Comments about this story can be sent to cruellaboris@yahoo.com

Sue David and Valerie Wells
© 3/2002

   Throughout the time driving to Meeker County, Starsky had nearly frozen. He thought grimly about how Deputy Dumbass had refused to turn the heater on in the squad car until the windows were so fogged over they could barely see to stay on the road. Some of the heat from the defroster made its way through the wire screen to the back seat, standing between Starsky and freezing to death. His wrists were chaffed raw by the tight handcuffs and, by the time they pulled up to the Meeker County Sheriff’s office, he couldn’t feel his hands anymore. Morgan left him in the back of the squad car while he went in to report that they were there.

   Despite the shivering, Starsky was finding it difficult to stay awake. He didn’t hear the door open, but was jerked awake as he was dragged out of the car. His side and leg hurt where Morgan had kicked him, but he managed to stay on his feet. He was concentrating on getting into the building so he could put an end to this nightmare.

   As soon as they entered the processing area, the sheriff came through the door at the other end of the room. "I wanted to personally welcome you back to our jail, Lambert," he was saying as he walked toward them.

   Starsky lifted his chin and looked at the man, who soon wore a shocked look. "Wait a minute, Morgan, this isn’t Gary Lambert."

   Morgan glared at the now smiling Starsky. "Are you sure?"

   "I told you I’m not him," Starsky said.

   "Of course I’m sure, Morgan. I arrested Lambert myself. I’ve never seen this man. You’ll have to take him back."

   "No, please...." Starsky started to say, but Morgan stopped him by spinning him around and shoving him back out the door.

   "I’ll be right back," Morgan called over his shoulder.

   "Please, you have to listen to me!" Starsky shouted, but Morgan had him out before anyone could listen. Starsky struggled to break free from the deputy’s hold, but he wasn’t strong enough. He shoved Starsky in the back of the squad car and slammed the door. Then, he returned to speak with the sheriff. He had to think of something fast. He smiled with the idea he had.

   "What was that all about, Morgan? That man didn’t look well. Who is he?"

   "He’s all right. Sorry for the mix up. We busted him on a B&E and attempted assault of a woman in Rochester. Too bad he’s not your guy. We’ll keep an eye out for him." He shook hands with the sheriff and went back out to the car.

   Ignoring Starsky’s protests, Morgan left town and headed off on a wooded road. He pulled off onto a small side lane that led to a deserted picnic grounds. When he stopped the car in such a remote place, Starsky was justifiably afraid the man was planning to kill him. He’d been caught in his huge mistake and had to do something with Starsky, other than return with him to the jail in his town. Morgan would have no way of explaining that. I’m sorry, Hutch. This guy’s gonna finish me and save Gunther the trouble he thought dejectedly as the car stopped and the deputy turned off the engine.

   "What are we doin’ here?" Starsky asked.

   "We seem to have us a problem, now don’t we. I can’t take you back, so I have to do something with you."

   Starsky tried to remain calm. "Look, we can still work this out...."

   "Save it. I can’t just let you go, you know that." He climbed out of the squad car. Starsky tensed, preparing to run when he was out of the car. If Morgan got a firm hold on him, he knew he was dead. He didn’t believe it would save him, but he had to try. Morgan never gave him the chance.

   He pulled Starsky from the car and threw him to the ground. Once he had him off his feet, he proceeded to kick him and beat him repeatedly into unconsciousness, all the while swearing at him and telling him he’d better not tell anyone what happened. He told the barely conscious Starsky he wasn’t going to kill him this time, but if he ever told what had really happened, he’d find him and finish him. Starsky remembered thinking he’d never survive as he slipped into darkness.

   Two hours later, Morgan pulled the squad car up to a state-run mental hospital. He went in to speak to the intake coordinator.

   "I have a patient in the car, can someone please help me with him?" Morgan was the picture of concern and cooperation. This had to work. He thought Starsky was probably a drifter. No one had been looking for a missing person, so no one would miss the man he’d just beaten. Morgan was cocky enough to believe that if it came down to his word against that of a drifter, he would be all right.

   A nurse and an orderly accompanied him out to the car. They loaded the unconscious, handcuffed man onto a gurney.

   "Get those cuffs off of him," the nurse ordered. "Does he need restraints?"

   "Yes, the boy’s violent."

   "He’s also been beaten and he’s nearly frozen. What’s going on here?"

   As they entered the hospital, Morgan told them the story of the man on the gurney. He said he was a mentally disturbed, shell-shocked Vietnam vet named Mike Ballard who had gone ballistic. Morgan said the patient had broken into a home and tried to rape a woman. Then he tried to kill himself and got into a brawl with the officers who had been called to the scene when neighbors heard the woman’s screams.

   "He’s violent and dangerous," he added.

   The doctor who was now examining Starsky looked him over carefully. He saw the healing scars on his chest, underneath the cuts and bruises he’d sustained from his beating. The doctor knew they were not old scars and he raised an eyebrow. Something didn’t smell right. Listening to the patient’s chest, he heard the distinctive sound of pneumonia in both lungs.

   "Was it necessary to beat him so badly?" he asked, giving the deputy an angry glare.

   "Well, he attacked us. He’s a wild man, I tell ya. I’ve known him a long time. He’ll try to convince you of all kinds of things. Says his name is ‘Scanlon’ or something like that. He’ll tell ya all kinds of lies. Thinks everybody’s out to get him." Morgan moved his left index finger in a circle around his ear as he added, "Completely wacko."

   The doctor stiffened and said, "This man may be the unfortunate victim of mental illness, but that does NOT give you the right to speak so derisively about him. You understand me?"

   "Sure, sure, take it easy. Look, I want to get back before dark. Can you take it from here?"

   "Yes. Stop by the intake desk and give the receptionist the information you have on him." The doctor returned to looking after his patient and missed the self-satisfied look on Morgan’s face as he walked away. The nurse noticed the deputy’s scabbed knuckles as he passed. She gently picked up each of Starsky’s hands and looked at them. The doctor and she exchanged a glance as they both realized the man in their care hadn’t been in a fight. At least, not in one where he got in any punches. The color was slowly coming back into his icy, purple, but otherwise, unmarked hands. His wrists were a mess and the doctor was sure the handcuffs had done the damage.

   As Starsky started to warm up, he began to climb toward consciousness. The doctor had already determined that he didn’t have a head injury and he was ready for any reaction. Barely conscious and unaware of his surroundings, Starsky thought he was still with Morgan and he started to thrash about, becoming combative.

