Common Ground

Linda B.

 

 

Chapter One

 

“Hey, buddy.”  Starsky flopped down on the dock.  The canal was dark, the stars and moon providing the only light.  “Whatcha doin’?”

 

“Listening to the quiet.”  Hutch took a sip of beer and then held up the bottle.  “There’s more in the fridge if you want one.”

 

“Thanks, later.”  Starsky looked out across the water.  He found the gentle sway of the water and the shimmer of the moonlight mesmerizing. 

 

Hutch closed his eyes.  “Can’t you hear it?”

 

Starsky listened a minute, then shrugged.  “I hear your neighbor’s old boat hitting the dock.”

 

“By the way...”  Hutch turned toward Starsky.  “...what are you doing here?  Didn’t I drop you off at your place not too long ago?”

 

Starsky considered his response.  Hutch had been withdrawn and even a little pale when he’d dropped Starsky at his apartment, and by the time Starsky had reached his front door, he’d decided to fabricate an excuse and drop by Hutch’s before the night was out. 

 

He’d cleaned up and grabbed some supper, while letting Hutch have a little quiet time and space.  Now, he was there sitting on the dock, with no real explanation except the truth.  “I wanted to make sure you were okay.  It was a rough day.”

 

“Not any rougher than most—a few arms to twist, a couple shootouts, some dead bodies.  What’s new about that?  I’m just tired.  We’ve put in a lot of hours lately.  Haven’t slept so well.”  He brought the beer bottle up to his lips and added before taking a sip, “You didn’t have to come over.  I don’t need a babysitter.”

 

“Hey, I ain’t no babysitter.”  Starsky straightened up, mock anger on his face, though he secretly wondered if Hutch’s nights were still haunted by Forest.  He knew his were.  Time had passed, but the memories remained too fresh.  Forest was safely behind bars, but despite what people might think, it would take a lot more than a locked jail cell before they’d forget.

 

“Actually, if I’ve got to have one, I prefer mine with long legs, shoulder-length hair, and of the female persuasion.”

 

“I’ve got long legs.”

 

Hutch laughed and patted him on the back.  “C’mon, let’s get you a beer.”

 

Starsky stood up and turned to follow his partner.  “Hey, what’s that?”  He bent down, eyes searching the water for something he’d seen floating nearby.

 

“What’s what?”

 

“Saw something in the water.  Something shiny.”  Starsky knelt down, eyes searching through the murkiness of the dark water.  The clouds shifted, allowing the moonlight to strike the water.  “There it is.”  He lay on his stomach and reached into the water.

 

“What’dya find?”

 

Starsky sat up, holding an object in his hand.  He wiped it off with his shirttail and held it up in the moonlight.

 

“It’s just a bottle, Starsk.  Throw it back.”

 

“No.  There could be a note inside.”

 

Hutch shook his head in disbelief at Starsky’s eagerness, wondering if his partner would ever lose that boyish curiosity.  “If there is something inside, it’ll be soaking wet.  Who knows how long that bottle’s been in the water?”

 

“I don’t care.  I wanna see if there’s something in it.  C’mon.”  Starsky started for Hutch’s bungalow.  He held the bottle up to the evening light, eyes straining to see through to the inside.

˜  ™

 

Hutch relaxed on the couch and watched Starsky, seated Indian style on the floor, shake the brown bottle for the tenth time.  “I don’t think there’s anything inside, Starsky.”

 

“I do.”  Starsky picked at the duct tape that sealed the top and encircled half the bottle.  “Something rattles when I shake it.  Besides, why would someone go to the trouble of putting all this tape on the top if not to keep something inside and the water out?  You got a steak knife?”

 

Hutch reluctantly stood up and went to the kitchen.

 

“Here you go.”  He set a beer on the coffee table and handed Starsky the knife. “Be careful.”  His partner might be an excellent marksman, but his enthusiasm had been known to get him into trouble.

 

Starsky stuck the point of the knife under the edge of the tape.  “Now, you sound like Dobey.”  He pushed harder, prying at the tape.  Finally, loosening a section, he tugged.

