Chapter Five
“Nice funeral, wasn’t it?” Hutch offered, trying to draw his partner out. The brunet had been unusually quiet most of the afternoon.
“I ever tell you I hate funerals?”
“Lots of times, besides, nobody enjoys them,” Hutch replied, sipping his beer. The lunch crowd had left The Pits and it was too early for the evening revelers. Hutch was glad for the peace and quiet it offered—a little time to unwind before the evening shift.
“Erickson said the clerk that was shot is still alive, but on life support. So far, he’s not offering us much hope in locating these guys.”
“Figures.” Hutch took another sip and resumed his intention to get Starsky to discuss the morning’s events. “Jackson looked like he was holding up pretty well.”
Starsky nodded in reply.
“He looks like his father, don’t you think?”
Realizing Hutch wasn’t going to leave him alone, Starsky reluctantly let himself be drawn into the conversation. “Yeah, he does. Bob’s got some nice looking kids, too. A daughter and a son, wasn’t it?”
“Two sons and a daughter. His oldest son was just accepted to the Police Academy,” Hutch said, gauging Starsky’s reaction.
“Like father, like son.”
“Looks like it turns out some pretty good cops. Must be in the genes.” Watching Starsky continue to uncharacteristically nudge the food on his plate with his fork rather than eat it, Hutch's concern increased. He knew Starsky was having a hard time shaking the memory of the funeral. “You okay, buddy?”
Starsky looked up at his friend and managed a weak smile. “Sure, Blondie. funerals just seem to bring back lots of unwanted memories.”
Hutch reached across the table to briefly touch his partner’s hand. “Be sure to remember the good times, not just the bad.”
Knowing Hutch was concerned about him didn’t make it any easier for Starsky to shake the bad feeling he’d had all day. He blamed it on the dreams and the funeral, but it wasn’t easy trying to break out of the melancholy. In some ways, it felt better to wallow in it.
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Leaning down to pick up a six-pack of beer, Starsky noticed Billy glancing around, as though checking to see if anyone was nearby. Curious, he placed the six-pack on the cooler rack and watched Billy’s movements. In disbelief, he watched Billy shove something in his pocket and then, trying to appear nonchalant, glance around once more.
Starsky immediately headed out of the cooler and into the store. Angry that Billy would try to steal something when Maria was so kind and understanding to the boy infuriated him. But until the kid walked out of the store with it still in his pocket, unpaid for, no crime was committed. If he had anything to say in the matter, it certainly wasn’t going to go that far. Billy didn’t need to hurt those around him by stealing, and he wasn’t about to let Billy destroy the trust his mother, his grandmother, and most of all, Maria had in him.
“Hey there, Billy. How ya doin’?” Starsky asked, as he met the young boy at the end of the aisle.
Unwilling to look the man standing before him in the eyes, Billy studied the pattern of the tiles on the floor. “Fine.”
“Coming back for more candy? Didn’t your momma teach you that all that candy is bad for your teeth?”
“It ain’t all for me. I buy it and then sell or give it to my friends.”
“That so?” Starsky, finally catching Billy’s eye, looked down the row of glass doors running along the back of the store and then back at Billy. “Funny thing about workin’ inside a cooler. It gives you a whole new perspective on things…”
Starsky watched Billy’s eyes run down the front of the cooler, and then he blushed as he understood the meaning of Starsky’s words. “Must be awfully cold workin’ in there.”
Starsky nodded solemnly. “It is, but I spend a good part of day in there lookin’ out.”
“How’s your grandma, Billy?” Maria called out, having finished with her last customer and spotting the two talking.
“Doin’ fine, Mrs. Viviano. She sent me in for some soup.” Reaching on the shelf next to him, Billy picked up a can of chicken noodle soup and walked to the counter, glancing surreptitiously at Starsky, who’d remained standing at the end of the aisle.
