The deadbolt slid home with a familiar click that marked the end of another exhausting day. Huggy was looking forward to nothing more than a long, hot shower to ease the dull ache that had developed in his lower back. He was totally unprepared for the voice that seemed to come out of nowhere and the baseball bat that rested on his left shoulder.

"I’m going to give you one chance to give me the answer I need. Is that clear?"

Huggy remained utterly frozen except for the curt nodding of his head.

"Where is Detective Hutchinson?"

The black man tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. "Who?"

As the bat came in contact with his ribs, it was obvious this was not the answer his assailant was looking for.

"What do you mean, he’s gone?" Capernicus roared, spittle flying from his mouth as he turned on Eddie. "How can he just disappear if you were tailing them like you were supposed to?"

The former welterweight fidgeted before Capernicus’ scrutiny. Eddie fumbled with his packet of cigarettes, lighting up quickly and throwing the crumbled cellophane on the office floor. The small room was set apart from the rest of the abandoned print shop which now served as Capernicus’ base until the extortionist could "wrap up" his loose ends and relocate. The print shop was one of a dozen similarly neglected warehouses in the city’s shipping district. A dozen or so men still on Capernicus’ payroll came and went as extortion monies were brought in.

"Look, Mr. Capernicus, we were behind him and Starsky at the station. They went to a taco stand, through the car wash, to the bank, then back to the station. A coupla hours later they went to The Pits, and after that, Starsky left alone. We hung out ‘til the place closed, figuring Hutchinson was holing up there. We broke in, but the only person left was that black guy named Huggy. We tore the place apart, but Hutchinson just wasn’t there. We tried persuading Huggy, but he wouldn’t tell us where Hutchinson was, even after we knocked him around for a while. The next thing we knew we heard sirens, so we split. He didn’t know where Hutchinson was or he woulda told us."

"You sound pretty sure of that, Eddie."

Eddie smiled self-confidently. "Oh, I’m sure my special brand of persuasion would have encouraged him to tell us if he knew."

"Well, then, get out there and find somebody else to persuade and find that cop!"

Starsky prowled the admitting desk’s hallway, knowing every door, light fixture and drinking fountain by heart. How many hours have we spent in these hallways? As much time as we spend in this stupid hospital, you’d think they’d name a wing after us…

A gentle voice from behind broke his reverie. "Detective Starsky? You can see Mr. Brown now."

Starsky nodded at the older woman and followed her down the hallway to Huggy’s room. He would only be held overnight for observation, but the detective felt more than simple obligation to visit his friend. He wasn’t sure what caused him to pause in the doorway--the ghastly sight of Huggy’s injuries or the guilt from what caused them.

"Hey."

"Hey, yourself. Did you get the number of the bus that hit ya? I could put in a call to DMV."

"Very amusing, Starsky. And here I thought they hired you as a cop for your questionable looks and not your comedic forte."

Starsky’s smile didn’t quite dissipate the strain around his eyes. "Hug…I’m…"

"Forget it, Starsk. I knew this could happen going in. It’s not the first time I’ve been injured in the line of your duty."

While the words were offered lightly and meant to ease Starsky’s mind, they stung the detective all the more with the sincere acceptance of their dangerous bond.

"What’d they want?" Starsky already knew the answer.

"What do you think? They wanted a road map and directions to your blond shadow."

"We’re gonna make it up to ya, Hug."

"Just make sure the White Knight’s around long enough to fulfill that promise, dig?"

Starsky nodded once, then patted his friend gently on the leg before heading for the door. "What’s the diagnosis anyway?"

Huggy tried a casual shrug, but the movement brought a wave of discomfort across his elfin features. "Dislocated this, cracked that…nothin’ that’ll permanently hamper my smooth moves with those who groove. Get out of here, will ya? This’ll be the first day’s sleep I’ll get in a long time without some drunken dudes poundin’ on my door to open up the bar for breakfast."

Starsky nodded again. "Yell if ya need anything."

"Later, Starsk." Huggy watched his friend make his way out of the hospital room. There was a dejection to Starsky’s shoulders and an air of tension that crackled from him like static electricity. A coupla days, Starsk. Hang in there for just a few more days…and watch your back, Kemosabe.

Two sets of eyes watched as Starsky got off the hospital elevator and turned down the hallway. Hernandez and Marciano casually stood up from the plastic waiting room chairs and made their way toward the detective. The two hoods almost ran into one another when they turned the corner and found Starsky talking with two uniformed officers near the admitting desk.

