Prologue

Six a.m.

Mac Valentine snapped off the television with an angry grunt, ignoring the muffled complaints of the five early-bird customers who lined the counter at his diner.

Everything about this day irritated him.

He hated the gray sky and the annoying patter-patter of the rain.

He hated the squeals and laughter of children as they stomped in puddles on the sidewalk.

He hated having to continually mop water from under his customers' stools as they drip-dried through breakfast.

The only good thing about the day was the unobstructed view he got from his new storefront window. With the exception of the words "Mac's Diner" painted at the top, the pane was clear and, at least on the inside, clean.

Outside Mac could see a large man hunched over the wheel of late model Chevy, gazing in hungrily as One-Arm Denny, the short-order cook, scrambled eggs and bacon on the grill. The man stared intently and Mac figured he was too much of a wimp to leave the shelter of his car and run across the street.

Fine, let him starve then.

"Weather's the pits ain't it?" asked a tall, lean blond. The man sat near the end of the bar, slumped over his eggs and toast.

Mac gave the customer a patient smile. Had to play nice until the guy left a tip then he could bloody well say what he really thought.

"Can't get much worse."

"Don't bet on it."

Another blond, this one at the opposite end of the counter, twirled his fork and glanced at his watch nervously. The two reminded Mac of a pair of bookends.

"I never bet unless it's a sure thing," Mac said. He tipped his head toward the window. "Fourteen straight days of this crap and no hope for a break. Nothing could be worse than that."

"Like I said, don't bet on it." The first man drew a gun from under his jacket and aimed the muzzle at Mac's chest. "After all, you never know what's going to happen."

The second man slid behind the counter, his gun drawn and pointed at the handful of customers who stared open-mouthed as the robbery unfolded.

Mac shot a desperate glance toward the street, hopeful that the man in the car would notice what was happening and call the police. Just his luck. The dope was still staring lustfully at the griddle, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Denny stood still as death, his back to food that now blackened and smoked without his care.

Any other place, any other day and that guy would've been on the phone to the police department. Today, he probably wouldn't have noticed if the building burst into flames.

Well fine, Mac thought. Whoever passed the order that said he had to be flip-friggin' nice just because he ran a restaurant could bloody well roast in hell.

Mac tossed his dishtowel to the counter in disgust then, like his customers, raised his hands above his head. The only satisfaction he was likely to get on this day came when the first blond opened the cash register and pulled out a handful of crumpled bills. From the way he swore it was clear he'd expected a lot more money to be in the till.

Serves you right you creep, Mac thought. Welcome to my world.

Act One

"Hey Hutch! You gotta listen to this!" Starsky plopped in his chair and flashed a notepad under his partner's nose. "I found this new way of predicting what your day is going to be like. It's called FLEEM, the Flexible Lifetime Evaluation Equation Method, and it's even more reliable than horoscopes and numerology."

"More reliable than horoscopes, huh?" Hutch's voice was dry.

"And numerology. I was up all night figuring it out for both of us. According to this, you shouldn't have even gotten up this morning. Every part of your aura is in the House of G..."

"G?"

"As in Gloom. You're a walking disaster area. Personally, I think you should go in Dobey's office right now and tell him you're going home sick."

"C'mon Starsk." Hutch leaned over and pushed the notepad away. "You know I don't believe in that stuff. Every day is what you make it. There's no such thing as -- what did you call it -- Flit, Flute?"

"FLEEM," Starsky explained patiently. "And before you get all 'I went to college' snooty on me, just take a look at this. They use real scientific techniques to figure this stuff out."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Like advanced math. I had to calculate your weight in grams then add that number to your age, multiply that times the numerical equivalent of the day plus the month plus the year and then, since you're a guy, subtract the total number of your male siblings."

"And that took?"

"All night. But it was worth it." Starsky shook his head warningly. "You're under a black cloud today, buddy."

"Shows what you know." Hutch nodded toward the window. "We're all under a black cloud today, pal. It's raining remember?"

"Ha ha."

"Besides, I've already had great luck." Hutch leaned back in his chair, lifted his legs and dropped both feet on Starsky's desk. His standard brown shoes had been replaced with a pair of black and white loafers with thick, ridged soles.

"What the hell are those?" Starsky asked.

"Davendorfs. I ordered them six months ago and they just got in yesterday. Picked 'em up at my P.O. box before I came in."

"Daven-who?"

"Davendorfs dummy. They're handmade in a tiny village in Italy and they're virtually indestructible; even the laces don't break."

"Yeah, but they're ugly."

Hutch leaned back a little further and wriggled his feet. "Not everyone is a slave to fashion, Starsky."

"But they're like duck shoes. They're all flat and square in front and the bottoms are..." Starsky rubbed a finger against the soles in disbelief, "...lumpy."

He pressed his palm against Hutch's right foot and pushed. The shoe didn't give. Starsky pushed a little harder. Nothing.

"They don't even bend."

"The word is flex," Hutch corrected. "And they'll flex as soon as I break them in. They're just a little stiff because they're brand new."

"Trust me, those shoes ain't never gonna' bend."

"Of course they are. You could probably flex them now if you had any upper body strength. Watch this." Hutch leaned forward, ignoring the protesting squeak of his chair and grasped his left foot with both hands. He tugged -- hard. The shoe didn't give an inch.

"Told you." Starsky said.

"It'll flex. Gimme a minute." Hutch tugged harder, grunting with the effort. Nothing happened.

