley's employees. A wealthy businessman like him has the opportunity to make plenty of enemies.

That's all I can tell you for now. Copies of our most current lab results and my investigation notes to date are in the file I just gave Detective Starsky."

"Sounds like we all have our work cut out for us," Dobey said as he leaned forward and massaged the back of his neck. Hutch figured the Captain had probably gotten another call from Police Commissioner Thompson, turning up the pressure.

"We certainly do," Hunter replied. "Here's my card." He stood up to leave. "Please call me if you come up with anything you'd like me to follow up on. I'm going to spend my time this afternoon in the lab. You may have run into my team, Gina Addison and Bob Jernigan, over at the jewelry store this morning. They're two of the best people we have. We're still running some tests and will share the results with you as soon as we have them."

Sam met Hutch at the back door of The Pits. Huggy didn't seem anxious to be rid of him. "Did you behave yourself, fella?" Hutch asked, reaching down to affectionately scratch the pup's ear.

"He was cool; unless you want to count those two T-bones he lifted right off the counter for a little snack," Huggy answered for the dog. Sam swung his head around and looked up at Huggy, appearing to understand he'd been busted.

"Sam, you didn't!" Hutch scolded. "Look, I'm sorry, Huggy. How much do we owe you? I'll pay for whatever he stole."

"No sweat, man. What's a couple of steaks among friends?"

"Thanks, Hug. We didn't think Dobey would exactly roll out the welcome mat for him," Hutch said, as he bent down and snapped on the leash.

"Well, don't let the word out on the streets that this is his home away from home or nothing, but if the little dude needs a temporary hangout, he can hang with Huggy Bear anytime. Uh...but...maybe he could bring his own lunch next time." Sam rubbed his head against Huggy's thigh, as if to apologize for the theft.

"Catch you later. Thanks again," Hutch said as they went out the back door to Starsky and the Torino.

The two detectives stepped off the elevator and walked towards the reception desk of Bradley Enterprises. "Miss Personality's still standin' guard," Starsky mumbled under his breath.

"Don't let your attitude show, partner," Hutch cautioned him.

The blonde looked up from her desk with a cordial smile. "Gentlemen," she greeted, "I have the information you requested." Both men were surprised at the change from earlier this morning. She held a file folder in her outstretched hand.

"Thanks," Hutch responded, taking the folder. But Francine was focusing her attention on Starsky.

"I hope there are no hard feelings from this morning," she said contritely. "I was just doing my job. Mr. Bradley becomes very angry if I let people in who don't have appointments."

In spite of his earlier resolve, Starsky felt himself softening toward the receptionist. "Apology accepted," he said, smiling back at her. She really has pretty blue eyes, he thought, amazed he hadn't noticed earlier.

Hutch looked on amused, as Starsky's expression rapidly changed from restrained to surprised, then to pleased.''

"I'd like a chance to make it up to you. Would you care to meet later for a drink?"

"Um...sure...sure. When do you get off?"

"Five. Why don't we just meet at Mick's, the little bar & grill across the street?"

"Terrific."

Hutch cleared his throat, waiting for an invitation; but Francine ignored him. "Later then, detective." She smiled sweetly and sat back down at the desk.

"Dave."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Dave. Dave Starsky. That's my name."

"Oh, yes. I'll see you at five, Dave."

Hutch tapped him on the shoulder with the file folder; signally he was ready to leave. They neither spoke until they climbed back into the Torino and started out of the parking garage.

"What was that all about?"

"Whattaya mean?" Starsky answered Hutch's question with a question.

"What ever happened to 'Man, she's a bitch'?"

"She came to her senses," Starsky smirked. Sam flopped his big paw over Starsky's shoulder and licked his right ear as if to congratulate him. "Besides, maybe she knows somethin' about Bradley."

"Maybe. Good thinking, Starsk. I know this is a big sacrifice for you, but see what you can find out anyway. You're a real trooper," Hutch teased. "In the meantime, let's start checking out these possible suspects."

Starsky ran home in time for a quick shower before meeting Francine at the bar and grill. While getting ready, he thought about the forlorn look on Sam's face when he drove off and left the dog standing in the driveway with Hutch. Who would ever have thought he'd be getting attached to a dog? Starsky was having trouble accepting it himself!

