Common Ground

Chapter Three

 

 

Stan Belcher walked out of the bank and shoved his checkbook into the inside pocket of his brown suit coat.  He pulled out his sunglasses and slid them on.

 

“Mr. Belcher?”

 

Belcher continued walking and ignored the young man at his side.  “I told you I’d get in touch with you.”

 

“I know that, but I’ve got some info I think you’d be interested in.”

 

Belcher opened the door of his black Buick.  “What info could you possibly have that I’d be interested in?”

 

“Actually, I think your boss will be interested in the information.”  Belcher treating him like a dumb high school student angered Marty, but he managed to swallow the smart response on his lips.  He had to go through Belcher to get to Canfield, and he didn’t want to irritate him.  “Look, it’s important.  I helped you before with Sterling, didn’t I?”  He paused.  “It involves a cop.”

 

Belcher studied Marty, weighing whether what he’d said had any real importance.  “Get in the car.” 

 

As the Buick pulled away from the street and blended into the flow of traffic, Belcher said, “Okay, explain.”

 

“I found out there’s a cop doing double duty as a janitor at our school.”

 

“So?  Maybe he’s moonlighting for extra money,” Belcher bluffed, watching Marty’s reaction through half-opened eyelids.  “I understand the city doesn’t pay its finest that much.”

 

“You really think that’s the reason?  When we both know a school janitor was murdered and a student OD’d not long ago?”

 

Belcher didn’t believe it at all, but he didn’t want Marty thinking he had the upper hand.  “Possibly.”

 

“Well, I don’t, and I think—”

 

“Don’t you understand?  I don’t care what you think, punk.”  Belcher abruptly turned the car to the right and pulled to the curb.  “Look, I’ll take your information to the boss and get back to you.”

 

Marty opened the door and exited the car.  He disliked the man, but he was certain Belcher wouldn’t ignore the information.  He couldn’t afford to.  Having a cop nosing around the school could ruin a lot of Canfield’s plans.

 

Belcher leaned over.  “You wouldn’t happen to know this cop’s name would you?”

 

Marty leaned in the window.  “Starsky.”

 

˜  ™

 

“There may be trouble already, Mr. Canfield.”  Belcher sat down on the sofa’s edge and loosened his tie.  It was growing increasingly warm in the room.  Mr. Canfield hated receiving bad news, and Belcher didn’t like being the one to deliver it.  

 

“Explain.”

 

Canfield’s eyes bore into his, any hint of pleasantries disappearing.  “This evening, Marty told me about a cop working at the high school.  Apparently, he’s taken Sterling’s place as the janitor.”

 

Canfield considered the implications.  “That’s a little too coincidental, don’t you think?”

 

“Yes, Mr. Canfield.  That’s why I thought you should know about it.”

 

“You wouldn’t happen to know this cop’s name would you?”

 

“Starsky.”  Belcher waited for the information to sink in.

 

“As in Starsky and Hutchinson?”  Mr. Canfield slammed his hand on the desk.  “Damn!  We don’t need those two on our backs.  They’ll ruin all my plans like they did a few years ago.  They locked up half my men in a sting operation, and if it weren’t for an unfortunate’ incident where some of the evidence ended up as inadmissible, I’d be behind bars right now.  They swore they’d be back to get me.  I can still picture them outside the courtroom, almost in my face, warning me.  Any idea what Starsky already knows?”

 

“No.”

 

“Well, your job is to find Detective Starsky and take care of him.  We don’t need him digging any deeper.”

 

Belcher rose, pausing at the door.  “If we get rid of Starsky, won’t his partner show up on our doorstep?”

 

“Then we’ll take care of him, too.”  Canfield turned back to the window.  “Oh, and, Sam, reward Marty.  He deserves a little thank-you for passing along this information.  We’ll see what he can do with some uppers; just tell him to stay clear of the high school until Starsky disappears.”

 

˜  ™

 

Starsky knocked on the door.  He whistled as he waited and then leaned his ear against the door.  Hearing the sound of a little girl yelling, “Momma, Momma,” brought a smile to his face.

 

The chains were unhooked and the door opened.  “Detective Starsky, are you looking for Paulie again?  He’s not here and I don’t know where he’s at.”

 

“No, no.”  Starsky knelt down so he was at Sarah’s level.  “I just wanted to drop something off for a lovely young lady.”

 

Sarah hid behind her mother’s leg but smiled shyly.

 

Starsky pulled his arm from behind his back and held out a soft little doll, wearing a pink-and-white pinafore and straw hat.  Blonde braids with pink ribbons tied at the ends hung from below the hat.  Sarah’s large blue eyes stared back in wonder, but didn’t stop the smile on her face.  “Do you like her, Sarah?  She needs a good home and I heard there was one here.”