"C'mon Hutch..."

"I can do this," Hutch hissed. "Just back off. Back off!"

"I'm backing..."

Hutch pulled against the shoe with all of his might, his face growing red with effort.

"Starsky! Hutchinson!" Dobey flung open his door and yelled, his dusky cheeks puffing in and out like bellows. Hutch jerked, startled. His chair skidded back and crashed to the floor leaving the blond detective stunned, his limbs flopping on the linoleum like hooked fish.

Dobey stood silently, taking it all in... He hated rainy weather. More than a couple days of it and everybody started acting freaky, even in here.

He took a deep breath, remembering the little affirmations Edith had taped to the bathroom mirror... and the door to his closet... and the refrigerator... and inside his car: I am a calm and serene man. I LIKE other people. I take joy in my interactions with others.

He forced a smile.

"Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson," he said quietly. "I have an assignment for you. May I see you in my office please?" He let his glance linger on Hutch. "At your earliest convenience, of course."

Dobey allowed his smile to widen until it engulfed his lower face then he turned, reentered his office and, very quietly, closed the door.

"Wow." Starsky whistled slowly. "I didn't realize he had so many teeth."

He offered his hand to Hutch, braced, and pulled the blond detective to his feet. "Do you think he's okay?"

"I don't know. But I-I-I guess we should go in there, huh?"

"After you."

"Yeah, right." Hutch squared his shoulders, wincing a bit at a little stab of pain behind his left shoulder blade. He stood back as Starsky opened the door to Dobey's office then preceded his partner into the room.

"Morning Cap." Starsky said. "How are we today?"

Dobey stared for a long moment at a strip of paper taped to the receiver on his telephone. From where they stood Starsky and Hutch could see a line of neat, square writing but they couldn't read the words.

Dobey inhaled deeply.

"We're just fine. Thank you Star -- uh, Dave -- for asking. Please," He motioned to the two guest chairs facing his desk. "Sit down."

"Uh, thanks Captain." Hutch glanced at Starsky and, completely in sync, they sat.

"Here's the situation," Dobey explained. "We get a downpour like this every nine or ten years and every single time normal upstanding citizens start acting weird and the crazies come out of the woodwork. The guys in uniform are completely overloaded, and every division's been asked to assign detectives to pick up the slack. Since you two just wrapped up the Anderson case, you're available. I need you out on the street until further notice."

"Doing what exactly?" Starsky asked.

"Whatever the public needs. And that includes pulling double shifts beginning today."

"But Captain, we're homicide detectives," Hutch began. He broke off, wondering if a little puff of steam had actually risen from under Dobey's collar or if it were just his imagination.

"Uh-uh-of course, that doesn't mean we can't put all that experience aside and focus on..."He grimaced. "On whatever the public needs." He lifted his eyebrows questioningly checking Dobey's reaction, then bared his teeth in an uneasy smile.

"That's a keen grasp of the situation Ken. Thank you."

"Sure Captain. You're welcome." Hutch eased to his feet, his eyes as wary as if he were facing a heavily armed perpetrator. He grabbed Starsky's collar and pulled his partner from his chair.

"We'll just check out downstairs," Starsky said. "Then we'll hit the streets. It's six-thirty now; we should be outta' here before seven."

"Thank you Dave."

The two detectives backed out of the room cautiously. As soon as the door closed behind them, Hutch exhaled in relief.

"That was creepy."

"You're telling me... Do you think he still has a gun?"

"I don't even want to know. Let's just get the hell out of here."

"I'm right behind you!"

"Fifty-eight dollars!" Frank Grieves ran a hand through his tangled blond hair and stared at the crumpled pile of bills that littered his bed. "I thought you said you scoped the place out."

"I did!" Kevin Grieves, Frank's younger brother by ten years, fidgeted under the older man's glare. "I went there yesterday just like I said. The place was packed. I figured the old man had to be raking in the cash."

"Yeah well, looks like you figured wrong don't it?" Frank threw the pile of bills in his brother's face. "I don't know why I bother with you Kevin. You're a waste. You've always been a waste. I should've cut you loose a long time ago. It ain't enough that I got Pike breathing down my neck, I've got you weighing me down to boot. What the hell are you tryin' to do? Get me killed?"

"No Frank, I'm tryin' to help you. I want to help you."

"Yeah?"

Frank glanced at the battered alarm clock that was padlocked to the hotel nightstand. Nine o'clock. Shit!

He rushed to the window, pulled aside the chintz curtain and peered out. The battered Chevy that had been sitting in front of Mac Valentine's diner earlier was now parked across the street. A man slouched inside, his upturned face angled toward their room.

Frank let the curtain fall.

"Listen Kevin, let me spell this out for you one more time. I got twenty-four hours to raise ten grand for Aldus Pike or he's gonna blow my head off. Got it? Ten grand in twenty-four hours or I'm dead... We got three grand so far. We ain't gonna get the other seven knocking over places at fifty-eight bucks a pop!"

He got in his brother's face.

"That clear enough for you little brother?" He used his fist to thump the younger man's head. "You got it now? You understand what I'm sayin'?"

"I got it Frank."

Kevin didn't move. He held his breath, hoping Frank's ugly mood would blow over.

It had been this way since they were kids, ever since their father had died and their mother, one day, just didn't come back home. Sometimes Frank got so mad that Kevin was afraid he would take off too. He knew he shouldn't still feel this way. He was a man now, almost twenty years old. But, in spite of that, he still didn't feel ready to handle things without Frank leading the way.

