Disclaimer: This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made from it. No infringement on anyone’s copyright(s) is intended.
Comments about this story can be sent to cruellaboris@yahoo.com

Sue David and Valerie Wells
© 11/2001

   The phone was ringing as Rachel Starsky opened the front door. Turning to shut it behind her, she heard it ring again and she called for her oldest son. "Davy?" When it rang another time and her son still didn’t answer, she rushed toward the kitchen. Rachel was just getting back from shopping for something special to fix for Nicky’s birthday dinner and her mind was racing in a dozen directions. Why she bothered to try fixing a nice meal, she didn’t know. Nicky never ate much, and since his father died, her oldest son never had any appetite. Maybe a nice birthday cake. Davy likes cake.

   She wondered where her son could be. He should have been home from school for well over an hour. Setting the grocery bags down on the kitchen counter, Rachel scooped up the telephone receiver as it sounded for the fifth time, cradling it between her shoulder and her ear as she said, "Hello?"

   The voice on the other end said, "Is this Mrs. Rachel Starsky?"

   Her heart beat a little faster. This did not sound good. "Yes, this is she."

   "Mrs. Starsky, this is Ann Levy. I’m a nurse in the County General Emergency Room."

   Rachel gasped as she dropped her purse and keys on the floor. "What’s happened?"

   "Your son, David, was brought here about an hour ago. He’s been injured and you need to come down here."

   This was not the kind of news a recently widowed mother wanted to hear. "Is he all right?"

   "Please, just come down to County and the doctor can explain everything to you."

   "I’ll be there as soon as I can get a taxi. Thank you." She hung up the phone. First, she called for the cab while she shoved the cold food into the refrigerator. Next, she dialed her cousin Sarah’s number. When Sarah answered, Rachel said, "Sarah, this is Rachel. Can you please keep Nicky for a while longer?"

   "Of course. Is everything all right?" Sarah heard the distress in Rachel’s voice.

   "Well, I don’t know. The County Emergency Room just called. Davy’s been hurt and they really wouldn’t tell me anything. I have to go."

   "Sure, sure, go. You call me when you know something. You want I should feed him dinner?"

   "That’d be terrific. Thanks, I’ll call." Rachel hung up and rushed out to the sidewalk to await her taxi. Climbing into the back and giving the man her destination, Rachel’s thoughts were erratic. The recent memory of her husband, bleeding to death on the sidewalk outside their home, was crowding its way into her mind.

   When she reached the hospital, Rachel rushed inside to the reception desk.

   "I’m Rachel Starsky. My son, Davy, uh, David is here."

   The woman checked for her and called back into the treatment area for someone to come out for the boy’s mother. She was escorted into a treatment room where her son lay unconscious on a gurney.

   The nurse told her, "Dr. Humphries will be in to speak with you shortly, ma’am."    

   Looking down at Davy, Rachel started to tremble. He looked terrible. His right cheek had a bloody gash across it, his right leg was propped up on a pillow, and a bag of ice was resting on the obviously broken ankle, his dark curls were matted with blood, and the rest of him looked to be one giant bruise. She gently picked up his left hand and looked at his damaged, swollen knuckles. Whatever else had happened, David had been in a fight.

   The doctor walked in behind her and cleared his throat so he wouldn’t startle her. When she turned to look at him, he introduced himself. "Mrs. Starsky, I’m Dr. Humphries. I’ve been treating your son. Won’t you please sit down?"

   "Yes, thank you." Rachel sat in the chair he scooted over next to the gurney for her. "Is Davy going to be all right? Why is he unconscious?"

   "One thing at a time, okay?" Dr. Humphries pulled over one of those circular, rotating stools doctors used and he sat next to her. He had an x-ray in his hand and he held it up to the light for her to see. "Your son has a broken ankle." The doctor pointed to the break on the film.

   "Oh, dear," Rachel sighed.

   "He’s unconscious because he sustained a blow to the head. No fractures, but he has a nasty lump and a cut under his hair on the right side."

   "What happened?"

   "From what we can gather, first, he was in a fight with a rough gang of young hoodlums who operate near here. I suspect they hit his ankle with a baseball bat."

   Rachel gasped at that revelation. "My poor boy!" What was her son doing all the way over here, so far from his own neighborhood she had to take a taxi? Suddenly, she realized she didn’t know what her son was doing anymore since his father died.

   "That cut on his cheek may have been caused by brass knuckles, or some large rings. He has a hairline fracture in that cheekbone and the cut is going to need stitches. I’ll be careful, but it will probably leave a small scar."

   "Is that all?" Rachel’s head was reeling.

   "I’m afraid not. He has some bruised ribs and he was pushed in front of a car. Whoever did this, didn’t intend for him to make it. Fortunately, the man wasn’t going very fast. He brought David to the hospital."

   Rachel felt faint. "How did you know his name?"

   "When he first came in, we were able to bring him around a little. Between passing out and vomiting, he was able to give us his name. We got your name and number from the emergency card in his wallet."

   After Michael Starsky died, Rachel had insisted on that card. She demanded two things from her children in case of emergency. They always had to keep identification with them and they were expected to wear clean underwear in case of an accident.

   "Are you all right, Mrs. Starsky?"

   She hated being so upset. Before Mike’s death, she was stronger. Now, she couldn’t help thinking she was going to lose David also. Nodding that she was fine and gathering her composure, Rachel said, "I’m sorry, Dr. Humphries. You see, my husband, Mike, was a police officer. He was shot to death about six months ago. I just couldn’t bear to lose Davy also."

   "I’m sorry to hear that, but David’s going to be all right, Mrs. Starsky. I know it’s frightening. I’m going to set that ankle now, then stitch his face and clean up the rest of his injuries. He’ll have to stay here for a few days, I’m afraid."

   "When will he wake up?" She didn’t like seeing her normally energetic son lying so still.

   "I would guess within the next several hours. Try not to worry. By the time he wakes up, we’ll be all finished and he’ll be settled in a room upstairs. Now, with your permission, I’ll get started."

   "Yes, please. Can I stay with him?" She didn’t want to leave her son’s side.

   "I think you’d better go out to the waiting room. The stitching may be unpleasant."

   "Doctor, I appreciate your concern, but you need to understand something. Davy held my husband in his arms while he bled to death. I’m not going to leave him in case he wakes up before you think he will. If Davy could watch that, a few stitches won’t bother me."

   The doctor allowed her to stay and she watched him with as much detachment as she could muster. David never flinched, never woke. She wound up having to call her cousin back to ask her to keep Nicky overnight so she could stay with David at the hospital. She was not going to allow her son to wake up in a strange place without his mother. Rachel was forced to admit to herself that her little boy, just turned thirteen in March, was streetwise and hardened far beyond his years. He had gotten that way in the half year since his father’s murder.

   David started hanging out with some older boys shortly before Mike’s death. One boy in particular seemed to have undue influence over her son – Vincent "Vinnie" Martino. At nineteen, Vinnie was six years older than David and Rachel did not find him to be a suitable companion. She tried to talk some sense into her son, but he wouldn’t listen to her. The young man had appeared in their neighborhood a short time before Mike’s death and Rachel was convinced he was up to something illegal. He was the leader of a street gang in their neighborhood, the Warriors. To her dismay, David began spending more time with Vinnie after his father died and he was in the process of joining the gang.

   Rachel was at her wit’s end with David. They fought frequently. Though usually polite and respectful of his mother, David stubbornly refused to listen to her about the street gang. She had been a cop’s wife and she knew all about the tough bunch she was afraid would drag her son into a life of crime. He had already been caught shoplifting once and he was brought home drunk one night.

   The next morning, Rachel was staring out the hospital room window when she heard a moan from her son’s bed. She hurried back to his side and stroked his hair while speaking to him softly.

   "Davy, it’s Mom, sweetheart. Wake up for me now." She continued to stroke his hair, being careful to avoid the place the doctor had to shave so he could stitch the cut under his hair.

   David slowly opened his eyes and focused on his mother. He recognized her. "Ma?"