The funny thing was, the dog seemed to like him just as much as he liked Hutch. Starsky wouldn't admit it—not even to himself—but he kind of enjoyed it, knowing someone looked forward to seeing him, was eager to please him, cared about him. Yeah, it was pretty nice. He wondered if Hutch felt the same way. But it wasn't the kind of thing a guy wanted to tell anybody.

When Starsky arrived at the bar, the cute blonde was already there, seated at a private table in the corner. She spotted him and waved from across the room. Starsky smiled, then waved back, and made his way through the crowd to where she was waiting.

"Hi, Dave. I'm glad you could make it."

"Yeah, me too," Starsky said, looking around the room at the throng of people.

"You come here often?"

"Pretty often. Being right across the street here, a lot of the office workers from the complex gather here for happy hour. Convenient, you know."

"Yeah, I guess so. I didn't even know this place was here," Starsky replied, unable to think of anything else to say. An uneasy silence followed for the next few seconds.

"I, uh, I guess you thought it was awfully forward of me to ask you out, especially after my rude behavior this morning," Francine said, her face blushing bright pink as she spoke.

"No, not all. I mean, I was kinda rude right back," Starsky answered, trying to relieve her embarrassment. "It's the job, you know. We have to get answers and we have to get them quick. Somebody's life can depend on it."

"Oh, yes, I realize that. Mr. Bradley expects me to screen all visitors, especially those without appointments. I'm surprised he didn't warn me to expect you. If he had, I would have let you in immediately." She took a deep breath and paused, as a little frown puckered her brow. "My interest in getting to know you wasn't my only motive for inviting you here tonight. I asked you because I...I...may be able to help you."

Starsky wasn't expecting this revelation, and was taken off guard for a moment.

"I wanted to give you a name to check into." Francine looked around the room to see if anyone was listening, then bent her head closer. Starsky obliged by moving closer as well. "I could lose my job if anyone knew I was discussing this matter with you. But she was my friend, she helped me get on at Bradley's, and I feel I owe her something."

"You can tell me," Starsky reassured her. "I'll be careful with the information and only involve you if it's necessary." Now Starsky looked around before speaking. "Francine, a man was murdered last night at the arson site. Whoever's doin' this, has no qualms about hurtin' people."

"Well, if you promise..."

"You have my word," Starsky laid his hand over hers as he spoke. He looked into Francine's eyes and recognized fear.

"Okay." She took a deep breath before going on. "Her name was Carol Parker. She worked as an administrative assistant to Mr. Bradley. Carol had been with him about a year when she told me about the opening for a receptionist in her office. She said if I was interested, she'd put in a good word for me. She said there was one condition, though. I must never repeat anything that went on in the office—especially if it concerned her relationship with Mr. Bradley."

Francine paused, looking up at Starsky to see if he was figuring out where this was going. "Carol told me that she wanted a close friend in the office because there were people who would like to see her lose her job. Worse yet, they would cause trouble for her and Mr. Bradley with his wife. At first, I thought she meant that she was being accused of things she didn't do—you know? I mean—with Mr. Bradley."

"But that wasn't the case?" Starsky prompted.

"No. She and Mr. Bradley were having an affair. She was really in love with him, and believed he felt the same. Carol thought it would be safer to have a friend working in the office, someone who wouldn't want to cause her trouble." Francine shrugged her shoulders. "She was partially right; I didn't tell a soul. Haven't—until just now. I don't know how it got out, but there were whispers. Mostly speculation, I think."

"Where is Carol now?" Starsky asked. His hand still laid casually over Francine's. He felt her shiver in response to his question. She turned and looked him in the eyes and he saw hers sparkled with unshed tears.

"She's dead. They're saying it was suicide. But I know it wasn't."

"How? How do you know?"

"Carol was pregnant. She would never have killed her baby. I know she wouldn't. Carol was raised Catholic. Not only did she believe suicide was a mortal sin, killing her unborn child would have been, in her mind, an unforgivable sin."