   "Calm down, Mr. Ballard," Doctor Jefferson said, trying to sound calm, "you’re safe, now." He administered a sedative. While Starsky’s movements slowed as he sank back into blackness, the doctor and nurse applied restraints to his arms.

   "Suicide watch," the doctor ordered. Then he continued to treat his new patient’s physical problems. As soon as he was out of danger and settled in a room, Dr. Jefferson would start looking into this patient’s circumstances. He had learned to trust his instincts and something was wrong with this scenario.

********

   The sun had come out and the weather had warmed up just a little by the time Richard, Dobey, and Hutch arrived at the friary. They were expected, and were met at the door by a brother in brown robes and sandals. The cold didn’t seem to bother him, however, and he greeted them with a kind smile and helped bring Hutch in.

   "I’m Brother James," he said as he was showing them to the room where Hutch would stay. "We are so glad we could help."

   "I can’t thank you enough," Richard said. "You do understand the need for absolute secrecy about Ken’s presence here, don’t you?"

   James nodded. "We do, indeed. The cardinal himself visited yesterday and explained to us. I assure you, we receive almost no visitors and usually only Brother Michael goes out to buy supplies. Ken will be quite safe here." He leaned over to tuck the blankets a bit more snugly around Hutch and smiled down at him. "And don’t worry about his condition. Brother David was in the medical profession before he came to us two years ago, and he is quite capable of looking after him."

   "Brother ‘David’?" Dobey grinned in spite of himself. "I feel better already."

   "Ken’s best friend is named David," Richard explained when James looked puzzled.

   James’ smile widened. "I’m sure you’ll like Brother David, too," he said to Hutch. "He’s a fascinating man to talk to."

   Hutch had not spoken up to this point. The trip to the friary and the exertion of getting inside had left him breathless in spite of the number of people helping him. But now he looked up at his father. "Dad, you gotta find Starsky."

   "I know." Richard patted his arm. "We had to get you settled and safe first. Now, Harold and I will go and get started on that and we’ll keep you informed every step of the way, all right?"

   "Promise."

   "I promise." Richard smiled and shook his head. To Dobey, he said, "I don’t remember him being this demanding as a child."

   "He didn’t know Starsky when he was a child," Dobey said.

   "Dad," Hutch said.

   "Okay, we’re going. We’ll be back later." Richard turned to go, but hesitated and glanced at James.

   "He’ll be fine," James said reassuringly. "Would you like to meet Brother David before you go? Would it make you feel better?"

   "Dad."

   "No, we’d better get moving," Richard said. "My son insists." He patted Hutch’s shoulder and touched his hair. "I’ll call the moment we have any news."

   "Thanks, Dad."

   Richard and Dobey left and James beamed down at Hutch. "Would you like something to eat, Ken? Brother Daniel makes a mean chicken gumbo."

   Hutch laughed in spite of himself at the image of a brown-robed friar making a "mean" anything. "That sounds good, thank you."

   "I’ll get you some." James turned and called down the corridor and in a moment, another friar appeared. "This is Brother David," he said to Hutch. "We’re under orders not to leave you alone, and it’s probably a good idea to let him have a look at you, anyway."

   David came in, sat down on the edge of the bed and began asking Hutch questions, keeping him busy until James returned with a steaming bowl of soup and a glass of cold milk. Between the two men – and James had been right, David was friendly, talkative, and fascinating – he was kept occupied until he’d eaten and started to get sleepy again.

   "You rest," David told him, taking the dishes and rising.

   "Brother," Hutch said, forcing his eyes to stay open another few minutes, "may I ask a favor?"

   "Certainly, Ken."

   "Would you ... pray for my partner’s safety? He’s missing and ... I’m scared to death."

   David smiled. "Of course, we will." He glanced at James, who folded his hands and bowed his head. David recited something lovely in Latin – at least, Hutch thought it was Latin – and raised his head after a few moments of silence following his prayer. "Sleep now, Ken," David said. "Your friend’s safety is in the Lord’s hands."

********

   Dr. Jefferson had made sure his new patient was comfortable and warm in his room, with an orderly guarding him. He collected the scant information the deputy had left at the reception desk and took it to his office to begin a chart on "Mr. Ballard." He couldn’t put his suspicions to rest. Something was wrong here, and he was going to find out what it was.

   With nothing else to put there, he typed "Michael Ballard" under "patient’s name," but he put quotation marks around it and a question mark after it. He filled in the vital statistics fairly easily. They had measured the man’s height and weight while treating him. He scribbled notes about the man’s injuries, including the scars he had noticed on his chest and back. But under "diagnosis," he had to pause. He knew what the deputy had said, but he wanted to make his own examination of the man. That would have to wait until the next day. He’d given the patient enough sedative to keep him out for a long time.

   Starsky woke up because the morning sun was in his eyes. He blinked rapidly, looking around the unfamiliar room. He didn’t even try to struggle against the restraints. He remembered those from Cabrillo State. And he still felt so lousy that he wouldn’t have been able to do much about them anyway. He could see the outline of a man’s head on the other side of the door. Guarding him, most likely. He had vague memories, like a half-forgotten dream, of a conversation between Deputy Dumbass and a doctor. The deputy had told the doctor he was crazy. So this must be a mental hospital.

   Well, that’s just terrific, he thought wearily. First jail, now the fuckin’ loony bin. I gotta be having a nightmare. This kinda thing don’t happen in real life.

   It was a good while before a nurse showed up with breakfast, but she smiled at him and said, "Good morning, Mr. Ballard. How are you today?"

   "I’m fine – I guess – but my name’s not Ballard, it’s Scanlon. Larry Scanlon."

   "Of course," she said, still smiling. "I’m afraid I have to feed you, sir, the doctor hasn’t given permission for us to remove the restraints."

   "Terrific," he said with a sigh.

   At least the food was plentiful and hot and he hadn’t eaten a decent meal for days. When he finished eating, the nurse took his blood pressure and made a notation on a chart, then produced some pills. Remembering he’d been sedated – he recognized the hangover-type feeling – he tried to refuse them.

   "These are your antibiotics, Mr. Ball – I mean, Mr. Scanlon," she said. "For your pneumonia. Not tranquilizers, I promise. Dr. Jefferson asked that you not be tranquilized this morning because he wants to examine you."

   Starsky searched her eyes and didn’t see any guile there, and finally accepted the pills.

   "There, that’ll help you feel better," she said, still cheery. "Doctor’ll be in shortly. Want the TV on?"