Setting the soup can and candy on the counter, Billy reached into his pocket and pulled out a dollar bill and some change. He then reached into the other pocket and set the candy bar he’d stuck in his pocket next to it, all the time avoiding Starsky’s eyes.
“Hope your grandma’s not getting sick?” Maria asked, concerned.
“Nah, she just likes soup.”
Maria bagged the can and candy and handed Billy his change. “Tell her I said hi.”
“I will, ma’am.”
Starsky watched Billy leave the store, and then, shaking his head in wonderment, entered the cooler again.
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“Got some cold Buds in there?”
At the sound of the familiar voice, Starsky’s face broke into a big grin.
“Hey, partner, what're you doin’ in here?”
“Stretching my legs, and besides, I needed a little conversation with someone other than the dispatcher.”
Starsky chuckled. “So you’re talkin’ to a cooler instead?”
Hutch shook his head. “Get out here, Gordo.”
Starsky walked out of the cooler with a six-pack of Coke. “Here. You’re on duty. You shouldn’t be havin’ a beer.”
“Since when did you become my mother? Those were supposed to be for later tonight when you get off.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll pick some up when I leave.”
“Simmons, the clerk shot during the last robbery, is improving. He’s still on a respirator, but the doc says he should be coming around soon.”
“Well, maybe we’ll get a break.”
“I’ll stop by the hospital later and check him on him.” Hutch started to walk away and then turned back toward Starsky. “Oh…I almost forgot, Jackson’s back in the office.”
“Not a surprise. I knew he couldn’t stay away long.”
“Yeah, well, I’m going back to Metro for a briefing with him, Erickson, and a couple other officers from Robbery. You gonna be okay?”
Starsky grinned. “Now who’s being the mother? Here, don’t forget these.” He tossed Hutch the six-pack. “I’ve got another thrilling evening filling shelves and spying on thieves.”
“Thieves?”
“Long story. I’ll tell you when I get home, over some beers.” Starsky smiled and patted his partner on the shoulder. “See ya.”
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Hutch pulled to a stop in front of Tony’s Party Store. It was after 10:00 p.m., and the streets had been quiet. After stopping at the hospital and attending the meeting to update Jackson, Hutch had decided to stop and pick up a bite to eat. After that, he’d checked out the liquor stores in his assigned area. Thankfully, nothing had been happening. Unfortunately, that also meant they weren’t any closer to catching the men committing the crimes. Night after night of this was driving him crazy. At least Starsky has some activity. I’m just getting fat sitting here.”
“Zebra Three, come in.”
“Zebra Three here.”
“We’ve got a report of a possible two-eleven in progress at the Waterfront Liquor Store, 465 Waters Street.”
“Zebra Three responding.”
Hutch started the car and headed down the street, thankful that they were finally getting a break.
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“Almost time to close up, Davey.”
“I know. I’ve only got to mop the floor,” Starsky called from the stockroom where he was filling the bucket with water and soap.
He pulled the bucket and mop into the store and then headed to the far end. From there, he’d work his way around the outside, ending with the center aisle. He was getting tired of all the manual labor, and had decided this morning that the next time there was an undercover assignment, it was going to be Hutch’s.
Checking the clock, Starsky locked the front door and glanced out the window to see if his partner was out there waiting for him yet. Seeing no sign of Hutch’s car, he began mopping the center aisle. Maybe he’d be done before his partner showed up for once. Starting at the door, he worked his way back to the stockroom. Starsky glanced at Maria counting the money in the cash register and called out, “I’ll be done in a few. Just gotta dump the water out the back door.”
Starsky backed up to the alley door, mopping as he went. Once there, he turned the key to unlock the door. Opening it a quarter of the way, he pulled out the bucket and proceeded to dump the water into the alley.
He cried out involuntarily as a sudden stabbing pain hit his right shoulder—his muddled mind registering the pain of a knife being yanked out. Before he could even turn to defend himself, his head exploded as something hard was brought down on the back of it. The ground rose up to meet him, but he was unconscious before he could say “hello.”
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