Starsky squeezed her hand, then reached into the back pocket of his jeans, and produced a clean handkerchief. Francine gratefully accepted it and dabbed as inconspicuously as possible at the tears that were now threatening to overflow.

"Was there an investigation?"

"Not really. They said she jumped from a window in her apartment building. The police were told that she had a history of depression—which she did; and her mother confirmed that to be true. I don't know why, but the fact that she was pregnant hasn't been mentioned. I don't think anyone knew except me, and of course, Mr. Bradley. Dave, I believe she was murdered to keep her from having that baby and causing a scandal for her boss."

"Francine, if that's true, and Bradley had her killed, how do you think the fires are tied in?"

"That part I don't know yet. But I feel sure the two things are connected somehow. Anyway, I feel better, just having told you. Even if the arson isn't connected to Carol's death, maybe you can still reopen her case and see that something's done about it."

"You feel absolutely sure that your friend didn't kill herself? I mean, what if she told Bradley, he rejected her, and the whole idea of tryin' to raise a kid without his help was just too much for her to deal with?"

"I thought about that. I just can't see her committing suicide. I know there's no apparent connection, but promise me you'll at least check it out without bringing my name into it?"

"Hey, I gave you my word, didn't I, hmmm?" Starsky smiled at her. "Now you gotta promise me somethin'. Don't repeat any of this, okay? If you're right about your suspicions, you could put yourself in danger by repeating what you know. So, will you promise to let me take it from here?"

Francine nodded in agreement, then smiled at Starsky. "Thank you, Dave. If I hear anything else, I let you know right away. And one more thing; would you please call me Fran? All my friends do."

"Okay, Fran." Starsky gave her hand one final squeeze. "Now, how about we order somethin' to eat. I'm starved. Whattaya recommend?"

After taking Francine home, Starsky checked his watch and saw it was only 10:30. He decided to go by Hutch's and fill him in on this latest development. Hutch had planned to go over Hunter's file anyway, so they could see how the Fire Marshall's investigation was coinciding with what they already had on the case. When he pulled into Hutch's driveway, the headlights of the Torino flashed momentarily on two people and two dogs standing about fifty feet from Hutch's house.

Starsky turned off the ignition and hopped out of the car just in time to hear a woman's light laughter. It sounded really familiar, but Starsky wasn't sure where he'd heard it before. He went around in front of the Torino and was about to let himself in through the front door of the house when he caught a phrase of the nearby conversation. "Oh, I think Phoebe and Sam are becoming great friends, don't you?"

Then he heard Hutch's familiar voice, "Well, Sam knows a beautiful girl when he sees one. I mean, he takes after me in that regard." More laughter....

Oh, brother, Starsky thought to himself, Give me a break Then the memory of Phoebe, the prissy poodle, and her attractive owner came flooding back, bringing a flush of humiliation to him all over again. Oh, God, don't let her tell Hutch about last night. He quickly let himself into the house and closed the door, hoping she hadn't recognized him.

Starsky grabbed up the arson file and appeared to be completely absorbed in it when Hutch and Sam came in a few minutes later. Hutch was grinning from ear to ear. Sam, always excited to see Starsky, didn't wait for Hutch to unhook his leash before breaking loose and pouncing on Starsky with all four feet. Under the onslaught, Starsky lost his grip on the file and the pages went flying in ten different directions. "Dammit, Sam! You big dummy! Get off me! Now see what'cha done!"

Sam quickly drew back as though Starsky had struck him. His ears flattened against his head, he slunk away, hiding behind a chair. Instantly, Starsky regretted yelling at the dog. Anticipating Hutch ribbing him about last night, Starsky had taken out his embarrassment and anxiety on Sam, when all the dog wanted was to show his affection.

"That's real good, Starsk," Hutch said angrily. "Make him think he's back at Slick Willie's."

Starsky felt like a real sleaze. "I didn't mean—"

"Yeah, well, tell him—not me."

Starsky went over to the chair Sam was hiding behind and squatted down. "Sam, come on out fella," he said quietly. The dog only whined and cringed a little further back into the corner. Starsky reached out his hand tentatively. "Come on, boy. I'm not gonna hurt you." No response. He sat down on the floor next to the chair and patted his lap, trying to coax the dog to him. "Come on now, and I'll scratch your ears. I know ya like that."

