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PART TWO
Safe in My Home - Part Three

Sue David and Valerie Wells
© 11/2001

   Starsky wanted to run home and see if he could find an old box of photos. When his aunt and uncle’s home had been vandalized, Starsky took pictures. They were some of his first efforts as a photographer. Maybe he and Hutch could look at the photos and see if they held any clues. He was looking through his mail as he opened the door, so he didn’t notice the state of the apartment at first. He took several steps into the living room and noticed from his peripheral vision that something wasn’t right. When he finally looked up, he saw that the room was a mess. Someone had ransacked his place. He didn’t even have time to draw his gun as a precaution before someone hit him on the back of the head and he crumpled into darkness.

   Vinnie stood over the fallen detective, a malicious smirk on his face. He kicked the still body once in the side to be sure he was unconscious and was satisfied at seeing no reaction. Not knowing how long Starsky would be out, and unwilling to risk detection at this point, he finished taking apart the now broken picture frame he had used as a blunt instrument. The glass had broken and he reached into it with his gloved hand, pulling out the picture of Starsky with his dad in his police uniform. Turning it over and searching behind it yielded nothing of value. Vinnie tossed the picture and the broken frame on top of the unconscious man and he quietly left the apartment.

   Hutch had fallen asleep on the couch. An hour after Starsky left, he was awakened by the jangling phone. "Hello?"

   "Hutch," Huggy said, "is Starsky there?"

   Sitting up was painful, especially when he did it too fast, but Hutch was alert now, glad he hadn’t taken any of the pain pills Huggy picked up for him and had brought with his lunch.

   "No," he said as he looked at the clock. "He left here a little over an hour ago. Said he was going to his place and he was supposed to call me when he left there."

   "Where was he goin’ next? I already tried his place."

   "What’s up?"

   "Dinger’s here. Wants to meet."

   "Hang on a minute. I’ll get them to patch me through to him. Call you right back."

   Hutch waited impatiently on hold until the dispatch operator told him they were unable to get an answer from Zebra-3. Damn. Hutch stiffly went to his desk and retrieved his phone book.

   "Hello," Starsky’s Aunt Rose’s voice answered warmly.

   "Hi, Rose, this is Ken Hutchinson."

   "Ken? Is David all right?"

   Damn. I really need to work on that. "Yes, I’m sorry, Rose. Didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just looking for your nephew. Is he there?"

   "No, should he be? Where are you?"

   "I’m a little under the weather so I stayed home today. He said he might stop by. If he does, will you have him call me, please? It’s important."

   "Sure, Ken."

   Hutch dialed Huggy. "I’m going to his place. I’ll let you know."

   "You ain’t supposed to be goin’ nowhere, I’ll go."

   "No. Might be dangerous. I don’t have a car anyway. I’ll ask the guys in the squad car to take me. I’ll call you." Hutch hung up before Huggy could protest further.

   Hutch found his stiff muscles and aching head interfered with his speed in dressing, but he managed to pull on some clothes and get his gun. He never thought about how heavy the Magnum was, but today, the big gun felt like the cannon Starsky always said it was.

   He locked up behind himself and lurched down the stairs to the street, each step causing a throb of pain in his head. Rand looked up when he saw him and he turned to his partner. "Watching out for these two is never dull," he said dryly.

   Donley smirked and asked, "Now what?"

   Hutch opened the back of the cruiser and climbed in, saying, "Take me to Starsky’s, I think he might be in trouble."

   Rand nodded, but added, "You okay? You probably should stay here. We’ll call for another unit."

   "Nothing doing. Hit it. Oh, and roll down the window back here, huh? Creepy knowing I can’t get out of here."

   Donley laughed as his partner lowered the power window and pulled into traffic. He reached for the microphone, but Hutch told him to hold off on that. "Don’t. Dobey’s already gonna kill me, if you call in, he’ll just order me back. We’ll be there in a few minutes."

   "Okay, Hutch. Just remember, you outrank us and you gave the orders."

   "I’ll take the flak." Hutch gave Rand the address and sat back for the ride.

   Hutch wasn’t feeling well, and the back seat of a speeding squad car was not the most comfortable place to ride when nauseous. He fought against motion sickness and he put his sunglasses on, hoping that would help the headache. He forgot all about that when they pulled onto Starsky’s street and he saw the Torino parked in its usual spot. His partner was just supposed to be running a quick errand at home.

   "There’s his car," Rand remarked. "You sure he didn’t just go home for a while?"

   "Positive." Hutch noticed the look exchanged between Rand and Donley, just before the window next to him rolled up again as the squad car came to a stop. "Hey, what’re you doing?" he demanded.

   "We’re going in first. If he’s really in trouble, you’re in no shape to go first."

   "Let me out of here!" The anger did nothing to improve Hutch’s color or his pain.

   "Only if you swear we go first," Rand said as his partner got out and stood a moment next to Hutch’s door, waiting for the signal to open it.

   "All right, we’re wasting time. Let me out!" Rand nodded and started up toward the stairs, gun drawn. Donley waited a beat, until his partner was on the stairs and then opened the back door before he ran to catch up to him. He knew Hutch would have no choice but to bring up the rear.

   Hutch was fuming, but he made his way as quickly as he could to the bottom of the stairs. He got there just in time to hear Rand say, "Aw, shit," as he watched Donley disappear into Starsky’s open door.

   "Starsky!" Hutch shouted as he did his best to hasten up the stairs. He was breathing hard and seeing sparks by the time he reached the doorway.

   Through the sparks, Hutch could see that Rand was bent over his motionless partner, patting him on the cheek and calling his name. He also saw Donley sweeping the place to be sure the intruder was gone. The apartment was a mess, but Hutch paid no attention to that. He went to Starsky’s side and knelt slowly just as he was beginning to stir in response to Rand.

   The low groan pulled at Hutch’s fear. "Starsk? Buddy? Open your eyes."

   He looked Starsky over and noticed the picture lying on him, along with bits of broken frame and tiny pieces of glass in his hair. He and Rand turned him over carefully and Starsky winced, putting his hand to his side. Hutch started pulling his shirt up to see what was hurting him. A large bruise was forming there.

   "Owwww," Starsky said as he blinked his eyes open and he looked up at his partner. "Hutch?"

   "Call an ambulance," Hutch ordered.

   "No!" Starsky said as he reached out and grabbed onto Rand’s arm before he could stand.

   "Starsk," Hutch started.

   "Naw, just help me up, okay?" Starsky said, panting. He reached up for Hutch, then dropped his hand and held the other one up for Rand. "Not you. What the hell are you doing here? What happened?"

   Rand pulled him up to a sitting position as the dark-haired detective said, "Owwww," again.

   "You okay?" Hutch asked nervously.

   Donley called the all clear from the other room.

   "I’ll call it in," Rand said, rising to leave the partners while he called Metro for another unit and the crime lab team.

   Hutch sat down hard, flinching. "You get the number of the truck that hit you?"

   "Course not," Starsky answered as he rubbed his side and shook his head to clear it better. "You’re not supposed to be up. Why are you here?"

   "You’re welcome," was Hutch’s response. "I'm here because Huggy called looking for you. Dinger wants to meet with us. After I talked to Huggy, I called Rose and she said you hadn't been there. What would you have done, genius?"

   "The same thing you did," Starsky admitted sheepishly.

   "Right. So what happened?"

   Starsky struggled to his feet, swaying a little. He rubbed his eyes and reached for his head, but yanked his hand back. "Terrific," he grumbled, leaning over and gingerly brushing bits of broken glass out of his curls. "I don't know what happened," he answered when that job was done. He sat down next to Hutch on the couch. "I came in, didn't notice at first that the place was trashed, and by the time I did, it was too late. Somebody whacked me on the noggin and next thing I knew you guys were here."

   "What's with the bruise on your side?" Hutch asked, concerned, when Starsky rubbed at it again.

   "Maybe the bum kicked me for good measure. I don't know."

   "Broken ribs?" Hutch gently felt Starsky's side.

   "No," Starsky said, allowing Hutch to examine him. "Just a bruise. He must not've kicked hard enough to break nothin'."

   "Let me look at your head," Hutch demanded as Rand came back from using the phone.

   Starsky sighed and agreed. Hutch parted the thick hair and looked closely at the goose egg on his partner's head. There was no break in the skin of his scalp. It didn't seem to be much more than a bump.

   "I guess you'll live," Hutch said at last.

   "Thanks, Doc," Starsky said with a grin.

   "Feel up to the meet with Dinger?"

   "I never feel like meeting up with Dinger," Starsky said. "But he just might have something for us."

   Knowing the crime lab team would take at least an hour to examine the apartment, Starsky called Huggy and asked him to tell Dinger they'd see him in a couple of hours. The team didn't find much except one thumbprint on the picture frame.

   "We'll compare it to yours," one of the men said to Starsky. "Then we'll run it through the files and see if we can come up with a match."