 

Hutch leaned back on the couch, a smile threatening to escape, his earlier dark mood forgotten.  He had to give Starsky credit.  He certainly was determined.

 

Starsky gave a hard yank and, feeling the edge give, unwound the tape.  Beneath it was a bottle cap that Starsky untwisted and removed before peering in.  

 

“Well?” Hutch asked.

 

“Yep, there’s something inside.  Now, I have to figure out how to get it out.”  Starsky held the bottle upside down and shook it.  Nothing fell out.  “You have any tweezers?”

 

Hutch sighed, rose from the couch, and headed into the bathroom.  Why did Starsky’s projects always become his?

 

Starsky glanced up as Hutch returned.  “Thanks.  I think it’s a note.”

 

Hutch sank down on the floor next to his friend.  “Can you get it out without wrecking it?”

 

“I think so.  It doesn’t look too wet.  The cap and all the tape must have kept the water out.”  Starsky went back to work.

 

“You lived near the Atlantic Ocean, Starsk.  You ever put a message in a bottle?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“How old were you?” Hutch asked, enjoying his image of a young Starsky carefully writing a note, folding it, and then sticking it into a bottle.

 

Starsky paused, his mind retrieving details of a day so long ago.  “I don’t know, maybe nine.  That summer Pop took Ma, Nick, and me to the Jersey shore.  We’d had a picnic, and Nick and I wanted to put a message in one of the empty soda bottles.  Ma found an old piece of paper in her purse and we scratched out a note.  We folded it up and stuck it in the bottle.  Ma made Pop go back to the car for some masking tape he had in the trunk, and we wrapped it around the top.  Then we walked out to the longest pier on the boardwalk.  At the very end, Pop threw it in.”  Starsky stared into the distance, pulled back into his memories.  “We all stood there and watched it bob up and down until it disappeared.”

 

“Anyone ever find it?” Hutch asked gently, careful not to intrude in Starsky’s reminiscing.

 

“I don’t think so; at least we never heard from anyone.  But then, I’m sure we didn’t tape it as good as they did this one.  It probably filled with water and sank the first day.  Whoever sealed this one took a lot of time.”

 

“And a lot of tape.”

 

Starsky grinned.  He held the bottle upside down and, with the tweezers, gripped the paper inside. “I think I’ve got it.”  He cautiously twisted and pulled the paper until the top stuck out of the bottle.

 

“Be careful.  You don’t want to tear it,” Hutch cautioned.

 

Starsky gently held on to the top and removed the paper as carefully as if he were detailing a model ship.  He let out an audible sigh of relief as the paper slid out.

 

“What does it say?” Hutch asked, suddenly as anxious as Starsky to know what it said.

 

“Gimme a minute.”  Starsky, handling it like a piece of evidence, opened the paper and read silently.

 

“Well?”

 

“It’s from a boy, name’s Paulie.  Says he’s seven years old.”

 

“Does it say anything else?”

 

“Nope.  It just gives his address and the date.  This bottle’s been floatin’ in the water almost ten years.  Pretty amazing.”  Starsky handed the paper to Hutch.  “I wonder if he still lives there.”

 

“Doubt it.”

 

Starsky shrugged.  “Yeah.”

 

“I’m getting hungry.  You eat yet?”  At Starsky’s nod, Hutch added, “That never stopped you before.  C’mon, let’s go to Huggy’s.”  Hutch held out his hand.

 

Starsky untangled his legs, took the proffered hand, and stood.  As Hutch put on his jacket, Starsky reached down for the piece of paper Hutch had laid on the coffee table and slid it into his back pocket.

 

˜  ™

 

“It’s about time you two decided to show up for work.”

 

Starsky and Hutch flinched at the voice behind them.  They’d hoped to make it to their desks before running into their commanding officer.  The pool challenge at Huggy’s the previous evening had gone on far too long, neither one willing to have the other declared the winner. 

 

“’Mornin’, Cap’n.”

 

“Don’t ’mornin’ me, Starsky.  You’re late again.”  Captain Dobey held open the door leading to his office.  “My office—now.”

 

As they walked through the door, Hutch whispered, “See, I told you.”

 

“What do you want to tell me, Hutchinson?” Dobey groused.