Sam looked up and cocked his head to one side, then laid it back down. Hutch eased over quietly, and slipped Starsky a dog biscuit. "Try this, Starsk."

Starsky held the biscuit out in front of him, close to his knee. Always the chow hound, Sam tried to stretch his neck out far enough to take the treat without actually moving closer to Starsky. "Naw, you gotta come all the way over here," he said gently. The dog looked up into Starsky's face and saw he was smiling. Slowly, he crept forward on his belly, reminding Starsky of a soldier in one of those old war movies, crawling from one foxhole to another, behind enemy lines. Then before he knew it, Sam snatched the biscuit and was happily chomping it into tiny bits. Starsky reached out and first patted his head, then pulled the dog into his lap and hugged him.

Hutch watched his partner interacting with the dog and was reminded again that Starsky might be a little rough around the edges, but he had never known anyone more kind and compassionate than his friend. Sam was all wags as he sat in Starsky's lap being hugged and cuddled.

"So, does this mean you forgive him for hiking his leg on you in front of Phoebe and Janice last night?" Hutch asked, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

Starsky turned around, a sour expression marring his face. "You just couldn't let it slide, could ya, Blondie?" By now Hutch had broken down and was laughing out loud.

"Oh, man, Starsk, what I would have given to see that! Mr. Cool... I gotta hand it to you partner, you really know how to impress a lady."

"Very funny, smart ass. Your turn's comin'! Just you wait..." Starsky tried not to laugh, but it was contagious. Sam ran back and forth between them, barking and wagging. He wasn't sure what all the fun was about, but he really wanted to be included.

When Starsky pulled into Hutch's drive the next morning; he wasn't surprised to see Sam trotting along beside him. "Mornin'," Starsky said, not even commenting on the dog's presence as they climbed in.

"Morning," Hutch answered. He was obviously in a good humor. Sam, too, who stopped to give Starsky a sloppy kiss before climbing over the seat to assume his place in the back. This time Starsky took it in stride.

"Where do you wanna start?" Hutch asked, clearly anxious to get on with the investigation.

"I've been thinking, maybe we should go ahead and check out Carol Parker's death. If Fran's right, there could be a motive for the fires that we just haven't figured out."

"True, but I don't think we should focus totally on that incident without checking out the people I told you about last night; those who were fired over the past year." Sam moved over and hung his head over Hutch's shoulder, who absently reached up and scratched the dog under the chin without a pause in the conversation.

"No doubt about it, Starsky, Bradley Enterprises is big business; and they're cold when it comes to getting rid of people they don't need anymore. At least three of them had over ten years of service with the company at the time they were terminated."

"Yeah, I picked up on that. I really was lookin' through the file last night before the 'black tornado'," Starsky indicated Sam with a nod toward the dog, "laid into me."

Hutch grinned, remembering the chaos Sam had created. He opened up the file folder to a page of notes he and Starsky had made last night. "Okay, lets try to question Davis Sims, Derrick Huff, and Julie Alexander this morning. Then we'll go back to the station and pull the file on the Parker suicide and check that out in the afternoon." Hutch always liked having a plan.

By noon, the two detectives had met with Sims, an ex-middle manager who seemed pretty happy about receiving an early retirement, even though it had not initially been his idea. He had found he could live quite comfortably on his retirement income and bragged how he enjoyed spending time in his garden.

Julie Alexander was an executive secretary who'd been dismissed when her direct supervisor left the company. Though bitter toward her former employer, Ms. Alexander was now working at a job that paid ten thousand more a year than Bradley had, and didn't appear to have a bone to pick with the conglomerate. In fact, she seemed extremely happy with how things had turned out.

"I saw in the papers that two of Bradley's holdings were destroyed," she told them. "I couldn't help thinking it couldn't happen to a more deserving guy. But frankly, I didn't even care enough to finish reading the article."

