Starsky checked his watch again. He’d been back at the car for thirty minutes now, and was really getting concerned about his partner. Maybe there’d been more buildings to search on Hutch’s side of the divide. Maybe he’d beaten Starsky back, waited a few minutes, then decided to look for him. He’d flashed the headlights twice, but still no sign of Hutch. His instincts were telling him something was wrong.
Jumping down off the hood, Starsky walked across the street, looking up one way and then the other. Naturally, Sam was at his heels, not wanting to miss a single thing.
“I don’t like this, Big Dog. I don’t like it at all.” The dog looked up at Starsky solemnly, waiting for a cue as to what was expected of him. He sensed Starsky was upset; he just didn’t know if Hutch’s absence had anything to do with it.
“Maybe I better call Cap’n Dobey,” Starsky muttered aloud then turned and looked down at Sam. “You think so, boy? Hmmm? It ain’t like Hutch to leave us hangin’ this long. I thought sure he’d come back when I flashed the lights.”
Starsky started back across the street, then caught a fleeting glimpse of movement outside one of the buildings a couple of blocks down. Sam saw it too—stopped dead still, his ear’s pricking up, sensitive to any unfamiliar sound.
Seeing the dog’s reaction, Starsky pulled his revolver and flattened himself against the wall of the nearest building. “Sam! Heel!” he whispered loudly, hoping the dog wouldn’t give them away. Sam obeyed, positioning himself close to Starsky. Silently, they watched. Again, he detected someone, or something, in the shadows, heading away from them. The figure was too short and too dark to be Hutch.
Afraid Sam would reveal their presence, Starsky decided to leave the dog behind. “Okay, here’s a chance for you to show me what ya learned in dog school, boy. Stay! Hear me? I said, Stay!”
Sam dropped into the traditional sit/stay position, reluctantly obeying. For good measure, Starsky also gave him the ‘stay’ hand signal. “Sam, Stay,” he repeated a third and final time, then slipped away into the darkness.
Sam was finding it next to impossible to do as he’d been told. It just didn’t seem right that both Hutch and Starsky were out there having a good time without him. Regardless of the game, he knew he wanted to take part. Finally overcome by curiosity, Sam rose and took one step in the direction he’d seen Starsky go, then thought better of it, and sat back down.
Starsky quietly moved along the storefronts, staying close to the buildings for cover. He hadn’t seen any movement in the shadows for the past few minutes, but was determined to pick up the trail of the elusive figure. Still no sign of Hutch. With every passing moment, the detective’s uneasiness increased.
Without warning, Starsky heard a loud crash and clanging metal, about fifty feet to his left. He turned in the direction of the noise and inched forward, the pistol held up and in front of him, ready for action. The straggly, undernourished tabby cat perched on a lidless garbage pail paid little attention when the cop appeared from around the corner of the building, leveling his gun at the would-be assailant.
Disappointed, Starsky lowered the pistol and returned it to the holster. “Terrific,” he mumbled. “My partner’s missing, and I’m chasin’ an alley cat.”
“Actually, you’re closer than you think,” Bowman said, from behind the detective. “I’ve always hated cats, but I guess I owe this one a debt of gratitude.” Starsky cautiously moved his hand toward the Smith &Wesson.
“I wouldn’t try that if I were you,” Bowman warned. “I’ve already had to teach one cop a lesson tonight. You could easily be number two.”
Despite the threat , Starsky whirled around and glared angrily. “If you’ve hurt one hair on my partner’s head, you’ll answer to me, Bowman.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the one holding the gun, pig—not you.”
“That gun’s not gonna do you any good, turkey, if you’ve hurt Hutch. I’ll take you apart with my bare hands.”
“He’s alive—for now, but he’ll be dead soon enough,” Bowman sneered, “he and the little Reynolds bitch.” Starsky took a step forward, but stopped when Bowman cocked the pistol.
“Nah ah…I’m not warning you again. Don’t make me shoot you before you tell me where your partner’s car is.”
“We took a taxi,” Starsky said drolly.
“Very funny. Your partner’s already used that line. Where’s the green ford?”
“Find your own getaway car.”
Bowman’s temper flared. “Look, pig, I’m sick of your smart mouth. Take me to the car now, or I’ll shoot!”
“Okay…okay…” Starsky held his hands out in supplication before him. It seemed wise to bide his time; he’d wait for the opportunity to overpower Bowman and beat the truth out him as to where Hutch and Jenny were being held. “Follow me.”