Hernandez and Marciano quickly changed their paths and continued out of the hospital, heading for their nondescript Pontiac sedan, parked several car lengths behind the Torino.

Marciano swore as he slid into the passenger seat. "Mr. Capernicus didn’t say it’d be this tough to snag the cop."

Hernandez gave his partner a curious look. "Well, what’dya expect--we just walk up to him and say ‘Hey, pig, hop in the car. Mr. Capernicus wants to know where your partner’s at’? Man, are you stupid."

"And you can kiss my…"

"Shut up, here he comes."

The two thugs slid lower in their seats, watching as Starsky trotted across the sidewalk to his car and left the hospital. The Pontiac pulled out seconds behind the red sedan. A few miles down the road, Marciano began to squirm. "What are you waiting for? Let’s get him."

"I’m waiting ‘til we get outta all this traffic. Ya think people won’t call the cops if they see us knock him off the road? Use your…" Hernandez swore as the darkened interior of the car was filled with alternating red and blue lights.

Marciano craned his neck around to look at the patrol car behind them, as his partner pulled the Pontiac to the side of the road. Ahead, he could make out the rapidly disappearing lights of the Torino. "What are you doing? Are you nuts?" Marciano pulled a handgun out of his coat pocket.

"Shut up, and put that away. We don’t know that they’re on to us. If we run now…" Hernandez quickly turned to face the officer approaching the driver’s side window, as Marciano stuffed the pistol back into his coat pocket. A false smile graced the driver’s features. "Good evening officer, is there a problem?"

The patrolman’s flashlight blinded the two briefly as the beam swept through the interior. "Yes, sir. Were you aware that you have a taillight out? Your tags are expired as well. Driver’s license and registration, please."

It was 2:59 PM when the phone rang from the booth on Ocean Drive. Starsky snatched up the receiver with a grin. "You’re early."

"What do you mean, I’m early? It’s three o’clock."

Starsky glanced at his watch a second time. "No, it’s 2:59. Actually, now it’s three o’clock, but when the phone rang, it was still 2:59."

"You’re a warped individual, you know that, Starsky?"

"So I’ve been told. Well, what’d you do today?"

"Oh, let’s see. I took a drive along the ocean after a lovely lunch at Chez Roberts, then I took in the Metropolitan Opera’s production of La Nozzia de Figaro. Afterwards I had a nap and woke up just in time to call you at three o’clock."

"Two fifty-nine."

"You need professional help, pal."

"Bored, huh?"

"There hasn’t been a word created yet that describes how bored I am."

"And it’s only the first day."

"Twenty-three hours, forty-eight minutes and…seventeen seconds."

"And you think I’m mental?"

"Just find Capernicus so I can come home."

The expression on Starsky’s face became wistful. "Talk to you tomorrow, Blintz."

It was the tremor in little Rosie’s voice that caused Edith to drop the whisk she had been using. "Mommy?"

Edith spun away from the eggs she had been beating and, wiping her hands on her apron, rushed to the living room where a rerun of "Gilligan’s Island" still blared from the TV set.

A stocky man held a gun to Rosie’s head, the other hand holding her close with a handful of the little girl’s t-shirt. A ski mask obscured his features, but Edith could see enough exposed skin to know he was white.

As soon as her mother entered the room Rosie extended her arms to Edith and began to cry. With her eyes never leaving the cold gray ones of the intruder, Edith began to make comforting noises to her child.

"Shush now, baby. It’s all right. We’ll just see what this man wants and it’ll be all right." Her face hardened as she contemplated the reason for the intrusion. "Well? What do you want?"

An oily smile curved up the corners of the man’s mouth. "You’ve got a pretty little girl here, Mrs. Dobey."

An icy fist gripped Edith’s heart, but her face remained impassive.

"It’d be a shame if something happened to such a nice little thing." The assailant cocked back the trigger of the gun, still pressed tightly against Rosie’s head. The fear in Rosie’s eyes finally broke Edith’s resolve and she hesitantly reached out for her daughter.

"Look, you don’t need to hurt her. Just tell me what you want. Money? Is that it? Do you need money?"

A steely grip encircled Edith’s outstretched hand as Rosie was flung away. "I need information, lady. Just tell me where Officer Hutchinson is hiding and maybe I won’t have to hurt you or your little girl."

