Coming To Terms

TibbieB

The pain was more intense now. Mind-numbing, all-consuming fingers of fire licking up his spine, filling his senses. Damn it, Starsky! If you really want to help me, help me!

Hutch bolted upright in bed, a heavy sheen of sweat drenching his body. His eyes nervously darting around the dark room, he fought back the anxiety threatening to overwhelm him. Fifteen seconds ticked by, then, beginning to calm, Hutch took a deep breath, leaned back against the headboard, and allowed reality to slowly seep back into his consciousness.

Another nightmare.

After a few minutes, Hutch swung his legs over the side of the bed, sliding his feet into a pair of worn corduroy bedroom slippers. He glanced at the green glowing numbers of the alarm clock perched on the bedside table. Four a.m. No point trying to go back to sleep. He had to get up in two hours. Besides, the dream always left him keyed up, unable to relax.

Turning on the lamp, Hutch rose from the bed and headed to the kitchen to make coffee. Maybe I should try to read, he thought. Glancing toward the sitting area, his eyes were instantly drawn to the shrouded canvas, propped on a scarred wooden easel tucked inconspicuously into the corner opposite the fireplace. He hesitated, drawn to it. Reconsidering, he turned away and went into the kitchen.

˜ ™

Things were already hectic in the squadroom the next morning when Starsky looked up from the typewriter, recognizing instantly that Hutch was in another of his moods. The third day this week. Despite his certainty of the short reply he’d receive, Starsky smiled and said, maybe a little too enthusiastically, “’Mornin’, partner.”

Hutch just grunted, tossed his jacket over the back of his chair, and headed straight for the coffeemaker. Starsky watched him, worried by the pattern he’d seen emerge since Hutch had returned to work. Most days he was unresponsive, irritable, and preoccupied. The other cops in the department were keeping their distance, reluctant to be the butt of his bad temper. Although there’d been rumors, only Starsky and Dobey knew what Hutch had been through eight weeks ago; only they were aware of the demons he was battling.

It was becoming more and more difficult to come up with an answer when people asked, “Hey, what’s with Hutch?” Starsky could only make so many excuses. He’d blamed it on a romance gone bad, on Hutch’s never-ending car problems, or a number of other lame reasons. Yesterday, he had decided not to bother anymore. Most of the guys were avoiding Hutch now anyway. But Starsky knew he had to do something. Hutch was retreating into himself more every day, and it was time for Starsky to intercede.

Hutch sat down at the desk and began shuffling through the stack of papers before him. Starsky watched covertly while tapping out the last few sentences of the report he’d been working on. After five more minutes of the silent treatment, Starsky removed the paper from the typewriter and asked, “Bad night?”

Without looking up, Hutch mumbled, “You could say that.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“What’s to talk about?” Hutch said lightly. “Just a couple of nightmares.”

“Look, Hutch,” Starsky said quietly, leaning forward in his chair. “I think you should reconsider seeing a shrink. You won’t talk to me; you won’t talk to Dobey. Maybe a stranger, someone who’s not part of your daily life...maybe it would be easier for you—”

Hutch looked up angrily. “We’ve been all through this,” he snapped, louder than he had intended.

When Starsky narrowed his eyes, signaling that everyone was watching, Hutch lowered his voice. “If I see a shrink and IA finds out, there’ll be too many questions. They’ll want to know why, and there’ll be an investigation. I can kiss my job goodbye. You know as well as I do, if they find out about Jeanie, about my—my problem, I’m out of here.”

Realizing Hutch was becoming more agitated by the second, Starsky said quietly, “Okay...okay...we’ll talk about it later, someplace more private. I just hate to see you like this. Let’s finish up here and get out on the street. We’ve got work to do.”

“Fine,” Hutch answered irritably.

They returned to their paperwork and fell silent again. A few minutes later, Starsky asked casually, “So, will you tell me about these dreams? Granted, I’m no shrink, but sometimes it helps to talk about them, ya know?”

Obviously annoyed by Starsky’s persistence, Hutch fidgeted, not looking up from the reports before him. He knew Starsky would be relentless until he got what he wanted. “You know what your problem is, Starsky? You don’t know when to leave it alone.”

Starsky smiled good-naturedly and agreed, “That’s true. But then, that’s one of the things that make me so lovable,” he added.

Hutch shook his head, knowing when he was beaten. He leaned in a little closer and said, just above a whisper, “They’re crazy. I’m always in a haze, always needing a fix. Knowing they’re after Jeanie, but unable to stop myself from telling them where she is.”