   "Start with Vinnie Martino," Starsky said glumly. "I got a bad feeling."

   "Sure thing," the officer said. "You look like hell," he added. "Both of you."

   "Thanks," Starsky said sourly. "We'll manage. Get crackin', huh?"

   "Okay, okay." The officer and his team gathered up their things and left.

   Rand and Donley had waited while this was going on. Now Rand shifted his weight uncertainly back and forth. "Uh, Starsky?"

   "What?" Starsky asked wearily, downing a couple of aspirin that he'd finally had time to get from the bathroom.

   "We're supposed to be guarding Hutchinson," Rand said. "If you and him are going to go to Huggy's, shouldn't we go along?"

   "Dinger's gonna love that," Hutch said.

   "Really," Starsky said. To Rand, he said, "No. You can't go along. Go back to Hutch's place and wait for us. After we see Dinger, we're going to my Aunt Rose's. She'll probably ask us to supper. If we ain't back by the time you finish your shift, go home."

   "Starsky – " Rand took a deep breath. Both detectives did outrank him, after all. "Dobey's gonna kill us if we do that."

   "I'll take responsibility."

   "He'll still kill us."

   "No, he won't. He don't have to know."

   "You want us to fib to the captain?" Rand asked, wide-eyed.

   "No, he wants you to keep your mouth shut!" Hutch said impatiently. "Just go park outside my place. If Dobey contacts you, you say everything's fine. When your relief arrives, tell them the same thing. Is that so difficult?"

   Rand and Donley exchanged a very unhappy glance. Finally, Rand sighed. "Okay. But if something happens to you guys – "

   "Nothing's going to happen. We're going to Huggy's, then we're going to Aunt Rose's. We'll be fine. If it'll make you feel better, we'll call you when we leave Huggy's and when we get to Rose's." Starsky reached for his jacket, making it plain the conversation was over. "Now, git!"

   When the officers were gone, Hutch grinned. "Dobey is gonna kill them. Or us."

   Starsky gave a shrug. "Won't be the first time. Or the last. Come on."

   Huggy's was slow this afternoon, with only a couple of the die-hard drunks holding up the bar when they came in. Huggy himself was playing pinball, but when the detectives came in, he stared at Hutch in dismay. "What the hell're you doin' here, Hutch?"

   "Long story," Hutch said. "Where's Dinger?"

   "The john," Huggy said. "Man, oh, man, I wouldn't wanna meet either one of you guys in a dark alley right now. You're scary."

   "We love you, too," Starsky said, taking a seat in a booth. Hutch joined him.

   Dinger emerged and spotted them. He slunk over to the booth and sat down across from them. "I hear tell you're lookin' for some dirt on a new dealer," he said in a low voice.

   "You know of any?" Hutch asked.

   Dinger nodded. "Blew into town a coupla weeks ago. Had local connections, too. Good shit, man. Hardly cut. And they ain't askin' much for it, neither. Suspicious, y'know?"

   "We know. Gotta name?"

   Dinger shook his head. "Ain't his real name. Nobody uses a real name, y'know. Said to call him 'Trigger.' How’s that to make ya nervous?"

   Starsky's face drained of color.

   "Starsk?" Hutch turned to him with a worried look and put a hand on his arm.

   Starsky swallowed, wet his lips, and shook his head. "I'm okay. I know who 'Trigger' is."

   Dinger lit a cigarette. "Thought you would."

   "Why?" Hutch turned on Dinger.

   Dinger lifted his hands in surrender. "Hey, easy, man. I just mean this cat's been asking a lotta questions 'bout you two. Mostly him," he added, indicating Starsky. "Wants to know what he drives and where he hangs out. Stuff like that."

   "Did you tell him?" Hutch said, narrowing his eyes dangerously.

   "Hell, no, Hutch. Do I look that stupid? I like you guys. But there's plenty o' folks out there," he jerked his head toward the street door, "who don't like ya, and he got it somewhere. Been braggin' he's gonna 'take back the street from that Brooklyn punk.' His exact words."

   Hutch glanced at Starsky. His partner's color was almost back to normal, but he looked sick. "Do you know what he means by that?"

   Dinger shook his head. "Sorry, no. I figured he had some kinda spite against Starsky and figured he'd get even somehow. I got hold o' Huggy soon's as I figured it was safe so's I could tell ya."

   "Thanks, Dinger," Starsky said. He reached into his pocket and produced a ten. "That hold ya?"

   "Sure, Starsk. Thanks." Dinger pocketed the money and rose. But before he went, he turned back. "Starsky? Be careful, huh? This guy really gives me the creeps."

   Starsky nodded. "We will."

   Dinger gave a mock salute and strolled out.

   "Who's Trigger?" Hutch demanded.

   "It's what we called Vinnie's little brother," Starsky said. "The kid had a real thing about Roy Rogers – remember the old westerns?"

   Hutch nodded. "Wasn’t that the horse’s name, though?"

   "Yeah, go figure. Guy’s real name's – " Starsky frowned and thought about it. "Tony? Tommy? I don't remember. Something like that. But this kid – and he's a lot younger than Vinnie – he always wore a white cowboy shirt, just like Roy. He was a good kid. I hate to think he's turned into a pusher."

   Hutch couldn't think of anything comforting to say, so he settled for a squeeze of Starsky's shoulder.

   They headed for Rose's house, calling Rand and Donley on the way to let them know where they'd be. Rose was just starting supper when they arrived. She kissed Starsky, patted Hutch's cheek, and got them coffee.

   "Davy, you don't come over near as often as you ought to," she scolded gently. "I miss seeing you." Resisting the urge to demand why Hutch had a shiner and stitches in his head, and why Starsky looked a little bleary and sick to his stomach required considerable effort. Both detectives had said nothing about it and Rose was content to wait and see if they would.

   "Sorry," he said with a crooked grin. "I'll try to do better."

   "I know something's up," she said with a searching look at her nephew. "Ken called here earlier looking for you, and though he tried to pretend he wasn't worried, I could hear it in his voice. What's going on?"

   "She always could read me like a book," Starsky said to Hutch, who grinned.

   "Well?" she demanded.

   Starsky filled her in, giving her a sanitized version of his suspicions about Vinnie. She leaned back and watched his face while he talked, and it was clear from her expression that she knew he was holding back. "I was just wondering if there's anything you can think of that they'd be looking for," he finished. "Ma's place was burgled, so was yours, and now they've been to mine. They must think one of us has something important."

   Rose nodded. "I agree. But I'm sorry, I don't know what it could be."

   "But why would they wait all these years?" Starsky asked. "I can understand ransacking Ma's place and yours right after Pop died, if they thought he had some evidence or something against them, but why now? It's been twenty years!"

   "I can't imagine." Rose frowned. "Your dad didn't have anything valuable on him when he died, did he?"

   Starsky shook his head. "He told me..." His voice shook, just a little, but he regained control and finished, "He told me to take his rings." He held up his left hand. "That's all. I didn't want to, but he made me."

   Hutch laid a hand on his arm. Starsky glanced at him with gratitude.

   "Your dad always wore those rings," Rose said gently. "He probably wanted you to have them to pass on to your own son someday."

   Starsky nodded. "They couldn't want those. So what do they want? We didn't find nothin' that coulda been evidence or anything when we went through his stuff after the funeral."

   Rose sighed. "Maybe there isn't anything. Maybe these people just think there is."

   Hutch sat quietly while Starsky followed his aunt into the kitchen and kept her company as she made them a pot of coffee. His mind was working out a puzzle and Starsky could see that on his face when they returned to the room. "Hey, Blondie, what are you workin’ on in there?" he said as he reached up and tapped Hutch’s forehead lightly.

   "Rose, did Starsky’s dad ever come out here for a visit?" he asked.

   "Once. Davy and Nicky came to spend a few weeks with me the summer before Mike died. Davy was about twelve. Rachel and Mike came out with them. Rachel said it was the longest time they’d had together on vacation since their honeymoon," she recalled with a sad chuckle. "They drove out and left the boys here while they went up to San Francisco. I think they drove back from there. Al had a cross-country business trip and he drove the kids home when it was time for school to start."

   "You remember me talkin’ about Uncle Elmo’s, Hutch. Nicky and me spent a lot of time over there that summer. He let us play with the trains for hours if we wanted."

   Hutch nodded. "How could I forget? That was a pretty big trip in those days."

   "Sure was," Rose replied. "Mike had a lot of vacation time on the books. He had been working on something big and he told Al it was about to get bigger. Said he wanted the family to have some time together before he couldn’t do it. Kind of prophetic, in a way."

   Starsky blanched at that remark a little. "So maybe whoever did the break-ins thought Pop left something here?"

   Hutch shook his head and said, "I don’t think so, Starsk. I think they were looking for you to have something. That’s why they broke in here after you moved out to Bay City. They must have thought whatever it was came here with you."

   Sighing, Starsky said, "But that just takes us right back to the rings. They’re the only thing I had of the old man’s back then. Ma wouldn’t let me have his gun ‘til I was older."