 

“Nothing, sir.”  Hutch glared at his partner, who sank into the chair in front of Dobey’s desk, a grin threatening to break out.

 

“I’ve been in the commissioner’s office, where he read me the riot act because the Sterling murder hasn’t been solved.”

 

Starsky shifted in his seat.  “But we aren’t on the Sterling case, sir—”

 

“You are now.”

 

Hutch raised an eyebrow at Starsky before looking back at Captain Dobey.  “I thought Garcia and Thompson were working the Sterling murder, practically around the clock from what I understand.  It’s not their fault nothing’s turned up.  Something’s bound to break soon.”

 

“Well, understand this¾it’s your job now to make sure it does.  I report back to the commissioner in twenty-four hours.”

 

“Just because Sterling was the cousin of the mayor’s wife—”

 

“Starsky!  I don’t care whose cousin he was.”  Captain Dobey loosened the tie threatening to strangle him.  “I want this case solved and the murderer behind bars.  Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Good, now get out of here.  Garcia and Thompson are waiting to fill you in.”

 

˜  ™

 

“’Morning, Starsky, Hutch.”  Detective Miguel Garcia held out his hand in greeting.  “Nice to have you join us.”

 

“Well, thanks.”  Hutch returned the handshake before sitting down at the conference table.  “We’re glad to help out.  We know you guys have invested a lot of time on this case.”

 

“That’s for sure.  And we’ve taken a lot of heat about it, too.  Dobey’s been all over our butts.”

 

“Welcome to the club.  He’s over ours all the time.”  Starsky’s grin resembled a Cheshire cat’s.  “You must be doing something right or he wouldn’t be after you.  You’ll find out Dobey’s bark is worse than his bite.”

 

“Well, I hope you’re right.”  Dave Thompson sat down across from Hutch and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.  “You guys are used to these high-profile cases.  I’m beginning to think Dobey wants to hand the commissioner our heads on a platter.”

 

“He’s no different from you.  He wants you to come up with something so the commissioner gets off his butt.”  Hutch leaned back in his chair.  “Why don’t you fill us in with what you’ve got so far?”

 

“Gladly.”  Thompson pulled over the case file and flipped it open.  In no time, four heads were buried in the paperwork.

 

˜  ™

 

“Have you thought of anything Garcia and Thompson might have missed, Starsk?”  Hutch knew Starsky had been mulling the evidence over and over in his head as he looked out the passenger window.  Starsky might fool some people with his joking around, but Hutch knew Starsky’s shrewdness better than anyone.  Given time, they’d find the missing link.

 

Starsky turned to look at Hutch.  “No, not yet.  They’ve done a pretty thorough job for newer detectives.  They’ve got a few leads to go on.  Dobey should be proud of them instead of breathing down their backs.”  Starsky’s stare returned out the window.  Leaning forward suddenly, he directed his partner.  “Turn right!”

 

Hutch immediately turned right at the next side street, his eyes scanning the area.  “What’dya see?”

 

“This is the street Paulie lives on.”

 

Hutch’s eyes shifted from one side of the street to the other.  “Paulie?  Paulie who?”

 

“The boy in the bottle.”

 

Hutch stopped the car and glared at Starsky.  “Have you lost it?  What do you mean ‘the boy in the bottle’?”

 

“You know.  The bottle we found last night in the canal—”

 

“You made me turn down this street for that?”

 

“Don’t you wanna know if he still lives there?”

 

“Starsk, the note is ten years old.  What are the chances he’ll still live there?  This neighborhood has gone nowhere but downhill.”

 

Starsky shrugged.  “That doesn’t mean anything.”

 

Hutch scowled at his partner, but seeing the disappointed look on Starsky’s face, resistance became useless.  “Okay, come on.  Let’s check it out.”

 

Starsky’s smile lit up his face.  “Pull over here.”  Exiting the car, he leaned down to look in the window and pointed across the street.  “It’s the building right over there.”