Starsky nodded and waited for Hutch to continue. When nothing followed, he asked, “Do you ever escape? Do you get away from them?”

“Sometimes,” Hutch answered quietly. “But then I’m there again. I’m never really free. It’s like I’m in some sort of time loop and the whole damn thing starts over.”

He stopped short of telling Starsky about his role in the dreams—how Starsky always turned away in disgust—ignoring his pleas for help. What was the point? Starsky had already been beating himself up for not starting the search for Hutch until it was almost too late.

Instead, he changed the subject abruptly.

“Let’s drop it, okay? I just want to finish up these reports and get out of here.”

Realizing he wasn’t going to get anything else from Hutch, Starsky nodded. “Sure. I’m with you.” For now. Hutch was holding something back, and Starsky wasn’t giving up.

˜ ™

An hour later, the paperwork finished, they were dispatched to a jewelry store robbery on Pike Street. In their territory this time, the jewelry heist had the same MO as three others that had occurred in the adjacent districts over the past nine months. At least two perpetrators wearing gloves and athletic shoes had pulled the jobs during the night, using a blowtorch to open the safes. With no witnesses, fingerprints, or easily distinguishable shoe prints, there was little to go on.

“Looks like the same guys, Captain,” Hutch spoke into the car mic. “No clues at this one either. Starsky and I have talked with the owner and two of the three employees, so I don’t know what else we can accomplish here right now. Jacobson is canvassing the neighborhood, but it happened around three a.m., and there’s not much activity on the streets here that time of night.”

“What about their security camera?” Dobey asked.

“Same as the others¾spray-painted the lens black. Two figures in ski masks went directly for the camera and blotted it out before starting the job.”

Starsky slid in beside him and dropped a small black notebook onto the seat, indicating he’d finished interviewing the third employee.

“How much was taken this time?” Dobey asked.

Hutch glanced at his partner, who answered, “Owner estimates around sixty grand.” Hutch let out a low whistle before passing on the response.

“Seems like they know who can deliver the most goods,” he added.

“Seems,” Dobey grunted. “Okay, you two. Wind it up and make sure you complete those reports tonight and get them over to Robbery. Tarnowski and his partner are working this case exclusively. They’re on their way to the scene now. The commissioner’s getting some heat from the Chamber of Commerce, who are getting heat from the Certified Jewelers Association. You’ve done what you can, so pass it off to Tarnowski and Lamonda now. Thanks for your help.”

“Sure thing,” Hutch answered. “Zebra Three out.” He placed the mic back on the hook. “Guess that’s that,” he said to Starsky.

“Yeah, sounds like it.” Starsky pulled away from the curb and blended back into the flow of traffic. “What now?” he asked.

“I’m ready for some lunch,” Hutch answered. “But for Pete’s sake, Starsky, nothing too spicy. I skipped breakfast, and I don’t think I could take one of your disgusting chili dogs with sauerkraut, or a greasy burger with who knows what in it.”

Starsky feigned a hurt expression and turned innocent eyes toward his partner. “I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about. I eat perfectly normal ‘people’ food. You’re the one who eats stuff never intended for human consumption.”

“How about we compromise?” Hutch said, not really in the mood for any of their usual banter over their eating habits. “Let’s just go to Huggy’s. I can grab a turkey club there, and you can get whatever weird concoction you want.”

“Fine,” Starsky said, disappointed Hutch had dropped the subject without a fight. But then, in the last few weeks there seemed to be very little fight in him.

“Starsk, turn around,” Hutch said abruptly.

“What?”

“I said, turn around. Go back and check out that alley.”

Without question, Starsky swung the steering wheel 180 degrees, causing cars in all directions to squeal to a screeching halt to avoid being hit by the swerving Torino. Starsky fishtailed around the corner into the closest alley and drew to a quick stop less than five feet in front of two people—a man and a young girl.

Caught by surprise, the tall black man stuttered, “S-Starsky, Hutch, wh-what...what’s up, man?” His eyes darted nervously back and forth between the two cops as he inched away from the grungy teenage girl beside him.

“Selling drugs to kids again, Keno?” Starsky asked casually. “How many times do we have to tell you that’s a no-no?” he said, shaking his finger reprovingly.

Hutch stepped out on his side of the car, his movements rigid with anger.

“I ain’t usin’,” the frightened girl said timidly. “Really. We was just passin’ the time.” Her dirty brown hair hung in a tangled mass down her back, strands obscuring her pale face. Her clothes were soiled and ill fitting. Even so, Hutch could see from her slim, boyish figure that she was probably no more than thirteen or fourteen years old.