   "I’m sure that wouldn’t be it, anyway. Think, Starsk. I know it was a really long time ago, but do you remember your dad telling you about something he had? Maybe he was keeping in the house? Evidence."

   "Nothing."

   Thinking this might be a good segue to bring up their injuries, Rose said, "You know, neither one of you boys has explained why you’re both looking like what the cat dragged in."

   Both men laughed, and Starsky said, "Sorry. I can’t believe you waited this long to ask."

   "I figured you’d get around to it," Rose replied with a soft giggle. "You’re both walking around, so I guess it isn’t anything too serious."

   Hutch pointed at his black eye and said, "Well, I tried to drive my car through a big pile of construction dirt. The dirt won."

   "And you, David? You’re doing pretty well, but you’re not fooling me."

   Starsky thought he was doing a good job hiding his pounding head and throbbing side. "How’d you know?"

   Hutch laughed at him. "You’re kidding, Starsk."

   "Listen to your partner. You’re stiff and sore, every time the light hits you in the face you wince, and you have a little glass in your hair in the back."

   Starsky reached up behind his head and gingerly tried to get the rest of the glass out of his hair. He put the pieces down on the saucer next to his coffee cup. "You should have been a detective." He leaned over and let her look at his head. "Did I get it all this time?" She nodded and he continued, "‘S’nothin’ to worry about. We got it under control."

   "That’s right, Rose." Hutch added his agreement in support.

   Rose knew better than to ask too many questions when her nephew and his partner were being tight-lipped. She smiled and let them move on to other things. When they were ready to leave, Starsky excused himself to "check out the plumbing." That left Rose alone with Hutch for a few minutes.

   "You two really all right, dear?" she asked. "You wouldn’t let anything happen to either one of you, would you?"

   "Don’t worry, Rose. We’re bruised, but not broken. I’ll keep an eye on him."

   "You keep an eye on yourself, too. That pile of construction dirt didn’t have anything to do with all of this stuff coming up about David’s past, did it?"

   Hutch marveled at the woman’s keen sense of awareness, despite their efforts to leave her a little in the dark. He thought he owed it to her to be straight with her. "I hope not."

   When they were back in the car, Starsky said, "Let’s go back over to your place. We probably should give Rand and Donley a break. Maybe Dobey hasn’t found out yet."

   "Sounds good. You know he has, though."

   They checked in with the uniforms before they went up the stairs at Venice Place. Both officers were grateful for their safe return and Rand said, "Dobey didn’t check in, maybe it’s cool."

********

   Vinnie was disgusted that he’d found nothing at Starsky’s place. Whatever information Starsky had, if he even knew anything, must be in his head. He met his brother for a drink at a dive bar down near the docks and they discussed what to do next.

   "I ransacked his place pretty good, Trigger. Didn’t find a thing. You get anything today?" he asked his little brother.

   The younger man sitting across the booth from him no longer wore white cowboy shirts, but the nickname still followed him. "Yeah, I made a couple of good connections, sold about $15,000 worth’a horse to some pimp over on 33rd, and I found out the blond cop’s off duty for a few days after that little accident you caused. They got a squad car staked out over at his place."

   "I knew that, jackass. Good job on the sales, though. You got a gift, kid."

   "Quit callin’ me kid. I’m thirty-three."

   "Yeah, okay."

   "What you gonna do next? He’s not gonna wait for that evidence forever, you know. If the cop’s got it, you have to find it."

   "We know it ain’t at his place, and after all this time, it ain’t out at his aunt’s house either. I’m guessing it has to be back at his mom’s, and I think I know how to get it."

   "How?"

   "I’m gonna get Starsky to find it. I have to go back to New York. Then, I’m gonna get Starsky out there, but first, I need you to make sure Blondie can’t go with him. This’ll work better if Starsky doesn’t have anybody out there to help him. You know for sure which apartment’s Hutchinson’s?"

   "Yeah. Venice Place, top left."

   "Great. How’s your pitching arm?"

********

   Starsky’s head was still hurting and Hutch looked exhausted. "You need to rest, Blondie. Stretch out on the couch and I’ll bring you a beer. You need any aspirin or anything? It’s been a couple of days, probably okay now."

   Hutch sat down on the couch and put his head back, closing his eyes. "Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks. Why don’t you take some, too." He laughed softly. "Always seems kind of odd to drink a beer with an aspirin chaser. You sure you’re okay?"

   "I’m fine. Just a little sore."

   When they were both relaxing in the living room, Starsky sat and stared at the two rings on his left hand. "Hutch, it can’t be these that whoever it is wants, can it? They’re not really worth anything." He took them off and looked at them. They should be unremarkable to anyone but him. "Why do you suppose he said to never take them off?"

   "I don’t know, buddy. Can I see them?" Hutch asked, putting out a hand.

   "Sure."

   Hutch sat up straighter and examined the rings closely. They were well worn. He looked inside and found an inscription in each one. "Hey, what’s this?" he asked.

   "What?"

   "There’s something engraved in both of these rings." He got up and went out to the greenhouse where the dimming light was better. "Hm."

   One of the inscriptions was a number, "250343." The other engraving was Hebrew.

   "Do you know what this means?" he asked Starsky who was now standing behind him, straining to get a better look.

   "No. I can’t read any Hebrew other than what I learned for my Bar Mitzvah. I’m even pretty rusty at that."

   "What about the number?"

   "I don’t know. I guess I never really thought about it. Maybe it’s a jeweler’s mark, like a serial number. That ring’s pretty old."

   "Where did your dad get these rings? Do you know?"

   "Ma said the gold one belonged to my uncle David. He gave the silver one to my dad on his Bar Mitzvah day to remember him by. I was named after him, you know. He died on Kristalnacht in Germany, and his wife sent the gold ring to my dad in the States. I guess he wanted Pop to have it."

   "Why didn’t he move here with your dad and the rest of the family?"

   Starsky dropped his eyes and walked over to sit at the small table with Hutch’s chess set. He and Hutch didn’t talk much about his extended family and it was always hard on Starsky when they did. "He was a lot older than my dad and was already grown by the time they moved here. The family had all moved to Germany and my uncle married a German girl. After the wedding, she wanted to stay close to her family. I think her dad was a rabbi and he convinced them to stay, even when they could see what was happening. Bad decision in retrospect, since they all died either on Kristalnacht or at Auschwitz. Only the Starskys who moved here before that time survived."

   Hutch sat down across from Starsky and looked at him with support in his eyes. "Hindsight is always twenty-twenty. How old was your dad when they moved here?"

   "He was fourteen. They got out with only what they could carry in suitcases. If they’d waited much longer, they’d have never made it. Hey, I woulda never been born." That thought sent an eerie shiver up Starsky’s spine.

   "There but for the grace of God, buddy."

   "Really."

   Hutch was about to hand the rings back when a thought struck him. "What a minute. In Europe, they write their dates differently than we do. Did your dad still do that, even here?"

   "I don’t know. Different how?" Starsky asked.

   "They put the day of the month first. If it’s a date, 250343 would be your birth date."

   "Damn. I never thought of that, but you’re right. They do that and I’ll bet that’s it. Why would he engrave that there? Guess I’ll never know."

   They sat in silence for a few moments. Then Starsky said, "You rest awhile, you look totally wiped. I’m gonna call Rabbi Freedman and ask him what the Hebrew means. Who knows? Maybe it’s a clue."

   Starsky stood up and waited for Hutch to follow him. "Come on, Blondie. Go lie down for a while. You never give yourself enough time to heal."

   "Nag, nag, nag," Hutch retorted, but he followed instructions and headed for his bed to take a nap.

   After calling information for the Rabbi’s office number, he dialed it as he sat down on the couch, knowing he was probably going to run into interference from the synagogue’s secretary. He took a deep breath when she answered the phone.

   "Good evening, Mrs. Meyerson. This is David Starsky, I need to speak with Rabbi Freedman."

   "Rabbi’s very busy this evening, young man. I’ll take a message." Mrs. Meyerson always sounded angry, even when she was smiling.

   "I’m sure he is, ma’am, but this is pretty important. Could you please ask him to take the call?" he asked, doing his best to sound cheerful, yet direct.

   "Young man, I just told you…."

   "Please, ma’am. This is police business. Urgent." That wasn’t exactly a lie.

   "Oh," she said with a disdainful note and a weary sigh, "hold the line."

   Starsky sat nervously clicking the silver ring against the phone while he waited. Within a few minutes, his Rabbi’s friendly voice said, "David, it’s Isaac."

   "Good evening, Rabbi. Thanks for taking the call. Mrs. Meyerson explained that you were busy."

   "Nonsense, David. She’s a good gatekeeper, Mrs. Meyerson. Now, what seems to be the trouble? Are you all right?"

   "Yes, Rabbi. I’m hoping you can help me with something, though. If I spelled out the Hebrew letters for you, could you tell me what two words say and what they mean?"