 

Sarah hesitated and looked up at her mother.  Receiving a smile and a nod, Sarah reached for the doll and hugged it.

 

“What do you say, Sarah?” her mom asked.

 

“Thank you.”  Sarah looked up, an even bigger smile spreading across her face.

 

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.  The clerk told me her name was Molly, but you can change it if you want.”  Starsky stood up, pleased with the response he’d received.

 

“Detective Starsky, thank you very much.  I know Sarah will love her and give her a good home, but you shouldn’t have.”

 

“Well, I was at the store, picking out a birthday present for a little girl named Rosie, and this doll kept calling out to me ‘Take me home, take me home’.”  He laughed.  “And I couldn’t resist.  To be honest with you, Rosie’s a little too old for this kind of doll, but I couldn’t pass her up.  I thought of Sarah and hoped you wouldn’t mind.”

 

“When I saw the smile on her face, you knew I couldn’t say no.  It’s been quite a while since Sarah had a new doll.  Again, thank you.”  Mrs. Lambert looked around the small room.  “Would you like to come in?”

 

“I can only stay a minute.”

 

“Well, have a seat and I’ll get us some lemonade.”

 

As Mrs. Lambert went into the small kitchen, Starsky sat down on the sofa.  Sarah brought the doll over to him and leaned against his leg, still smiling shyly.

 

“Is there another reason you came?”  Mrs. Lambert handed Starsky a glass.

 

“Well, I was hoping for some information, Mrs. Lambert.” 

 

“Call me Kate.  What can I help you with?”

 

“Well...Kate, there’s been an increase in the sale of drugs in the area—”

 

“Tell me about it.”  The bitterness in her voice surprised Starsky.  “Several kids in the neighborhood have died from overdoses, and a drug dealer was murdered nearby.  It scares me.  I know this isn’t the best neighborhood, don’t misunderstand me, but people used to watch out for each other.  Doesn’t seem like they do anymore.”  Katie glanced out the window at the garbage strewn about the streets.  “In a way, I’m glad Paulie dropped out of school.”

 

“He dropped out?”

 

“Yeah, after his best friend, Neal, died from a drug overdose a few months ago.  Only now, I’m worried Paulie might get into the same stuff.  I’ve tried to protect him, but it’s really hard when he’s on the street so much.”

 

“Mrs....uh, Kate, what’s Paulie doing if he’s not going to school?”

 

 “He’s trying to find a job.”

 

“Does he have any idea who his friend was buying from?”

 

Kate shook her head.  “I asked him if he knew when it happened, but he’s always denied knowing anything.  It got so he’d blow up whenever I’d say anything about it so I quit asking.  Detective Starsky, he worries me a lot.  He’s changed so much since his dad took off, and now this happened.”

 

Starsky said softly, “We all change when something happens to our best friend.”  His stomach churned as memories flooded in.  Not that long ago, Hutch had almost died at the hands of Forest and the drugs his goons had injected him with.  It had been a long road home, but they had survived.  At least I didn’t lose my best friend.  “I understand how Paulie must be having a difficult time coping with it.  Losing your best friend...”  Starsky swallowed hard and stood to leave.  “Thanks, Kate.  I’ll try to track Paulie down and talk with him.  We have more in common than he realizes.”

 

Katie stood.  “I hope he’ll listen.  I’m so afraid of losing him.”

 

Starsky entered the hallway and turned back.  “Ummm...does Paulie ever go to the Boys Club near the high school?”

 

“Not anymore.  He and Neal used to all the time; they played baseball on one of the teams.  But ever since Neal died, Paulie doesn’t go anywhere near the place...doesn’t play ball anymore.  It hurts me because he and Neal always dreamt of being professional ball players, but when Neal died, I think the dream did, too.”

 

˜  ™

 

The next morning, Starsky knocked at the hall entrance to the principal’s office.  Mr. Richardson opened the door.  “Good morning, Detective Starsky.  Come on in.  Do you have some information for me?”

 

“I wish I did.  Actually, I was hoping you could give me some.”

 

“What do you need?”

 

“Do you know anything about a student named Marty?”

 

“Marty, hmmm?  Do you have a last name?”

 

Starsky shook his head.

 

“Well, it doesn’t ring a bell, but let me check with my secretary, Mary.  She’s the real boss in the school, knows everyone and everything that’s happening before I do.”  Mr. Richardson smiled and walked into the main office, carefully closing the door behind him.  Within a few minutes, he returned carrying a manila file.  “We have a new student named Martin Rodriquez that goes by the name of Marty.  Is that who you mean?”