   "Hi. How’re you feeling, honey?" she asked as she smiled at him.

   "Terrific. How do I look?" David’s head was pounding, his face hurt, his ankle throbbed, and just about every other part of his body was sore. He moaned a little.

   "I’ve seen you prettier, Davy."

   "How long have I been here?"

   "About eighteen hours. Now, son, I want you to tell me what you were doing all the way down here." Rachel was determined to find out what he had been doing before the other gang got to him.

   "Ah, it’s stupid, Ma. I’m sorry." David closed his eyes

   Rachel cajoled. "Please tell me. Davy?"

   David opened his eyes again with a lengthy, angst-filled, teenaged sigh. "Really, it’s nothin’, Ma. If you must know, though – one of the kids at school told me County is where they bring all the hurt cops. I’m sorry. I just wanted to see it."

   "Why, son?"

   "Dunno. Pop died on the street with me. They didn’t bring him here. I’m sorry."

   "Davy, the doctor said you were attacked by a gang. Why would a gang be interested in you? Does it have anything to do with Vinnie and that gang of boys you’ve joined?" Rachel wasn’t naïve. She just wanted to hear his explanation.

   That made her son angry. "No, Ma. Look, just stay out of it. I know what I’m doin’."

   She sighed and patted his hand when he looked away from her. "I can see that, dear." Now was not the time for a lecture. That would come later, after she decided what to do with him.

   "I wanna go home. I don’t like it here." When he pouted, David looked like a little boy again and his mother felt sorry for him.

   "Sorry, sweetheart. You have to stay here for a few days. I’m going over to the school this afternoon to get your assignments. I don’t want you to fall behind with only a week left in the school year."

   "Terrific. Can’t even get outta that." She could see he was going to pout for a while.

   "You know, yesterday was Nicky’s birthday. I have to go pick him up from Aunt Sarah’s and at least take him out for lunch. They won’t let him in here, he’s too young."

   "Tell Nicky happy birthday for me, huh, Ma? Tell him I love him."

   "I will, sweetheart. Be back later." She kissed her son on the head and left the room. Rachel’s heart was pounding. Her oldest son was in trouble. She was afraid if she didn’t do something soon, worse things would happen to him. Thinking aloud as she headed into the elevator she quietly said, "Oh, God, Mike. Help me figure out how to help him."

********

   "Starsky, will you please sit somewhere? Keep limping around on that ankle and you’re gonna do more damage." Hutch steered their suspect into a chair next to Starsky’s side of the desk and went to retrieve an intake form.

   "Yeah, yeah. Nothing I haven’t been through before, you know." Starsky grumpily dropped into his chair across from Hutch. He had already limped his way back and forth to the vending machines while Hutch was bringing the suspect up from a holding cell.

   Chasing the lanky young man, Starsky had twisted his ankle again. He did that fairly frequently and Hutch was always curious about it. They’d known each other for years and he’d never gotten Starsky to explain to him why that ankle was so weak. He knew it had to be from a previous injury and Hutch guessed it must have happened in Vietnam. His partner refused to discuss much of what happened to him there, so that would explain his attitude whenever the subject was raised.

   "Good, now sit still and interview him, I’m going to go down to get you some ice for it." He started to leave as Starsky opened his mouth to protest. Hutch put up his finger and gave him "the look," instantly silencing him. Interviewing their suspect would take his mind off of the throbbing ankle while he waited for the ice he knew he needed.

   "First name," he said curtly.

   "Carmen," his suspect replied. Starsky raised an eyebrow at him and then typed the response.

   "Last name."

   "Jones."

   Starsky sighed and said, "All right, wise guy, what’s your real name?"

   "That is my name." He sat up a little straighter and added, "My mama was a big Dorothy Danridge fan."

   "Really." Starsky continued. "Date of Birth."

   "January 15, 1955."

   He continued to ask questions and fill in the blanks on the form. Hutch returned with the ice a few minutes later and Starsky finished the interview. Once they had Mr. Jones returned to lockup, they left to take Starsky’s car to Merle’s. The Torino’s brakes needed service. After Starsky almost wrapped the Torino around a telephone poll during the car chase portion of their encounter with Carmen Jones, Hutch told him he wasn’t going anywhere else but to Merle’s in the tomato rocket.

   The garage was busy. They got out of the car and walked toward where a pair of legs stuck out from underneath a black El Camino. Starsky kicked one of the shoes and said, "That you under there, Merle?"

   Merle’s muffled voice responded, "Who wants to know?"

   "Now, come on, Merle. You mean you don’t recognize this turkey’s voice?" Hutch laughed as he answered, ignoring Starsky’s glare.

   "That you, Starkinson?"

   "Yeah, it’s us. Come on out from under there," Starsky answered

   Merle scooted out from under the car and put a hand up for Starsky’s help getting off the ground. "What you two need from the Earl today?"

   Hutch answered, "The Torino needs a brake job. Do you have time today?"

   "I don’t, but my new mechanic does."

   "I don’t know, Merle. I want you to do it." Starsky didn’t like to let just anyone touch his baby.

   "I ain’t gonna let nobody hurt your tomato." Merle knew why Starsky was hesitant. He yelled for the other mechanic. "Vinnie! Get on out here."

   The other man came out from behind a car inside one of the repair bays. Walking toward them wiping his face on a shop rag, Vinnie finally lifted his head up to look at the men standing with his boss and he stopped in his tracks about ten feet from them. He didn’t know the blond, but he could never mistake the identity of the dark-haired one. The man’s resemblance to his long-deceased father was eerie.

   Starsky was talking to Hutch and he didn’t notice Vinnie at first. He looked toward him when he heard his name.

   Vinnie said, "Davy Starsky."

   "Vinnie? Vinnie Martino?" Starsky was shocked. He hadn’t thought about Vinnie in a long time. He was surprised he had recognized him.

   Vinnie gave an ear-to-ear grin and lunged forward to grab Starsky in a rib-crushing hug. He stepped back and slapped him on the shoulder, leaving his hand on Starsky's arm. "I'll be damned. Davy Starsky. What the hell are you doin' out here and how are you, man? How many years has it been? You're the spittin' image of your old man, I'd'a known ya anywhere."

   Starsky, looking a bit stunned, said, "I moved out here when I was 13. Been here ever since. What are YOU doing here?"

   "Got tired of snow, man," Vinnie said. "Came out a coupla months ago." He looked curiously at Hutch.

   "Sorry," Starsky said, flushing. "This is Ken Hutchinson. My partner."

   "Partner?" Vinnie asked, offering Hutch his hand. Hutch took it, forcing a smile for Starsky's sake, but something about Vinnie made his hackles rise and he didn't know what it was.

   "We're cops," Starsky said. "Detectives. Metro division."

   Vinnie was momentarily taken aback, but he recovered quickly. "For real? Just like your old man again. He'd be proud of ya, Davy."

   "I hope so," Starsky muttered, almost too low to be heard. Hutch put a hand on his arm for a brief second.

   "Me, I never finished high school," Vinnie said with a grin.

   "You never finished junior high," Starsky said, recovering, with a teasing tone.

   Vinnie shrugged. "True enough, Davy. So here I am, a grease monkey, just like MY old man. Wherever he is."

   "Ain't no such thing as a 'grease monkey' at the Earl's!" Merle objected loudly. "This here is a customizing shop and we are all artistes!"

   Vinnie grinned and hooked a thumb at Merle. "Okay, okay. Keep your shorts on. Figger of speech is all. So where's this car o' yours?"

   Starsky indicated the Torino and Vinnie gave a low whistle. He walked over to it and all around it, peering inside, crouching down to look underneath, running a reverent hand across the hood.

   "This is real nice, Davy. Real nice. Custom paint job?"

   Starsky nodded. "Sure is."

   "Man, this beats the hell outta that beat-up Schwinn you had back in the neighborhood, huh?" Vinnie peered over the roof of the car to grin at Starsky.

   Starsky grinned back. "Absolutely."

   "You done good for yourself, Davy-boy," Vinnie said. "What's the problem with her?"