Just don't leave, Kevin thought. I'll do whatever you want. Just don't leave.

"Zebra Three, respond to the woman at..."

"Jeez, not another one," Starsky muttered. He and Hutch had been on the street for only two hours and already had responded to five calls for assistance. "Where the hell are the black-and-whites?"

"Sssh. I can't hear the address..."

"Excuse me!"

"Zebra Three to Control. Repeat location please."

Starsky chewed his lower lip as Hutch diligently wrote down the address.

"That's only about three minutes from here," Hutch said, pointing south. "About a mile that way."

"I know. I know."

Starsky squinted through the windshield, trying to see through the pouring rain. "Visibility sucks, you know?"

"Yeah."

Hutch was silent for a few moments then he poked Starsky in the arm and pointed to an unmarked driveway.

"Up there."

"Okay."

The driveway was long, winding and unpaved. If not for the thick layer of gravel above the sand, the road would have been impassible.

"What is this place?" Starsky asked.

"Private residence according to Dispatch."

"Hell of a big private residence." Starsky pointed to a barn and several large metal cages barely visible in the distance. "What are those?"

"Don't know. Don't care. C'mon, let's go." Hutch pulled up the collar of his black slicker and jumped out of the car. He jogged to the front porch and waited until Starsky joined him before ringing the doorbell.

"You know Starsk, you really ought to get another raincoat," Hutch said, eyeing Starsky's weather-beaten yellow slicker critically.

"Why? I've had this one since I was fifteen."

"No kidding. The sleeves are too short, you've got holes in the pockets; you can't even zip it closed."

"Hey! This jacket has class."

Hutch snorted.

Starsky started to retort but stopped at the sound of the heavy wood door being unlocked. Both he and Hutch stared straight ahead when the door swung open and were surprised to see nothing but empty air.

"May I help you gentlemen?"

The two looked down. Standing just four-feet-nine was a slender, gray-haired woman with a sweet grandmotherly face.

"Uh ma'am, we're Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson," Hutch said. "We're from the police department. You called for help."

"Yes. I sure did." The woman swung her door open trustingly. "I'm so sorry to bring you out on a day like this but my cat is up on the roof. I'm terribly concerned about him being trapped up there with the weather as bad as it is."

"Your cat?" Starsky raised his eyebrows and shot a weary glance at Hutch.

"Yes. My cat, Bob."

"Bob the cat. Bob cat." Hutch smiled. "That's cute."

"He's only five months old. I'm afraid all this rain is really beginning to affect his nerves. When I put him out earlier, he just darted right up to the roof. Scampered up there like a little devil. I tried everything to get him down but he won't budge. I finally decided to call for help."

"It's a good thing you did," Hutch said. "You shouldn't be out in weather like this." He peered out of one of the living room windows. "Your roof isn't that high. I don't even need a ladder."

"There's one thing you should know about Bob..."

Hutch waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it, ma'am. People say I have a way with animals. Look how well I've done with Detective Starsky here."

Starsky opened his mouth to protest but Hutch was too fast.

"Starsk, why don't you stay with the lady?" he suggested. He wrinkled his nose at Starsky's jacket. "Don't want to scare the kitty."

"Very funny."

Hutch tugged his jacket collar up and went back outside. The house was an old bungalow with a second story that had been added not long ago. The new addition was set back several feet however so Hutch was able to reach the roof of the first level easily. He hopped on the side rail then scrambled up like a squirrel.

"Agile little dickens isn't he?" Starsky mused.

"I used to have a monkey that could do that," the woman said. "He was a wonderful pet."

"A monkey? No kidding?"

"Um hmm. Here are some pictures. See?" The woman motioned Starsky to a wall covered with several framed photos. Some sort of exotic animal -- a monkey, an elephant, a tiger -- was pictured in each. "My husband and I raise exotic animals for some of the magicians who have acts in Las Vegas. Henry usually cares for them but he's out of town this week."

Something about the photos caused the skin on the back of Starsky's neck to tingle warningly.

"Uh, Mrs. Uh..."

"Cummings. Rhonda Cummings."

"Mrs. Cummings. I feel silly for even asking this, but about your cat..."

"Bob."

"Yeah, Bob." Starsky laughed in embarrassment, grateful that Hutch wasn't around to hear his question. "He's not... he's not a real bobcat, is he?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, he is. I know it's silly but the name just seemed to fit. Don't you agree?"

Starsky didn't have time to answer. There were several rapid footsteps on the roof, an angry hiss, a loud snarl, and a quick, sharp bellow of pain.

Starsky and Mrs. Cummings turned back to the window just in time to see Hutch fall from the roof. He landed on his back in the mud.

"Oh dear. I was afraid that was going to happen," Mrs. Cummings said. "Rain makes Bob sodarned cranky."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a large revolver. A dart with a feathered tip was loaded in the chamber.

She handed the gun to Starsky.

"I think it might be better if you used this. Do you think you could shoot Bob with this dart, honey? I'd have done it myself but my arthritis is acting up today."

"A tranquilizer gun? Why didn't you..."

"I was going to say something earlier but your partner seemed so determined to climb up there himself. He's such a manly man. I didn't want to interfere."

Starsky grinned and took the revolver from the woman cheerfully. He pulled the flaps of his jacket together then stepped outside to join Hutch in the front lawn.