"Hutch?" Edith looked bewildered. "I…I don’t know where he is. Nobody knows where he’s hiding."

The gunman pulled Edith tightly against him, her arm twisted up behind her back, eliciting a sharp cry of pain. "Do you think I’m stupid? Everybody says Hutchinson and Starsky are tight with your husband. If you don’t want anything to happen to your kid you’ll tell me where he’s hiding out!"

"Please! I swear, I don’t know!"

The intruder slapped his pistol across the side of Edith’s face, knocking her to the ground. Rosie tried to run to her fallen mother, but the thug pushed her roughly against the stairs. Dazed, Edith had no recourse when the masked man grabbed the neckline of her dress and tore it roughly away, exposing her chest.

"In a minute you’re gonna beg me to..." The gunman had begun to lower himself to the semi-conscious woman when the sound of the back door slamming froze him.

"Mom?" Cal yelled as he entered the house.

"Cal! Daddy!" Rosie screamed, knowing her father had picked up Cal from basketball practice on his way home. The gunman swung toward the kitchen, leveling his gun at the teen.

Rosie’s cry was enough to stir Edith back into a more conscious state. Finding her assailant momentarily distracted, the prone woman was able to strike out with a well-aimed kick between the gunman’s straddling legs. As the intruder doubled over, Cal rushed him, the semi-automatic discharging into the wall as it was flung across the wooden floor. Edith rolled onto her hands and knees and scrambled after the weapon.

The back door slammed shut a second time as Captain Dobey made his way into the house, arms laden with grocery bags. At the sound of the shot he dropped his burden and charged into the living room, gun drawn. The tableau that greeted him caused his heart to stop. A masked assailant had just regained his feet, Cal lying stunned below him. Edith sat on the floor, her dress torn, an unfamiliar pistol in her hands pointed at the intruder. Rosie sat in horrified silence on the stairs.

Dobey drew a steady bead on the masked head. The assailant outstretched his hands in a gesture of surrender, but his eyes darted quickly about the room, gauging his options.

"Don’t even think about it." The captain’s eyes never left the gunman’s face. "Cal, move away from him. Call the station and tell them what’s happened. Tell them to send an ambulance for your mother. Then call your Aunt Irene to come over here and stay with you kids."

"Harold, I’m fine," Edith remarked, trying unsuccessfully to stand. Her unstable movements distracted her husband for a split second.

The brief glance of concern was enough for the intruder to make his break. Spinning, he made a dash for the front door through the short hallway. Within a heartbeat Dobey had him in his sights. "Stop, or I’ll shoot!"

The fleeing man never missed a beat and threw himself out the large, rectangular window that made up the bulk of the front door. The sound of shattering glass seemed to fill the room as Captain Dobey rushed forward, firing. Then the only sound in the small house was the muffled sobs of Rosie crying into her mother’s shoulder.

There was no expression on Harold Dobey’s face as he stood on the inside of the destroyed door, staring stonily at the motionless form of the intruder. A gentle rain began falling on the body, washing some of the blood away that had begun to pool underneath him. Only an autopsy would determine if it were the jagged piece of glass that struck his jugular vein that killed him or the .38 bullet lodged in his spine.

Captain Dobey met Starsky at the front door of his sister-in-law’s house. The detective was grateful to see the two black-and-white units parked out in front, as well as an unmarked car, but his remorse for the need of such protection gnawed at him.

"Cap’n, I just heard what happened…" A gesture from his superior stopped Starsky in mid-sentence. Dobey jerked his head toward the interior of the house and stepped out onto the porch. Through the picture window, Starsky could see Rosie and Cal curled up on either side of their mother watching TV with Edith’s sister.

"Is everybody all right?"

Anger flared briefly on the large man’s face. "As all right as they can be considering what they’ve just been through."

"Cap’n…I don’t know what to say."

"Then don’t say anything. Just find these bastards and put them away."

Starsky stared into the eyes of one of the people he respected most in the world, wishing he could take away some of the rage and fear for his family. He then looked away and nodded once, turning to make his way down the porch stairs.

"Starsky."

The detective turned back to his superior with tormented eyes.

"We’re doing the right thing, son. Just keep him safe."

The anguish didn’t leave the cobalt eyes as Starsky nodded again and dashed through the rain to the Torino.