   "Brakes."

   "Okay, okay. We can fix that," Vinnie said. "Whattya say, Merle? I can probably get that done by tomorrow afternoon if the boss man'll let me get started right away."

   Merle frowned at Vinnie, but finally shrugged. "Always wants a rush job," he grumbled, including Starsky in his glare. "But, yeah, we'll have 'er done tomorrow."

   "Thanks, guys," Starsky said.

   "And when you come back for her," Vinnie said, "maybe me and you and your partner there can all go out for a beer and relive the glory days, huh, Davy?"

   "Sure," Starsky said. "We got a friend owns a place called The Pits."

   Vinnie chuckled. "The Pits? Is it as bad as it sounds?"

   "Nah, it's a great place. We'll show ya tomorrow."

   "Okay, Davy." Vinnie waved as they walked away.

   "So, who was that?" Hutch asked later as they were having a beer at Starsky's place.

   "Vinnie? Kid from the neighborhood. Back east."

   "I figured that much out by myself," Hutch said dryly.

   Starsky flushed slightly. "He usedta run with a gang of kids called themselves the Warriors. I was a lot younger than they were, but they let me hang around some, after my dad died."

   "A gang as in criminals or a gang as in a group of friends?" Hutch asked pointedly.

   Starsky's flush deepened. "A gang as in a gang," he said. "They were into some rough stuff, but I was just a kid and it all looked pretty glamorous to me. They did some shoplifting, some joyriding in other people's cars, got into some rumbles with other gangs. It coulda all gone bad pretty easy, but my mom figured out what was goin' on after I was in a fight with a rival gang called the Nomads when I was out by myself and wound up in the hospital. She sent me out here to live with Aunt Rose and Uncle Al."

   "So that was the catalyst," Hutch said, almost to himself.

   Starsky nodded. "I went a little nuts after Pop died," he said. "I told ya all this before. Suddenly, I was the man of the house, or I thought I was, and I just couldn't handle it. These guys had cars and money and I looked up to 'em. Pop woulda beat the hell out of me if he'd still been there to do it. But Ma – I guess I was too much for her."

   "So if this Vinnie was in that gang, why do you want to be so friendly with him?"

   Starsky gave another shrug. "It's just a coupla beers, Hutch. Relive old times. That was a long time ago, and we've grown up, y'know? I ain't suggestin' we take him to raise. I'd just like to hear how some of the folks from the neighborhood are doin'."

********

   The next day Starsky and Hutch showed up at Merle's, as planned, around 6, when the "artiste" was closing up shop for the day. The Torino was parked outside the service area, waxed and polished within an inch of its life. Starsky grinned and hurried over to it. Thankfully, his ankle was already better.

   Vinnie came out of the shop and leaned against the doorway, grinning back at him. "She's all set to go," he said.

   "Thanks for cleaning her up," Starsky said.

   Vinnie shrugged casually. "Least I could do for an old friend, Davy. Wanna take her for a test run, make sure you're happy with the work?"

   "Yeah." Starsky caught the keys Vinnie tossed to him and got in. "Comin', Hutch?"

   Hutch shook his head. "Go on. But just around the block, okay? Don't take off for two hours down the highway."

   "I won't." Starsky started the engine and backed out with a wave.

   "So you're his partner," Vinnie said as soon as Starsky was out of hearing.

   "That's right."

   "For how long?"

   "Seven years," Hutch answered.

   "You two good friends?" Vinnie began cleaning his hands with some goopy stuff out of a plastic container.

   "Best friends," Hutch said.

   Vinnie looked at him sideways. "You don't like me, do you?"

   "I don't know you," Hutch said.

   Vinnie gave a half grin, with only one corner of his mouth. "But you don't like me anyway. What'd Davy tell ya? I was one of the big kids? In a gang? Bad news?"

   Hutch lifted one shoulder noncommittally.

   "It's all true, you know," Vinnie said, wiping his hands. "I was a wild kid. Davy didn't have no business hangin' around us, especially not at his age. But he looked up to us, and most of us weren't real used to gettin' looked up to. Me, especially. Just before he left – to come out here, I guess, but I didn't know that then – he was out lookin' for us one night and this other gang kicked the crap outta him. He was in the hospital for a week or somethin' and lemme tell ya, I was scared. His mom wouldn't lemme see him and wouldn't tell me how he was, and then, a little while later, he was just gone." Vinnie tossed the rag aside and turned to face Hutch. "I kinda thought of Davy as a little brother, but he prob'ly didn't know that. I was rough on him, bossin' him around, cuffin' him and stuff. I'm glad he got away. If he'd'a stayed in the neighborhood, he mighta wound up like me."

   "A mechanic?"

   Vinnie shook his head. "Nah. I might as well tell ya, you can find out anyway since you're a cop. I been in prison a coupla times. Armed robbery, assault. Stupid stuff. I'm tryin' to go straight now, man. Got me a job, somethin' I'm good at. New place, new faces. I won't be hangin' around after Davy, though. He don't need my kind messin' up his life. I'm real proud of him, becomin' a cop. Bet he's good at it, too."

   "He is."

   Vinnie nodded. "Just this one time, catch up on each other's lives, and I won't bother you none no more. Okay?"

   Hutch considered that, looking Vinnie over and not trying to hide it. "Okay."

   The three of them spent a couple of hours at The Pits, with Vinnie and Starsky laughing about their exploits and making it sound as if shoplifting and stealing cars were just youthful high jinks. Hutch had no delusions about Starsky's childhood. He'd known his partner had grown up in a rough neighborhood and had done some things he wasn't proud of in order to survive. He'd known that was why Rachel had sent him to California, hoping her sister and brother-in-law, childless and better off financially than she was, could set the boy straight. And they had.

   But Vinnie's sudden reappearance disturbed Hutch and frightened him a little, too. He just couldn't put his finger on WHY. Vinnie was right – he didn’t like him. His protective instincts were rarely wrong where Starsky was concerned, so he would be keeping a wary eye on Vinnie.

   Resisting the almost overpowering urge to remark on some of the tales the other two men were telling required most of his concentration. He wouldn’t hurt his partner’s feelings for anything. If Starsky wanted to spend a couple of hours indulging in a whitewashed trip down memory lane with his former acquaintance, Hutch would politely endure it, making sure to stay within close proximity.

   "Hey, Hutch, you know your pally here has quite a way with a baseball bat," Vinnie said with a smirk. Suddenly, Starsky looked uncomfortable, stiffening his posture.

   "Uh-huh," Hutch answered, waiting to see what was next. He had the distinct feeling they were not talking about Little League.

   Starsky shifted in his seat and said, "Aw, Hutch doesn’t want to hear ‘bout that, Vinnie. ‘Sides, it’s getting late and we have to work tomorrow."

   Hutch’s curiosity increased a notch. Vinnie wasn’t finished and he could see the color beginning to creep into his partner’s cheeks. "Sure he does, Davy. Whatsa matta? You don’t want Blondie here knowin’ ‘bout your humble tough guy beginnings?"

   Trying to laugh it off, Starsky said, "Yeah, right. He knows already. Come on, Hutch, we’d better hit it."

   The look on Vinnie’s face went from mischievous to determined, but Hutch could tell Starsky couldn’t see the change. The flash in those dark eyes was aimed right at the blond detective and it seemed to be screaming at Hutch, do you know what kind of man your partner almost was?

   Starsky was half out of his seat when Vinnie said, "Last one, boys, then you can go back to your boring, good-guy lives. I swear." He held up his hand in pledge and Starsky sat down again.

   "See, after Davy got roughed up by the Nomads, he came home banged up and lookin’ like he’d got drug behind a car. Good for the image." Vinnie swigged his beer and then continued, "Back in those days, his ma was a looker, Hutch. He ever tell you that?"

   Hutch disliked this story already. "No, that’s not the way Starsky usually talks about his mother." Hutch was getting angry and trying to send a message to the man across from him to back off now. Vinnie had told him earlier that Mrs. Starsky wouldn’t let him see his partner after he was hurt. Was he lying then, or is he lying now? He could tell Vinnie knew what he wanted, but he could also see he had no intention of complying. Starsky remained silent.