   "Yes, certainly, but Mrs. Meyerson said this was police business. You weren’t disobeying a commandment to get past my gatekeeper, were you?" he teased good-naturedly.

   "No, no, this is police business. The Hebrew may be a clue to some evidence. We don’t know, and I’m a little, um, rusty."

   The rabbi’s warm laughter from the other end of the line eased Starsky’s mind. Isaac Freedman was a kindly man of almost seventy and he had a talent for making people relax. "Oh, don’t take me too seriously, son. I have a pencil. Spell out the letters."

   Starsky read off the letters and the rabbi copied them. "Okay, just a minute, David. Yes, the words say Batooach Beveyty. This means ‘Safe in my home’. Does that make sense to you?"

   "No, but I appreciate it. Thanks a lot," Starsky replied honestly.

   "My pleasure. Now, when am I going to see you, my friend? You haven’t been to temple in a long time."

   Starsky flinched. He knew that sort of admonishment would be coming. He hadn’t been to temple in over six months. Every time he thought he’d make it, their work schedule interfered and the few times he could have gone, he wasn’t in the mood. "I’m sorry. I’ll try to get there soon. You know how it is. We never know what our schedule is going to be like."

   "I know, David. Take care and come when you can. God watches over you, son. He knows you’re busy. Be sure and say your prayers once in a while, huh? Humor an old man."

   "I do, and I will. Thank you."

   "You’re welcome."

   Starsky hung the phone up softly and slid both of his rings back onto his pinky. He sat in contemplation for a while and didn’t realize he’d said aloud, "What does it mean, Pop?"

   He listened carefully and heard by his gentle snoring that Hutch had fallen asleep. He made a quick call to Dobey, who thankfully did not seem to have heard about them ditching their guards for a while.

   "I was wondering when you were going to let me in on what happened over at your place today. Is everything all right?"

   "Yeah, I think so, Cap. Whoever it was surprised me. Somehow all this stuff is linked. I haven’t figured out how... yet."

   "You saying you think Hutch’s accident, your break-in, and those other crimes back from when you were a kid are connected?" Dobey sounded like he was finding that hard to accept.

   "I know it sounds out there, Cap, but that’s what my gut tells me. I think I have enough to work this like a case, if that’s okay with you. I think it’s even hooked up somehow with this new drug dealer, and that guy I knew back in New York."

   Starsky’s instincts were rarely wrong. "What about your dad, Starsky? You think it has something to do with him, too?"

   "I don’t know, but maybe."

   Dobey thought about it a minute and said, "All right. Keep me posted. How’s your partner?"

   "He’s much better today. I think he’ll be ready to come back to work tomorrow."

   "I heard he was still a little wobbly this afternoon when you and he ditched your cover."

   Oops. He knows. "Yeah, well, he’s resting, Cap. You know it’s not Rand and Donley’s fault. We ordered ‘em to come back over here."

   "I’ll be talking to them when they get back to the station. Their backups, Gentry and Hollings, just relieved them. I authorized a black-and-white to look out for Hutchinson. You see to it that he stays put so they can do their jobs."

   "Okay, Cap. I think I’ll be staying with Hutch until we figure this all out. I don’t want him here by himself. It’s bad enough I have no idea what these guys could want with me after so long, but I’m not taking chances with my partner."

   "Watch yourself," Dobey ordered.

   "I will. Thanks, Cap." Starsky hung up the phone.

   He was still sitting with the phone on his lap, thinking about the intricacies of this case, when it rang. He grabbed it quickly, before it woke Hutch. He didn’t recognize the muffled voice on the other end of the phone.

   "Hello?"

   "Hutchinson?"

   "No, this is Starsky. Who is this?"

   "I need to talk to you. I have some info for you about what happened to your partner."

   Starsky was intrigued. "Well, spill it."

   "Uh-uh. Meet me at Charlie’s on Euclid in half an hour. I’ll be in the back booth, wearing a Yankees ball cap." The phone went dead before Starsky could say anything else. He stood and went to check on Hutch. Finding his partner still sleeping, he decided he’d go check out this informant by himself. The sun was down now, but he left off the lights in the hope that Hutch would stay asleep until he returned and could make them some dinner. He stopped downstairs to tell the uniforms he was leaving.

   Starsky hadn’t been gone more than five minutes, when a dark pickup truck drove by Venice Place. The uniforms noticed it, but didn’t really think much of it, until they saw a tarp thrown back and a figure in dark clothes and a ski mask stand up in the back of it. Before they had time to react, the man cocked his arm and lobbed something into one of Hutch’s front windows.

   "Shit!" Gentry said as the man dropped back into the bed of the truck and it sped away.

   Hollings got out of the car and took several running steps toward Hutch’s place as Gentry started the squad car when an explosion blasted out Hutch’s front windows, raining glass, plaster, and wood down on the officer, even out in the middle of the street. He dropped to the ground, covering his head to protect it from the flaming bits of debris.

   Gentry decided not to chase the pickup; he figured he’d better stay to help. He picked up the radio to call it in. "Baker 8 to Control. We have an explosion and fire at 1027 ½ Ocean. Send backup, fire, and an ambulance."

   "Roger, Baker 8." The dispatchers always sounded so calm.

   Gentry didn’t feel calm, his heart was racing as he continued, "Looked like a hand grenade, Dispatch. Suspect vehicle is a black, full sized pickup truck with no plates. Suspect is in the back, dressed all in black. Last seen one minute ago turning off Ocean onto Sunset and heading toward the beach. I’m going in to assist."

   Starsky had his radio on when he heard the calls. He slammed the brakes on, nearly causing the car behind him to crawl into his back seat. Spinning the big car around in the middle of the street, he raced back toward his partner’s apartment, muttering, "A setup, dammit!"

   It only took him a few minutes to get back to Hutch's place, but there were already two fire engines and an ambulance in the street when he got there, plus Gentry and Hollings' squad car and another squad. Starsky flung himself out of the car and aimed for Hutch's door but was stopped by Gentry.

   "He's okay," Gentry said urgently, holding him back. "The firefighters got him out. He's in the ambulance, but he's okay."

   Starsky jerked loose and headed for the ambulance. Hutch was in the back, coughing, his face blackened from soot, but otherwise he seemed all right. Starsky dove into the ambulance and grabbed his partner's arm. "How bad is it?" he demanded of the paramedic who was monitoring the oxygen mask over Hutch's face and taking his blood pressure at the same time.

   "Very mild smoke inhalation," she said calmly. She knew both of them and made no effort to evict Starsky from the ambulance. "He'll be fine in a day or two. The explosion was in the living room area and the impact knocked him out of bed, in the direction away from the fire. He got out to the landing on his own, and by then, the firemen had arrived and got him out."

   "You really okay, Blintz?" Starsky asked.

   Hutch nodded and coughed again, but gave Starsky's hand a reassuring squeeze.

   "He's going to have a hell of a headache," Annette said, finishing with the blood pressure cuff and taking some notes on a clipboard. "I understand he already had one of those."

   Hutch closed his eyes eloquently and Starsky grinned a little. "'Fraid so."

   She shook her head. "You two are a couple of disasters waiting to happen. You oughta drive an ambulance instead of that flashy red car, Dave. That way you'd have it handy for all the times you need it."

   Hutch chuckled, which brought on another coughing fit, but it wasn't as bad as before and he soon got it under control. Starsky gave him a dirty look.

   Annette took the oxygen mask away and peered closely at Hutch. "How do you feel?"

   "Lousy," he answered.

   "Good. Go home with Dave. If you have any problems, have him bring you into the hospital."

   Starsky got out of the ambulance and helped Hutch out, and they stood there for a few minutes watching the firefighters put out the blaze. Hutch shook his head. "There goes all my stuff."

   "Not all of it," said the nearest firefighter. "Most of the damage is confined to the living room."

   "Better your stuff than you," Starsky said shortly.

   Hutch nodded. "I couldn't agree more, partner."

   "Come on," Starsky said, a little more gently. "Let's go back to my place and get some sleep, huh?"

   "Good idea." Hutch waited until they had driven a few blocks before he said, "So why weren't you there? If you'd been sleeping on the couch – "

   "I got a call," Starsky said. "Some whippo who said he had some information on your little run-in with the construction dirt."

   "And you went without me?" Hutch snapped, making himself cough again.

   "Yes, I did," Starsky said. "You were asleep. He wanted me to meet him at Charlie's and it's always packed this time of night. Figured it was safe enough."

   "Dammit, Starsky," Hutch said. "We can't go off alone at a time like this!"

   "Don't get your panties in such a knot, you'll cough yourself into a fit," Starsky said. "It was stupid, I agree with ya. Okay? I won't do that again. Seems to have been a ploy to get me outta the place so they could get at you." He shook his head disgustedly to hide his fright at how close they'd come to succeeding.

   "Or so they could get at you," Hutch pointed out.

   Starsky nodded. "We won't leave each other's sight after this, until we get these guys."