 

Shaking his head, Hutch turned off the ignition and got out.  He fell into step with Starsky as they crossed the street.  The four-story apartment building showed years of neglect.  From several windows, clothes left to dry in the heat of the afternoon sun were hung from lines strung between the windows and the fire escape.  Hutch stepped around an overturned trashcan, its contents spilling out onto the sidewalk and gutter.  “This place has seen better days.”

 

“Yeah.  Do you think they’ll still be here?”  Uncertainty found its way into Starsky’s voice.

 

“If they’re lucky, they’ll be long gone.”  Hutch took the steps into the building two at a time.  “Do you know the apartment number?”

 

“The note says Apartment 315.”  Starsky stopped at the rusty mailboxes lining one side of the entrance, and scanned the numbers.  “There’s a name on 315.”  Starsky leaned closer and squinted at the faded letters.  “It’s hard to read, but it looks like a-m-b-e-r.”

 

“Is that their last name?”

 

“No, but it’s Lambert, Paulie Lambert.”

 

Hutch shrugged.  “Could be.  Let’s go knock on the door.”  They entered the rickety elevator, and Hutch said a silent prayer that they would make it safely to the third floor.

 

“Here it is.”  Starsky stopped in front of the door marked 315.

 

“And what are you going to say if someone comes to the door?”

 

Starsky shrugged.  “I’ll ask if Paulie still lives here.”  He knocked on the door.  When there was no immediate response, he knocked again.

 

“Give it up, Starsk.  Nobody lives here anymore.”

 

“Well, somebody lives in the building.  There’s laundry hanging out.  Maybe they’ll know where the Lamberts went.  Let’s try the apartment next door.”  Starsky started to turn away when the door opened an inch.

 

“Who’s there?”  The female voice on the other side of the door was cautious.

 

Starsky reached in his back pocket and pulled out his credentials.  “Detective David Starsky, and this is Detective Hutchinson, ma’am.”

 

“What’s Paulie done now?”

 

Starsky threw Hutch a triumphant glance.  “Nothing that we know of.  We just wanted to talk to him for a minute.  Is he home?”

 

The door shut and the sound of several chain latches and a deadbolt being undone filled the silence.  The woman, dressed in a faded housedress, opened the door wider and motioned them inside.  A child about four years old rested on her hip, the little girl’s face buried in her mom’s shoulder.  Occasionally, she’d be brave enough to sneak a peak at the two men.  She sniffled a few times and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand before burying it again into her mother’s shoulder.  

 

“Whatcha want Paulie for?”

 

Starsky glanced around the apartment.  The furnishings were few and threadbare, but it was neat and clean.  “Are you Mrs. Lambert?”

 

“Yeah.”  Brushing a loose strand of brown hair back behind her ear, her stance was defiant, but her face reflected mostly fatigue, someone beaten down by what life had brought her.

 

Starsky reached out his finger and ran it down the little girl’s arm, trying to get her attention, hoping to make her smile.  Now that he was here, he wasn’t sure how to start.  “Uhmm—”

 

“What my partner is trying to say is we found a bottle in the canal, and inside it was a piece of paper...”  Hutch paused a moment, realizing how silly it sounded.

 

“What’s that got to do with Paulie?”  Her eyes narrowing, Mrs. Lambert stared at Hutch.

 

He shifted on his feet.  “Well, Paulie’s name and address were on the paper.”

 

“Since when is it against the law to write your name and address on a piece of paper?”

 

Starsky pulled his hand back having successfully extracted a shy smile from the little girl.  “He wrote it when he was seven.  And we were amazed to find it in decent shape.  We were just curious to see if he still lived here.”

 

Hutch noticed a whistling teenaged boy, repeatedly tossing a baseball in the air and catching it, approaching the open doorway.  When the boy spotted the two men standing just inside the apartment, he turned on his heels and ran down the hallway toward the stairwell.

 

Hutch took off, Starsky immediately following.

 

They reached the stairwell door just as it shut.  Racing down two flights of stairs, Hutch caught up with the boy at the bottom landing.  He grabbed onto the boy’s shirttail and pulled up short.  Starsky stopped behind them, holding onto the railing as he caught his breath.

 

“Hold on a minute, would ya?” Hutch panted, as the boy tried to pull away.  “Are you Paul Lambert?”  The teenager stared at them refusing to answer.