He closed the distance between them in three strides, grabbed the girl’s arm, and pushed up her filthy sleeve. “Not using, huh? So I guess you have no idea how these tracks got here, right?”

Before Starsky knew what was happening, Hutch released the girl and grabbed Keno by the shirtfront, slamming him against the brick wall. “Why you slime bucket! I should tear your freakin’ head off! She’s not even old enough to date!”

The dealer’s hands went up in front of his face, ineffectively shielding himself from Hutch’s rage. With the two cops distracted, the terrified girl dodged past Starsky and ran out of the alley onto the busy sidewalk.

“Hutch!” Starsky grabbed Hutch’s shoulder, stopping him from slamming Keno against the wall again. “Let’s do it right. If he’s carrying, we run him in.”

The hard planes of Hutch’s face didn’t soften, but Starsky’s voice seemed to cut through his fury at some level and his grip on the dealer loosened infinitesimally.

“Come on, partner,” Starsky coaxed. “Let him go. Let me search him.”

Keno’s eyes bulged from his round sweating face, and the breath caught in his throat as he waited, afraid to move a muscle. He’d had run-ins with these two before, but he had never seen Hutchinson this dangerously close to the edge.

Slowly, Hutch released the man’s shirt and let him collapse against the wall with a thump. When he didn’t step back, Keno held his breath. Starsky sidled between them, then shoved the dealer’s face against the wall and began patting him down. When he reached the first pocket of the oversized, raggedy army jacket, his hand stopped, fished in, then extracted two small bags of a white powdery substance.

“And what do we have here?” Starsky said.

“No big deal, man. Just a couple’a nickel bags. I...I was gonna give it to her. The kid’s a user. You know? She needs a G-shot, man, and who am I to deprive a sister in need?”

The muscles in Hutch’s face tightened and he took a step forward, but Starsky intercepted again, staving him off with a hand to Hutch’s chest.

“You’re a real humanitarian, aren’t ya, Keno? Maybe we should nominate you for the Nobel Peace Prize.” Starsky plucked the cuffs from his belt and said, “Now, hands behind you, Dr. Schweitzer. We’re taking a little trip downtown.”

“Aw, man, you got nothin’ on me. The kid didn’t have no bread—no sale went down, man.”

“We’ve got you on possession, and that’s a start, dirt bag,” Hutch said, jerking Keno around and pushing him toward the car. “You’re probably the one that got her hooked in the first place. We’ll see if we can’t give the kid a break today and get you off the streets for a few hours.”

“You don’t know what it’s like, pig!” Keno shouted as Hutch thrust him into the back seat. “That chick’s strung out; two hours from now, she’ll be begging for a fix. I was just trying to help her! You damn cops just don’t know what it’s like.”

Starsky’s eyes met Hutch’s across the top of the Torino. Neither said anything, but Starsky saw—actually felt¾Hutch’s pain and self-loathing. Starsky opened his mouth to speak, to reassure, but Hutch quickly ducked his head and slid in on the passenger side, slamming the car door behind him.

Back at the station, they turned Kenny J. Willis, aka Keno, over to Booking and headed downstairs to fill out the paperwork. Hutch hadn’t said two words since they’d cuffed the pusher and brought him in. When they were settled at their desks, Starsky decided it was time to break the silence.

“You wanna go look for her?” he asked.

“Hmmm?” Pretending to not understand, Hutch busily inserted the arrest form into the typewriter before looking up. “Did you say something?”

“The kid,” Starsky said. “You wanna go look for her and see if we can get her into rehab?”

“We couldn’t find her now, Starsk,” he answered without making eye contact. “She’s hiding out. She’s afraid we’re going to arrest her. I really blew it back there. I didn’t exactly act in a way to gain her trust, did I?”

Starsky rested his chin in the palm of his hand and studied Hutch’s face. The inscrutable mask that prevented Starsky from seeing what was going on behind those usually expressive blue eyes was snuggly in place again. Hutch wore it most of the time these days. It was frightening to Starsky how seldom his partner had let his true emotions show since the incident with Forest and Jeanie Walden. And when he did, they seemed to run rampant, like they had earlier in the alley.

“It was a gut reaction, Hutch,” Starsky said. “Nobody who knew what you’ve been through recently would blame you for reacting that way.”

“Yeah, well, nobody does know except you and Dobey, and the people who were directly involved,” Hutch snapped back. “That’s no excuse for scaring the hell out of that kid and blowing the one opportunity we might’ve had to get her some help!”