Mrs. Cummings couldn't hear what they said but she could see Hutch's wild gestures as he tried to explain what happened on the roof. Starsky nodded understandingly, then slowly drew the tranquilizer gun from under his jacket and showed it to his partner.

The blond detective's mouth dropped open then he turned, suddenly wide-eyed, to stare atthe house.

A second later the wild gesticulations began again. This time Mrs. Cummings could make out a few of the words. It surprised her that an officer of the law, and one with such a genteel face no less, knew so many four-letter words.

With a final angry glare at his partner, Hutch limped back to the car and slammed the door behind him.

Undaunted, Starsky stepped back to get a good look at the roof, aimed and fired once. There was a loud hiss as the dart found its mark. About ten minutes later an unconscious Bob the bobcat lost his foothold on the shingles and slipped to the ground.

"Personally, I think it was very sweet of her to bring you back in and patch up your hand," Starsky said. He popped another cookie in his mouth and smacked appreciatively. "She made great snacks too."

Hutch glowered at his friend. His left hand was swathed in gauze and he cradled it against his chest. He muttered something nasty under his breath.

"What's that?"

"I said, as soon as we get back to the station I'm going to pull every inspection that's ever been made on that place. If they have one open violation, I'm going to shut them down. Animal preserve my ass."

"Tough talk from a peace officer."

"Kiss it Starsky."

"Ooo-kay..."

Something to his left caught Starsky's attention and he slowed the car to get a closer look.

"What?" Hutch asked. He peered through the window at the rain-soaked stretch of land that was Saint Louis Park, Starsky's old stomping ground.

"Over there by the storm drains. Thought I saw something. Put the light up for me."

Hutch complied wordlessly. Under the red glow of the mars light they could see several dark shapes standing near the edge of a drain that, thanks to days of rain, had become a canal full to the brink with swiftly moving water.

"What the hell..." Hutch began.

"Kids," Starsky said. "They're pitching stuff in the water and watching it get washed away."

He stopped the car and stepped halfway out.

"Hey!" He used his tough cop voice. "Get away from there!"

Several of the children scattered but one boy turned and stared at Starsky belligerently.

"Hey!" Hutch swung open his door, and advanced toward the child menacingly. "You heard the man. Move!"

The boy held his ground until Hutch swore loudly and ran toward him, then he turned and fled, first catching then quickly outdistancing his friends. Rather than stop, Hutch slowed to a walk and continued forward until he stood at the lip of the drain.

"Hey Stark, come take a look at this." Hutch turned, his face bright with childlike enthusiasm. He stooped, picked up a stone and tossed it in.

Starsky hung back, his expression cloudy.

Hutch picked up a stick and tossed it in. The current quickly sucked the little piece of wood under the water. When it surfaced, it was several dozen feet away, spinning crazily.

"This is pretty cool," Hutch observed.

"C'mon Hutch. Get back in the car."

"What?"

"I'm getting soaked. Let's go."

"Come look at this."

"I can see it from here."

Hutch grabbed a larger stick and tossed it in the water. "No wonder those kids were doing this." He edged closer to the lip of the drain. "This is..." He broke off as Starsky stalked forward and grabbed him by the arm.

"Let's go!" Starsky barked.

"What!"

"Let's just go, okay?"

Hutch jerked his arm away. "What's with you?" He peered through the rain at Starsky. Suddenly his face broke into a wide grin. "You're scared."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are." Hutch pointed to the water. "What? You thought I was going to take a swim?" He waved his arms crazily. "Whoa! Here I go!"

Starsky stared at him for a moment then turned on his heel and walked back to the car.

"Hey?" Hutch threw up his hands in confusion. "C'mon Starsk. I was just kidding... What'd Ido?"

He followed Starsky to the car and climbed in slowly. Starsky didn't look at him. Instead, he stared through the front window, his jaw tight.

Hutch watched him for several long seconds then purposefully relaxed, slumping slightly in his seat.

"Sorry," he offered. He waited and when there was no response, tried again. "What's going on?"

Starsky tugged absently at the tab on his jacket's zipper. "Nothing."

He sighed heavily, a dozen emotions dancing across his face. Suddenly he leaned his head against the headrest and blinked rapidly. "I hate those damn things... Nobody ever thinks they can fall in. Nobody ever thinks..."

"What?"

Starsky sighed again. "When I was a kid, we used to come down to the drains every time it rained. We'd throw stuff in, watch it get sucked away. Sometimes we'd chase it, try to beat it to the overpass you know?"

"Yeah..."

"There was this guy named Jim Lavezza who worked at the gas station down the street. He'd get mad as hell when we'd do that stuff. He'd tell us we were going to fall in and drown."

"Tried to scare you onto the path of righteousness, huh?"

"Yeah." Starsky smiled slightly. "Didn't work for most of the kids but it scared the shit out of me. I didn't want to go near those drains after that, but the rest of the guys wouldn't back off.

"We went down one day and my friend Benny starts doing a little dance on the edge like you were doing. One minute he was there, the next minute he was gone. He was yellin' for us to help him but I couldn't move. It was like my feet had taken root...

"Somebody called for help and Jim was the first guy there. He must've weighed two twenty-five Hutch but that current sucked him down like he was nothing... I saw them both drown."

"Starsky..."

"Jim said that when you drown, you know everything that's happening to you. He said it's the worst way to die because is so damn slow." Starsky turned sad blue eyes toward Hutch. "I don't like being scared of stuff Hutch, but those things..."