The next morning found Starsky at the station where he had spent the night going over forensic evidence. The bulk of the day was passed there, his efforts yielding little, except for the elimination of potential leads. A Mrs. Bernadette Ellis, Randolph and Capernicus’ secretary from the fictitious Teilman and Associates, was located and brought in for questioning. It was obvious to Starsky, Dobey and Taylor the sixty-five year old grandmother knew nothing of the extortionists’ actual business dealings, and honestly believed that she’d been working for a struggling trading firm. She was soon released with the department’s thanks and a brief tour of the station at her request.

At 2:15 Starsky sprinted out of the station to his car, briefly scanning the area before he got in. The majority of vehicles he recognized, but took note of the few unfamiliar ones. The detective adjusted his rear view mirror to take in more of the second lane to his right as he pulled out into traffic and was rewarded with the reflection of a nondescript tan Pontiac merging as well.

Starsky turned abruptly at the next intersection and accelerated. Another glance into the mirror revealed the Pontiac running a red light in order to keep up. Starsky cranked the wheel for a hard left turn, guiding the Torino out of the heavy midday traffic toward a less traveled street where it would be easier to detain the Pontiac. Keeping the tan car in sight, Starsky whipped into an all-day parking lot. At the first interior intersection, he quickly circled around a row of cars and waited for the Pontiac to join him there.

Hernandez and Marciano scraped bottom as the Pontiac bounced into the parking lot, quickly scanning for the Torino amongst the parked cars.

"Where’d he go?" Hernandez asked, straining his neck to look behind him for the bright red sedan.

"Man, if we lost him again, Capernicus is gonna have our…"

"Shut up! Worry about him later, just look for the cop." Hernandez swore under his breath as cruised slowly through the lot. "He ain’t here. How do you think he managed to…" The last of the hood’s sentence was cut off as Starsky stuck his Baretta against the side of his head through the open window. The hunted had just become the hunter.

Either fear or reflex caused Hernandez to hit the accelerator, propelling the Pontiac forward. Starsky bellowed, "Stop, or I’ll shoot!" then fired through the rear window as the car continued its flight. Even as the glass shattered, he could tell the driver was struck in the right shoulder, exactly where he had aimed. The sedan lurched to the right, sideswiping an import, before staggering back on its path. Starsky hurtled after the Pontiac as it jerked toward the lot exit, then dropped into a crouch, drawing a bead on the driver’s side tire.

The instant his finger began tightening on the trigger, an elderly couple walked into the lot, directly into the erratic path of the fleeing Pontiac. Starsky cursed under his breath as he pulled his shot, knowing that if he fired, he could very easily send the disabled car directly into the couple. Even so, Hernandez swung the car erratically, hoping to throw off the detective’s aim and steered the car toward the pedestrians. The old man was struck in the hip, knocking him and his wife to the blacktop, as the sedan roared out of the lot into midday traffic.

Starsky rushed to the fallen couple, the woman already struggling to her knees. Her husband lay on the tarmac, moaning as he clutched his side. A trickle of blood streaked down the side of his head where he had struck it on the ground.

"Easy, folks, easy. I’m a cop." Starsky knelt and helped the woman to sit next to her husband. He quickly pressed his handkerchief to the old man’s head, then placed her hands against it. "Hold this in place while I call for an ambulance. It’ll be okay."

Starsky glanced briefly over his shoulder for any signs of the fleeing Pontiac as he ran to the Torino. He wasn’t surprised the car was no longer in sight.

Starsky sprinted from his car to the telephone booth on Ranchero Drive. He was seven minutes late from the appointed time, and there was no way to tell if Hutch would continue to try and reach him.

"Yeah?" Starsky breathed into the receiver.

"You’re late."

"It’s nice to hear from you, too, Blintz."

"Tell me you’re late because you were busy busting Capernicus."

The silence on the other end of the line as Starsky searched for something to say was disappointing. Hutch sighed and again accepted the circumstances, though he couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling that had developed earlier that day. "So, has anybody missed me?"

"Sure…at least the couple of people who even noticed you were gone."

"You’re all heart, Starsk."

"Anything good on TV?"

"Do you have any idea what kind of mind-numbing crap they play during the day while we’re out there pounding the pavement? I was so bored with these insipid game shows I ended up watching a rerun of some old show called ‘Here Come the Grooms’ or something."

"I remember that one. Ma used to love that show." Starsky chuckled. "You ever wonder what happens to actors on those old shows?"

"Yeah, they become insurance salesmen and garbage collectors." Hutch sighed heavily. "Starsk, if you don’t get me out of here soon, I’m going to lose my mind."