   Starsky hadn’t noticed the TV, up high and enclosed in wire mesh with just the screen uncovered. "Sure, why not?" he said.

   She used a button on the pad at the bedside to turn the television on and set it to a game show. Starsky smiled his thanks – at least it was better than one of those godawful soap operas – and she left the room. He got a good look at the goon in the corridor as she opened the door and he was big. Definitely put there to guard him, Starsky thought.

   The game show had ended and a new one had begun before the doctor came in. He was carrying a notepad and a file folder. He came in, accompanied by a different nurse, and pulled up a chair. "I’m Dr. Jefferson," he said. "How do you feel?"

   "Scared, to be honest," Starsky said, liking the man’s frank gaze and friendly manner.

   "I would be, too," Jefferson said. "How much do you remember about yesterday?"

   Starsky searched his memory and wondered how much he ought to reveal. The doctor waited patiently while he sorted it out. Finally, Starsky decided things couldn’t be worse if he did tell the truth, so he told the doctor everything he could remember, including the beating he’d taken at Deputy Dumbass’ hands.

   The doctor listened in silence, making a few notes, shaking his head and once frowning fiercely. When Starsky finished, Jefferson said, "I guessed some of that. I didn’t trust that man." He opened the file folder and set the notepad on his other knee. "I need to ask you some questions, and some of them are going to sound very nosy, but in spite of my opinion of that deputy, the fact is that you were brought here by an officer of the law. The legal term is ‘involuntary commitment.’ There are certain steps we have to go through because of that."

   "I know," Starsky said with a sigh. He almost added that he was a cop and had taken a loony or two to the cracker factory himself, but changed his mind in time.

   "Your name?"

   "Larry Scanlon."

   Jefferson noted that down, asked his age, place of birth, parents’ names – Starsky gave their real first names and didn’t offer a last name, hoping Jefferson would accept that, and he did. He asked for medical history and Starsky also answered those questions honestly, leaving out gunshot wounds but including the truth about when he got his tonsils out and how old he’d been when he had measles and chicken pox.

   Then Jefferson started asking those "nosy" questions. Did he ever hear voices when no one was there? Did he ever have trouble discerning the difference between reality and imagination? Did he ever have blackouts and was he unable to account for long periods of time? Starsky fought the impulse to say his whole life had turned into a surreal nightmare and instead answered honestly.

   The interview went on for almost an hour and finally the doctor laid his pen down. "Mr. Scanlon, normally I’d not share my diagnosis with a patient without talking to his family first. But I don’t think this is a normal situation."

   "Tell me about it," Starsky muttered.

   Jefferson smiled. "You, however, are normal and since this is a hospital for the mentally ill, you don’t really belong here."

   "So what are you going to do?"

   "First, we’re going to remove these," Jefferson said, indicating the restraints and casting a glance at the burly orderly, who went to work taking them off without a word. "Then," Jefferson continued, "we’re going to try to get you well physically. How long have you been sick?"

   Starsky had to think about that. The days in the Moose Antler jail had skewed his time sense. "About a week, I think," he said at last.

   Jefferson nodded. "I don’t think there’s been any damage done to your lungs, but I will have to insist you stay in bed except for using the toilet. You need lots of rest and sleep and good food to build your strength back up. We’ll continue with the antibiotics and monitor your lungs closely." He paused. "I will understand if you don’t want to answer this question, but these scars on your chest and back –" He waited while Starsky felt his face involuntarily flush. "Was there any damage to your lungs when that happened?"

   "A little," Starsky admitted.

   Jefferson reached for his stethoscope. "May I?"

   Starsky sat up, with the orderly’s help, and Jefferson listened to his chest and back, ordering him to breathe deeply.

   "You still have fluid in your lungs," Jefferson said when he finished. "I don’t like the way it sounds at all. Can you tell me how you got those scars?"

   Starsky shook his head. "Sorry. I would if I could, but ..." He looked into the doctor’s face and thought he could probably trust him. "I’ll tell you this much. I was attacked. And I’m still afraid for my safety."

   "Okay, I’ll accept that," Jefferson said. He stood and motioned the orderly out. When the man was gone, he met Starsky’s eyes. "You’re safe here, Mr. Scanlon. Rest now."

   Jefferson went back to his office and re-read the notes he’d made and considered his next move. He knew bullet wound scars when he saw them. He’d done his residency in a Minneapolis public hospital emergency room where gunshot wounds were not an uncommon occurrence. Other than crime victims, usually, only two kinds of people had gunshot wounds. Criminals and cops. He wondered which one "Mr. Scanlon" was.

********

   Richard hung up the phone with a sigh and rubbed his eyes and the back of his neck. Between them, he and Dobey must have called every hospital, clinic, and law enforcement agency in every county touching the ones Starsky might have been in. Nobody had seen him. The best they’d been able to find was the vague description from the Winona ER that a man who looked like Starsky had been treated there days earlier. Dobey had already issued a "missing officer" report thanks to the cooperation of the Minnesota and Wisconsin state police offices, and in a few hours, every law enforcement agency in both states would have the report, along with the most recent photo Dobey had been able to provide. The report said that Starsky was in ill health and would possibly be operating under a false name – and included the name "Larry Scanlon."

   Dobey was still on the phone to the sheriff’s office in Meeker County. "His name’s David Starsky," he was saying. "Five-eleven, dark curly hair, blue eyes. Possibly using the name Larry Scanlon. No, he’s not a criminal!" Dobey rolled his eyes and rubbed his head with his free hand. "He’s a detective from Bay City. I told you, he’s in fear of his life from a criminal he and his partner testified against. The man’s already tried to kill them several times and –" Dobey stopped and raised his eyes to Richard. "What? When? Well, what county was he from?" Dobey scribbled something on the pad in front of him. "Morgan? Okay, thank you." He hung up and swore vehemently. Richard waited. "Some clown brought a man fitting Starsky’s description into Meeker County a couple of days ago and presented him as a fugitive named Gary Lambert," Dobey said. "He doesn’t even look like Lambert, the Meeker sheriff said, and when he told the deputy it wasn’t their man, the deputy left with him."

   "So call the deputy," Richard said.

   "I’m going to!" Dobey growled, punching the numbers in almost savagely. He waited, apparently had to speak to several other people first, and finally got Morgan on the phone, after threatening whoever answered with an investigation if they didn’t cooperate. "This is Captain Harold C. Dobey of the Bay City Police," he said to Morgan. "I’m looking for a missing officer and I’ve been told you may know where he is."