Hutch leaned back and stared at the drain. It was a long moment before he looked back at Starsky. His partner stared at the swirling water, his eyes glazed and pained.

"Make you a deal," Hutch said quietly.

"What?"

"If somebody falls in while we're around, we mark the spot and wait for the rescue squad to fish them out."

Starsky's smile was wan. "What if it's you?"

"Goes double for me, pal."

"Says who?"

"Says me... and the Code of Police Conduct, Rule 165."

"You're bluffin'. There's no Rule 165."

"Sure there is. 'If two partners are of the same rank, other means of establishing seniority shall be used: tenure in division, promotion test scores, looks, height, success with women...'"

Starsky laughed in spite of himself. "Get outta' here."

"What can I say? I'll outrank you for life based on the last three alone." Hutch laughed.

He cast a sideways glance at the swirling water and his brow furrowed. "Seriously Starsk, I can take care of myself in the water. If I go in, don't play hero and try to save me. Got it?"

"Wanting to jump in after you isn't the issue Hutch." Starsky sighed. "What worries me is that I don't think I can."

"That's the way I want it." Hutch turned back and flashed a smile, breaking the mood. "That's an order junior."

"Yes sir."

"First time in five years I ever heard that." Hutch reached over and turned the key, bringing the Torino's engine to life. "Let's get outta' here."

"Zebra Three, Zebra Three. Respond to the scene of an armed robbery..."

This time Starsky waited until Hutch finished with Dispatch before he spoke.

"What is this?" he said. "Eight calls in less than three hours. Is everyone in the city going nuts? Besides, didn't we hear that call about thirty minutes ago? I thought black-and-whites were responding."

"They did. We're just going in to wrap things up." Hutch grinned. "We'll be the ranking officers on the scene, can you believe that?"

Starsky smiled. "Who would've thought that would ever happen when we were at the Academy, huh?"

"I'll tell you who." Hutch drew the word out. "Noooo-body!"

"Ain't that the truth!" Starsky tilted his head toward a strip mall. Two marked cars were parked in the lot, sirens off but lights still flashing. "Guess that's our place."

"Seems to be Ollie."

Starsky deftly maneuvered the Torino into a tight space between the police cars. As he climbed out he noticed that the passenger window on the car to his left was down. The seat was soaked, as were the citation book, notepad and newspaper crumpled on the floor.

"Rookies." He said the word like an oath.

The glance in the car had slowed him down so Starsky trailed Hutch to the store by about twenty feet. He and Hutch had developed a rule years ago about entering a crime scene, and the gap that stretched between the two of them now made him nervous. Starsky jogged a few steps to make up lost ground and but was still several feet back when Hutch opened the door to Kim's Oriental Cuisine.

Five sets of eyes turned to stare as Hutch entered the restaurant. The victim, an elderly Asian woman who, a moment before had been wringing her hands, recovered first.

"That's him!" she screamed. "The dirty dog!"

She grabbed a silver napkin holder and flung it at Hutch's head.

"Hey!" He ducked, easily dodging the missile but came face to face with four drawn weapons as he stood.

"Shoot him!" the woman ordered. She spat furiously. "He deserves to die, the coward." She grabbed a salt shaker. "The yellow-haired thief."

She drew back her arm to hurl the shaker and Hutch held up a finger warningly.

"Freeze!"

The order was barked out by several of the uniformed cops and Hutch obeyed instantly. There was something in their voices -- panic, excitement -- that told him that he was in very real danger.

He lifted his hands slowly, palms facing out.

"Take it easy," he said. "I'm a cop."

"Yeah, right," one officer snapped. "You twitch a muscle mister and they'll be cleaning your guts off this wall for a week."

The officer with the nervous trigger finger flinched as the restaurant door swung open a second time and Starsky bounded in.

"Hey Hutch, you oughta' see..."

Starsky froze as soon as he realized what was happening. Like Hutch, he lifted his hands slowly.

"What's going on?" he asked quietly.

"There was a robbery here about an hour ago," one of the rookies said. "We just landed one of the perps. You," he inclined his head toward Starsky, "step away from the door. We'll keep this guy covered until you're safe."

Starsky obeyed, but rather than walking away from Hutch as the police officer had intended, he moved toward his partner, stopping only when he stood directly in front of Hutch, his body providing a barrier between the blond detective and the rookies' weapons.

The rookies stared at each other dumfounded. Somehow, their perfect bust had just turned into a hostage situation.

"Just stay calm," Starsky said. "We're cops. We were ordered here to check the scene. He's Detective Hutchinson; my name is Detective Starsky."

Starsky stepped back slowly until he was less than a foot from Hutch's chest.

"My partner is going to reach in my shirt pocket and take out my badge," he said, speaking very slowly. "When he opens my jacket, you'll see my gun. He is not going to touch my gun. Okay? Is everybody okay?"

"Just take it easy," one of the officers said. There was bright thin line of sweat on his upper lip. He had just realized that, no matter how this thing turned out, it wasn't going to be good for his team.

Hutch used his unbandaged hand to pull back Starsky's jacket, grateful at last that his partner's ragged slicker would not zip closed. Moving slowly, he reached in Starsky's shirt pocket and pulled out the gold shield.

Four drawn weapons lowered simultaneously. In a matter of seconds, the air was filled with nervous apologies as the rookies tried to make amends for almost blowing away their supervising officer.