 

“Why d’ya run?” Starsky asked.  “We just wanted to meet you.”

 

“Why?” the boy demanded, openly hostile.  “Who are you anyways?”

 

“I’m Detective Starsky,” and, pointing at Hutch, he continued, “and this is my partner, Detective Hutchinson.”

 

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

 

“Then why did you run when you saw us?” Hutch asked.

 

Paulie glared at them defiantly.

 

Starsky stepped down and stood next to Hutch.  “Look, we just wanted to meet you.”  Starsky reached into his back pocket and extended the note.  “You are Paulie Lambert, aren’t you?”

 

The boy reached for the piece of paper and slowly opened it.  He silently read it and then looked up at the two officers.  “The name’s Paul.”  Incredulous, he asked, “Where’d you find this?”

 

“We found a bottle in the canal with this inside.  You remember writing it?” Starsky asked.

 

Paulie studied the note in his hand, the open hostility on his face softening.  “That was a long time ago.  Me and my dad....”

 

Hutch relaxed his grip on Paulie’s shirt.  “We wondered if you still lived here, that’s all.”

 

Paulie looked at the two detectives.  “Can I keep this?”

 

Starsky’s eyes met Hutch’s and he shrugged.  “Sure.”

 

Paulie backed away from the two men and started up the stairs.

 

“What’s your sister’s name?  She’s a real cutie,” Starsky called after him.

 

Paulie hesitated, then turned back to look at Starsky.  “Sarah.”

 

“Pretty name for a pretty little girl.”

 

“Yeah.”  Paulie turned back and started up the rest of the steps two at a time.

 

“Hey!”  Starsky caught up to him on the stairs.  “Here’s our phone number.  If you need help or anything, give us a call.”

 

Paulie hesitated and then shoved the paper in his pocket.

 

˜  ™

 

Garcia and Thompson were waiting in the squadroom when Starsky and Hutch returned.  “Hey, guys,” Starsky said as poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Hutch before stirring sugar into his own.  “You find anything new?”

 

“No, we keep coming up with one dead end after another.  It looks like a robbery, plain and simple.  We still haven’t found any witnesses.  We explored whether Sterling could have been into something shady,” Thompson replied, “but he looks clean.  Michael Sterling was a janitor at a high school, nothing insidious about that, and we can’t link him to anything criminal.”

 

“It’s still possible...”  Starsky flipped his chair around and sat down.  “...that he was into something he shouldn’t’ve been, or—”

 

“Discovered something he shouldn’t have,” Hutch finished for his partner.

 

Thompson nodded.  “There’s a reason he took a bullet in the chest and, like you, we aren’t totally sold on robbery being the answer.”

 

“Did you talk to the high school staff yet?” Starsky asked.

 

“Yeah, but we didn’t find out anything new.  The principal was out at the time.”

 

“Why don’t you two go fill Dobey in on what you’ve found, or rather haven’t found, and we’ll head over to the school and talk to the principal,” Hutch suggested.  Starsky stood as Garcia and Thompson gathered up their case file.  “Maybe it’ll be enough to keep the commissioner off his back.”

 

“And Dobey off ours,” Garcia muttered.

 

˜  ™

 

Starsky and Hutch walked through the main entrance of Henderson High School, searching for a sign directing them to the office.  They turned left at the first corridor and pulled up short.

 

“May I help you gentlemen?”  The black man in front of them stood several inches above Hutch and was as broad as their captain.

 

“We’re here to talk to the principal.  Can you tell us where the office is?” Hutch asked.

 

“I’m Principal Richardson.  Frank Richardson.  What can I do for you?”

 

Hutch pulled out his credentials and flipped them open.  “I’m Detective Ken Hutchinson and this is Detective David Starsky.  We’re investigating the death of Mike Sterling; we understand he was a janitor here.”

 

“Yes, he was.  His murder was a terrible thing.  Why don’t you come to my office; we can talk better there.”  Principal Richardson turned around and led them a short distance down the hallway.  Passing the entrance into the main office, which was bustling with students, they entered his office through a side door.  “Detectives, have a seat.  Have you found out who murdered Sterling?”