   "Why do you think we know?" Morgan asked.

   "Because the Meeker County sheriff said you brought in a man who looks just like him the other day!" Dobey barked, too upset to hold his emotions in check. "Dark curly hair. Blue eyes. Five-eleven, 170."

   Morgan thought fast, his heart beating so hard he could barely breathe. He’d just received the missing officer report a half hour earlier and he recognized the photo immediately. He was the one who first saw the report, and he quickly destroyed it. Finding out the man he’d dumped at the state mental hospital was a cop was unsettling. He hoped the man’s memory would be too sketchy to implicate him. "Couldn’t have been your man," he said as soon as he could trust his voice.

   "How do you know? And where is he now?" Even someone who didn’t know Dobey would have recognized the barely-controlled fury in the voice.

   "I don’t know," Morgan said. "This man fit the description of a fugitive. I took him to Meeker County, and when they said he wasn’t the guy they were looking for, I let him go. Could be anywhere now."

   "How do you know he wasn’t Detective Starsky?"

   "This guy was homeless and had been a long time," Morgan said. "Probably a mental case. I’ve seen my share of ‘em. Mumbling, not making sense. Dirty and ragged. ‘Sides," he added, in a burst of inspiration, " his eyes were brown."

   "Are you sure?"

   "Yeah."

   Dobey shook his head at Richard, who felt his shoulders slump in defeat. "Wasn’t him, I guess," Dobey said, his voice mirroring the way Richard felt. "Thanks, anyway."

   "Sure, Captain."

   Dobey hung up. "The guy’s eyes were brown."

   "I thought Meeker County said they were blue."

   "He said he thought they were blue," Dobey said. "He wasn’t sure. Only got a glimpse of the man."

   Richard rubbed his eyes again, one-handed, in a gesture so like Hutch’s that Dobey felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. "What now?" Richard asked.

   "We keep trying," Dobey said. "He’s out there somewhere, he’s sick and he’s scared. And I’m not going to give up."

********

   The trouble with putting out a missing officer report on Starsky was that someone other than the appropriate authorities might hear about it. That’s exactly what happened. Thomas Potter received a phone call from an operative in Wisconsin.

   "Do you know where he is, yet?" he asked the man on the phone.

   "No. Nobody seems to know. I’m on it, Mr. Potter."

   "Don’t do anything without reporting to me, first. We have to be sure, this time."

   "Yes, sir."

   Potter hung up and glanced through the messages he’d been left that his client wanted to see him. The sentencing would take place in a few days and he had little choice. At least he had something to report. They had a lead on Starsky’s whereabouts. Potter’s associate told him that Hutchinson was dead, so at least he’d succeeded in eliminating one of them. He decided to go and see Gunther. No sense putting off the inevitable.

   When they were alone, Gunther sat and glared at Potter for a few, uncomfortable moments. "Mr. Potter," he said, "you’ve been avoiding me."

   "No, I haven’t, sir. I had to be in court. Mr. Webster told you that."

   "He told me you were ‘unavoidably detained.’ You know how much I despise dealing with underlings. See that it doesn’t happen again."

   "Yes, sir. I have good news." Potter looked around the room again, ever concerned that they were being recorded. He lowered his voice and said, "We’ve already eliminated one of them, as you know. The other has been missing. I’ve just been informed that a missing officer report has been filed on him in Wisconsin and Minnesota. Our people are looking and we’re bound to find him soon. It’s only a matter of time, Mr. Gunther."

   Gunther nodded and gave him a thin, evil smirk. "Yes. He’s the one I am most concerned with. In just a few days, I’ll be heading for the state penitentiary. When I board the bus that will quite probably take me to death row, I want to know that THAT man has preceded me into hell." He sat back in his chair and his eyes opened wider. "Mr. Potter, if you fail this time, I may be forced to issue a sentence of my own."

   Potter felt the sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades. He knew that was no idle threat. If Starsky didn’t die, he would. "I won’t fail, sir."

   The two men sat and talked about the case. James Gunther had specific things he wanted said at the sentencing. He had a statement to read and Potter was not in favor of that. The attorney tried unsuccessfully to convince the vindictive old man that showing some remorse could only help him.

   Walking out of the interview room after Gunther was led away by his guards, Potter heard a voice behind him say, "So, what’s it like... being the devil’s advocate?"

   Potter turned and said, "Everyone has a right to an attorney. Even the devil himself."

   The devil himself. How did I ever get into this mess? When Potter and his firm took on James Gunther, they had no idea what his business would entail. They were one of many firms under Gunther’s influence. A powerful man often had less than seemly entanglements, but James Gunther was the kingpin of entanglements. Over time, the firm had come to accept his ways, and eventually they were in so deep, they couldn’t extricate themselves. Potter walked wearily to his car. He was starting to feel sorry for Detective Starsky. Almost as sorry as he felt for himself.

********

   Hutch was sleeping after a long visit with his mother. Andrew was taking care of getting her safely back to Canada. As unhappy as she was to not stay, she couldn’t fight both her husband and her son. Hutch was glad to see her, but concerned about her being anywhere near him. He had begged her to go and stay with her sister in Toronto until things were safer, and Richard agreed. Hutch said it was bad enough that his father was in danger. He couldn’t bear it if anything happened to her. After she left, Brother David went in and examined Hutch, administered his medications and then took Richard to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

   "Your son is a remarkable person, Richard," he said.

   Richard raised an eyebrow and said, "I think he is, but what makes you say that?"

   "He told me he didn’t care what happened to him, he just wanted his family to be safe and his partner to be found. Is he always so determined?"

   "You have no idea, Brother. Especially where David Starsky is concerned."

   Brother David’s face took on a serious look. He had spent some time talking with Hutch while he administered treatments and during the times when the captain and Mr. Hutchinson were away. He had lots of questions about his patient. "Naturally, you don’t have to answer my questions, but may I ask you a few things? I’d like to understand Ken better – and this situation."

   "Certainly. I’ll tell you anything I can."

   "David must be a good friend for Ken to be so worried about him when his own health is compromised. To tell you the truth, if we weren’t in such a remote location, I’d be concerned that Ken would try to go over the wall."

   Richard’s face paled a little. "Has he said something to you to lead you to believe he’d try it?"

   Brother David chuckled. "No matter how determined he is, Ken isn’t strong enough to get farther than the door to his room at this point. He knows that, don’t worry."