Starsky moved forward angrily, brushing off the explanations with a sharp gesture. He ordered the officers against the wall and got in close, reading them the riot act for jumping to a conclusion that could have proved disastrous.

When he finally turned back to Hutch his face was red, and the four officers cowering against the far wall were busily trying to think of alternative careers.

"Nice job partner," Hutch said dryly. "Two more seconds and every one of them would've pissed his pants."

Starsky shrugged. "You find out what got all of this going in the first place?"

"Yeah. Apparently the two perps are blond. They came in while these folks were setting up for lunch. Mrs. Kim didn't have her glasses on so she couldn't make out much more than the hair."

"That explains why she lit into you."

"Partially. The other part is that one of the guys made a lot of noise about taking out her family if she called the cops. When I walked in she thought he was coming back to finish the job. She sounded the alarm and the cops responded."

"Almost too well."

"Tell me about it." Hutch's brow furrowed. "Starsk, didn't we hear something about another robbery this morning?"

"We heard something about fifteen other robberies this morning. Which one you thinkin' of?"

"The one that happened at a diner fifteen or twenty miles from here. Remember? It had the same MO: two perps, both blond, one of them made a lot of noise about what would happen if anyone called the police."

"You're saying it's the same guys? Why would they pull another job so soon? Even if they were strung out, they'd wait at least a day or two. They didn't get a lot, but they got enough to score a couple of hits."

"I'm just thinking out loud here, pal. Why don't we go back in and double-check the reports. We can have one of the uniforms bring Mrs. Kim in to look at some mug shots. Maybe something will pop."

"You just want to get out the rain."

"Call me crazy."

"Already do."

"Funny... Besides Starsk, the way I look at it you should be thanking me." Hutch threw an arm around Starsky's shoulders and steered him toward the door.

"Why's that?"

"Look at your shoes."

"So?"

"Unlike mine, your shoes are soaked. This little idea of mine won't just help us bring in the bad guys, it'll give you a chance to get some dry socks." Hutch laughed. "Good one, huh? So much for the House of G!"

They separated at the car and Starsky watched his still-giggling partner slip into the passenger seat. For all he knew, Hutch was right, but something about this gloomy, overcast day creeped him out.

He shivered in spite of himself.

"It's not over yet," he muttered. "Day's not over yet."

Act Two

"Here you go." The waitress set a steaming plate of French toast in front of her customer and stepped back expectantly. She was rewarded seconds later when the man put a forkful in his mouth and sank back, his expression one of almost orgasmic pleasure.

"Antha darling, this is a culinary masterpiece. My thanks to the chef."

"Anything for you Huggy."

"That's what I count on."

Huggy brought another forkful to his mouth, closed his eyes and chewed blissfully. When his lids cracked open, he was surprised to see two smiling faces gazing back at him.

"That's what I love to see, a man who truly enjoys his food," Starsky said. "By the way, that looks good Hug."

Huggy snatched the extra fork from the table before Starsky could grab it.

"Before you guys even start, let me tell you I will not be responsible for what happens if a certain curly-haired cop tries to appropriate any piece of my breakfast."

Starsky looked hurt. "Guess some little bear crawled out of the cranky side of the den this morning."

"Huggy look, we'll make this fast," Hutch promised. "We're looking for a couple of guys who're pulling a bunch of armed robberies in the area. They're blond and look enough like each other to be brothers. We checked the mug books but came up blank."

Huggy nodded, his eyes locked on Starsky. "I know who you're talking about. They look like brothers because they are. Older one's a mean dude: Frank Grieves. Younger one doesn't have a record, at least not yet. His name's Kurt, Kenan, Kevin, somethin' like that. Frank blew in from Oklahoma about three months ago. That's why your books are a bust."

He paused long enough to spear a piece of toast and pop it in his mouth.

"Word on the street is that Frank used to work for Aldus Pike. He was moving up fast in the organization until he took something that didn't belong to him." Huggy emphasized the last few words, glaring at Starsky.

"Pike?" Starsky asked. "The loan shark?"

"Yep."

"How much did he take?"

"Ten grand. Had one hell of a party from what I heard. Only it turns out that Pike doesn't like people borrowing his money if they don't intend to pay it back. He gave 'em twenty-four hours to pay up or it's one long sad note to Mama if you get my drift."

"So there's a clock tickin'," Starsky said. "That explains why they're burning rubber outthere."

"There's one thing I don't get," Hutch said. "Huggy, you said Pike was after both of them. Why bother Kurt-Kenan-Kevin-whatever if he wasn't involved in the rip off?"

Huggy crammed another forkful of toast in his mouth and shrugged. "Principle."

"That's rich, coming from a loan shark."

"Yeah well, that's why Pike's where he is today," Huggy said. "Besides, even if he cut the young bro' some slack, word is he wouldn't take it. He's one loyal dude."

"What about the older one?"

Huggy shrugged.

"Then maybe we ought to have a little talk with Mr. Pike," Hutch said. "You can only take this brotherly love thing so far. I'm thinking it ought to stop way before you book adjoining slabs at the morgue."

"Comforting thought," Huggy said dryly. He glared at Starsky who was staring lustfully at his breakfast.

"Alright, alright," he snapped. "Enough with the puppy dog eyes. Get a napkin. I'll give you a piece."

Starsky obeyed with a grin.

"You know you've been suckered, don't you?" Hutch said. "Again."

Huggy sighed.