“Take, it easy,” Starsky, said quietly, knowing Hutch was still uncertain they’d made the right decision by concealing what Forest had done to him. “We can at least put the word out that we’re lookin’ for her,” he continued, undeterred. “Maybe someone will give us a call.”

“Do whatever you want to do, Starsky,” Hutch said shortly, striking the typewriter keys harder than necessary. “I don’t think it’s likely that anyone’s going to give her up to the cops. You know how junkies are.”

Starsky’s brows went up, a little surprised at Hutch’s reaction. “I’ll put the word out,” he said decisively. “Can’t hurt.” Opening the desk drawer, he pulled out an old scratched and dented address finder, slid the metal pointer down to the correct letter, pressed the lever, and watched it snap open to the name of one of his more reliable informants. While Hutch typed the report and pretended to ignore him, Starsky punched in the first in a long list of numbers he hoped would produce a lead to the pathetic teen they’d let slip away in the alley.

Maybe, he thought, just maybe, if Hutch could help this girl, it would help him, too.

˜ ™

After finishing the paperwork on both Willis’s arrest and their investigation of the jewelry heist, they hit the streets again. Hutch was quiet as they cruised the seedier areas of their beat. Even though Starsky didn’t mention the girl again, Hutch knew he was watching for her, too.

When Starsky spotted Mickey loitering on a corner in one of the more unsavory neighborhoods, he pulled up next to the curb and stopped. Knowing they’d seen him, the junkie didn’t even try to run.

“Hey, Starsky,” he said shakily. His eyes darted in all directions, checking to see if anyone was watching; then he stepped off the curb and came toward the car.

“Wh-what can I do for you?” His baggy suit and disheveled hair looked like he’d just crawled out of bed. Starsky knew it was more likely that he’d slept on a bench than in a bed, and that he’d probably worn that same suit for at least a week. The smell of stale beer and sweat mixed with nicotine was overpowering when Mickey leaned into the car window. Reflexively, Starsky drew back and, from the corner of his eye, saw Hutch turn away and stare out the passenger side. This was the first time Hutch had seen Mickey since the day they’d busted Forest.

“I been stayin’ outta trouble,” Mickey said defensively, not giving Starsky a chance to speak.

“We just wanna ask you a question,” Starsky said. “This has nothin’ to do with that earlier business.”

His hand trembling, Mickey brought a filthy used cigarette butt to his lips and took a drag. “You know I...I always help you when...when I can,” he stuttered. “It’s just...it’s just my memory ain’t so good sometimes, ya know?”

“Yeah,” Starsky said, “but mine is. And you owe us big time, Mickey. We intend to collect on that debt.” He paused, giving the unspoken threat time to sink in.

“We’re lookin’ for a kid. A white girl about thirteen, fourteen years old. Long brown hair and dark eyes, real skinny. She was wearing jeans and a green sweatshirt with white writing on the back. Didn’t get what it said. She was trying to score last time we saw her and might be in pretty bad shape by now.”

“Uh...uh...let me think...” Mickey said, a look of concentration squinting his bloodshot eyes. “Sounds like...sounds like Bobbie. Don’t know her last name. She...she’s been around here for about three, maybe four months now. Can’t say for sure, but I think...I think she might be turnin’ tricks for Dickie Barrows. Don’t...don’t say I said so, though.” Again, the little man puffed the cigarette, then glanced right and left, checking to see who might be watching. “Ya know...ya know, he took over Forest’s girls when—”

His voice died in his throat as Hutch pinned him with an icy stare. “Uh...when...uh...Forest went away.”

“Yeah, I heard,” Starsky said quickly. “But I didn’t know he dealt in girls that young. Can you tell us where we might find her?”

“No, man...I mean I would if I could.”

Starsky grabbed the man’s jacket front and hauled him closer. “You better not be lyin’ to me, Mickey.”

“I mean it, Starsky. I mean, like you said, I owe you, so I’d tell you, but I don’t know nothin’.”

Starsky locked eyes with him for a second, saw the fear and knew he was telling the truth. “Okay,” he said, releasing his hold on the jacket. “But we haven’t forgotten your part in the Forest thing, Mickey, and we’re keepin’ an eye on you. I’d better never find out you aren’t being straight with me.”

He added more calmly, “If you hear anything, or spot her, I want you to get word to me right away. You got that?” Starsky patted the front of the man’s rumpled jacket and waited for an answer.