   Starsky insisted on Hutch taking the bed at his place, since he was starting to get that "hell of a headache" that Annette had predicted and it was too soon for him to take more aspirin. Starsky made himself a nest on the couch, but he couldn't sleep. He lay there in the dark, listening to Hutch toss and turn in the other room, racking his brain for what "safe in my home" could have meant to his father and why his own birth date should be engraved on rings his dad had had since before his birth.

   He was still contemplating that puzzle when the phone rang. He pounced on it to keep it from waking Hutch. "Yeah?"

   "Hiya, Davy," said Vinnie's voice.

   "Vinnie? What do you want? It's the middle of the night," Starsky said crossly. He was in no mood to reminisce.

   "Not where I'm at, it ain't," Vinnie said.

   "What the hell are you talking about?" Starsky peered at his watch. It was a little after 4 a.m.

   "I'm in New York, Davy," Vinnie said. "I got your mom here with me. She'll stay healthy on one condition."

   Starsky's heart froze in his chest. For a moment, he couldn't breathe or speak. But he didn't doubt for one second that Vinnie was telling him the truth.

   "Davy? Cat got your tongue?" Vinnie gave an evil chuckle. He knew quite well what sort of reaction Starsky was having at his end of the line.

   "What do you want, Vinnie?" Starsky said when he could speak and it was his level, "don't mess with me" voice that came out. After the first moment of panic, his cop instincts had kicked in without his even realizing it.

   "Easy, Davy. I want you. Here. As fast as you can get here. And that better be fast, 'cause my patience ain't gonna last very long."

   "Why? What are you doing?"

   "You got something I want," Vinnie said. "That's all you need to know right now. You get your ass back to Brooklyn by nightfall and meet me at your mom's house. If you don't, she's dead. It's that simple, Davy. Simple enough even for a lousy cop to understand." He hung up.

   Starsky sat, stunned, his heart hammering in his chest, for several moments before he managed to get hold of himself. The first thing to do was try to call his mom and make sure Vinnie wasn't lying. It was after seven a.m. in New York. She'd be awake. He dialed and let the phone ring twenty times before he gave up.

   Maybe she'd run down to the market for something for her breakfast. He waited almost half an hour, plenty of time for her to get back. The market was only a block away. He let it ring another twenty times. No answer.

   He went straight to the bedroom and shook Hutch's shoulder.

   "Hmm?" Hutch mumbled in his sleep, but when he turned over and looked up at Starsky's face, even in the dim light that spilled in from the street, he recognized panic there and that woke him all the way. He sat bolt upright. "Starsk? What happened?"

   "Vinnie's got my mom," Starsky said, his voice shaking. "In New York. He says he's gonna – he's gonna k-kill her unless I'm there by tonight." In spite of his best effort, tears filled his eyes and he broke down. Hutch instinctively pulled him close and held on tight. "My God," Starsky said at last, his voice muffled both by his emotion and Hutch's embrace. "What'm I gonna do?"

   "We're gonna go get her back," Hutch said, his voice calm and resolved. He gently pushed Starsky away enough so he could look at his face. "We're gonna go get her back," he repeated.

   Hutch took care of calling Dobey and the airport. He pulled himself together and ignored his own injuries to spare Starsky from having to deal with details. Dobey called the NYPD and asked them to send an officer to Rachel Starsky's home.

   Starsky waited, his heart in his throat, for Dobey to call back. When the phone rang, Hutch took the call, shaking his head at Starsky. No way was he going to let Starsky hear the news until he knew what Starsky would hear.

   "Hutchinson."

   "She's not there, Hutch," Dobey said. "And the place is trashed."

   Hutch closed his eyes briefly. That was what they were afraid of. "Get a missing persons out on her."

   When Starsky heard that, he made a sound deep in his throat that almost broke Hutch's heart. He reached out and put a comforting hand on Starsky's shoulder and squeezed.

   "I'll need a description," Dobey said, his voice filled with sympathy.

   "About five-four, dark curly hair with some gray in it, blue eyes, weight – " Hutch raised his eyebrows at Starsky.

   "One-forty," Starsky said, his voice choked with emotion.

   Hutch repeated that.

   "Okay. I'll tell them. Description on Martino?"

   "He's in their files," Hutch said. "He's probably well known to them."

   Starsky called his brother to tell him what was going on while Hutch packed for both of them, glad they both kept some clothes at each other's homes, since his own place was inaccessible.

   "Nicky, don't do nothin' till I get there," Starsky was saying, barely keeping his voice steady. "We'll be there in a few hours. The cops are on it. Let us take care of it."

   Of course, Hutch couldn't hear what Nick was saying, but he could see by Starsky's face that talking to Nick was only upsetting him more. He was trying to be strong for his little brother while his own heart was aching.

   "Nicky, come on. Take it easy, huh? Me and Hutch'll get her back. I promise."

   Hutch slipped his arm around Starsky's shoulders and Starsky leaned against him slightly, borrowing strength, while he listened to whatever Nick was saying.

   "It'll be okay," Starsky said gently. "Vinnie ain't gonna hurt her. He wants somethin' from me and he ain't gonna hurt Ma. She's his insurance policy. You take it easy and we'll be there by tonight. Yeah, I'll call ya when I get there. Hang on, Nicky, okay? I love ya." He hung up and looked at Hutch, his eyes moist. "God," he said, shaking his head.

   Hutch called the taxi to take them to the airport. Starsky was in a state of shock, obeying when Hutch told him what to do, but asking few questions and moving in a daze.

   Once they were in the air, Hutch, hating the need for it, realized he had to yank him out of that daze. "Buddy, we got a job to do when we get there," he said. "Can you do it? Can you pull out of it? You gotta be a cop, Starsky, not your mother's son. If you can't do it, you have to tell me now."

   Starsky had been staring blindly out the window, but at Hutch's words, spoken almost sharply, he turned his head. "I can do it," he said, and his voice was level and deadly.

   Hutch nodded. He'd seen the spark in Starsky's eyes, the one that appeared whenever they were going into a dangerous situation. "Okay. Dobey's arranging with the NYPD to grant us professional courtesy. We're supposed to let them know as soon as we get there and they'll be ready to provide backup and support."

   "If Vinnie suspects we got backup – "

   "He won't," Hutch said. "We go in alone. They're going to be on standby. But we're not having a private party here, Starsk. Never again."

   Starsky wet his lips. "Right."

   The flight was uneventful, and when they had picked up their baggage, Hutch called the NYPD. "This is Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson of the Bay City PD," he told the person who answered the phone. "I need to speak to Lieutenant Harris." They had to wait several minutes while someone located Harris.

   "Harris."

   Hutch identified himself again. "Any word on Mrs. Starsky?"

   "No, I'm sorry," Harris said. "We've got the word on the street. We're doing everything we can. Where are you and Starsky?"

   "The airport," Hutch said. "We just arrived."

   "I'll send a car."

   Starsky had his head next to Hutch's listening in, and at that, he said, "No. We'll take a taxi."

   Harris, on the other end, sighed. "Is that Starsky? We know what we're doing and we're in charge here, Sergeant."

   "It's his mother," Hutch said evenly. "And he just might know Vinnie Martino better than you do. He grew up with him."

   "Martino's mixed up in organized crime," Harris said. "He's not working alone. We don't know all of his cohorts, but we know enough to know better than to let a couple of visiting cops handle this alone. I'm sending a car. We'll bring you in and brief you and then we'll decide what we – not you – are going to do."

   "Okay," Hutch said, making a sign to Starsky to be quiet. "We're at TWA's terminal."

   "Roger," Harris said.

   Hutch hung up. "Let's get a taxi," he said to Starsky. "We'll be gone before he gets here, but this means we're going it alone."

   Starsky nodded. "As usual, partner."

   It wasn't easy to get a taxi but they finally succeeded and Starsky gave his mother's address. Traffic was a mess at this time of day, during the afternoon rush, but once they were out of the downtown area and on their way to Brooklyn, it eased up somewhat. The driver pulled up in front of Mrs. Starsky’s home. "Here ya go," he said.

   "Thanks," Hutch said, paying him. Starsky was staring at the house. Hutch gave him a gentle nudge to get him moving, and they walked up the sidewalk as the taxi drove away. Starsky automatically veered left and reached under a large rock in front of the porch to retrieve the extra key. He led the way to the front door. Hutch couldn’t help stealing a glance at the porch rail, noting that it was still dented in places, just like Starsky had said it might be. Starsky’s hands shook as he put the key in the lock and got the door open, and reached inside to flip the light switch. Both of them drew in sudden, shocked breaths.

   Though they had expected a mess, they'd had no idea how bad it would be. The living room was completely trashed. The couch had been cut open and its stuffing was all over the floor. So had the easy chair. Pictures were torn from their frames, drawers were pulled out and emptied, even the carpeting had been torn up. Starsky walked like a zombie through the house, with Hutch following silently behind him, and every room was the same. Someone had searched the place, and searched it thoroughly.