"Partner, you lost it a long time ago."

"Starsk…"

"Talk to you tomorrow."

Another day ended with Starsky finally getting some sleep, this time at Hutch’s apartment. He had convinced himself of the need to go over to Venice Place and check on his partner’s plants, even though he knew Hutch had watered them before he left on his forced exile. Starsky waved at the unmarked patrol car halfway down the block monitoring the apartment, then let himself in with his spare key. The one tucked along the top of the doorframe had been removed when Hutch left. After wandering around the studio and misting the vines overtaking the living room, Starsky sat down on the couch to sort through Hutch’s mail. He was asleep within minutes.

By 7:00 AM, the morning sun warming his face roused Starsky off the couch, his back stiff, but feeling oddly refreshed and unintentionally comforted. A quick shower woke him further, and donning a denim shirt from Hutch’s closet, Starsky set out to find something more palatable than the questionable contents of his partner’s refrigerator.

A trip to The Pits offered nothing more than breakfast and the affirmation that Diane had picked up Huggy from the hospital as promised. The proprietor was still asleep, but Diane would have him call Starsky at the station later that morning. Starsky touched base with a few of his more reliable snitches, but nothing new had turned up on Capernicus’ whereabouts. The remainder of the day was spent in the squad room, and after a brief update from Agent Taylor and Dobey, Starsky settled down at his desk to review some information on Capernicus and Randolph’s east coast connections the NYPD had dug up. The ringing of Hutch’s direct line drew his attention.

Starsky leaned across his desk and snatched up the receiver on the second ring. "Starsky."

"David? It’s Muriel Hutchinson…"

The hesitancy in Hutch’s mother’s voice made him immediately uneasy.

"Muriel? What is it? What’s happened?"

"It’s Richard, he’s been in an accident."

A cold knot formed in the pit of the detective’s stomach. "What kind of accident?"

Muriel’s voice became more intense. "David, what’s going on out there?"

Starsky cleared his throat, knowing Hutch had only given his parents a vague description of the last week’s events, and that he was going "under" for awhile. He knew his partner had warned his parents that it was remotely possible that someone may try and contact them to find out where he was, a warning that Richard Hutchinson had scoffed at with the attitude of his son blowing things out of proportion.

"Muriel, I…I don’t know what to tell you, other than that Hutch had to go away for awhile until an important case goes to trial. Is Mr. Hutchinson all right? What happened?"

Muriel sighed. "Yes, he’ll be fine, just a bit shook up, though he won’t admit it. This morning a couple of men forced Rich’s car off the road, then tried to get some information from him about Ken’s whereabouts."

"Was he hurt?"

"He was knocked around a bit when his car was run into the ditch. The men that did it were beginning to get a bit rough with him until a passing motorist pulled over and offered his help with what he thought was an accident."

"And they just wanted to know where Hutch was?"

"Apparently. But, David, someone broke in to Katherine and Steve’s house earlier this week." Hutch’s sister and brother-in-law lived a few miles from the Hutchinson homestead.

"Oh, man. Are they okay?"

"Yes, they were quite frightened, as you can imagine. They had just come home from the store and there was someone going through their house."

"So, what happened?"

"Well, whoever it was didn’t have a chance to get much, because Tina got to him first."

"Tina? Who’s…"

"Tina was a friend’s Rottweiler Katherine and Steve were dogsitting."

Starsky began a throaty chuckle until he realized the full impact of what Mrs. Hutchinson had just said. "Wait a minute, you said was?"

"The burglar shot and killed her, David. Then he must have figured one of the neighbors would hear the shooting because he just took off. Never stole anything from the house, either. We…well, at first we just assumed it was a random burglary…"

"…until Mr. Hutchinson got run off the road. I’m sorry to say that you’re right; whoever it was is pretty determined to find your son."

"David, is he in trouble? Has he been hurt?"

"He…he’s safe."

"He’s not hurt?"

"No, no."

"Where is he?"

"Mrs. Hutchinson, I…"

"David?"

"I’m sorry, the less you know…"

"Never mind, if whatever you’re working on means he’s not there with you, it must be important." The blonde woman’s voice dropped perceptibly. "Or dangerous. Take care of him, David."

"You know I will. Are you two going to be okay? We could make arrangements here…"

"No, no. The local sheriff is a friend of ours. He’s made sure that we’re being taken care of. You just be careful."