“Yeah, sure thing, Starsky. I got it.” Rather than stepping back onto the curb, Mickey lingered a moment, his eyes flickering nervously toward Hutch. “How ya doin’, Hutch?” he asked sheepishly.

Hutch’s jaw tightened and he waited a beat before answering. “I suggest you not concern yourself with how I am,” Hutch said, his voice hard as steel, “but how you’ll be if my partner here finds out you’re lying to him. He’s still pretty pissed at you, Mickey. And that’s not an enviable position to be in. So I hope—for your sake¾you’re telling the truth.”

Starsky wanted to smile at the dark menace in Hutch’s voice. He sounded like the old Hutch—the one who could scare an informant into giving up his own grandmother. But he held his scowl long enough for Mickey to back away from the car.

“I-I am...I swear I am, Hutch. I’ll see if I can find the girl. I promise...I’ll call you if I do.” Mickey turned and hurried down the sidewalk, tossing the cigarette butt as he scuttled away.

˜˜ ™™

Huggy looked up from the bar and nodded as Starsky and Hutch came through the front door. It was a busy night and the joint was hopping, but he motioned them toward a corner booth, drew two drafts, and went to join them.

“Man, you look like two junkyard dogs let off the chain after a long day in the sun. I thought your shift was over a couple’a hours ago,” he said, setting the beers in front of them and sliding in next to Hutch. “Tell me you’re going home to grab some shut-eye.”

“We’re going home to grab some shut-eye,” Hutch parroted, raising his glass and taking a healthy gulp.

“Yeah, but not before we get somethin’ to eat. I thought maybe you could make us a couple of those terrific burgers, the ones with the onion rings and bacon on top,” Starsky explained.

“When it comes to cuisine—Huggy’s the King,” Huggy shot back. “Whatever your heart desires, Detective Starsky.”

“Geez, Starsky, how can you eat something like that at eleven o’clock at night then go home and go to bed? It’s a wonder your stomach doesn’t disintegrate.”

“Be cool, my brother,” Huggy intervened. “This is your lucky night. It just so happens that Lucinda’s in charge of the kitchen tonight, and you know she has a soft spot for men with big guns. If you place your order personally, she could probably be persuaded to stir up something for the more discriminating taste.”

Hutch smiled. “Lucinda, huh?”

Images of the voluptuous, long-legged Creole woman with sultry brown eyes sprang to his mind. It was a mystery to Hutch how Huggy had managed such a coup when he’d hired her as a short-order cook. Lucinda LaPate had trained with some of New Orleans’ best chefs. Hutch figured there was an interesting story there—a secret, perhaps, that kept Lucinda flying just below the radar.

“Now there’s a lady who really cooks,” he said, emphasizing the word cooks. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that suggestion.”

Huggy slid out and Hutch rose from the table, beer in hand, and started toward the kitchen.

“Hey, what about me?” Starsky asked.

“You’re not my type,” Hutch said over his shoulder without stopping.

Starsky was momentarily speechless, then called after him, “Don’t forget my burger—and a double order of fries!”

As Hutch wound his way through the crowd, Huggy leaned over the table and spoke loud enough for only Starsky to hear. “I was trying to get him out of here so we could talk.”

Seeing the tension in Huggy’s face, Starsky knew it wasn’t good news.

“Guess who came in here tonight looking for your partner?”

A thousand possibilities flitted through Starsky’s mind, but he was too tired for guessing games. “Who?”

“Jeanie Walden,” Huggy said without further preamble.

“Jeanie? Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. She worked for me, remember? Wanted to know if I knew where Hutch was.”

“Damn!” Starsky said, slamming his beer down on the table. “That’s just terrific!” Then, reining in his temper, his eyes quickly sought the kitchen entrance, hoping Hutch hadn’t been looking their way.

Seeing the direction of Starsky’s gaze, Huggy reassured him, “It’s cool. I told Lucinda we needed to talk, and if Hutch came back there tonight to keep him busy for a few minutes. Believe me, the lady’s up to the task,” he said with a sly grin.

“Whad’ya tell Jeanie?”

“The truth. That I hadn’t seen you guys all day. She wanted to know if he was still a cop. Guess she thought he may have split after that scene with her and Forest.”

“You know, I really thought she was through with Hutch,” Starsky said. “I mean, with Forest out of the picture, she doesn’t need his protection anymore. Women like Jeanie are users. She’s here for a reason.” He paused, thinking about the possibilities. “Did she say why she wanted to see him?”