Their efforts to locate Derrick Huff revealed that the ex-receiving clerk had left LA when he was fired for showing up for work intoxicated. Friends said he returned to his hometown somewhere in Texas. Apparently, Huff had family there who wanted to help him get into rehab. It had been simple to confirm he'd left LA at least two months before the first fire.

By noon, they had eliminated the three employees who seemed to have the strongest motives to cause Bradley Enterprises a problem. Starsky pulled into the parking lot of one of his favorite delis and turned off the motor. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm starved'." Sam woofed loudly, signaling he agreed.

"Well, at least I can get something here that's half-way healthy. Why don't you go in and get our order while I wait here with Sam," Hutch suggested.

Starsky was back in a flash with a chicken salad on pita for Hutch, and a triple-decker club with chips for himself. Sam wagged his tail happily and salivated on Hutch's shoulder as Starsky unwrapped two large kilbosa sausages and placed them on a paper plate for the dog.

"Starsky, you're gonna make him sick feeding him stuff like that," Hutch complained.

"Hey, I thought you said we have joint custody," Starsky chided right back. "That means when he's with me, he can have real food. You can feed him seaweed biscuits and granola kibbles when he's with you."

Hutch shook his head in resignation. He knew there was no point in arguing with Starsky when it came to food.

After finishing their meal, they sat in the shade for awhile and Starsky called the station to speak with Minnie.

"Minnie, darlin', this is Starsky. I need your help. Yeah—again." Hutch listened to the pro at work. "Listen, Hutch and I are checkin' into a reported suicide that happened about six weeks ago." Starsky listened for a second. "Right. Victim's name, Carol Parker. Address, Brandywine Apartments, here in the city." Silence again. "Terrific. You're the best. Oh, I don't know," Starsky looked at his watch, "about an hour?" Hutch rolled his eyes as Starsky looked over at him with a smug expression. "Okay. See you then. You're a sweetheart—yeah—I know, I owe ya. Bye."

"You should be ashamed of yourself," Hutch said, only half-seriously.

"What? She doesn't mind," Starsky defended himself, as he started the car.

"All units, all units in the vicinity Market and 27th, reported 211 in progress. Repeat a 211 in progress. All units in the vicinity of Market and 27th, please respond to silent alarm."

"That's only three blocks from here," Hutch said, snatching the radio mic off the console. Starsky pulled the car into traffic while slapping the red light on the roof of the Torino.

"Control, this is Zebra Three. Responding to the 211 at Market and 27th. We are three blocks from the site. Repeat, Zebra Three responding."

"Ten-four, Zebra Three. Suspects may be armed and dangerous. Name of business: Kwon Cho Market. Repeat—may be armed and dangerous."

Starsky expertly guided the Ford through the heavy traffic, using only the red flashing bubble to clear the traffic from his path. He eased the car to a quiet halt in front of the supermarket just as two black youths burst through the door wearing ski masks. Both were frantically waiving pistols in the air, the shorter of the two dragging a terrified oriental woman along as a shield.

"Damn!" Hutch spat. "I hate when civilians are involved."

"Yeah, well I don't think anybody asked us," Starsky answered, pulling his Smith & Wesson from the holster under his jacket. The two robbers still had their backs to the street and didn't seem to realize they were headed right toward the two detectives. "How you wanna do this?"

Hutch pulled out his Magnum and quickly checked the chamber. "The hard way, I guess."

They made eye contact for a split second before executing their move, and Starsky said barely above a whisper, "Hey...." the unspoken reminder to be careful.

Hutch nodded, "Yeah, you too...."

Simultaneously they threw open the car doors and dove in opposite directions, taking shelter behind other cars parked close by. When in place, with guns drawn, Hutch signaled his partner he was ready, then shouted, "Police! Stop right there!" The first man whirled and fired without hesitation, striking Hutch in the left shoulder. It happened so quickly Starsky wasn't sure he could believe his eyes. Adrenaline pumping, he rose up from behind his cover, and shouted, "Police!". As the gunman quickly turned toward him, Starsky fired three shots in rapid succession, striking him all three times. The second youth quickly shoved his hostage to the ground and threw up his hands.

"Don't shoot, mister, I give up! I give up!"