   In Rachel's bedroom, there were drops of blood spattered on the sheets of the unmade bed. Starsky made a sound like a wounded animal, dropped to his knees and cried. Hutch stroked his hair and forced his own tears back. He had to be strong for Starsky.

   Finally, Starsky rose and sat on his mother's bed. "My God," was all he said.

   Hutch sat next to him and put his arm around him. "Whatever they were looking for, they must not have found it," he said. "Otherwise, they wouldn't have taken Rachel."

   Starsky nodded, dazed, a bleak look of terror in his eyes. "But what the hell could it be?"

   "That's what we have to find out, buddy," Hutch said. "We’d better call the station again. If Martino shows up here and sees a squad car that could be bad for your mom. You know they’ll come here since we ditched them at the airport."

   "You’re right." Starsky reached for the phone, but Hutch put a hand on his arm.

   "Why don’t you go make some coffee? I’ll talk to Harris."

   Starsky nodded and left for the kitchen.

   When Hutch got Harris on the phone, the man was furious. "What the hell do you two cowboys think you’re doing? My man called and said you weren’t at the airport. He’s on his way to Mrs. Starsky’s right now and you two have some explaining to do!"

   "Call him off, Harris. Vinnie said he’d meet Starsky here at nightfall. We don’t need the neighborhood crawling with cops, he might hurt her."

   "Hold the phone," Harris grumbled as he put Hutch on hold. When he returned, his humor was no better.

   "He’s not coming, but don’t think you’re going this alone, Hutchinson. I told your captain we’d give you professional courtesy, but I don’t have to extend any jurisdiction to you."

   "Look, Harris, last time I checked, a man didn’t need the PD’s permission to go to his mother’s home. We know what we’re doing – we’re good, seasoned detectives, not a couple of rookies. We’re here, and we’re not going anywhere until we’ve met with Vinnie."

   "That’s a crime scene, you know. Don’t mess it up."

   "Get off it, Harris. Your people have already been here and gone." Hutch knew the crime lab team had already dusted for prints and gathered their evidence.

   Harris was perturbed that nothing seemed to be getting through to the Bay City detective. He also wasn’t about to budge on the need for the visiting cops to have backup on this case. "I’m gonna send an unmarked car to the neighborhood. They’ll keep back a few streets, but be there if you need them. What about Starsky? I know how I’d be feeling if it were my mom."

   "My partner is my responsibility, Harris. It’s handled." Hutch understood that Harris was concerned Starsky might go over the edge and get himself or someone else hurt, but that didn’t stop his instinct to step in and defend his partner.

   "See that you do. Call me when the meet has gone down." Harris hung up without waiting for Hutch to respond.

   Hutch’s back was to the door. Starsky was standing in the doorway, watching him do what was necessary. "So I’m your responsibility, huh? He warn you to keep me in line?"

   Hutch hung up the phone and turned to face Starsky. He replied, "No more than I’m yours, buddy, and yeah... something like that."

   Starsky smiled wryly and said, "Thanks. Can’t make coffee, they smashed the pot. The only thing Ma has in the fridge is milk, grapefruit juice, and a bottle of Manishevitz that’s probably left over from Passover. Any of that appeal?"

   Hutch laughed. "Um, not really," he answered as the laughter brought on a mild coughing fit. The dry airplane air had done little to help his cough. "Let’s get a start looking while we wait for Vinnie. Should be dark in an hour. Chances are, he already knows we’re here anyway."

   "Where to start? I just don’t know...." Starsky stopped mid sentence. He had been twisting the rings on his finger when he was struck with a thought. He went a little pale, causing Hutch to become concerned.

   "Starsk?" Hutch said as he walked closer to his friend.

   "Oh, my God. Oh, my God!" Starsky said as he pulled the rings off of his finger.

   "What’s wrong?" Hutch put a hand on Starsky’s shoulder.

   "The rings, Hutch! Dammit, I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. They’re a clue!"

   "How?"

   "Don’t you see? Safe in my home! Whatever it is that Pop hid – it is here in this house. We have to find it."

   They both had assumed the engraving was a platitude – an old Hebrew saying with which Starsky was unfamiliar. Once they had the translation, neither of them thought it could mean something to anyone other than Mike Starsky. That it was a clue never entered either of their minds. Both of them headed in different directions to look for whatever it was.

   After searching for about half an hour, they both heard a metallic tapping noise on the alley door’s glass. At this point, why Vinnie would knock rather than just barging in escaped them. Whatever the reason, Hutch pulled the Magnum and stood back in the dining room doorway while Starsky went into the kitchen and stood beside the door. He could see it was Vinnie through the crack at the edge of the curtains. The man had tapped on the glass with the muzzle of his gun.

   Starsky drew his weapon and said, "Toss the piece, Vinnie."

   Vinnie sighed on the back stoop. "You’ve got to be kidding, Davy." He tucked it into the waistband of his pants at his back and put his hands up slightly. "That’s the best you get, now open this door."

   Starsky opened it and stood back, but he didn’t reholster his gun. Vinnie stepped into the room and said, "Put it away, Davy. Neither one of us is an amateur. You know if anything happens to me, my people will kill her."

   Reluctantly, Starsky obeyed, but Hutch stood ready, Python held firmly pointed at Vinnie. His head still pounded and he was in no mood for the thug. "Mind your manners, Martino," he warned.

   "Hutchinson," Vinnie said, sounding both surprised and disappointed. "You just don’t die, do ya?"

   Starsky took one step toward him, anger flashing dangerously in his eyes, but Vinnie stopped him by putting up a hand and saying, "I wouldn’t. Remember mama."

   The evil gleam in Vinnie’s eyes was almost enough to cause Starsky to lose it. He managed to get himself under control, taking a few steps back toward his partner for fortitude. With steely indignation, he said, "What the hell do you think is here, Vinnie?"

   Vinnie stared at him for a long, incredulous moment. "You really don’t know, do you, Davy? So much you don’t know." He stopped himself from revealing too much. Starsky probably could be driven to kill him where he stood.

   "All of this has to do with your dad, Davy. He left something important behind. Evidence. You find it. I’ll call you in a few hours and you’d better have it." He started to back toward the door.

   Hutch said, "You wanna give us a clue?"

   Laughing, Vinnie said, "After all this time, Blondie, don’t you think we’d already have it if we knew? Don’t mess with me. Find it, or she dies." He successfully exited this time.

   Starsky was shaking with rage as he kicked the back door shut. Having his mother’s life depend on him finding an unknown something that others had failed to find for more than two decades was making him furious. After spending a few minutes getting him to calm down from his anger and focus on the task, Hutch called Harris back and caught him up on Vinnie’s visit. He was glad to see his marginal cooperation brought the lieutenant to grant them temporary jurisdiction.

   Having nothing else to go on, the two men assumed they were looking for papers or photographs of something. Starsky looked at all of the ransacked picture frames and photo albums while Hutch looked through the books. They turned over furniture, took the artwork down and even tapped on the walls looking for a panel or something unusual. Two hours disappeared with frightening rapidity.

   "Nothin’!" Starsky snapped, kicking an already broken lamp.

   They both stood silent for a few moments, desperately thinking of what to do next. Looking toward each other, they both said, "Basement!" at the same time.

   Starsky led the way to the basement door, located at the back of the kitchen. He handed Hutch a flashlight his mother kept near the door. After he pulled the string on the bare bulb light fixture at the top of the stairs, he ran down the wooden steps. Hutch was close behind him, but he was slowing down some – feeling the effects of his recent injuries. He was out of breath by the time he reached the bottom.

   Looking back at Hutch, Starsky said, "Sit down on the steps a minute, Hutch. You’re not lookin’ so good."

   Hutch shook his head and replied, "No time for that," between taking deep, cough inducing breaths.

   The basement had been thoroughly trashed, just like the rest of the house. The stored items from forty years of living in the same place were scattered haphazardly through the dark rooms. Starsky found boxes of school papers from both of the Starsky boys, baseball cards, old kitchen things – including a percolator, clothing, and other household items. He found one promising box of things belonging to his dad, but it yielded nothing of interest.

   Hutch turned back toward the stairs and tripped over a box he didn’t see behind him. The trip sent him sprawling and his flashlight went flying, clattering down onto the bottom step.

   After laughing at himself, Hutch accepted a hand up from his friend, accompanied by his admonishment that they had enough people who wanted to hurt them, without doing it to themselves. "I hear ya," Hutch said as he sat down on the bottom step and retrieved the flashlight. He furrowed his brow, deep in thought. Hutch took the end of the flashlight and thumped it on the wooden step on which he sat. He moved off the step and did it again. The sound was hollow.

   The stairs down from the kitchen ended on a cement support system at the last few steps.

   Hutch looked up at Starsky, and said, "Think there’s a crowbar down here?"