“Only that she has to talk to him and that it’s real important.” Huggy met Starsky’s worried eyes. “To tell you the truth, man, I almost said he’d gone back to Minnesota. The last thing Hutch needs is to hook up with that chick again.”

“You know it and I know it, but the question is, will Hutch see it that way?” Starsky said, his mind racing. “I don’t want her comin’ back into Hutch’s life right now, Hug,” Starsky said vehemently. “He’s having a hard time getting past all this—the drugs—his relationship with her. He doesn’t need her around to stir it all up again. He’s not grounded enough yet to deal with it.”

“I dig what you’re saying,” Huggy said, “but, what can we do about it? Hutch is a big boy and he’s gonna make his own choices.”

“I know, but...” his voice dropped to a whisper as he saw Hutch working his way back toward them. “Here he comes,” he muttered.

“Starsky, I told you, man, it’s a sure thing. But you gotta have enough cash to make it worth my while,” Huggy improvised.

Starsky looked up as Hutch slid back into the booth. “Did you order my burger?”

“Yeah, I ordered your time bomb,” Hutch assured him. “But don’t expect me to cover for you in the morning when your stomach’s a wreck.”

Starsky faked a smile, but couldn’t for the life of him think of a snappy comeback. He realized he’d suddenly lost his appetite.

˜ ™

Hutch opened the refrigerator and took out a beer. Despite fatigue from the long workday, he was still keyed up and restless. He thought maybe a beer would relax him, maybe help him sleep without the onslaught of nightmares that had plagued him the past eight weeks.

Although he seldom experienced the craving for heroin these days, memories of the painful withdrawal and the events leading up to it hadn’t receded. Hutch knew from working the streets that a reformed junkie could crave the drug for months, so he supposed he was fortunate that any longing for the mind-numbing euphoria was always quickly doused by his own self-loathing. Still the fear lingered, niggling at the back of his mind that the day may come when he’d be overwhelmed by the yearning, his frailty betraying him again, perhaps costing him his life. Or worse yet, costing Starsky his.

Hutch sat on the side of the bed, his eyes instantly drawn to the shrouded canvas in the corner. He took another swig of beer then walked over to the easel. He stood before the draped painting, hesitant to look at it, but then slowly reached out and peeled away the covering. The familiar outline of a man and a woman loomed before him. The two stood in a warm embrace, her face tilted up toward his. His fingers gently caressed a strand of her long hair on her cheek. The faces were blank, but he could see them clearly.

It had begun as a surprise for Jeanie—a portrait of the two of them for her birthday. Now, as he studied the woman’s blank face, his mind’s eye saw not love, but disappointment and pity. He had failed her completely. She had counted on him to protect her from Forest, but instead, he’d served her up like a cheap offering when the agony of withdrawal had gnawed away his last shred of self-respect. What kind of man exchanged a woman’s freedom for a fix?

And now she was gone. He wasn’t sure if what he had felt for her was love, or only passion. Now there would be no opportunity to find out. But he did know he had betrayed someone who trusted him and counted on him. To a man like Hutch, that was the ultimate transgression.

One thought ate at him like a cancer. What if it had been Starsky they wanted? Would he have betrayed his partner like he had Jeanie? In the days since he’d returned to work, Hutch had been consumed by the fear that he’d fail Starsky, too. He knew that a street cop who couldn’t count on his partner had nothing.

Hutch studied the portrait, then plucked a brush from a jar on the small table beside the easel. He stared at the figures, remembering how Jeanie’s body had felt against his, her soft curves, her warm breath caressing his cheek. For a fleeting moment, he imagined he saw passion in her eyes. But the image vanished quickly, replaced once again by hurt and recrimination. Hutch quietly dropped the brush back into the jar of mineral spirits, covered the painting, and retreated to his bed to face another sleepless night.

˜ ™

Hutch was already busy returning yesterday’s phone messages when Starsky came in bleary-eyed and cranky from too little sleep. He’d tossed and turned most of the night. Not from the greasy burger and fries, but from his vivid imagination fabricating scenarios of Jeanie waiting at Hutch’s apartment, and his partner’s reaction to the surprise visit.

“You look terrific this morning,” Hutch said, tongue-in-cheek. “I don’t suppose you could use an Alka-Seltzer?”

“My stomach’s fine, thank you very much,” Starsky came back good-naturedly, glad to see a spark of humor in Hutch’s expression.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Hutch retorted. “So what’s your problem?”

“No problem,” Starsky said, stifling a yawn. “Just had a restless night.” He squinted one eye at Hutch and asked, “How about you?”