   "Well, she was. While he was laid up, one of Joe Durniak’s lieutenants had started hanging around the house. Tryin’ to put the moves on Davy’s ma." Vinnie could see how angry Starsky was becoming, but he pressed on regardless. "Let’s just say Davy and his baseball bat didn’t take kindly to the man’s advances." Vinnie’s laugh sent a shiver through Hutch. He was enjoying telling this story at Starsky’s expense.

   "Vinnie.... " Starsky attempted to interrupt, but the other man was laughing and waving him off like he couldn’t stop.

   "So Davy comes hobbling down onto the front stoop with his ankle in a cast and a baseball bat in his hands, see? We lived right down the street and I looked out the window when I heard the ruckus. See, his ma had already told this goon she wasn’t interested and to leave her alone. Davy started bustin’ up the porch rail and the lights out front, all the while backin’ this giant goombah down the front steps with a look of murder in his eyes. Tells this guy he’d better get the hell away from them. Says he’s the man o’the house now and goombah’d have to deal with him if he ever came around there again." Vinnie was hooting with laughter now, slapping his palm on the tabletop, clearly enjoying Starsky’s discomfort.

   Hutch looked over at him, but Starsky wouldn’t meet his eyes.    

   Vinnie calmed himself a little. "Wasn’t too long after that, Davy disappeared. Durniak’s guy disappeared, too. What do ya figure?"

   That was it, evening finished. "I figure my partner said we’re tired and it’s time to go. Come on, Starsk." Hutch touched the other man on his elbow and started him moving out of his seat again.

   "See you around, Davy?" Vinnie said, swirling the last of his beer around the bottom of his glass.

   "Yeah, see ya," Starsky answered as Hutch steered him toward the door.

   After they were out of sight, Vinnie held up the glass and said aloud, "Sooner than you think, Davy." He downed the rest, slammed the glass down on the tabletop and left.

   When they were in the Torino, headed away from The Pits, Hutch started, "Starsk...."

   "Leave it, Hutch." Starsky’s expression was hardened, Hutch could see that much in the dim light of the car. Realizing that sounded harsh, Starsky softened his tone and said, "Please."

   "Sure, buddy." Now Hutch had another reason for concern. He hadn’t needed to know much about that time in Starsky’s life before this night. Now, every instinct he had was telling him he’d better find out about it.

   After he drove Hutch home, Starsky went back to his own apartment. What he hoped would be a reasonably pleasant evening with someone from his childhood had turned embarrassing. He didn’t understand his feelings for Vinnie. The man was crude. His life had been rough and Starsky could see in him how his own life might have turned out, if his mother hadn’t intervened. He felt sorry for Vinnie and he hoped the man hadn’t changed Hutch’s opinion of him. His partner knew life had been tough for him after his dad died, but he had never told him too many details. Maybe it was time to let him in on this part of his past. Telling Hutch wouldn’t change anything, but it might help Starsky to feel a little more at peace about things.

   Hutch walked around his apartment watering and speaking to each of the plants in his jungle. Tending them helped him to think clearly and refocus his mind. He knew Starsky was carrying around some heavy memories from the time surrounding his dad’s death. As much as he hated to pry, he knew his best friend needed to talk. As soon as he could break into the discussion, he would try to get Starsky going in that direction.

   Hutch was just turning off the lights when his phone rang. "Hello."

   "Hey, it’s me." Starsky sounded a little depressed.

   "You all right, Gordo?"

   "Yeah. I was just sitting here thinking about Vinnie."

   "Oh. Feel like talking about it?"

   "Uh-huh. Not now, though. You feel like getting an early start tomorrow? I was hoping we could go somewhere for breakfast and talk."

   "Sure thing, buddy. Is six-thirty too early for you?"

   Starsky laughed. "Is that a rhetorical question? Yeah, that’s too early, but it’s a good time. I’ll come get you."

   Hutch smiled at the phone and said, "I’ll be ready. Get a good night’s sleep."

   "Yeah. ‘Night." The quiet clicking of the phone as Starsky hung up was a sad sound. Hutch sighed and turned out the lights.

   Sitting in the coffee shop booth the next morning, Hutch noticed that his usually energetic partner seemed subdued. They ordered their breakfast and sat quietly drinking coffee for several minutes while Starsky worked up to what he wanted to discuss.

   Starsky broke the silence at last. "That baseball bat thing was the final straw, you know."

   Hutch made a face at the extra-thick coffee and reached for the honey bottle. "What happened?"

   "Like Vinnie said, I had just gotten home from the hospital. I think it had been a few days."

   Briefly interrupting, Hutch put a finger up in the air and said, "Yeah, I want to hear about that, too. Keep going, but don’t let me forget."

   Smiling wryly at his overprotective partner, Starsky said, "Is there ANY chance you would forget?"

   Blushing, Hutch replied, "No. Probably not."

   "As I was saying, I had just been home a few days. Stubborn as all hell. I was supposed to be resting. The doc said no walking. Guess who immediately blew off that instruction? Ma was really mad."

   "I’ll bet."

   The waitress brought them their breakfast and scurried off to retrieve the Tabasco Sauce Starsky requested. He paused a minute to eat a piece of bacon and then continued.

   "I guess while I was in the hospital, one of the guys in Joe Durniak’s family started hanging around the house. Pop had been gone about six months then. Ma wasn’t interested in this guy and she had told him so. More than once. A couple of nights before the baseball bat, I heard her talking to him. I got out of bed and started down the stairs, but she got rid of him before I got there."

   "Were they arguing?" Hutch reached across the table and snagged a piece of Starsky’s bacon. Starsky was glad he did. He’d ordered extra so Hutch could steal some without depriving him.

   "Not that night. Ma was definite, though. I could hear that in her voice. I tried to ask her about it, but she wouldn’t talk. A couple of nights later, he was back at the house. This time, when I heard the bell, I came down the stairs where I could hear what was happening."

   "Walking on the ankle, again."

   "Yeah. So, I can see through the curtains in the window on the door. This guy just kept saying a woman alone needed a man around to take care of her. Ma said she was doing fine. Then she tried telling him she wasn’t ready for dating and that even if she were, she couldn’t go out with someone outside the faith. That didn’t set well. He started getting pushy – saying stuff like that he knew I was a handful and that he could take care of me. He said if she wouldn’t go out with him, something might happen to her hot headed kid."

   Hutch put a bite of scrambled egg in his mouth and paused, his eyebrows rising. He swallowed and said, "That would have been you, I suppose."

   "Give the man a gold star. Well, he had Ma backed up against the wall outside. He was real big and intimidating and Ma was trying to get him to go away. I guess I just snapped."

   "Imagine."

   "Really. Well, I went into the hall closet. My baseball bat was in there. Then I flung the front door open and went after the guy." He laughed at the memory, a dry, self-deprecatory sounding laugh. "Here I was, bruised, stitches in my head, and in a cast. I was just a scrawny little kid, Hutch. Didn’t even have a chest hair yet. I never did find out what the guy did for Durniak, but for all I know he was a leg breaker."

   "Geez, Starsk. You’re lucky the guy didn’t finish you off right then and there." Hutch could picture the young, skinny kid, fire in his eyes, baseball bat cocked over his shoulder.

   "I’ve thought about it a lot over the years. I think maybe he was afraid of Durniak getting wind of it if he hurt Mike Starsky’s kid. I was pretty deadly with that thing. Next time we’re back there, check out the iron railing around the porch. Unless they finally replaced it, the thing is still dented all to hell. The guy spooked and he split."

   Starsky stopped talking and started eating. Letting his words sink in for a few minutes.

   "So, that was why your mom sent you to your Aunt Rose and Uncle Al?"

   "Ultimately, yeah. I never really talked to her about it. Guess I was too mad. From what I’ve learned over the years, she went to Joe and told him about what happened. I think she was afraid I’d get hurt, or that the guy would come after me. Joe must have given her the money so she could send me out here. I was outta there two days later."