Starsky gently set down the receiver and shook his head. How far would Capernicus go? A sudden chill ran down the his spine. He snatched the receiver back up and dialed. Within a few rings it was answered.

"Hudley Motors, Nick Starsky speakin’."

The detective grinned into the phone. "The Nick Starsky?"

"Yeah, who…? Davey?"

"How’s it goin’, kid?"

"It’s goin’. I guess there are worse ways of makin’ a buck."

The relief of his brother finally having an honest job was enough to make the worried man smile. "Besides sellin’ lemons? Not many."

"You’re a very funny man, did anyone ever tell you that? Maybe that partner of yours needs to keep you on a tighter leash."

At the mention of Hutch, Starsky’s smile faded. "Right. Hey listen, Nick, I won’t keep you long, but I need you to do something for me."

"Don’t tell me you’re finally getting rid of that red zebra you call a car?"

"Nick, I need you to stay with Ma for awhile."

"What do you mean? You mean like…"

"I mean move back home. It’ll just be for a few weeks, maybe not even that long."

"What are you talking about? I can’t…me and Theresa were goin’ away for the weekend and…"

"There’ll be other weekends." The urgency in his brother’s voice caught Nick up short. "Nick, I need you to do this."

"Davey, what is it? Are you in some sorta trouble?"

"Nick, I…just do me this one favor, all right?"

"Sure, but…"

"Thanks, Nick. I’ll let you know when things settle down. Take care."

Starsky quickly replaced the receiver and ran his hands over his face. He still wasn’t reassured.

"So, tell me what’s going on in the outside world."

Even with the roar of Beverly Hills traffic surrounding him, Starsky could hear the boredom in his partner’s voice. He could easily picture him, sitting in one of the uncomfortable motel room chairs, idly flipping a deck of cards into the waste can, the TV on but muted, a warm and stale beer nearby. The thought of such perfect and safe boredom made Starsky smile. "Oh, not much. Captain Dobey’s decided to try out for the Rams, Huggy’s been named Businessman of the Year by the Optimist Club, and I have a date tonight with Kate Jackson."

"Same old, same old, huh?"

"Yep. How ‘bout you? Seen any good movies lately?"

"I’m so sick of watching TV in this fleabag, I’m losing my mind…and don’t say that I’ve already lost it. That line’s getting old."

"Hang in there, I heard there’s a John Wayne double feature on Channel five tonight."

"Just a few more days, Blintz."

"You getting anywhere?"

"Got a few leads to follow up on." Starsky quickly decided to withhold the information about his partner’s family, knowing that it could possibly draw Hutch out.

The urgent feeling that had been tickling at the back of Hutch’s subconscious for the better part of two days nudged him again. "Hey, Starsk?"

"Yeah?"

There was a hesitant pause, as Hutch tried to put into words what he was sensing. Starsky smiled into the receiver. "You, too."

Two men followed Eddie through the back delivery door of the dingy print shop. While both had the same muscular build of street fighters, it was easy to discern that the youngest of the three men was different, his eyes a bit close together and sunken too deep into his skull. His face bore a perpetual air of innocence. Eddie turned to him and barked out an order. "Kevin, you stay here by the door. Don’t let nobody in, got it?"

"You g-g-got it, Eddie." Kevin stomped purposefully toward the door and, crossing his arms across his broad chest, positioning himself like a sentry.

The other snorted disgustedly. "Man, what do you keep that moron around for?" He was unprepared for the shove that propelled him against a skid of dusty paper stock. Eddie’s finger jabbed at his face.

"You shut up, Johnson. Kevin does exactly what he’s told to and he ain’t got no smart mouth. I better be able to say the same thing about you, got it?"

"Be cool, man. Be cool. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it." Johnson slowly lifted himself up off the large sheets of paper and dusted himself off.

"Good thing. Now c’mon, Mr. Capernicus is waiting. And you don’t keep Mr. Capernicus waiting."

What? The hairs on the back of Starsky’s neck rose as he pushed open his apartment door and looked around the room. For all intents and purposes, it looked as if an earthquake had struck. His bookcase had been turned over, destroying Mexican pottery, his few Chinese sculptures, and the Spanish Galleon he had finished just last month. All the contents of his kitchen cupboards had been tossed to the floor. Even the cushions of his couch had been torn to shreds and discarded around the room. The detective drew his Baretta from its holster and moved into the living room, listening intently. With an unconscious grace Starsky worked his way to the kitchen, then the bedroom and bath, sweeping the rooms with his pistol in the event the intruders were still present.