“Actually, I slept like a baby,” Hutch lied, picking up his jacket from the chair back. “We’ve got a lead on Bobbie. Let’s go.”

Starsky stopped midway to the coffeepot and turned to follow Hutch from the squadroom. “Hey, wait up! A lead? From who?”

The two men clattered down the stairs to the parking garage. “This may come as a big surprise,” Hutch answered, “but we got a call from your pal, Mickey.”

Starsky slid behind the wheel and started the engine before answering. “Yeah? Guess that’s his way of tryin’ to get back in our good graces. Well, it’s gonna take more than a couple’a hot tips for me not to wanna wring that turkey’s neck every time I see him,” Starsky said heatedly.

“You know what your problem is Starsky?” Hutch said, pushing his shades back up on his nose. “You’re losing sight of the fact that Mickey’s really no different than most of the other people we have to depend on day in and day out. You said it yourself. ‘We work in a toilet.’ You need to lighten up—go with the flow. No pun intended,” he added.

Starsky shot him a cryptic glance. “My, my, aren’t we philosophical this morning?”

“Come on, Starsk,” Hutch said. “I have more reasons not to want to deal with Mickey than you do, but I realize without scum like him, we can’t do our jobs.”

Starsky smiled, tilted his head slightly, conceding the point. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he said. “Besides, what about me? I’m a fine, upstanding citizen, and you couldn’t get the job done without me, now could ya?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just drive, will you?”

Starsky caught the twitch in Hutch’s lips before looking back at the road. “Fine. But do you mind tellin’ me where we’re goin’?”

˜ ™

Starsky pulled the Torino up in front of the dilapidated mission house, and the two cops hopped out and went inside. Clara Hiberton was a stout, sixty-four-year-old black woman with a face like a weathered fisherman. She’d done her share of drugs, turned tricks, and even spent a little time in jail for passing bad checks. But all that was behind her. Now, she was an enthusiastic born-again Christian who ran a mission in an old storefront at Parkview and Jefferson.

It wasn’t much, but Clara was committed to trying to make up for her misspent youth. Since she had little education, and even less money, her efforts were small-scale but earnest. Starsky and Hutch hadn’t crossed paths with the woman before, but had heard good things about her through Huggy and a few of the street people she’d helped along the way. Mickey’s tip had landed them at Clara’s door.

When they walked in, the woman looked up from where she was scrubbing down the planked tabletops. “Can I help you?” she asked. Her friendly but gravelly voice matched her craggy face. Twenty-eight years of California living still hadn’t completely eradicated the southern Alabama accent that peppered her speech.

“Clara Hiberton?” Hutch asked, taking out his badge and extending it for her to examine.

“One and the same. But I ain’t had no business with the po-lice in a good many years now. You sure you got the right name?”

“Yes, ma’m, you’re the one,” Hutch said. “I’m Detective Hutchinson, and this is my partner, Detective Starsky.”

Clara’s full lips blossomed into a friendly smile. “I heard about you boys. Brother Bear said you fellas are okay—for cops, that is,” she added humorously.

“We’re looking for someone, Mrs. Hiberton,” Starsky said, smiling warmly. “Mickey said maybe you could help us.”

Sizing him up, she said, “Well, now, Detective Starsky, ya’ll can call me Clara.” Then she added disapprovingly, “But, if I was you, I wouldn’t be braggin’ about knowin’ Mickey. He ain’t got a lot of friends around here.”

She walked around the table and wiped her dishwater-rough hands on the front of the red-flowered apron spanning her ample hips. “I’m always glad to cooperate with the po-lice, as long as it don’t hurt the folks that comes here for help. They’ll stop coming if they think people’s gonna give ’em a hard time.”

“We’re not here to arrest anyone. We just want to help,” Starsky reassured her.

“That’s right,” Hutch added. “A girl. We have reason to believe she has a drug problem and may be in pretty bad shape right now.”

“Lordy!” Clara chuckled. “Son, you done described about half the folks that come through here on any given day.”

“Yeah, but I think you’d remember this one,” Starsky said. “She’s young—maybe thirteen or fourteen. Tall, and skinny as a beanpole. Her name is Bobbie.”

“Mmm—mmm—mmm,” Clara said, shaking her head sadly. “I knows that one, all right. She been kicked by the horse. I seen ’em hooked worse, but not too many young as her. I been trying to talk to her about getting her life right with the Lord, but she ain’t havin’ none of it. I got to be careful, or she’ll turn tail and run out of here and never come back. Somebody’s hurt that child, and now she don’t trust nobody. What you want with her?”