   "She did the right thing, Starsk," Hutch said as he stuck his fork into Starsky’s hash browns. "You could have been hurt worse. Speaking of which, now tell me about this tangle you had with the Nomads."

   "Oh, yeah. Hm. I knew you wouldn’t forget." He wiped his hands on his napkin and pushed away his half eaten breakfast.

   "I found out from some kids at school that County Hospital was where they took the cops hurt on the job in our area. Pop died on the sidewalk near our house. He never made it to the hospital. I don’t know why I had to see it, but I did. The hospital wasn’t in our turf and I was alone."

   Hutch never realized that when Starsky had said he hung around with a rough crowd of boys, that he meant a street gang. He always thought he meant just some boys who were into some trouble. "Were you carrying a weapon?"

   "Nah. I wasn’t all the way in the gang yet. They were gonna give me a switchblade when I passed the initiation period. Such an honor, huh? And here I thought I became a man when I had my Bar Mitzvah." Starsky’s voice was full of irony about that. Though he was still grieving the loss of his father, he had followed through with his studies and had his Bar Mitzvah on schedule in April that year, just a few short months after Michael Starsky bled to death in his arms. Hutch always felt sad when he thought about the twelve year old child his partner had been, having that burden permanently imprinted on his soul.

   Reaching across the table to pat his partner on the arm, Hutch asked, "So what did they do to you when they caught you in their turf?"

   "Oh, they beat the crap out of me. I don’t remember it very well. They were serious though." He pointed up to a tiny scar on his right cheek. The scar was so faint it was barely visible, blending into the tiny laugh lines around his eyes. "One of ‘em had on brass knuckles. I had to have some stitches. Then he put his hand up in his curls, playing with them a little. These silver hairs up in here grow out of where they stitched up my busted head. Oh, and the ankle never healed right. Guess I shouldn’t have walked on it after all. That’s probably why I twist it so easily. When they were done hitting me, they threw me out in front of a moving car. The guy was able to stop, though, and he took me to County."

   Starsky stopped talking and got that look on his face like he was finished. He also looked a little embarrassed.

   "You know, you were just a kid, Starsk. None of that stuff makes any difference to me. Except the parts about you getting hurt and that turkey threatening you and your mom. You knew how to piss off the bad guys before you were out of short pants, Gordo."

   Starsky laughed at that. "Yeah. Thanks, Hutch."

   "For what?"

   "Well, you know, it’s not like I wanted to keep all this stuff from you. I just didn’t want you to think...."

   "Aw, buddy, nothing you did as a kid makes me feel any differently about you. Knowing actually makes me prouder of you. Despite that entire trauma, you pulled yourself out of the frying pan. Your mom, Rose, and Al did the right thing by you. They saved your life, but they couldn’t have done it without you being strong enough to let them help."

   "I know. Listening to Vinnie last night, though, I almost feel guilty. I had somebody to help me. I got out of the frying pan all right, and I found my way to a better life. Most of those guys, Vinnie included, jumped out of the pan and into the flames. Why me? What makes me worth getting out like that and not them?"

   Hutch could see his partner was going to be in a fret about this for a while. He knew there wasn’t much he could do but lend his support. "You’re a good person, Starsk. You deserved to find your way here. I’m sure glad you did." He reached over and stole the last piece of bacon off of Starsky’s plate. "Who else would let me eat off of his plate like you do?"

   "Nobody. I sure feel sorry for Vinnie, though."

   "Well, don’t let that get to you. Vinnie’s a grown man, Starsky. He makes his own choices, just like you do."

   "You really didn’t like him, did you?"

   "Something still very dark about the guy, buddy. Let’s just say he’s on my radar."

   "Maybe he just needs someone to believe in him, Hutch. You know what a wild kid I still was even after ‘Nam and the Academy. I had you, though."

   "Just keep your perspective, Gordo. Sometimes you put your heart out there for people who don’t deserve it. I’m not planning to interfere, but you know I won’t let him hurt you."

   "Fair enough. Just give the guy a chance, huh? Don’t be too quick to write him off as a bad seed. For me?"

   Starsky looked at Hutch, clearly conveying his need to give his old friend a hand. He thought he could help Vinnie build a better life in California and he wanted Hutch’s support. Hutch was his best friend and his approval was important to Starsky.

   Nodding Hutch said, "You got it. Just be careful."

   As the detectives were finishing their breakfast and heading off to start their shift, Vinnie Martino was on the phone to New York.

   "Yo, it’s Vinnie."

   "Did you make a connection yet?" the other man asked.

   "Yep. Got a job at his uncle’s garage workin’ with a guy who calls himself ‘Merle the Earl’, if you can believe that. I knew I’d run into him sooner or later, but I got tired of waiting. I bled his brake lines almost dry the other day. That brought him in for repairs."

   "You might’ve killed him, ya moron!" A flash of anger on the other end of the line made Vinnie wince. In the underworld, every shark knew there was always a bigger shark out there.

   "I know what I’m doin’, boss. I only bled enough off to scare him into comin’ in to the garage."

   "Yeah, yeah, okay. How’d the reunion go?"

   "Pretty good. I recognized him right away. It’s spooky how much he looks like his old man. We had a few beers together. His partner’s gonna be a problem, though."

   Sounding displeased, the other man said, "What kinda problem?"

   "The interfering kind. He’s a shrewd one. Doesn’t trust me."

   "You think he knows something?"

   "Nah. He’s just good at what he does. Davy is too, but you could tell he feels sorry for me. I’ll work that angle."

   "What about the partner then?"

   "Let me worry about the big blond. I won’t let him get in my way when it comes down to it. I’m good at what I do, too."

   "Keep in touch." The other man hung up the phone.

   Vinnie hung up and picked up the file folder he had been leafing through that morning. The folder contained surveillance information and photos of two Bay City detectives. He pulled out the small notebook he always carried and jotted down the address for Venice Place.

   It was a quiet morning for Starsky and Hutch on their beat, but both of them felt a tension in the air and from the people they met. Neither one could put their finger on it.

   "It's not just me," Starsky said. It wasn't a question.

   "Nope." Hutch rubbed his eyes. "Something's going to blow. What say we have lunch at Huggy's? Maybe he can help us out."

   "Good idea." Starsky turned at the next corner and headed for The Pits.

   The place was hopping as usual for lunchtime, but the minute Huggy spotted them, he made his way over to them. "I'm surprised it took you guys this long to get to me," he said. "Noticed anything odd out there?" He gestured toward the door with his head.

   "Yeah," Starsky said. "What's goin' on, anyway? Everybody's wound up tighter than a drum."

   Huggy gave a shrug. "I'm not sure yet. I'm trying to find out. That's part of what's strange, if you get my drift. Nobody's talkin' about why they're so uptight. But they all are."

   "If you don't know – " Starsky began. He cocked a quizzical eyebrow at his bartender friend. "Maybe nobody does."

   "Oh, they know," Huggy said. "I'll find out, prob'ly before the day's over. I can make an educated guess."

   "Really. What?"

   "There's some kinda new action goin' on. Maybe a new player's entered the territory."

   "Drugs?" Hutch asked.

   Huggy pursed his lips. "That'd be my guess. But you didn't hear nothin' from me."

   "You'd think a new supplier – "

   Huggy shook his head, stopping Hutch mid-sentence. "You know better'n that, Hutch. A new supplier's good news for the users, but the OLD suppliers ain't gonna be too thrilled, if you know what I mean."

   "What kind you think it is?" Starsky asked.

   Huggy shook his head again. "Can't say. My guess is somethin' heavy, though. Horse. Coke. Tell you what. I ain't seen Dinger for three or four days."

   Dinger was a street junkie, small time, but a habitual user. Sometimes he was good for some information, and Starsky and Hutch usually left him alone. They'd tried, when they first took over the beat, to roust him and get him into treatment, but he always went back to the habit. They'd finally given up. He never caused trouble, and in fact, held down a job washing dishes at a mom-and-pop diner. But when Dinger disappeared for several days at a time, it meant he'd gone on a bender.