"Hutch, you okay? Speak to me partner," Starsky called out. No response.

"Drop the gun, slowly," Starsky ordered, not taking his eyes off the youth until the gun was safely on the ground. "Now put your hands behind your head and don't even breathe."

Starsky anxiously looked over at Hutch who was lying on his side adjacent to the car. "Hutch!" Before Starsky could shove the assailant to the ground and cuff him, Sam leaped out of the car and ran to where Hutch lay. The bewildered dog lay down, placing his head on Hutch's shoulder. "Stay there, Sam," Starsky told the dog, as he snapped the handcuffs shut and picked up the surrendered gun. Within seconds, Starsky had secured the criminal and was by Hutch's side.

He quickly bent down and eased Hutch onto his back, moving Sam aside in the process. "Hutch, buddy, you okay? Huh? Hutch?" Starsky held Hutch's face between his hands, urging him to open his eyes. He could see where the bullet had entered Hutch's left shoulder, but couldn't tell how bad the wound was.

"Starsk?" Hutch blinked several times, trying to clear his vision, then looked up at Starsky's worried face. At the same time, he felt a wet nose nudging his neck. Hutch was dazed, but he was conscious, and that seemed like a good sign to Starsky. He pulled Hutch into an upright position and braced him against his own body, then used his handkerchief to apply pressure to the wound in Hutch's shoulder.

"You really gave me a scare buddy," Starsky said. He watched as Sam inched forward again and laid his head and front paws over Hutch's legs. "Or maybe I should say you gave us a scare. Be still now. Help will be here soon," Starsky assured him.

Turning to the crowd that had gathered, he shouted, "Somebody call an ambulance! We've got an injured police officer here! And somebody check on that guy." When the bystanders seemed too stunned to act he snapped, " Do it! Now!" The store merchant and two others were jolted into action.

Starsky held onto Hutch with one arm and grasped Sam's collar with the other hand, afraid the frightened dog would run off when the ambulance roared onto the scene. "How you doin? Huh?" he kept asking Hutch.

"I'm okay, Starsk. Really...it's not too bad...I'm okay," Hutch reassured him. Sam whined again and moved in even closer, almost covering Hutch's lap. He smiled at the dog and laid his hand on Sam's head. "Starsky, I think he's even more of a mother hen than you."

"Impossible," Starsky mumbled, a little smile teasing the corners of his mouth. The ambulance cut its siren as it rolled to a stop just feet from where Starsky and Sam stood guard over Hutch.

When the paramedics took over, Starsky put Sam back into the car and went to talk with the other police officers who had arrived on the scene. He gave a statement to Officer Tate and promised to go by the station later and file his report. Because of the shooting, he knew IA would be involved. The paramedics told him the wounded gunman was in critical condition, but being young and strong, he'd probably survive.

Starsky hurried back to the ambulance before the paramedic could shut the door. "You gonna be okay, buddy?" he leaned in close and asked Hutch.

"Yeah, I just hate like hell that this could slow down solving our case."

"Don't worry about that. There's lots of stuff you can do while I'm on the street," Starsky consoled him. "You aren't gettin' outta doin' your share just because of this."

"Detective, we need to get your partner to the hospital now. You're welcome to follow. We're going to Metro General," the paramedic said, climbing into the back next to Hutch.

"Right. Okay. I'll see you there, Hutch," Starsky said, as the paramedic pulled the door shut in his face.

As good as his word, Starsky followed closely behind the ambulance as it sped away to the hospital. Sam lay in the front seat next to him, subdued and quiet. Starsky reached over and stroked the dog's head, wondering if the gun shots and shouting reminded him of his life at Slick Willie's. He could tell the dog was confused by Hutch's absence. "I know fella, I'm worried too. He'll be fine, you'll see." Sam lifted his head and laid it over on Starsky's knee, needing the physical contact for reassurance.

"Detective Starsky?" A gray-haired woman in her late fifties approached Starsky in the hallway outside the emergency room. Small in stature, but large in presence, Starsky knew without being told that she was the doctor.

"That's right."

"I'm Doctor Anderson. Detective Hutchinson said you would be taking him home."