 

“Unfortunately, no; not yet.  We’re hoping you can give us a little information about his job here¾who he worked with, anyone else he might have known or come in contact with.  Whatever you can tell us might be useful.”  Starsky withdrew a small notepad from his jacket.  After slapping his jacket pockets several times, he reached for the pen Hutch extended.

 

“Well, Officers, I don’t know if I can tell you very much.  Mike Sterling worked for the school about five years.  He reported to work on time and did a full day’s work.  He was divorced, and there were never any disciplinary issues, if that’s what you’re wondering about.  He got along well with the entire staff.”  Mr. Richardson paused a moment, his eyes breaking contact with the detectives.  He sighed before continuing.  “I’m sorry.  It’s been a difficult beginning of the school year for the students and staff.  We lost Mike, and during the summer, we lost a student to a drug overdose.  Mike’s going to be missed around here.  He got along with the students very well, even with some of the more difficult ones, if you know what I mean.  He liked to play baseball with some of the students after school.”

 

“Who’d he work with?”

 

“We have several janitors in the building; some work during the days, and there are several on the night crew.  I can get you a list of their names and addresses if you’d like to speak to them.”

 

Hutch nodded.  “That would be very helpful.”

 

Richardson stood.  “I’ll have my secretary put that list together.  It should only take a couple of minutes.”  He exited the room going into the main office area, where his secretary sat just outside his door.  He returned a few moments later.  “Mary is putting it together for you right now.”

 

“Thanks.  Is there anything else you can think of that might be useful?” Hutch asked.

 

“Not right now.”

 

Hutch stood to leave.  “Thanks for your assistance.”  He handed the principal a piece of paper.  “Here’s our phone number.  Call us if you think of anything else.”

 

“I certainly will.  Hold on just a second and I’ll get that list of names and addresses for you.”

 

As they left the building and walked down the sidewalk to their car, Hutch said, “Nice man.  Reminds me of Dobey.”

 

“Yeah, he has that same ‘don’t cross me’ kinda look.”

 

˜  ™

 

“At the moment, it looks like the only real avenue to explore further is the school,” Captain Dobey said as he observed the four men sitting in front of him.  “From the information you’ve gathered, it sounds like there’s been increased drug activity in the area.  As I recall, a drug dealer was murdered a few blocks from there less than a month ago.  And a student OD’d several months back.  There could be a connection.”  His eyes settled on Garcia.

 

Garcia nodded.  “We’re already on it, Captain.  Just waiting on the forensics report to see if the bullets came from the same gun that killed the dealer.”

 

“So?  What’s the next step?”

 

Hutch shot Starsky a glance before replying.  “Well, we came to the same conclusion and discussed the possibility of someone going undercover in the high school.”

 

Dobey silently considered the idea for several minutes.  “Garcia and Thompson were already in there asking questions as part of the investigation.  It’s likely someone would recognize them.  What about you two?”

 

Hutch hesitated, the last time they’d been undercover at a high school still too fresh in his mind.  A few years ago at the beginning of their partnership, they’d been undercover at McKinley High School, and Starsky had busted Gary Vincent Prudholm.  It had been nothing out of the ordinary, but more recent events made it impossible to forget.  Gary’s father, George Prudholm, had killed two cops trying to invoke his revenge on Starsky, because his son had been knifed to death in jail and he held Starsky responsible.  Hutch had come so close to losing his partner—emotionally, physically, and professionally—how could he forget?  And he knew Starsky hadn’t.  Now and then, Starsky would be lost in thought, lost in his own nightmare, thinking about what could have happened.  Even though Starsky never acknowledged it, Hutch knew there were officers that still avoided him, as though revenge was some kind of disease Starsky had contracted. 

 

Starsky shifted forward in his chair.  “Well, Captain, we already gave that some thought.  Hutch and I were there for a short time, but we only met with the principal.  We went into his office by way of a side door and never even made it into the main office.  I don’t think anyone will recognize me.”  Starsky ignored the look he knew the blond had flashed in his direction.  While they had discussed the idea over lunch, no decision had been made as to who would actually go under and with what cover.  Hutch had even expressed his opposition to it.