   Starsky nodded and went into the back room where he found some of his dad’s tools. He returned with a crowbar and a hammer. The two men got to work prying up the bottom step. When they finally yanked it free, they both stared wide-eyed at a small, combination safe tucked underneath.

   "Pay dirt," Hutch muttered.

   "Safe? It meant there was a safe in the house?" Starsky said, rubbing his mouth and chin with his hand. "Good thing you’re a klutz, Blintz. We’d have never found this."

   "Very funny. We still need a combination, or a stick of dynamite."

   They both thought about it for a minute, then Starsky moved toward the safe and tried a number. He opened it on the first try, to Hutch’s amazement.

   Starsky explained, as if it were the simplest thing he’d ever done. "The other ring, Hutch. My birthday. I tried 25 right, 3 left, 43 right."

   Inside the safe, they found a number of interesting things. Some papers from when the Starsky family immigrated from Europe, a few pictures of people from the old country, his and Nicky’s original birth certificates, his parent’s marriage papers from the local synagogue and city hall, two hundred dollars, a few pieces of old jewelry, and a brown envelope.

   "This must be it," Hutch said when Starsky handed it to him. "Want me to open it?"

   Starsky nodded, and watched while Hutch opened the envelope and extracted some papers and photographs. They both climbed up to the kitchen, where the light was better.

   Hutch handed the photographs to Starsky. They were black and white surveillance pictures. "That’s Joe Durniak, handing what looks like a pile of cash to this guy in the suit. He looks sort of familiar." Starsky continued to look at the pictures. They were all similar, photos of the same man with Durniak, taken at different times. "What are the papers?"

   "These are stakeout and case notes. This your dad’s handwriting?" Hutch handed the papers to his partner. Starsky stood reading the notes for a few minutes. "Damn, Hutch. Yeah, these are his. This must be what they want."

   He skimmed the notes and came up with a name. That name brought instant recognition.

   "My God, Hutch. This is Senator Mark Florenz. Course, he wasn’t a senator back then. He was a city councilman. Looks like he was taking bribes from Durniak to look the other way. This is it all right. Something like this could... wait a minute. Ma told me a few months ago that he was running for president next time. He’s from the neighborhood and she thought it was cool that someone from here could maybe go to the White House."

   "Starsk, this information could send the guy to jail, not to mention ruining his political career. He’d probably do anything to get his hands on it."

   "Including killing a couple of cops – and one cop’s mother," Starsky said grimly.

   They needed to think. Obviously, this buried treasure couldn’t be turned over to Vinnie. Starsky sat down heavily at the kitchen table. He looked up at Hutch, his eyes wet. "Hutch, this is probably what my dad died for. We can’t... but, Ma...."

   "I know, I know. We’ll think of something. Let me see those papers." Hutch took the papers back from Starsky. He reached for his friend and gave his hand a supportive squeeze before he let him go.

   "Hutch, I think we’d better put half of these pictures and the notes back in the safe and cover it up again. They haven’t found it in all this time, they won’t now. Next, we call Dobey and tell him what we found so someone out there knows what happened. Just in case...."

   Nodding his agreement, Hutch said, "Good thinking." He leaned over and looked at Starsky’s watch. "Vinnie should be calling soon. Any ideas where he might be holding your mom?"

   "Maybe. I might know where we could find out, anyway. I still got a few connections. Better call Nicky, too."

   Starsky went to the kitchen phone and called his brother. He didn’t tell him what he’d found, afraid Nick would try to give it to Vinnie. They discussed where the two detectives could get some leads. Nick agreed to come to the house with an unmarked police escort to wait for Vinnie’s call. He’d get a number from Vinnie where they could reach him. Nick was going to leave his car on the street near their mom’s house, with a key under the driver’s mat and the door unlocked. That way, the detectives could slip back to get it and they’d have transportation.

   When he hung up, Starsky said, "There’s a bar a few blocks from here. Nicky says a guy I used to run with has been hanging out there for the past fifteen years. Let’s go see if he’s there."

   "What about when Vinnie calls? You think he’d hurt your mom or Nick if we’re gone?"

   "No. He knows he won’t get what he wants that way. Nicky’s gonna ask to talk to her. He’ll let us know later if she’s okay."

   Hutch talked to Dobey. He wasn’t happy that they were trying to go it on their own, but he was glad they’d let him know what was happening. Hutch read some of Mike Starsky’s notes to Dobey, hoping he’d understand what they were doing. After replacing some of the photos in the safe as they had planned, the two men left the house for a neighborhood dive called Top Hat.

   There wasn't much to recommend the Top Hat. It sure wouldn't make a list of "places you must visit while in New York." Hutch made a face at the sight of a wino or junkie or whatever he was passed out, leaning against the front of the place. Inside, it wasn't much better. The floor was worn to bare concrete in places, the tables were scuffed and scratched, and there was an unpleasant, nauseating odor in the air.

   Starsky gave him a sympathetic look. "Ain't the best neighborhood in the borough," he said under his breath. Hutch nodded in agreement, but just then Starsky caught sight of his old friend, blearily holding up one end of the bar and nursing a draught beer. "There he is," he said, speeding up to take the empty stool next to him. "Pete. Hey, Pete, remember me? Davy."

   Pete blinked a couple of times, rubbed his eyes, and peered at Starsky. "Mike?" he asked, his eyes clouded with confusion.

   "No, Davy," Starsky said gently and patiently. "Mike's son."

   Pete's face suddenly blossomed into a delighted grin and he grabbed Starsky and gave him a rib-crushing hug – the same thing Vinnie had done when they met at Merle’s. He even had tears in his eyes. "I'll be damned. Davy Starsky! How the hell are ya? What're ya doin' here?" Gesturing to the bored bartender, Pete called out, "Give Davy and his friend a coupla drinks on me, willya, Stan?"

   "Coffee," Starsky said. "For all three of us. Please."

   Stan raised an eyebrow, gave a shrug, and moved to the coffeepot to make a fresh batch.

   "Pete, this is Hutch," Starsky said. "My partner. We're cops out in Bay City."

   "I'll be damned," Pete said again, peering at Hutch this time. "How ya doin', Hutch?"

   Hutch nodded, shook the offered hand, and leaned against the wall. The rest of the stools were occupied, though most of the tables were empty.

   "Pete, I got a problem," Starsky said, dropping his voice. "Nicky said you might be able to help me with it."

   "Sure, Davy. Whatsa matter?"

   It was on the tip of Hutch's tongue to suggest his partner wait to ask questions until Pete was marginally more sober, but he figured Starsky knew what he was doing and kept his mouth shut instead.

   "Remember Vinnie?" Starsky asked.

   Pete nodded and made a disgusted face. "Punk's what he is. Runnin' with Daggett and his bunch these days."

   "Daggett?" Starsky shot Hutch a look. "You sure about that?"

   "Oh, yeah. Stupid wop. Braggin' about it to anybody that'll listen. Gonna be six feet under 'fore he goes gray."

   "Daggett used to be one of Durniak's boys," Starsky explained to Hutch.

   Stan placed three cups of coffee and a handful of paper packets of creamer and sugar on the bar in front of them. Starsky pulled a five out of his pocket and handed it to Stan with a request to keep their cups full for a while. Stan nodded and moved away.

   "Not anymore. Joey’s dead and Daggett's on his own now, and he's into some dirty business," Pete said. "Vinnie thinks he's in the big time now."

   "You heard about any big deal Daggett's got goin' down?" Starsky asked, shoving one of the cups toward Pete, who gazed down at it as if he'd never seen coffee before. "Drink it, Petey. I need ya sober, man."

   Pete met Starsky's eyes for a moment, then nodded and took a sip of the coffee. He made a face, but doggedly kept drinking between comments. "Yeah, I hear he's expanding to the west coast," he said. "Don't know what he's doin', but I'm guessin' drugs got somethin' to do with it."

   Starsky glanced at Hutch. "The new dealer with the great connections," he said, and Hutch nodded.

   "Sounds like it," he answered.

   "Know where Daggett hangs out?" Starsky asked. "Or where he might hide somethin' he really, really wanted to keep a secret?"

   Pete thought about that, sipping the coffee. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette, but the pack was empty. Starsky signaled to Stan and bought another pack and handed it over to Pete, who gave a weak grin of thanks before opening it up and lighting one. Starsky didn't hurry him, and Hutch forced his own impatience down. This was his partner's show.

   Finally, Pete said, "I ain't sure o' my facts, Davy, but I'm guessin' if Daggett's got somethin' to hide, he'd keep it in his legit business. Remember that crappy apartment house around the corner from the junior high?"

   Starsky nodded.

   "Daggett owns it."

   Starsky glanced at Hutch again. "It's worth a try."

********

   Starsky was the one who called Harris this time and told him which apartment house Pete had been talking about. Harris was even more unhappy than Dobey had been, but he grudgingly agreed to send plainclothes backup to meet them there.

   "Which apartment?" Harris asked.

   "Don't know," Starsky said. "We'll find out when we get there."

   "Sergeant – " Harris began, but Starsky broke the connection.