   "Thank God for that. You understand him pretty well, Brother."

   "In some ways. He said something to me yesterday that made me curious. Of course, he’s frightened for his friend. He told me that he trusted you and Captain Dobey to find him and that it was incredibly difficult. When I asked him why, he said that trusting Captain Dobey was the easy part."

   "I see," Richard said. He sighed and set his coffee cup down on the tabletop. "I had hoped that was improving."

   "Ken does trust you. What he was trying to tell me was that trusting you was new to him somehow. Not that he didn’t trust you. In fact, he seemed to find some peace in it. Do you mind if I ask why that is?"

   "No, I don’t mind. I’m ashamed to admit that it’s my own fault. You see, when Ken graduated from college, he went away to law school in California. We had great hopes for his future. Then, he took a different path in his life. Called and announced that he was quitting law school. He said that he wanted to help people and that he felt drawn to becoming a police officer. I think he had attended a panel session where a homicide detective was one of the panelists, and he just knew that was what he was meant to do." Richard stopped and drank some more coffee. He got up and paced over to the window, looking out at the statue of St. Francis of Assisi on a courtyard covered in snow.

   Brother David patiently waited while Richard gathered his thoughts. In a few moments, he turned back toward him and continued. "You could say that I reacted badly. Ken has been a cop for many years and, in all this time, I’ve barely spoken to him. I was angry and convinced he had ruined his life. He was shot in the line of duty a little more than a year ago. That made me take notice. Then, when David was nearly killed, I realized what a fool I’d been. I promised myself I’d do whatever I could to make it up to him and I’ve really been trying. I want him to trust me and I’ll do anything I can to find David, and keep them both safe. No matter what that means."

   "I can see how much you love your son. He loves you, too, Richard. I hope it helps you to know how much your being here means to him."

   Brother David’s office was near the kitchen. Captain Dobey was in there making phone calls and the men in the kitchen heard his agitated voice. All thoughts of their conversation fled as they rushed to the office to see what was happening.

   "I want you to get some troopers over there immediately. Call that doctor back and tell him to keep the patient in isolation. Tell him not to let anyone else near him alone until Captain Harold Dobey gets there." Dobey took some more information down, then handed the paper he’d been writing on to Richard. The paper included the name of a hospital and the town where it was located.

   After he hung up the phone, Dobey said, "A doctor at the state mental hospital reported a suspicious situation with a patient to the Minnesota state police. He says the patient has identified himself as ‘Larry Scanlon’."

   "Praise God," Brother David said, crossing himself and offering a quick prayer that this part of the nightmare these men had been enduring was soon to be behind them.

   "Brother David," Richard said, "when Ken wakes up, please tell him we’ve gone to follow a lead on his partner. Don’t say too much. I don’t want him to get too excited until we know for certain."

   "Why don’t you stay here," Dobey said. "I’ll go after him."

   "No, I’m going to see this through. Please, Harold. I promised."

   Captain Dobey agreed and the two men left on what they hoped would be a successful rescue mission.

********

   Dr. Jefferson walked into Starsky’s room with an X-ray and a serious expression on his face. Four state troopers had arrived and were guarding this patient. Although he had no idea what Mr. Scanlon had done, he knew it must be serious. Jefferson posted his own guard outside the room with instructions that no one was allowed in unless accompanied by him. The troopers agreed to that condition. The doctor decided not to tell his patient that someone was coming for him, but Starsky had already caught a glimpse of one of the state troopers through the small glass window in his room’s door.

   "How are you feeling, Mr. Scanlon?" Jefferson said as the door closed behind him.

   Starsky didn’t answer the question. "Why the new guard?" His recent experience with Deputy Morgan left him understandably suspicious of Minnesota law enforcement.

   "Nothing to worry about, just a precaution."

   "Precaution against what?"

   Jefferson sighed. "Please, Mr. Scanlon. I need to talk to you about this X-ray."

   Starsky was not about to let go that easily. He struggled to sit up to where he could see a little better through the window and started coughing. He waved off Jefferson’s attempts to get close to him with a stethoscope. When the coughing subsided, he said, "Look, I have reason to believe I’m in danger. I need to know what’s going on out there."

   "All right. Sit back and relax and I’ll tell you." When Starsky complied, he continued, "Those men are supposed to make sure no one gets close to you. I called and reported your presence here to the state police. Not long after that, I was told that these troopers would be here to guard you and that someone was coming to get you."

   Starsky didn’t like the sound of that. "Who’s coming here?"

   "I don’t see why that matters, Mr. Scanlon."

   "NAME!" Starsky shouted before coughing some more.

   Both the hospital guard and one of the troopers peered in through the window when they heard the shout. Jefferson saw them and shook his head to indicate everything was all right.

   "Calm down. The man’s name is Dobey."

   Starsky looked stunned for a few moments. Then, he collapsed back onto the pillows in a mixed fit of laughter and coughing. Dr. Jefferson took the laughter to be a good sign, but he raised the head of Starsky’s bed to help get him into a better position to ease the coughing. "I’ll take it that this is good news," he said with a smile.

   "Almost the best news," Starsky said, wishing Hutch were the one coming for him. A sudden look of dismay crossed his features and he added, "If this ‘Dobey’ isn’t a large demanding black man with a booming voice, don’t let him near me."

   Jefferson nodded and said, "Can we talk about this X-ray, now?"

   "Sure," Starsky answered.

   Jefferson held it up so Starsky could see it. "You may not be able to see this, but some of the small bones in your right hand are fractured. Your day nurse said you were having trouble using that hand." Jefferson paused and put the X-ray down when Starsky picked his hand up to look at it. The hand was swollen and badly bruised. The staff had taken several X-rays the previous evening, but he was so exhausted after the chest X-rays, he was asleep by the time they gotten to his hand. He was amazed that he didn’t remember them doing it.

   "Must’ve happened when Deputy Dumbass kicked me," he said with a wry smile.

   Jefferson laughed. "Deputy Dumbass, huh? Fortunately the bones are in place. We won’t have to rebreak it." Starsky’s face lost a little color at the thought of that, but Jefferson smiled reassuringly at him. "Relax. I’ve asked Dr. Fischer to come in and put it in a cast. He’s waiting outside the room. I’ll stay in here with you and one of the state troopers insisted on coming in with us. I’m not supposed to let anyone in here, but I convinced them that you needed treatment."

   Jefferson put his head out into the hall and invited the other doctor to come in and get to work. The state trooper stood inside the door and observed. The friendly, efficient doctor was finished quickly. By the time he was done and Starsky had been given his latest round of medication, he was back in an exhausted sleep.