   "He can't afford that much horse," Hutch objected.

   "Less'n somebody's undercuttin' the competition by offerin' discount rates," Huggy said.

   Starsky and Hutch exchanged a glance. That made sense. Move in, undersell the competition, knock the other guy out of business, and then when you were the only game in town, jack the prices back up again.

   "That could get ugly," Starsky said.

   "You know it. And you wonder why everybody's so uptight?" Huggy grimaced. "I'm only guessin' all this, mind you, but I’ve been on the streets a long time, fellas, and all the signs are there."

   "The minute you hear somethin' – " Starsky said.

   "I'll let you know," Huggy finished for him. "Don't worry."

   Starsky had a nightmare that night, one he used to have regularly when he was a child, but hadn't had since ‘Nam. That had provided new fodder for nightmares for years, finally chasing the old one away. But it came back on this night.

   He was almost 13 years old. The boys he'd been running around with for the last few months had slipped a note into his locker at school. Meet us at Garfield Park right after practice. It's important.

   He didn't know what was up, but he wanted so badly to belong and maybe this was a sign he was close to making it. They wanted him to meet them, instead of his having to just hang around and hope they'd let him stay. Right after school he headed for the park, not far from his neighborhood. Close enough to walk.

   When he got there, Vinnie and Butch, two of the older boys and the acknowledged leaders, were hanging around the picnic tables smoking a joint. Two or three of the other boys were there, too, hanging back at the edges of the park, nervously keeping watch. No sign of the rest of the 20 or so members of the gang.

   "Hey, ya, Davy," Vinnie said, friendly for him. "Wanna drag?"

   Davy shook his head. "Nah. Gives me a headache," he lied, afraid to tell the truth, that his ma would tan his hide if she smelled marijuana on him. He'd gotten a tanning or two already, just from hanging around other people who smoked it. He'd never dared try it himself.

   Vinnie shrugged and passed the joint to Butch. "We got a job for ya, Davy," he said.

   "Yeah? What's that?"

   "Me and Butch here are broke," Vinnie said. "But we're outta smokes, see. We want ya t' lift us a coupla packs from the newsstand. Guy knows us and won't let us near the place, but he wouldn't suspect a little kid."

   Davy bristled a bit at the "little kid" and he also knew what his ma would say about stealing. But he also couldn't say "no." So he forced his conscience down and obediently trotted away to the newsstand. It was busy this time of day, people heading home from work, wanting their evening paper. The proprietor, an elderly Italian man who barely spoke English, was busy. Davy was short for his age and managed to squeeze through the customers. The cigarettes were next to the cash register, with the candy bars and gum. It was easy enough to grab a couple of packs of Kools, stuff them inside his t-shirt, and run. He had to pass his own house on the way back unless he ducked down a convenient alley, so he did that, but was frozen in his tracks by the sounds of gunfire and squealing tires.

   He slithered back to the opening to the street and peered around the corner of the building. People had come out on their porches and some were standing around a still figure on the sidewalk. One of those people was his dad's partner. His heart in his throat, and forgetting all about Vinnie and Butch, Davy ran as hard as he could and skidded to a stop, unbelieving.

   His father lay on the sidewalk, a spreading red stain on the front of his policeman's uniform. His eyes were closed and his breathing sounded funny.

   His dad's partner caught sight of him and stepped between him and his father, grabbing his shoulders and turning him away. "Davy, go home. Go home right now. You shouldn't be here."

   "Pop," Davy said, softly, his voice cracking. "Pop!" He jerked away from the cop and threw himself to his knees at his father's side. "Pop?" He was almost afraid to touch him, and the distant sounds of ambulance sirens didn't even really register until much later. But he reached out a shaking hand and touched his father's cheek. At his touch, Mike Starsky's eyes opened. They wouldn't focus, but there was dazed recognition in them.

   "Davy," his dad said, his voice sounding strange and bubbling. A little blood leaked out of the corner of his mouth, and Davy wiped it away, almost blinded by tears. He was only twelve, but he knew what he was seeing.

   "Daddy," he said, not even realizing he'd lapsed into using the name for his father that he'd abandoned when he started school. "Daddy, please. Don't die, please."

   Mike Starsky tried to raise his hand to touch his son's face, but he couldn't do it. Davy caught hold of that hand in both of his own. "My ... rings," he said with obvious effort.

   "Your rings?" Davy didn't understand.

   "Take 'em," his dad said. "The rings, Davy."

   Suddenly Davy understood. His father had always worn two rings on the pinky of his left hand. He never took them off. He'd told Davy once that they were family heirlooms and someday Davy would get them, as the eldest. The tears that had blinded him now flowed freely down his cheeks. "Daddy, I can't – "

   "Take 'em, Davy," his dad said, his voice so weak it was barely audible. "Please, son. Wear 'em. Never, ever take 'em off ... promise."

   Sobbing now, Davy obeyed. He took his father's rings off and put them on his own left hand. They were too big for any but his middle finger. His dad watched, his eyes going more and more hazy.

   "Love ... you," Mike said. "My boy ... take care of your ... " His eyes drifted shut and he stopped breathing.

   Starsky awoke with a jerk, fresh tears drying on his face and his heart aching. He'd never forgotten, but he hadn't dreamed about his father's death for years. Somehow, he'd pushed it aside and tried never to think about it if he could help it. He had never told his mother or Nick the whole story. His mom knew he'd been at the scene, but she didn't push him to tell her what had happened. She'd never said a word about the rings, either. As Davy grew, the rings fit better, until sometime around his 18th or 19th birthday, he'd moved them to his pinky, where his father had worn them. And he never took them off, as his father had said.

   He touched them now, reverently. His father hadn't left much. Some life insurance. His pension. A few family possessions. Most of the Starsky family valuables had been lost in the Holocaust, but Mike Starsky's mother had managed to salvage some silver and some family photos. God knew how, when all they brought with them to America was contained in their suitcases.

   But the rings and the legacy of his father's honest name were the two things Starsky would never give up. Mike Starsky had been buried with full honors by the NYPD, killed in the line of duty. For a while, Starsky really had gone a little crazy and had gotten even deeper in with Vinnie and his crowd. But his mother had sent him to California, just in time, and with distance and his aunt and uncle's constant attention, he'd finally remembered where he'd come from. And he'd made up his mind that Mike Starsky would never have a reason to be ashamed of his oldest boy.

   Hutch knew that Starsky had been there when his father died, but he'd never told him the whole story, either. Maybe it was time he did. Without thinking, he reached over and picked up the phone.

   It took several rings, but finally Hutch answered, groggy, "H'lo?"

   "Me," Starsky said.

   "Starsk? What's wrong?" Hutch was suddenly wide-awake.

   "Nothin'." Starsky sighed. "Everything. I had a dream. About my dad's death."

   At his end, Hutch was more than a little puzzled, but he could hear a note of pain in his partner's voice that he didn't like at all. "Tell me."

   Starsky did, haltingly, his voice shaking and the tears coming to his eyes again as he talked. Hutch listened in complete silence until he was finished.

   "Is that how it really happened?"

   "Yeah." Starsky used a corner of sheet to wipe his eyes; grateful Hutch couldn't see his tears, though he knew his partner knew him well enough to hear the tears in his voice. "Just like that."

   "Aw, babe." Hutch was silent for a moment. "Want me to come over?"

   "No," Starsky said. "No sense in that."

   "I will, if you need me. What're partners for?"

   Starsky smiled a little. "Thanks, buddy, really, but I'll be okay. I guess I – just needed to hear your voice. Needed to tell ya."

   "Seeing Vinnie brought it all back?"

   "Maybe." Starsky drew a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. "Sorry I woke you up."

   "It's okay," Hutch said gently. "Sure you don't want me to come?"

   "Yeah. See ya in the mornin', okay?"