 

Dobey nodded.  “Starsky, I’ll call Mr. Richardson, and we’ll get you set up as the replacement janitor.”

 

“Captain—”  Hutch turned toward his superior officer.

 

“Hutch, if in fact, there is a connection with the student’s murder, this could put the entire student body and staff at Henderson at risk.  That’s a lot of people to protect, and I don’t want Starsky in there alone.”  Dobey reached for the phone.  “You’ll make a perfect substitute teacher.”

 

“T-t-teeacher?” Hutch asked incredulous, his earlier concerns suddenly overridden by the thought of getting up in front of a bunch of students.  “I’d be better at cleaning than I am at teaching.”

 

“Haven’t looked in the back of your car lately, have you?” Starsky muttered.

 

 “Cap’n, I can’t stand getting up in front of people.  It...it always makes me nervous.”  Turning to his partner for help, he implored, “Right, Starsk?”

 

Starsky grinned at him.  “Remember at the barbecue last summer what a great job you did singing?”

 

The size of the knot in Hutch’s stomach increased.  “Starsky, you tricked me into that, and I...nearly passed out from fright.”

 

“Uh...a few beers took care of that.”

 

“I can’t drink before every class.  Cap’n, isn’t there something else—?”

 

“Hutchinson, your covers will be perfect.  Besides...”  Dobey chuckled, pleased with himself.  “Starsky’s already dressed for his part.”

 

˜  ™

 

In three long strides, Hutch had caught up with Starsky and grabbed his sleeve.  “Hey, slow up.”

 

Starsky slowed, but looked at the ceiling rather than his partner.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay with going under in a high school?” he whispered, narrowing the space between him and Starsky so the two uniformed officers approaching them wouldn’t hear their discussion. 

 

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

 

Hutch knew Starsky was purposely avoiding the subject.  “Starsk, you know—”

 

Starsky shifted his stance.  “It made sense.”  He shrugged.  “We’d already discussed someone going under, and when Dobey suggested it, I thought it was a good idea, so I jumped on it.  Besides, you’ll be in there with me.  What’s the problem?”

 

Hutch rolled his eyes and slipped his hands in the pockets of his black-and-white baseball jacket.  “You have to ask me what’s the problem?  You really want me to believe you’ve forgotten?  Do I have to remind you—?”

 

Anger flashed in Starsky’s eyes.  How could he forget?  If it hadn’t been for Hutch’s voice whispering his name—its silent plea penetrating the sound of his own rapidly beating heart—he would have shot and killed George Prudholm.  “You don’t have to remind me of anything!”  He cut the narrow space between them in half and breathed, “I have to live with those two officers’ deaths every day.”

 

Hutch felt his heart wrench, and he softened his tone and stance.  “I know that, buddy.  I just want to be sure you’re ready to handle any memories this assignment might dredge up.  Busting Prudholm’s son at McKinley started it all.  Going undercover at Henderson, possibly busting more kids....”  

 

“Don’t worry; I can handle it.”  Starsky reached up, fingers briefly touching Hutch’s jacket sleeve.  “I know you’re concerned.  Somewhere deep down so am I, and just maybe, I need to face that.  Maybe by doing this, I can save a kid’s life rather than take one.”

 

“Starsk, you didn’t take Gary’s life.”  Hutch sighed.  As much as he’d tried, he’d never been able to fully reason Starsky through the guilt, to convince him he’d only been doing his job at the time.  “Gary Prudholm died because he made the wrong choices.  That’s not your fault.  He created his own nightmare.”

 

“A nightmare I’m still living, thanks to his father.”

 

“Quit torturing yourself, Starsk.  Prudholm’s behind bars and receiving treatment.  Thankfully, he’ll be there for a long time.”

 

Starsky leaned forward to catch Hutch’s eyes.  “Look, it’ll be okay.  Besides, you’ll be in there covering my back.  Why should I be worried?”  Starsky watched Hutch’s face change from apprehension to acceptance.  At Hutch’s nod, Starsky clapped his hands together and started moving down the hallway.  “C’mon, let’s go find you some teacher clothes.”

 

˜  ™