   When Captain Dobey and Richard arrived, they were shown into Jefferson’s office where they waited while the doctor was paged.

   "I’m sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen," Jefferson said. He shook hands with them and said to the captain, "You must be Dobey. Mr. Scanlon described you to me. Said not to let you near him unless you were a large, demanding black man."

   Both Dobey and Richard chuckled at that. "That sounds like our man," Dobey said. "Is he all right?"

   "He will be. He has a bad case of pneumonia that has been resistant to treatment. Mr. Scanlon told me his lung sustained some damage in a previous incident. I suspect that’s giving him trouble recovering. He’s physically exhausted, under weight, and he took a serious beating just before he arrived here. Some of the bones in his right hand are fractured and he’s running an average temperature of 102."

   Dobey’s face showed an odd mix of concern over the doctor’s report and relief that it wasn’t worse. He produced a picture of Starsky and said, "Is this your patient?"

   Jefferson looked and nodded. "Yes, that’s him. May I ask what he’s done?"

   "Done?" Dobey asked

   "Mr. Scanlon has some significant scarring from recent, serious gunshot wounds. Frankly, he looks like he’s been through hell. I figured he had to be a criminal, or maybe a cop, but he won’t tell me anything. He just says that he was attacked and that he is still in fear for his life."

   Richard sat in silence, barely hearing the conversation between the other two men. His relief that they had found Starsky alive was almost overwhelming. Dobey was explaining who Starsky was and thanking the doctor for his diligence. What brought Richard’s attention back into focus was when Dobey and Jefferson started talking about how Starsky arrived at the mental hospital.

   "He was brought here unconscious and close to hypothermia. The man who brought him said he had raped a woman and attacked some deputies. He identified the man as Mike Ballard and said that the patient had attempted suicide and they’d had to subdue him. That was supposedly how he came to me covered with bruises and abrasions. The story just didn’t sound right to me. Something about the man who brought him was odd and his description didn’t seem to match the patient’s condition. The man said that Mr. Ballard was a mentally unstable Vietnam vet. When I examined the patient the next day, I knew at once that he was not mentally ill. He was completely lucid and rational, despite his caginess about his identity and physical condition. I’m sorry it took me so long to report it, but the man who brought him was a deputy and I had to assume that he was telling me the truth. This is a mental hospital. We prefer to err on the side of caution, as my grandmother would say."

   Richard perked up and asked, "A deputy brought him here?" beating Dobey to the question.

   "Yes," Jefferson replied. He picked up Starsky’s file from the top of his desk and said, "Deputy Wayne Morgan from Olmsted."

   Captain Dobey’s blood pressure shot up at that name. He started to mumble something Edith wouldn’t approve of under his breath. Then, he looked at the doctor and said, "Thank you, Dr. Jefferson. We’ll handle that later. Can we see him now?"

   "Certainly." The doctor showed the two men up to Starsky’s room. The state troopers made Captain Dobey show his identification before they allowed him to enter the room.

   Richard couldn’t help but gasp when he saw Starsky. He was sleeping, and he didn’t look well. He was pale and had dark circles under his eyes. The black eye he had the last time Richard saw him was almost gone and the gash on his head was better. Starsky’s breathing sounded labored and Richard looked at the doctor with concern. Dobey’s eyes moved to the cast on Starsky’s arm and then back to the doctor.

   "I want to get him out of here immediately. Is it safe for us to move him?" Dobey asked quietly.

   "Yes, as long as you’re careful and you do it by ambulance."

   Richard said, "Don’t worry, Doctor. We’ll take good care of him."

   Dobey moved closer to the bed and gently touched Starsky’s feverish forehead. "Dave," he said quietly.

   Starsky opened his eyes and smiled. "Cap, thank God," he said. "How’s Hutch?"

   Richard laughed and stepped over to where Starsky could see him. "He’s safe, son. We’re going to take you out of here."

   Even half asleep, Starsky knew his question hadn’t been answered. "Glad he’s safe, but is he all right?"

   Dobey said, "About the same as you. He’s getting better, don’t worry."

   Starsky accepted that and relaxed while Dobey and Mr. Hutchinson made the arrangements to get him out of the hospital. None of them knew it, but they were only a few hours ahead of trouble. As they were loading Starsky into an unmarked, private ambulance, Gunther’s operatives were entering Minnesota from Wisconsin. After hearing about the report from the mental hospital, Thomas Potter had given the orders on how to finish off Detective Starsky. By the time they arrived, Starsky was safe and too far away for them to follow.

   "He’s gone," the hit man reported to Potter.

   "Gone?" Potter asked.

   "Yep. A few hours ago. No one knows where they went and they must’ve taken him out in a private car. None of the ambulance services did it. We already checked. What should we do?"

   Potter replied, "Go back to Wisconsin. If I need you, I’ll call."

   He hung up the phone and thought about his options. He was out of time and he knew it. Potter could avoid Gunther until they went back to court. That gave him just one full day to make any arrangements he needed to make. He picked up the phone again and called his travel agent.

   "This is Thomas Potter," he said to the agent. "I need to buy three one-way tickets to Zurich. Yes, one adult, Marta Potter, and two children, Jessica and Scott."

   Hutch was dozing when he heard a familiar voice in the hall outside his room. He came awake with a jerk and struggled to sit up. Brother James, sitting a few feet away reading "Gone with the Wind," raised his head and smiled.

   In another moment, Richard appeared in the doorway, supporting Starsky, who had insisted on walking into the room under his own power, though unbeknownst to Hutch he had come all but the last few feet on a stretcher.

   "Hiya, Blintz!" Starsky said cheerfully, grinning. "I hear you’ve been takin’ it easy here with the monks while I’ve been having adventures."

   "Friars, dummy, not monks," Hutch said tartly, but his shining eyes and the relief plain on his face belied the tone.

   "Whatever," Starsky said, coming in and sitting down in another chair smoothly enough that it wasn’t obvious to Hutch, in his weak state, that he’d barely made it that far. "How ya feelin’, buddy?"

   "Better," Hutch said. "How do you feel?"

   "Ah, hell, I’m fine, but you know those stupid doctors, always wantin’ a guy to rest and stay in bed."

   Hutch cocked his eyebrow at his father, who somehow communicated silently that yes, Starsky was faking being better than he really was. Hutch had suspected as much.