"You gotta ask?"

Twenty minutes later Starsky and Hutch were halfway to the private residence of Aldus Pike. The silence that stretched between them had been companionable at first but now there was an undercurrent of tension. Starsky stole a quick glance at his partner and frowned. Hutch was gazing out of the passenger window. His face was relaxed and thoughtful but his hands were clenched.

"You're not worried about Pike, are you?" Starsky asked.

"What?" Hutch looked at him, bewildered.

"Pike. You worried about us going to see him?"

"No..." Hutch's brow furrowed. He looked like he was going to say something but caught himself at the last minute.

Starsky waited as long as he could. It was about twenty seconds.

"So?" he asked impatiently.

"What?" Hutch turned slowly, his expression cloudy and confused.

"What's on your mind? You look like you're trying to solve world hunger over there."

"Nothing... I was... Nothing." He sighed. "Starsk, let me ask you something. If it were Nick in trouble, would you put your neck on the line?"

Starsky shrugged. "Prob'ly."

"Think he'd do the same for you?"

Starsky grinned. "Never thought about it. Wouldn't bet real money though. Why?"

"I was thinking about Frank Grieves and wondering if this loyalty business goes both ways. I'm wondering if he'd stick around to help his brother if the positions were reversed."

"Who knows? Would you?"

"For you? You know the answer to that."

"I'm not talkin' about me."

Hutch stiffened and shut down. The chance was palpable.

"Don't," Starsky said.

"What?"

"Don't turn off like that. I'm just askin'."

"Don't ask."

Starsky sighed. "Sorry."

He waited.

Another twenty seconds passed.

"So?"

Hutch growled. "Give it a rest Starsk."

"You're the one who brought it up!"

"I asked about Nick, your brother, remember? Straight line of questioning."

"And I'm asking about Will, your brother, remember? Same straight line."

"Not even close. He's not my brother Starsk. He's my stepbrother, my stepmother's son."

"No difference."

"Yeah well... Too bad you weren't around to explain that fine point to him when we were kids. He used to beat the crap out of me."

"Brothers fight Hutch."

Not like that. He gave me a concussion and broke my nose the day I turned six.

"Was he just naturally bad-tempered or did you do something to piss him off, hard as that is to imagine?" Starsky asked.

Hutch snorted. He tried to make it sound sarcastic but it came out soft and very sad.

"Pissed him off." He looked at Starsky full on. "My dad adopted him when he and Therese got married. I made the mistake of telling people he was my brother."

"And?"

"That's it. Will was fine with the adoption. He just didn't like the fact that it came with strings."

"First time you told me that."

Hutch shrugged. "I only boast about my good moments, pal. Getting my head kicked in because I called somebody my brother ain't one of 'em."

"Zebra Three, Zebra Three."

Hutch grabbed the microphone, eager for a reason to end the conversation.

"Zebra Three. Go ahead."

"Respond to the complaint in March Acres regarding an ark."

Starsky shot Hutch a quick glance. "Did she say..."

Hutch waved him off.

"Repeat," he ordered.

"Respond to the complaint in March Acres..."

"Yeah, yeah," Hutch muttered. "I got that part."

"...regarding an ark."

Starsky used his hand to draw a partial circle in the air. "An arc like in geometry or an ark like a boat?"

"I'm not even going to ask that Starsky." Hutch activated the microphone. "Zebra Three responding."

He replaced the mike and leaned back in his seat. "I know what you're trying to do. You're trying to get me in trouble with the new dispatcher. Won't work, buddy. Won't work."

"I'm only trying to help."

"You know the drill. With friends like you..."

He grabbed for the dash as Starsky swung the car around and headed toward the suburban Mecca called March Acres.

"Roger Zebra Three," the dispatcher said, offering a belated response to Hutch's sign off." And call in when you get there. We all want to know if it's an arc like in geometry or an ark like the boat. Control out."

Hutch pointed to a stop sign a half block away. "Turn right up there."

They pulled to a stop a few minutes later in front a neatly manicured lawn on a nice suburban street. An angry, red-faced couple stood under an oversized umbrella, waiting for them.

"Are you the police?" the woman asked skeptically. "We called the police more than an hour ago."

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Starsky said, flashing his badge. "It's a busy day. What can we do for you?"

"It's our neighbor, Myron Morgenstern" the man answered testily. "If you can believe that. A 'Morgenstern' on this block."

Starsky and Hutch exchanged glances.

Figures, Starsky's said.

He's nuts if he expects me to go along with that, Hutch's replied.

Without a word Starsky stepped back and Hutch moved forward to face the couple.

"Is there something wrong with Mr. Morgenstern living in this block?" Hutch asked, his voice low.

"Well..." The man stared at him, flustered. "I-I mean, we live on a very quiet street. We have a certain lifestyle..."

"And you're saying Mr. Morgenstern doesn't fit that lifestyle?"

"Oh!" The man gripped his wife's hand nervously, desperately trying to dig out of the hole he'd created. "You thought we meant because he's Jewish. Oh no. Nononono. Nothing like that. We've had Jews living on this block since... since when Mindy?"

"Since June, Bob."

"Since June," Bob said proudly. "And here it is August already. The wife and I were very supportive. But here's the issue: Morgenstern is taking this weather and religion business too far. He's building an ark in his backyard."

Starsky's eyebrows leapt up. "You mean like Noah's Ark?"