 

“Could be.”  Starsky looked at the picture on the inside of the file.  “Yeah, that’s him.”

 

Mr. Richardson glanced through the file.  “It says here he entered Henderson about two months ago, at the beginning of the school year.  He had good grades at his former school, and I’m not aware of him causing any trouble, either here or there.  Why?”

 

“Nothing special.  I’ve heard the name a few times and wondered who he was.  Thanks.”  Starsky turned to leave.  “Oh, what can you tell me about Paul Lambert?”

 

“Nice kid, though a little troubled.  His parents were divorced about four years ago.  As I understand it, his father moved out of the area one day—no explanation.  Last year, Paulie’s friend, Neal, started hanging around with the wrong crowd, and a few months back, Neal died from a drug overdose.  Paulie’s been going through some tough times the last few years, and he’s having difficulties coming to grips with it all.  He dropped out of school this year, but we’d sure like to see him come back.”

 

“Thanks.”  Starsky reached for the doorknob.  “I hope the next time I come back to your office I have some answers for you.”

 

˜  ™

 

“Hey, Paulie!”

 

Paulie stopped as Joe slung an arm across his shoulder.  He shrugged it off.  “Whatcha up to?”

 

“Not much; waiting around for Marty.”  Joe leaned in and whispered.  “He’s in the liquor store over there, buying some booze.”

 

Paulie looked across the street at the Fairview liquor store.  Marty was still inside.  “He got fake ID?”

 

“Yeah, his cousin got it for him.  We’re gonna party tonight.  Wanna join us?  We’re celebrating.”

 

Paulie considered the idea, but Joe wasn’t someone he particularly liked hanging around with.  He—and Neal—had avoided Joe as much as possible, even though Joe seemed to have an interest in them.  Joe was always trying to prove he was a big man with the girls, habitually on the fringes of trouble, a follower, not a leader.  And something about Marty gave him an uncomfortable feeling.  “What are you celebrating?”

 

“Our plan’s comin’ together.”

 

“What plan?” Paulie asked.

 

“Marty made some connections in town, and if everything goes right, we’ll get a boat load of uppers to sell.  We’ve got a built-in demand at the high school.”  Joe laughed.  “You know how girls always like to diet?  Well, these will help ’em along.”

 

Paulie glanced across the street; Marty was still inside.  “What do you mean if everything goes right?”

 

“Well, there’s been a cop at school noising around,” Joe puffed on his cigarette and smiled.  “Marty shared this information with the ‘right’ people, and they’re gonna take care of him, if you know what I mean.”

 

“Are you crazy?  If this cop turns up dead, you’ll be an accessory.”

 

Joe laughed.  “Nope, we ain’t crazy.  It’s our way in to some action.  When Marty told his contacts about that cop working at the high school, they showed their thanks by giving us the speed.”

 

“I’ll bet they’re thankful.”  Paulie’s heart sank as he realized he’d been the one to tell them that Starsky was a cop.  Are the cops going to think I’m an accomplice?  “Do you know what they’re planning to do?”

 

Joe, feeling impressed with himself, didn’t hesitate to explain.  “Marty said they’re taking the cop to one of the factories on Porter Street.”

 

“There are lots of factories on Porter Street.”

 

“I think it’s an old dress factory or something like that.  So, you want to join us?”

 

Seeing Marty crossing the street, Paulie begged off.  “No, thanks.  I already have plans.” 

 

˜  ™

 

Hutch glanced at his watch again and anxiously paced his apartment.  He was ready to strangle his partner.  It was 8:30, Starsky was over two hours late for dinner, and he was starving.  He dialed Starsky’s apartment for the twentieth time, but there still was no answer.  He’d called Huggy twice, finally, eliciting a promise from him to have Starsky call if he showed up there.

 

The phone rang and Hutch reached for it.  “It’s about time, buddy.  Where are you?”

 

“Detective Hutchinson?”

 

Realizing it wasn’t the expected voice on the other end, Hutch found his voice rising.  “Yeah, who is this?”

 

“It’s Paul...Paul Lambert,” Paulie said, as he watched his sister sitting on the floor playing with a pink-and-white dressed doll.  “You...your partner said...I could call....”

 

Hutch, sorry that he’d responded so harshly, changed his tone.  “Sure, what’s up?”

 

“Well—”  Paulie stopped, feeling foolish.  After his conversation with Joe, he’d rushed home and searched for the piece of paper he’d thrown in the trash, thankful that he’d ignored his mother’s order to empty it.  From past experience, he knew he couldn’t believe everything Joe said, but at the same time, he didn’t feel that he could ignore it.  “I heard something today I thought you should know about....”