   "Okay." Hutch listened as Starsky hung up, but he didn't immediately go back to sleep. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling in the dark, and wondering, not for the first time, how his partner had turned into the gentle, caring, decent man he was with all that trauma in his childhood.

   When Hutch picked him up for work the next morning, he could tell Starsky hadn’t slept after they hung up the phone. The dark circles under his eyes and the tired posture as he leaned against the door betrayed him. His heart ached for everything his best friend had been through. "You okay this morning, buddy?"

   "Yeah, I’m fine. Couldn’t get back to sleep, though." He punctuated that remark with a yawn.

   "I would have come," Hutch said as he gave Starsky’s shoulder a squeeze.

   "I know. I appreciate it. Really. I’ll be fine."

   "You want to talk about it anymore?"

   Starsky shook his head and said, "Later, maybe. I feel kinda like I need to just dive in today."

   "Whatever you want, buddy." Hutch picked up the radio mike to log them on duty and then he pulled his beater Hutchmobile into traffic. Starsky had bought him this car after his previous Hutchmobile was totaled by Roy Slater pushing him off a canyon road. Starsky thought this car was even drabber – an unreliable, light-colored LTD that was partially primer paint.

   After they drove through a burger joint for a quick breakfast for Starsky and juice for Hutch, they cruised their beat for an hour. Everything seemed quiet. They were on their way to the precinct when Denny "DJ" Teller, one of their street stoolies, flagged them over to the curb.

   "What’s playing, DJ?" Starsky asked.

   DJ leaned against the LTD, lighting a cigarette. He had a tendency to put everything into radio pop chart or music terms. "What about some info on the new hit on the top of the charts?" he asked.

   "Top ten?"

   "Number One."

   Hutch leaned over so DJ could see his face. "Spin it."

   "Heavy royalties, man." DJ shook his head and rubbed his thumb against his finger in a gesture most people took to mean considerable money.

   Hutch knew the man was going to put whatever money they paid him in his veins, but DJ was another person they had stopped trying to rehab. He didn’t want it and he was a valuable snitch when it came to the drug trade. "How ‘bout $20 now plus residuals if we stay at the top of the chart?"

   DJ nodded agreement with the terms. "Don’t got a name yet, boys, but there’s a new agent in town."

   Starsky interjected, "We know that much, DJ. You got anything with a stronger beat?"

   "Yeah, guy’s just a single, but he represents a heavy band. East coast group, outta the Big Apple."

   Hutch asked, "When did this new solo artist start climbing the charts out here?"

   "Coupla months ago. Took him awhile to find some fans, you dig?"

   Starsky said, "We hear ya. Anything else?"

   "Just that this guy’s music is pure, sweet, and cheap. He’s flooding the market with it. Pretty soon, every other label in town’s gonna be outta business. Oh, and word is, his recording studio’s over on the south side somewhere."

   Hutch nodded at him. "Thanks, DJ. You call us if the tune changes."

   "Right on."

   He stepped back from the car and watched as the cops drove away from the curb. Starsky had known DJ since his time in the Army. The man really was a radio disk jockey before they went overseas, but DJ had dropped so much acid, he went on a permanent trip. This was Starsky’s week for meeting old friends. Hutch knew all about DJ. He glanced over at his partner casually. Over the years they had known each other, Starsky hadn’t opened up much about his tour in Vietnam. The nightmares Hutch had seen him suffer were enough to convince him it had been terrible for the young Starsky, barely out of high school. Yet another reason to marvel that his partner was a healthy, generally happy person.

   "What do ya make of that?" Starsky asked him, breaking the silence.

   "Just what you made. An east coast drug cartel. Trying to muscle its way here. They sent a forward operative two months ago or so. At least it’s a little more than what Huggy had for us yesterday."

   "Yeah."

   When they reached their desks at the precinct, Starsky had a message waiting for him. Vinnie wanted to meet for dinner again at the Grub and Suds on Palm and 15th.

   "You gonna go, Starsk?" Hutch asked, concerned. He still didn’t trust Vinnie. The fact that the man was from the east coast, New York even, and he had been in California for two months matched DJ’s description of the new drug operative. He knew it was a stretch, but his instincts told him not to discount the idea.

   "Guess so. You don’t have to, though. I know you don’t like him."

   Hutch sighed. "Starsk, it’s not that I don’t like him. I didn’t say that. What I said is that I don’t trust him. I’d rather go along, if it’s okay with you."

   Starsky bristled a little at the implication that he couldn’t handle an old running buddy alone. "I’d rather go alone."

   "Okay, okay. I just worry about him dredging up more unpleasant memories for you."

   "I know. Try not to worry, huh? I feel bad for the guy. He’s probably homesick. God knows I was when I moved out here."

   "You were thirteen, buddy. He’s a grown man." Hutch sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere with his sensitive partner when he had switched into underdog-defender mode. "All right. You’re probably right." He rifled his drawer and said, "We’re out of expense vouchers. I’ll be right back." Hutch left the squad room to get the blank forms. When he returned a few minutes later, Starsky was sitting perfectly still, looking a million miles away – or at least three thousand miles and twenty-two years away – from Hutch. Starsky sat staring at his hands, both of them open, palms down and hovering a few inches above the desk. He was looking at them like they weren’t his.

   "Starsk?" Hutch said in a low voice as he reached over and touched the left hand.

   Starsky looked up at him, momentarily startled. "Sorry, did you say something?"

   "Where’d you go?"

   "I was just thinking how much my hands look like my pop’s. You ever compare your hands with your dad’s, Hutch?" Both Hutch and his father had large, strong, powerfully built hands with long fingers. Richard Hutchinson’s were a little bigger than his son’s but they did look remarkably alike.

   "Guess I did, when I was a teenager." Hutch wasn’t sure where this was going.

   "My hands look just like his." Starsky reached over to his left hand with his right and lovingly rubbed the rings on his pinky. His hands were starting to shake slightly when he looked up at Hutch, pain deep in his eyes and he said, "Sometimes, I think I can still see his blood on them."

   "Aw, buddy, don’t. Dwelling on things like that will just pull your heart apart."

   His voice still sounded distant and quiet, lost in another time. "Yeah. I know. Sometimes, though, I can’t help wondering. What if I’d been there a few minutes earlier? Would I have seen the shooters? Could I have stopped it?"

   "Starsky, you were just a boy. You might have been hit yourself." Something about his partner’s recollection of the shooting had been bothering him and he finally remembered what it was. In a sudden shift of gears, Hutch said, "Joe Durniak."

   "What?" Starsky asked, snapping out of his reverie.

   "Something you said last night. When we were with Durniak, right after the introductions, he said something about your dad’s death. He said some ‘wiseguys’ shot him down one night. Nighttime, Starsk. What do you make of that?" Starsky had told Hutch the hit happened in the late afternoon.

   Starsky shrugged. "Nothin’ really. First, Durniak was an old man remembering one hit out of a whole career of violence. Second, I was supposed to be on my way home from basketball practice, but it ran a little long. My pop would make sure he was around to meet me at the gym after practices because around four-thirty, five o’clock in New York, in January, the sun was down and it was practically dark. He didn’t want me to walk home by myself. Only, I missed him at the gym and went to the park instead. Then, I went to the newsstand like I told you. By the time the shooting started, it was dark. Guess that’s what Joe meant. Anyway, doesn’t matter."

   "No, I was just wondering." Hutch had a keen mind for details, just like his partner. Starsky’s quick wit and intelligent insight did nothing for him where his father’s death was concerned, though. No cop instincts seemed to have sway on those memories. The only thing there was the pain and grief of a little boy crying over a father he shouldn’t have had to watch bleed to death in his arms on a cold street. Hutch shuddered involuntarily as he put the thoughts aside for a while.

   Hutch said nothing more, instead he turned to work on writing the information DJ had given them into his book and then he filled out an expense voucher for the $20. While he did those things, he fished around in his head for something to say that would get him out of Starsky’s sight for an hour. He’d say he needed to go to the bank. Starsky hated going to the bank and he’d let him go without offering to come along.