   "I’ll call a couple of brothers and we’ll get a second bed moved into this room," James said, rising.

   "Thank you," Richard said.

   James smiled and patted his shoulder as he passed him on his way out of the room. It was only about fifteen minutes before three of the friars had another bed moved in, made up, and Starsky installed in it against his protests.

   "I’m the boss here," Brother David said sternly. "You will stay in that bed until I say you can get out of it. Understand?"

   Starsky blinked at him and glanced at Hutch, who was grinning.

   "Better do as he says, Starsk," Hutch advised. "He’s mean."

   Starsky glanced back at Brother David. "Okay, okay, no need to get the comfy chair."

   Hutch burst out laughing, but the friars and Richard all looked puzzled. "Monty Python," Hutch explained. When they still looked puzzled, he added, "A British comedy on TV. They did this skit about the Spanish Inquisition –" He gave up and shrugged. "Guess you’d have to see it."

   "I guess so," Richard said, shaking his head. "But it’s good to hear you laugh, son."

   "It’s good to feel like laughing," Hutch said.

   Brother James took up his post again and picked up his book. The other friars returned to their own activities, and Richard excused himself to make some phone calls. Dobey had stopped off in Brother Michael’s office to make some calls of his own. Gunther’s sentencing was coming up, and he had to go back to Bay City. But he wasn’t leaving until he’d set wheels in motion to get Deputy Wayne Morgan his just deserts for what he’d done to Starsky.

   "You up to telling me where you’ve been?" Hutch asked.

   "You ain’t gonna believe it," Starsky said. He also cocked his head slightly in Brother James’ direction.

   Hutch glanced that way, then back at Starsky. You can trust him.

   Starsky nodded, adjusted his pillows a bit more comfortably, and started telling Hutch everything that had happened to him since they’d last seen each other.

   Hutch listened in silence as long as he could, but when Starsky got to the part about Deputy Dumbass and the beating he’d given him, Hutch lost it.

   "That lousy, worthless, son of a bitch! When I get my hands on him –"

   "Whoa," Starsky said. "Easy, Blintz. He’s in a lot of trouble, and you ain’t gonna get in trouble going after him, got that? Let the law handle him."

   "But –"

   The room wasn’t large and the beds were close to each other. Starsky reached a hand out to Hutch. When Hutch took his hand, Starsky looked at him with serious eyes. He softly said, "But nothin’, Hutch. Let it go, huh?"

   Hutch visibly took control of himself. It took several moments. Finally, he nodded. "Okay, okay. I don’t like it, but okay."

********

   Potter waited nervously while the doctor examined the prescription bottle. "We were not told Mr. Gunther had this condition," the doctor said suspiciously.

   James Gunther had not been the typical inmate in local lockup. He was held in custody without bail due to the D.A.’s insistence that he was a flight risk. One of the concessions Potter had won for his client while in custody was that he was allowed to see his personal physician. Now, Thomas Potter was hoping that his work accomplishing that concession would serve him well.

   "I can provide you with medical records," Potter said, opening his briefcase and pulling out a file. "Mr. Gunther has had this problem for several years, but his condition fluctuates. It’s all in the files. His physician has been dispensing these as maintenance medication. As it says on the bottle, he is to take one capsule each evening before bed." It had better be in the files, Potter thought. He knew about the law but couldn’t understand the medical information in the file at all. He’d paid plenty to get a doctor to make up that file for him, and to pass it off as if it were part of Gunther’s medical record with the doctor who had treated him for years. The doctor Potter had bought off specialized in writing prescriptions – Valium was his favorite – for rock and movie stars who didn’t want to risk the questionable purity of street drugs. For a hefty sum, the man had agreed to modify Gunther’s medical record and to write a prescription that would match the file.

   The doctor paged through the file, taking his own sweet time, and finally nodded. "We’ll have to dispense the medication. We can’t let him have it in his cell." The doctor agreed to put the medication in with the other items going with Gunther to San Quentin.

   "I understand," Potter said. He felt sweat trickle down his back but pretended not to notice. He had told Gunther the pills were a derivative of the barbiturates he’d been in the habit of taking to help him sleep while he was on the outside. And most of them were. But scattered throughout the bottle, in capsules exactly like the real sleeping pills, were a few pills containing strong heart medication, meant to be given to a patient having a heart attack, to get his heart beating properly again. For a man with a healthy heart, like Gunther, and in the quantity contained in each dose, the capsules would bring on a heart attack, and with any luck, would kill him. If Potter’s luck held, the death would come after he’d had time to get away and would look like a natural death and no one would ever be able to point the finger at him.

   Potter couldn’t afford for Gunther to find out he’d failed miserably in his mission. Not only were Starsky and Hutchinson both alive, they were holed up under 24 hour protection in a place where even Gunther’s best hit men couldn’t get to them. And if Gunther heard that, Potter was a dead man. The only answer was for Gunther to die before he could give the orders to kill Potter.

   Marta and the kids were already on a plane to Zurich. As soon as he knew Gunther was dead, Potter would follow. He had been frightened and desperate enough to consider killing himself rather than let Gunther kill him, until he’d thought of the pills. Gunther had been insisting he bring him his pills and that’s when he’d thought of it. Once he’d found the right doctor, the rest was easy.

   When he joined his family in Zurich, they would change their names and vanish where the person who would succeed Gunther – whoever that might be – would never find them.

********

   "I’m leaving in the morning," Dobey said, watching as both his "boys" polished off supper as if they hadn’t eaten for days. "Richard will keep an eye on you until Gunther is safely put away."

   "Where is he now?" Hutch asked.

   "Still in county," Dobey said. "It isn’t secure enough to suit any of us."

   "Amen," Starsky mumbled through a mouthful of mashed potatoes and gravy. "But is anyplace secure enough?"

   "Quentin is," Dobey said. "And he’ll probably be on Death Row. You two just relax and get well and don’t come back until I tell you, got it?"

   "I’ll keep them in line, Harold," Richard said, with a stern look for his son. "I still have my yardstick."

   Hutch chuckled. "Dad, you wore that threat out when I was nine."

   Starsky raised his eyebrows and looked from Hutch to Richard inquiringly.

   Richard shook his head. "Nine? I thought it worked until you were eleven, at least."

   "Nope," Hutch said, going back to his meal.

   "I had a yardstick hanging next to the back door," Richard explained to Starsky. "When Kenny and his sister were little, I used to threaten to spank them with it whenever they got out of line. I never actually did, because they straightened up when I threatened them. I don’t think I ever even took it off the hook." He gave a mock sigh. "And here they saw through me all along."