The ringing of the telephone spun him around in a tight coil, handgun thrust before him. When the source of the noise registered in his tense mind, Starsky holstered his weapon with a grimace and snatched up the receiver from his bedside stand. "Starsky."

A predator’s smile lit his face as he listened. "Thanks, Hug, this could be it."

Eddie and Johnson entered the glassed-in office outside the pressroom. Capernicus was seated at a rusting metal desk, going over the day’s take. He didn’t even glance up when the two entered the room.

"Did you get the day’s receipts taken care of, Eddie?"

"Uh, yes, Mr. Capernicus. We delivered them to Mr. Holmes just like you told us to."

"We?" Capernicus looked up and gave the new man a chilling glance.

"Yes, sir. This here’s Wally Johnson."

The young black man nervously wiped his hand on his pant leg and extended it to his new employer. Capernicus glanced disdainfully at the hand and ignored it, returning to his bookwork.

"Very well. Eddie, I have another job for you, though I must say I’m very disappointed in the lack of success in locating Detective Hutchinson. You do know how displeased I was with Hernandez and Marciano’s failed attempts."

Johnson felt a cold fist clench in his stomach as Eddie swallowed and replied, "Yes, sir."

"There’s a certain irony in the fact that we could execute a cop within a maximum security cell under armed guard, yet we couldn’t take out a detective roaming freely on the streets with only his partner." Capernicus’ arctic gray eyes turned to Eddie and Johnson in turn. "It’s an irony I don’t find amusing."

"What…what’s the next job, Mr. Capernicus?"

"If anyone’s going to know where Hutchinson is, it’s his partner, David Starsky. I’ve had Hernandez and Marciano seek him out, but they’ve been unsuccessful in bringing him in." Capernicus’ eyes bore into each man in turn. "That will be the last time they will disappoint me. I’ve set up a meeting with the detective for this afternoon. Eddie, I want you to go to Hutchinson’s partner and persuade him to tell you what I want to know. You won’t disappoint me, will you, Eddie?"

"No, sir, Mr. Capernicus!"

"Good, I thought not. That will be all, Eddie."

Eddie and Johnson quickly left the office and retrieved Kevin from his post at the door. The three men rode in silence as they left the business district and drove along the wharf toward the city. Johnson fought the churning in his stomach and asked the question that had been burning through his mind for the last several minutes. "Hey, Eddie. What did happen to them two cats that didn’t blow away the cop like they was supposed to?"

Eddie turned slightly frightened eyes on the new man. "You don’t want to know."

Huggy’s tip on Capernicus’ whereabouts had come out of the blue. But since the barman had indicated it was from a reliable source, Starsky was more hopeful than he had been in weeks. The alley he pulled into was next to a building that had long since been condemned. Many of the windows and doorways were boarded up, which made it an ideal location for hopheads and vagrants. There was no sign of life within the surrounding blocks, as if the entire neighborhood, which was made up mostly of similarly abandoned apartments, had fled or been wiped out by some mysterious plague.

Still, the inactivity didn’t lessen Starsky’s tightly controlled caution. As he climbed out of the Torino, he checked the clip in his Baretta, snapped off the safety and secured the weapon in the waistband of his jeans. Starsky readjusted his windbreaker over the pistol, concealing it from casual observation.

Leaving the Torino in the alley, Starsky made his way down to a side entry. The door had long since been ripped off its hinges and discarded, revealing a stairwell to the second floor. The detective placed a hand on the broken railing as the first two steps groaned under his weight. Starsky frowned at the thought of his foot breaking through the dilapidated wood, but continued up. Just before reaching the landing Starsky paused. Ahead lay a darkened hallway with four doors. Detecting movement from the first room on his right, he drew his Baretta. With cat-like grace he cleared the last two steps and crouched before the open door, sweeping the room with the pistol thrust in front of him. In the dimming light he could make out the blond hair and features of an unarmed man about twenty, his arms raised in a gesture of surrender. His nervous smile did nothing to reassure Starsky, and when the young man’s eyes widened in surprise and darted over the detective’s shoulder, Starsky spun on his heel to protect his back.

While his reflexes were lightening quick, they were still not fast enough to protect him from the two-by-four that slammed him just above his right eye, knocking him down the stairwell.

Chapter Five