   "I’ll bring back lunch. Roberto’s okay?" Hutch said as he stood and picked up his jacket.

   "Yeah, what are you gonna eat?" Starsky knew Hutch was trying to make him feel better and he chuckled at the thought. Just like a Jewish mother, trying to comfort me with food.

   "I’ll find something. Be back in an hour." He left Starsky to continue with their paperwork. They’d hit the streets again in the afternoon.

   Hutch didn’t have to go to the bank. Instead, he drove straight to Merle’s. He asked Vinnie to come out to the car and talk to him for a few minutes. The man complied.

   "What’s going on, Hutchinson? Where’s your partner?" Vinnie looked into the car as he approached. No Starsky inside.

   "This conversation is between you and me, Vinnie."

   Vinnie wiped his hands on a shop towel as he looked the tall blond in the eye. "What’s it about?"

   "My partner. And you. Listen up good. I don’t know why you’re here really and to be honest, I don’t give a damn. I just want you to know I’m watching you. I don’t trust you and this is the most important part, you hurt him and you’re gonna have to deal with me."

   Vinnie cocked a wise guy grin and said, "Well, well, well. Davy not big enough to take care of himself, Mom?"

   That did nothing for the Viking temper. He grabbed Vinnie and pinned him up against the car. "Don’t pull any of that bullshit with me, Vinnie. We both know what’s going on here. I can’t prove a thing. Yet. My partner can take care of himself just fine, especially when he knows he needs to. For some unknown reason, he feels sympathy for you."

   Vinnie did his best not to look frightened by the sudden flash of blond rage. The menacing detective holding him against the car was plenty intimidating and the only thing keeping the smaller man’s fear in check was his anger at having Hutch see through him so easily.

   Ranting back at Hutch, Vinnie hissed out a speech that the blond let run on long enough to get some valuable insight. "Unknown, huh? Couldn’t be he feels a little guilty about turning tail and running when things got heavy – leaving his buddies behind to fight, and scrap on the street while he built his new life here. Couldn’t be maybe he wonders if he woulda gone to prison with the rest of us, or died in the street like Tony, Johnny, or Sal. Maybe his big shot dead cop father woulda rolled over in his grave if he knew old Davy was dealin’ drugs or liftin’ stereos to eke out a living. Couldn’t be none of that causing him to feel sorry for me. He can’t see anything for his own guilt." Vinnie realized, suddenly, that he might have said too much and he stopped.

   Hutch’s fists were clenched and he wanted nothing better than to hit the slimy man, but he resisted the urge. Lowering his voice to its most menacing level and boring his eyes through Vinnie’s skull, Hutch said, "I just want you to know where we stand, slime. He’s my best friend and I make watching his back part of my mission in life. Never mess with a man’s partner. You want to see him, fine. Just be sure you don’t do anything either one of us will regret. Are we clear?"

   Vinnie was trembling a little from both anger and fear. "Crystal."

   Hutch released his coveralls and the man started to stagger away. He spun around, pointed at Hutch and threatened, "You just make sure somebody’s watching your back, asshole." Then he stormed off to return to work before Merle missed him. He had made it a point to get a close look at Hutch’s car.

   After their shift, Hutch dropped Starsky off at his place so he could change and get the Torino before heading for the restaurant. As Starsky shut the door, Hutch said through the open window, "Call me when you get home, okay?"

   Smiling, Starsky saluted him and said, "Sir, Sergeant Starsky reporting as ordered by twenty one hundred hours, sir."

   Starsky had called and told Vinnie he needed to be home by nine. He had promised Hutch, since his sleep was so interrupted the previous evening. They were going to need to be sharp the next day and Starsky was already tired. They planned to hit the streets roaming through some of the most dangerous parts of their turf to dig up information on the new drug operative and neither one of them could afford to be anything but rested.

   Hutch chuckled at him and waved, yelling as he pulled away, "Dirtball." He drove straight home. Tonight, Quiche Loraine was the special at Chez Helene’s and he knew there would be a serving set aside for him. The three things he couldn’t resist from the restaurant in his building were fresh baked bread, French Onion Soup, and Quiche Loraine. Starsky had teased him about it until he tried it.

   He carried his food up to the apartment, sorting through his mail as he went. The stack of mail contained a few bills, a trust fund statement from his accountant, a letter from his sister, and yet another invitation to join Columbia House Record Club. That last item annoyed him. If you ever bought anything from Columbia House, and he had once, they never let you go. Hutch settled down at the table to enjoy his food and the letter from Karen. The trust fund could wait. His accountant was probably just letting him know the funds he didn’t want had grown richer. Hutch was unaware that Vinnie was waiting downstairs to perform a modification to the LTD.

   When Starsky didn’t call at nine, Hutch was annoyed. He figured Vinnie must have kept him later than he planned. He also hoped Vinnie had the good sense to keep his mouth shut about their "meeting" that afternoon.

   By the time eleven o’clock rolled around without a phone call, Hutch was pacing and working himself into a fret. Vinnie might have hurt Starsky somehow – possibly in retaliation for Hutch’s little tirade. His partner might be wide open to him, feeling like he was. When he didn’t get an answer at Starsky’s, or when he tried to get a patch through on the police radio, he decided to go to the Grub and Suds to see if Starsky was still there.

   Palm Avenue was a long street and 15th crossed it at the bottom of a steep incline. Hutch had crested the hill and was heading down Palm when he realized he was picking up speed. He put his foot on the brake and the pedal went straight to the floorboard. His sense of déjà vu from the time Starsky’s brake lines were cut made him break out into a cold sweat. Fortunately, the street was not crowded with daytime commuters. He did his best to weave in and out of the cars that were there. Hutch knew if he could keep the car under control long enough to head up the other side of Palm, he’d be able to stop it safely. Unfortunately, the eleven thirty number forty-one bus had other plans. The light at Palm and 15th was red for him and the bus was lumbering into the intersection. Hutch had no choice but to cut his wheels and pray for the best. The car went up on two wheels and he thought it was going to flip, but he managed to get all four wheels on the ground as he righted the car’s trajectory and started up the hill. His speed was beginning to drop when the LTD hit a pothole. Hutch was unable to keep hold of the wheel and he careened through a construction sight a block up from the Grub and Suds. The car plowed into a large mound of dirt and Hutch was flung into the windshield. He fell slumped against the steering wheel and was still, the horn blaring.

   The crash was loud enough for patrons inside the small neighborhood restaurant to hear it. Some went out to the sidewalk to see what had happened.

   "That sounded bad," Starsky remarked, finishing the last of his coffee. He noticed that Vinnie had an odd smile on his face.

   "Hm, yeah. Wonder what that was about." He knew Starsky was anxious to leave. The man had been trying for nearly two hours. Vinnie had no idea it would take this long for Starsky’s partner to come looking for him. He’d hoped Hutch would make it this far in the doctored LTD and it sounded like his plan had worked. Now, all he needed to do was keep Starsky for a few more minutes.

   When he heard the sound of approaching sirens, he said, "Well, guess we’d better call it a night, Davy. Don’t know about you, but I’m a working man."

   Starsky did his best not to glare at him. He’d been trying since nine o’clock to explain he had to go home so he could rest for work the next day. Not wanting to hurt Vinnie’s feelings, he had stayed.

   Both men tossed some money on the table for a tip and rose to leave. Vinnie told Starsky he’d call him in a few days and he started up the hill toward his car in the opposite direction from what he hoped was Hutchinson’s last ride. Starsky started to walk down 15th to where the Torino was parked, but a combination of his desire as a cop to see if anyone needed help at the accident, and a nagging hair-rising-on-the-back-of-his-neck sensation caused him to shift directions and head up the hill toward the wreck instead. He saw that there were already a couple of black-and-whites on the scene. The blaring horn in the wrecked car suddenly stopped and he could hear the sounds of a paramedic unit coming down Palm. As he got a little closer, he realized with a powerful sense of dread that he was looking at the back of Hutch’s car. The dirt covered car had Hutch’s license plate on it.

PART TWO