   "That’s right," Hutch said. "Still do."

   After Richard and Dobey left to go back to the Hutchinsons’ for the night, Starsky cocked an eyebrow at his partner. "Okay," he said, "I got a question. Several."

   "About what?"

   "You. Your dad. That crap about the yardstick. You always acted like your dad was some kinda monster, and here you and him are, laughing about the yardstick. What happened?"

   Hutch sobered and lay back against his pillows. "I’m not sure, buddy. I just know that for years we could hardly even talk to each other without hurting each other or getting angry, or both. We didn’t know how, I guess. Now ..." He paused and shrugged. "I guess now, we’re trying. It’s like getting to know him all over again." He smiled. "It’s pretty nice."

   Starsky smiled back. "Yeah. It is."

********

   As follow up to Dobey getting charges pressed against Deputy Wayne Morgan, Richard Hutchinson brought a stenographer to the friary to take Starsky’s sworn statement. Morgan had already been arrested and was being held in his own county jail, Richard told Starsky and Hutch with a great deal of satisfaction.

   "Bet he’s having fun," Starsky observed with a grin.

   "I’ll bet he’s not," Hutch muttered angrily. "And good enough for the bastard, too."

   "He’s been fired," Richard said. "Usually in a case like this, they’d suspend him pending the outcome, but considering he did this to a fellow officer, and we have Dr. Jefferson’s statement and the sheriff from Meeker County to back up your complaint, David, he’s not going to get cut any slack."

   "What do you think will happen to him?"

   "Prison," Richard said without hesitation. "He’s not only guilty of dereliction of duty, but assault and battery of a peace officer, false imprisonment, even attempted murder, if we push it. He’ll probably plea bargain out of that one, but the others will add up to a nice long vacation in the clink."

********

   James Marshall Gunther was sentenced to death by the State of California but he didn’t live long enough to make any appeals. Two weeks after being moved to San Quentin, Gunther was dead. The official cause of death was a heart attack. He was found in his cell one morning, peacefully in his bed, apparently having died in his sleep overnight.

   Potter booked a flight for himself to Zurich to leave the weekend after Gunther was sentenced but died in a car accident on the way to the airport. A curious investigating officer, puzzled as to why a man who tested negative for alcohol and drugs would lose control and plow head-on into a semi on a dry, clear highway, discovered the brake lines had been cut almost through, letting the fluid leak out slowly. When the semi had veered into the oncoming lane to pass another vehicle – the trucker had sworn he didn’t see Potter’s car until he was already too close to avoid him – Potter had apparently slammed on the brakes and tried to pull out of the way onto the shoulder, but his brakes had failed and he’d died at the scene of massive head injuries. The highway patrol couldn’t pin the vandalism on anyone.

   A few days after the sentencing, Dobey had called Richard to tell him it was safe for Starsky and Hutch to leave the friary and move to the Hutchinsons’ home outside Duluth. The two detectives finished recuperating there, with Hutch’s mom hovering over them and Richard guarding them with the help of a couple of armed guards he had hired, just in case Gunther still had any plans. But once Gunther was dead, both Starsky and Hutch were ready to go back to Bay City.

   "I’ve booked a flight to Phoenix for you so you can pick up your car," Dobey told Hutch on the phone. "That is, if you’re up to driving back that far. We could send someone else to get it."

   "No, we’ll make it," Hutch said. "We’re both feeling pretty good now after my mom’s been spoiling us for two weeks." He smiled across the room at his mother, who smiled back and pantomimed a kiss in his direction.

   "That’s what I thought you’d say," Dobey said with a chuckle. "Oh, I’ve already arranged to have the cars you didn’t wreck returned to the other police departments. See you in a couple of days, then."

   "Okay, Cap’n. Thanks."

********

   At the airport the day they left, Richard impulsively pulled his son to him for a long, affectionate hug. "It’s been nice having you close by," Richard told him, still holding him by the arms. "Next time, maybe we can have a good visit without all this trouble and fright, huh?"

   Hutch grinned. "I’d like that."

   "So would I," Starsky said fervently.

   "We’ll plan on coming out to California in a couple of months," Richard said. "Your mother’s always telling me I work too hard. I’ll take a vacation and you boys can show us the town."

   "He does work too hard," Helen said, giving her husband a gentle shove out of her way so she could hug her son, too. She gazed up into his face and then touched his cheek. "You are all right, aren’t you?"

   "Yes, Mom, I’m fine. I promise."

   She smiled and kissed his cheek. "We’ll miss you. Call us when you get home, I don’t care what time it is."

   "I will," Hutch said indulgently, giving Starsky a sidelong grin.

   "And you," Helen said to Starsky, pretending to be stern, "stay out of trouble!"

   "Yes, ma’am," Starsky said obediently. "If I can, considering I got this boy of yours to watch out for."

   "I am not the one who wound up in a mental hospital," Hutch said with great dignity.

   "They said I was normal," Starsky pointed out.

   "Then he must not be a very good doctor," Hutch said, deadpan.

   The older Hutchinsons were laughing by now, and when the flight was called, the laughter eased the awkwardness of parting. They waved cheerfully as the two men walked away.

   Once they were in flight and just as Starsky slid down in the seat to try to sleep – he hated flying and did his best to sleep through any flight he found himself on – Hutch said, "You feel safe yet?"

   Starsky pried his eyes open and met Hutch’s eyes seriously. "Do you?"

   Hutch sighed and laid his head back against the seat. "I want to," he said. "There’s no reason not to. But after all this time, looking over our shoulders for that son-of-a-bitch or one of his merry men –"

   "It ain’t easy," Starsky finished. He straightened in his seat. "The man’s dead," he said in a low voice. "He can’t touch us now. And we did enough damage to his organization that it’s gonna take a long time for somebody else to put it back together."

   "I know."

   "And whoever that is, we did him a favor. He can scoop up the money now and he won’t have to share it with the old man."

   "That’s true." But Hutch still sounded worried.

   "Hey," Starsky said, nudging Hutch’s arm gently, "we can’t spend the rest of our lives like this. We gotta get back to normal."

   Hutch nodded. "You’re right. It’s just –" He rubbed his eyes. "Never mind. I’m being paranoid."

   "Yeah, you are," Starsky agreed. "But being paranoid is what’s kept us both alive, buddy. Just don’t let it ruin your life, huh?"

   Hutch smiled. "Not a chance, buddy."

THE END