   "Come on, partner," he said to Hutch. He slipped a twenty to Pete, who tried to wave it away, but Starsky insisted and finally Pete gave in. Starsky gave him a pat on the shoulder and led the way out to Nick's car. "That's where I went to school," Starsky said as they passed the junior high. "At least, till Ma shipped me out to Aunt Rose and Uncle Al." He glanced at it. "Didn't look much better then."

   The school was run down, a stark contrast to the modern building where Hutch had attended junior high. This one, an old red brick, three-story building, had bars across the ground floor windows and the one door Hutch could see, graffiti all over the wall, and a cracked asphalt playground area with grass growing up through the cracks.

   "Doesn't look very inviting," Hutch said gently.

   "No kidding," Starsky said. "It's a wonder I didn't get into worse trouble than I did, the kinda kids I had around me in those days."

   Hutch said nothing, but he put his arm across the back of the seat so he could rest a hand on his partner's shoulder. They finished the trip in silence, and Starsky pulled the car into the curb down the block from the apartment building.

   "That's it," he said to Hutch.

   Hutch gazed up at the six-story building. "How do you intend to figure out which apartment it is?"

   Starsky looked up, too. "Instinct," he said. "It's all we got right now."

   Hutch took a deep breath. "Then let's go."

   Inside the building, Starsky prowled the hallways and stairwells until he came upon a boy of about 10. "Hey," he said to the kid, who was sitting on a landing sorting baseball cards. "Got a DiMaggio?"

   The kid looked up at him with a frown. "A who?"

   Starsky grinned his ingratiating, "just folks" grin that he saved for kids. "Little before your time, I guess. I have an original Mickey Mantle card. No kidding."

   The kid thawed out some. "Really? Man, that's worth a bundle."

   "Don't I know it," Starsky said. "I guard it with my life, man." He knelt so he could look at the kid's cards. "Tell ya what, pal. I'd hang onto that one," he pointed at one, but the light was dim in the stairwell and Hutch couldn't see what he was pointing at, "and these two. Don't trade 'em off to nobody."

   The kid frowned again. "Man, those guys suck."

   Starsky grinned again. "Trust me. Things'll turn around for 'em."

   The kid thought about that for a moment, then scooped the cards up and put them in his shirt pocket.

   Starsky pulled his mother's photo out of his own pocket. "I'm lookin' for somebody, but I can't remember which apartment she lives in," he said. "You seen this lady?" He handed the photo to the boy.

   The kid took the photo and studied it. "Yeah, early this morning. Fifth floor. Don't know which apartment, but she came in with Vinnie and he's 5-D."

   "You know Vinnie, huh?" Starsky asked, keeping the grin with an effort. "Him and me grew up together."

   "He's a creep," the kid said.

   "I know, but I need to see this lady," Starsky said. "Thanks, pal." He offered his hand, and the kid shook it a little unwillingly.

   "How'd you do that?" Hutch asked when they were out of earshot.

   "I grew up in this neighborhood," Starsky said. "Kids always know what's goin' on, as much as their parents wish they didn't."

   The fifth floor hallways were deserted, though they could hear TVs going in a couple of apartments. In another, a baby cried and cried, uncomforted. Starsky went grimly on until they spotted 5-D. He glanced at Hutch and pulled his gun, taking up a position on one side of the door. Hutch took the other and he was next to the wall. He peeked out the window to see if there was any backup down in the street. Two cars he immediately recognized as unmarked police vehicles were parked in front of the building. They weren't going to be much help down there, but he and Starsky had gone into this knowing they were basically on their own.

   Starsky lifted his eyebrows in a silent "ready?" and Hutch nodded once. He used his gun barrel to tap on the door. "Open up!" he yelled. "Police!"

   There was a shot from inside the apartment and Starsky fell, with a spreading spot of blood on his shirt. Hutch didn't hesitate. He kicked the door open and landed inside in a crouch, gun aimed at the man who stood there. He squeezed off a shot, dropping the man. Hutch quickly disarmed him and stuck the man's gun in his jacket pocket and ran through the apartment until he found Rachel, bound and gagged, in a back bedroom. He pulled the gag off first. "Are you okay?"

   She nodded, her eyes filling with tears of gratitude, and Hutch could hear the sounds of the other officers arriving.

   "We're back here!" he bellowed. "I'm Hutchinson! That's Starsky in the hall!"

   "Gotcha," came a reassuring voice. "Is Mrs. Starsky hurt?"

   "No," Hutch answered, untying her bonds. "Check my partner!"

   "Where's Davy?" Rachel demanded, her voice hoarse and terrified.

   "Easy, Rachel," Hutch said gently. "He's been hit, but the bullet went through the wall first and I don't think he's hurt badly." He prayed that was the truth as he helped her up and led her back through the apartment.

   Two officers were with Starsky in the hall, and the spot of blood had grown until it had soaked the whole right side of his shirt and jacket. Rachel gasped and jerked away from Hutch so she could go to him.

   "Davy? Davy, speak to me, baby!"

   Starsky was out cold, his face a frightening pasty color.

   Hutch knelt, too, and pulled the shirt back so he could look at the wound. It looked like a flesh wound, but he wasn't about to take a chance. "Call an ambulance for him," he instructed the nearest officer. "We'll follow."

   "Already called," the officer said. And sure enough, Hutch could hear a siren in the distance growing steadily closer. It stopped in the street and the paramedics arrived carrying a stretcher.

   Hutch gently pulled Rachel to her feet. "Come on," he said. "We've got Nick's car."

   She was sobbing and half hysterical, but somehow he got her down the stairs and out to the street. She pulled herself together enough to tell him how to get to the hospital the paramedics had said they were taking Starsky to. He was as frightened as she was, but he couldn't afford to give in to it now.

   They arrived at the hospital only moments behind the ambulance, but it was a busy place, and they had to wait for almost two hours before someone came to find them.

   "Mrs. Starsky?"

   Hutch helped her to her feet. She was trembling and too pale. "I'm Mrs. Starsky," she said.

   "It was just a flesh wound," the doctor told her. "The bullet bounced off his rib and there's going to be a nasty bruise and quite a bit of discomfort for a while, but he's not seriously injured. He also bumped his head when he fell, but there doesn't seem to be any concussion. We'll be releasing him in about a half hour."

   "Thank God," she said, tears of relief, this time, springing to her eyes.

   The doctor patted her arm and left the room.

   Rachel turned to Hutch, who gathered her in his arms and held her while she cried. He spoke quietly to her, reassuring her Starsky was fine. He knew his partner would be upset that she’d seen him hurt that way. Hutch wanted to shield her from it, but she was a mother and her child was hurt. Starsky might be in his thirties, but he was still Rachel’s baby.

   Nick walked back into the waiting room with three cups of bad cafeteria coffee. Hutch had called him and he caught a cab to the hospital. When he saw his mother crying in Hutch’s arms, his heart nearly stopped. Fortunately, Hutch saw him and, reading the hurt in his eyes, knew immediately how it must look.

   "He’s fine, Nick," he said quickly, before the younger Starsky had a meltdown.

   "Shit, I thought he was dead," he said as he set the coffee cups down and fell into one of the uncomfortable chairs.

   Rachel looked down at her youngest son. "Nicholas Starsky! What a thing to say."

   Nick apologized. "Sorry, Ma. I just got scared when I saw ya cryin’ like that."

   Hutch led Rachel back to the chairs and helped her sit next to her other son. When Nick first arrived at the hospital, the two men had heated words in the waiting area. They’d gotten loud enough to draw a threatening glare from the intimidating admissions clerk. He was a large man, built like a bar bouncer, with a nametag that read, "Junior." Though Nick Starsky was relieved to see his mother safe, he went after Hutch almost immediately, demanding to know where he was "when my brother was getting shot again." Nick had never forgiven Hutch for Starsky’s shooting in the Italian restaurant.

   Hutch had fired back that he was busy rescuing their mother and that neither one of them had x-ray vision. Rachel had threatened to have hospital security toss them both out if they didn’t stop. They had settled down for her sake.

   A nurse interrupted Hutch’s thoughts by coming out to say they could go back and see Starsky.

   "Nick," Hutch said, "Will you look after your mother now? I need to see him."

   "I’m going with you," Rachel said as she started to stand.

   "Please, just give me a few minutes with him, okay? That’ll give you a chance to calm down some more. You don’t want him to see how upset you’ve been, do you? You know it’ll only worry him."

   Hutch had her there. She agreed to stay with Nick. He walked away from them, feeling the barely contained resentment washing toward him from his partner’s brother.

   "You sure you don’t need to be checked out, Ma?" Nick asked.

   "I told you and Ken both, they didn’t hurt me. Don’t fuss." Rachel patted him on the hand reassuringly. "Now, I’m going to the little girls room to wash my face. Ken’s right, I don’t want David to see me like this. You stay here and wait for me, okay?"

   "Sure, Ma."

PART FOUR