Please note: This story was written purely for entertainment and is not for profit, and is not meant to trespass in any way on the holders of the rights to Starsky and Hutch.
This story takes place circa 1980. To better understand this, I recommend you read Crisscross. More of what happens in this story will become clearer after I finish the Summer of '78 trilogy, but I think I've written enough here that this can stand alone without the trilogy.

Vic Monte, expressionless, watched his long-time friend place his metal tray full of tasteless food on the table and sit on the bench opposite him. They sat at the long table alone, on orders from Monte.

"It's been a while, Vic. Good to see you," said James Marshall Gunther.

"Jimmy M," Monte said flatly. "Been expecting you here months ago."

Gunther half-smiled. "My attorneys could only get so many continuances. At least I got another month of freedom after the sentencing hearing to get my affairs in order. Not that I had many affairs left by then." He growled the last sentence.

"That's only because of who you were." Monte put only the slightest emphasis on the last word. Deliberately, he tore the slice of white bread in half. "Gunther," he said with virulent contempt. "What a joke, changing your name to that. You're Guntacci, you buffone."

"It kept me below the feds' radar for years, Vic. It allowed me to build an empire, to manipulate influential men, thereby becoming greater than them." He snorted. "And look what keeping your name did for you," he snarled, matching Monte's disdain.

"Seems to me in this case names don't mean a thing," he sniffed. He tossed the bread back onto his tray. "Didn't you know it was Mike's boy? Even without knowing what the boy's name was, couldn't you see Mike in him?"

"Of course I could. But he and his partner brought me down," he hissed savagely. "That partner even came to arrest me in my own house." He banged his fist on the table, stopping all conversation within twenty yards for only a moment. "They asked for it."

"Jimmy, he is familia, and so is his partner by association. His partner saved my life, for Christ's sake."

"And they put you away! And don't talk to me about family. Being family is no shield from violating the code. Tell me you've never taken care of an errant family member."

Monte started a quiet laugh. It grew until his body shook and the laugh rang throughout the high-ceilinged room. "You got me there, Jimmy M, you got me there." He laughed some more, rearing back to hold his belly. A few moments later, he slowed and stopped. He stood and walked with an arrogance bred of newfound power to the table's end. "Come here, Jimmy, let me welcome you nice and proper to my 'house.'" He held his arms open and waited.

Gunther hesitated briefly before he stood. He extended his arms in anticipation of hugging his friend, his family.

Monte grabbed Gunther's upper arms in his strong hands and grinned widely. He drew Gunther close, first kissing his right cheek, then his left. Then, lightning-quick, he took Gunther's face in his hands and kissed him fully on the lips.

Gunther, suddenly terrified to the core, tried to pull away but Monte's grip proved to be unbreakable. They remained body-close but were now soul-distant. "You should never have fucked with my Davey or Hutchinson," he breathed into Gunther's open mouth, raping it with his hard will. "Make sure you say your prayers tonight, Gunther."

*****

"Saved by the bell," he said with blatant relief across the desk to his partner. Any break from report writing was welcome. With the heel of his left hand he smacked the mouth end of the receiver and a split second later, the rest of the receiver smacked into position. "This is Detective Sergeant Starsky."

When his partner said nothing for about fifteen seconds, Hutchinson looked up from his paperwork. He scowled on seeing Starsky's mouth slightly open and his complexion turning paler by the heartbeat. He scooted his chair back and half-stood, placing both hands flat on his desk. And waited.

"Yeah, yeah, thanks for lettin' me know," Starsky said quietly into the phone. Slowly, he replaced the receiver but kept his hand on it.

"Starsk, what is it?" Hutch finally asked.

He turned his shocked eyes to the worried ones of his friend. "Uh, that was George Prescott up at Quentin. There was sort of a riot at breakfast this morning. By the time they got things under control, a couple inmates were dead." He paused and swallowed his doubt. "One of 'em was Gunther. Took a shiv to a kidney."

His own shock forced Hutchinson to stumble back to his chair. He sat and stared at the floor. More seconds ticked by before he said, "They know who did it?"

"No suspects." Starsky paused again. "But I know," he whispered, a shiver in his voice that only Hutch could hear.

"Yeah. Me, too."

"Think we should . . . ?"

Like a shot, Hutch looked up and into Starsky's conflicted face. "No."