 

˜  ™

 

“Dobey here.”

 

“Captain, it’s Hutch.  I think something’s happened to Starsky.”

 

“What makes you think that?”

 

“I just got off the phone with Paul Lambert—”

 

“Who’s Paul Lambert?  A new snitch?”

 

“Someone Starsky found in a bottle.”

 

“A bottle?!  What the—?”

 

“There isn’t time now, Cap’n.”  Hutch anxiously ran a hand through his hair.  “I’ll explain later, or rather he can, when we find him.”

 

Dobey sank into his desk chair, yanking the tie away from his neck.  “What did you get from this Paul character?”

 

“Apparently, someone recognized Starsky at the high school, and Paul heard they planned to ‘take care of him’.”  Hutch, deciding there was no reason for Captain Dobey to know Paulie was the one who had inadvertently identified Starsky, continued, “He was due at my place almost three hours ago, and there’s no answer at his place.”

 

“Any idea where they would’ve taken him?”

 

“Paul said they mentioned an old dress factory on Porter Street.”

 

“Porter Street, huh?”  Dobey abruptly stood up, letting his chair bang into the wall behind him.  “There’s an old garment factory named...uhmmm, named...Maxwell’s.  Yeah, that’s it—Maxwell’s.  It went bankrupt several years ago, and I don’t think it was ever bought.”

 

“That sounds like our best shot.  I’ll meet you there.”

 

“I’ll have a black-and-white join you.  Wait for them and don’t do anything stupid.  That’s an—”  Dobey heard the phone slam into its cradle before he got the last word out.

 

˜  ™

 

Hutch flipped off the siren as he neared Porter Street.  Scanning the buildings for some kind of identification, he finally spotted faded red lettering across the top floor of one wooden structure—Maxwell’s Designs.  He pulled into the empty dock area of the warehouse. 

 

Exiting the car, he extracted his gun.  There were no sounds, no signs that anybody had been there.  Was he searching for Starsky in the wrong place?  Hutch returned to the car and reached for the flashlight in the glove box.  Shoving it in his pocket, he cautiously stepped up the stairs onto the dock, eyes and ears vigilant, gun ready.  Maybe I should wait for back-up.  What if Paulie set me up?  Hutch paused and then remembered Starsky might be hurt somewhere inside.  He bent down to enter the building through a half-open dock door.  It took a moment before his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

 

It was a large open room, holding several packed crates and a high-low to the left.  Hutch moved toward the door leading to the corridor.  Opening it slowly, he paused.  Only silence.  He moved quickly down the hall, opening doors and checking every room.  There were stacks of garments lying around, sewing machines, and bundles of materials.  This place is a tinderbox—one big incendiary.

 

Hutch took the stairs to the second floor two at a time.  He repeated his search to no avail.  He was headed up the stairs to the third floor, when he stopped and sniffed.  The place smelled damp and musty, irritating his allergies, but there was something else.  Smoke.

 

˜  ™

 

Starsky moaned and tried to open his eyes, but he found the spinning room and the constant throbbing in the back of his head too much to handle, and he forced them closed again.  Instinct told him it was imperative he figure out where he was and find a way to get out, but the dizziness and increasing nausea was proving more pressing.  He concentrated on the rest of his body and what shape it was in, quickly discovering his arms were tied behind his back.  Struggling to free his hands only succeeded in scraping his skin raw.  

 

Starsky cautiously rolled onto his side, intending to push himself up.  Drawing in a deep breath, he focused all his energy on rising.  Making it to his knees, he started to cough, realizing he’d inhaled not only air but smoke.  After several quick breaths, he doubled over, no longer able to fight off the nausea.

 

Reopening his eyes, Starsky blinked repeatedly, straining to see through the darkness.  Smoke continued to flood in, causing his eyes to sting and tear.  He pushed back his growing panic and scanned the room, trying to locate any possible escape, but nothing was visible through the darkness.  Ducking instinctively at the sound of crackling fire and the crashing of nearby beams, Starsky whispered a prayer of thanks when he realized they’d missed him.  Rising on shaking legs, he banged into the metal leg of a table and gratefully used it to help balance himself.  The room was spinning, but through the fire’s light, he saw the outline of a door.  He headed toward it, face bent away from the fire and flames, when a sudden boom sent several more ceiling beams crashing down, one hitting him on the back of the head.  Starsky fell to the floor sliding back into unconsciousness.    

 

˜  ™