“We’re hoping to get her into rehab,” Hutch said honestly.

“Can’t force her,” Clara said. “And if you try, she’ll disappear back onto them streets. Right now, least she comes here for a hot meal and, sometimes, a place to sleep. Been comin’ around here now about three months.”

“We don’t want to scare her off,” Starsky said, “but we picked up her dealer last night and we’re afraid she may be hurting pretty bad by now. If we could find her, get her some help...” His voice trailed off as the old woman pinned them both with a skeptical look, doubting their ability to accomplish what she and the Lord hadn’t so far.

Reaching into his pocket, Hutch pulled out a small notebook, scratched a phone number on a scrap of paper, and handed it to her. “Look, if she comes in tonight, give us a call.”

Clara’s eyes met his. She saw something there that touched her heart. Pain. She’d known enough of it in her life to recognize pain when she saw it in another’s eyes.

“Please,” he added.

“We promise, she’ll never know it was you who tipped us off,” Starsky said. “We’ll just show up—say we were checking all the shelters.”

Clara pursed her generous lips and considered their words. She was a pretty good judge of character. If she had to bet on it, she’d take odds that these two were playing straight with her. Who knows, maybe they could help the kid. If someone had taken this much interest in her when she was Bobbie’s age, maybe it wouldn’t have taken her sixty-odd years to straighten out her life.

“Okay,” she said, nodding. “Okay. If the child comes in, I’ll call you. But I can’t keep her here if she tries to leave. I don’t want her to know I’m helping you, or she won’t ever come back.” A shadow passed over her face. “I really believe she got nowhere else to go.”

Hutch let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Miss Hiberton. You have our word.”

The old woman smiled again, comfortable she was doing what was best for the girl. “Clara, Detective. Call me Clara.”

She chuckled boisterously as Starsky gave her a flirty wink and they strode out the door.

˜ ™

The rest of the day was taken up with routine calls, giving Starsky and Hutch an opportunity to cruise the less traveled alleys and streets of their beat on the lookout for the missing girl. Starsky waited all day for Hutch to tell him Jeanie had called or come by the night before, but when Hutch said nothing, he considered broaching the subject himself.

Since the kidnapping, Hutch seemed to close up whenever Starsky tried to talk about what had happened. Today, he was a little more upbeat, and Starsky hesitated to spoil the mood. He hoped that Jeanie had had second thoughts and decided not to visit Hutch. Maybe this time she was gone for good.

When they returned to the squadroom at the end of their shift, Starsky found a folded note on his desk, with his name scribbled on the front in Dobey’s bold handwriting. He opened it and read the brief missive before quietly slipping it into his pocket.

“Want to grab a bite before going home?” Hutch asked.

“I’d like to, but I have to run an errand. I can meet you later at your place, though,” Starsky offered.

“Okay—sure. Say, eight?”

“Yeah, eight’s fine. And after, if you want, we can go back by the mission and check with Clara.”

Hutch nodded. “Good idea. See you later.”

Starsky drove the Torino three blocks to the nearest phone booth. He deposited a dime into the telephone and impatiently waited for an answer on the other end of the line.

“Huggy Bear.”

“Huggy—Starsky. You called?”

“Yeah, Starsky. Listen, I found out where Jeanie’s staying. I don’t know if you really want to get involved, man, but seeing as how you seemed pretty worked up about her being in town, thought I’d pass the phone number on to you.”

So she hadn’t left town, after all. Starsky’s brow beetled momentarily as he considered the possible consequences of butting into Hutch’s personal affairs.

Digging a pen out of his jacket, he answered, “Yeah, sure. Give it to me.” As Huggy recited the number, Starsky scratched it out in the margin of a Yellow Page and tore the sheet from the dog-eared phone book.

“Thanks, Huggy,” he said and hung up the phone.

Starsky reached for another dime, dropped it into the coin slot, and began punching in the numbers. After only one ring, he slammed the phone back onto the receiver. Was this a mistake? Did he have the right to intervene? He stood in the phone booth for several minutes, oblivious to the traffic noises around him, struggling to come to terms with what he was about to do.

Hutch was his best friend, but there were some decisions a man had a right to make on his own. On the other hand, if you knew someone you cared about was about to be hurt, didn’t you have an obligation to do whatever you could to prevent it from happening? Starsky vacillated a moment longer, then, for better or worse, made his decision.

Chapter Two

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