"You mean you're gonna release him? He's gonna be okay then?"

"That's right. Well, actually, I wanted to keep him overnight, but he raised such a ruckus, I believe we would have to tie him down to do so. He should be okay, though; that is, if you or someone responsible will be there overnight in case that wound starts bleeding again."

"No problem. I'll stay over at his place and look after him," Starsky said eagerly, knowing how Hutch detested staying in the hospital, even if it was only overnight.

"It was a clean wound; meaning the bullet went in and came right out on the other side. No major arteries were involved, no bone splintering. He is one heck of a lucky guy—if you can say that about being shot, I mean."

"When can he go? Can I see him now?"

"You can go on in. They're bandaging it now and we'll put his arm in a sling on it to restrict movement. I gave him a shot for pain, so he's a little groggy. Of course, a nurse will take him out to your car in a wheelchair, but you may have some trouble getting him into the house. I hope he doesn't live in an upstairs apartment."

"No. That's not a problem. And I can handle him; don't worry about that," Starsky said confidently.

She smiled at him. "I'm sure you can."

"When can he return to work?"

"My, my, you boys must love your jobs," she said tongue-in-cheek. "That's the first thing Detective Hutchinson asked me too. My answer to him was, in two days if there are no complications. He's restricted from any strenuous, physical activity. I'm recommending desk duty for at least two weeks. Just because he's a healthy, strong young man doesn't mean he can't bleed to death," she peered through thick glassed spectacles at Starsky's attentive face.

"Keep that in mind and see that he does too. Okay?" she said in a no-nonsense voice. "If he ends up back in here because he's disregarded my orders, I'm going to hold you responsible. Understood?" Starsky nodded agreement and the felt like he was in school again, receiving a dressing down from the assistant principal, Mrs. Brown. When the little woman was satisfied she'd hammered across her point; she handed him a prescription for pain medication and another for an antibiotic then headed back to tend to other patients in the ER

"Wait Doc," Starsky said, stopping her just before she reached the over-sized swinging double doors. "What about the other guy...the one I shot?"

"Oh, he'll make it and be around to rob someone else in a few short weeks," she answered, her sarcasm barely disguised as humor. "You did hit him all three times, but nothing life-threatening." She then disappeared through the stainless steel doors.

Captain Dobey stood by holding a bag with Hutch's belongings as the nurse rolled the wheel chair to the curb. Starsky brought the Torino around to the pick up area, relegating Sam to the back seat to make room in front for his wounded partner. Dobey stepped back surprised when he spotted the Rottweiler in the backseat.

"Starsky, what are you doing with that dog?"

"What dog, Cap'n?" Starsky asked innocently. Even though he was a little groggy, Hutch enjoyed the puzzled look on Dobey's face.

"Don't get smart with me, Starsky! I can see that dog in the back seat!"

Starsky came around to the passenger's side to open the door for Hutch. "Oh, that dog. Don't know, Cap. Just showed up in the back there all of a sudden," Starsky teased.

Sam excitedly danced around in the back seat, anxious to greet Hutch as Dobey helped the injured man into the car. "Stay back, Sam," Starsky warned the dog. "Stay!"

Much to his surprise, the dog obeyed and laid down submissively on the seat.

"How'd you do that, Starsk?" Hutch asked, amazed that the dog had responded.

"It's a gift, Blintz," Starsky boasted, carefully reaching over and snapping Hutch's seatbelt securely. "Thanks Cap. I'll be in later to do my report. Just let me get my partner here settled."

"Just make sure you do! You know Internal Affairs when there's been a shooting. It should be routine anyway. We already have more than a half dozen written statements from witnesses who confirm the kid shot Hutch before you shot him."

"Thanks for coming, Cap'n," Hutch said sincerely.

"Think nothing of it Hutchinson. And Starsky—where did you get that dog!"

Starsky turned to his partner, "What dog? I don't see a dog. Do you see a dog, Hutch?"

Hutch picked up his cue, never missing a beat; "I don't see a dog. You see a dog, Cap?"

The tires of the Torino squealed as Starsky shot the gas to it, leaving their irritated Captain standing on the curb shaking his head.