"Yes. And that's against the covenant," Mindy said primly. She pointed next door. "We want you to make him take it down."

"I can't wait to see this!" Starsky said, and trotted toward the Morgenstern's house.

Hutch gave up trying to take a statement from Bob and Mindy and, with a groan, followed his partner across the lawn.

"This is going to be great," Starsky said excitedly. "Can you believe it? An ark..."

"Probably about a foot tall," Hutch said moodily. He punched the doorbell and didn't even bother flashing a smile when a weary, middle-aged woman opened the door.

"Police," he said in a monotone, holding up his badge. "We're here to investigate complaints about an ark."

"I've been expecting you." The woman motioned both detectives in and watched with absolutely no enthusiasm as Starsky bounded away to peer through her kitchen window.

"Hutch! Hey! You gotta' see this."

Hutch trailed behind him, his face a mask of disinterest. The facade fell away as soon as he stepped on the back porch. Starsky stood on the lawn, his hands on his hips and his head angled up as he patted the side of an ark that stood at least fifteen feet tall.

"Damn..."

"Can you believe this?" Starsky asked. "An ark."

Hutch turned to Mrs. Morgenstern. "That's an ark."

"Yeah, yeah I know." She sighed. "I've been living with that thing for years. Myron kept it in the garage until last week. He built it in sections and planned to put it together when the time was right, if you know what I mean. With all this rain, I guess he figured now was as good a time as any."

"Hey?" Starsky jogged over, his face full of interest. "Do you have animals on there?"

"Only our cat."

"Hear that Hutch? They have a cat. Maybe you should check it out."

Hutch ignored him and turned instead to Mrs. Morgenstern.

"Ma'am, your neighbors are complaining about your ark. They say you're violating the housing covenant. Unless you have a waiver or some kind of building permit, I'm afraid you'll have to take it down."

"Tell it to Myron. It's his project." The woman cupped her hands and bellowed. "My-ron! The police are here."

A curly-haired head slowly emerged on the top deck.

"The fuzz? Really?" He scrambled down quickly. "Guess this is about my little boat."

"Your ark," Starsky corrected.

"Yep. Took me nine years to build the sections and about five days to piece the whole thing together. If this is the big one fellas, I'm ready."

"Maybe you are, but the state of California needs a little more time," Hutch said. "You have a permit for this thing?"

"I'm doing holy work son. Did Noah have a permit? Did Moses? Do you think God could have created the world in six days if He had to wait for a permit?"

"Yeah," Starsky echoed. "What about that Hutch?"

Hutch gave his partner an exasperated look.

"Mr. Morgenstern, unless you have a note from the Big Guy upstairs, you need a permit," he said pointedly. "Until then, I'm afraid you're going to have to dismantle your little ark."

He kicked at, but missed, the jumble of extension cords that ran over the grass and under the ark. "You probably also want to get an electrician out here before you plug these things in."

He kicked a second time, but missed once again. Damn cords. Damn rain. Damn friggin' ark. "Hutch, I wouldn't..."

Hutch silenced him with a wave of his finger. "Starsky please. I took a semester of electrical engineering in college." He kicked again. "As long as..."

The tip of his shoe touched the cord.

There was a little pop.

And Hutch soared through the air like a canon ball.

He came to rest in a bed of ivy, his hair standing on end in spite of the rain and his limbs twitching involuntarily.

Starsky watched him for a moment, then walked over slowly. "You okay?"

"If you laugh, I'm gonna to shoot you."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Hutch held out his hand, but Starsky shook his head and stepped back. "Nah uh."

"Why?"

"You're still charged, man. Your hair's standing up like a porcupine. I'm not coming near you."

"You're supposed to be my partner. What the hell kind of friend are you?"

"The kind who worked for his cousin Moe the electrician for two summers... the kind who noticed that the Morgensterns have an outdoor outlet and that the extension cords were plugged in." Starsky grinned. "The kind who probably would've flunked electrical engineering but got an 'A' in common sense."

"They were plugged in?"

"Right over there."

Hutch sighed and slumped back in the flowerbed. "If you tell me this has anything to do with FLEEM, I'm gonna to shoot you."

"I thought you were gonna to shoot me if I laughed."

"Right now Starsk, I'm just looking for a reason."

"Umm." Starsky backed away slowly.

"Pissy isn't he?" Mrs. Morgenstern asked.

"Yeah," Starsky agreed. "But he grows on you... Listen Mrs. Morgenstern, Hutch was right. You and your husband need to have a permit for your ark. Otherwise, you gotta' take it down."

He nodded to Hutch as his disheveled partner limped over.

"We're finished here pal. Want to go back downtown and write this stuff up?"

"Yeah." Hutch brushed his fingers through his hair. As soon as he finished, every strand stood bolt upright like a little blond cadet looking for someone to salute.

"How do I look?" he asked.

"Great," Starsky lied. "Just great." He pointed to the door. "After you."

Starsky watched Hutch settle into the Torino and swear slightly as he shocked himself trying to close his door. Conscious of Hutch's warning, Starsky turned his gaze to the driver's side window and, as discreetly as possible, grinned.

"You're not fooling anybody," Hutch snapped. "I see your reflection."

"Sorry."

"No you're not."

"Zebra Three, Zebra Three..."

"Perfect," Hutch snarled. "Just perfect." He grabbed the microphone and the clear-as-a-bell reception immediately burst into static.

"Zebra Three. Go ahead."

"Ze... -ree," the filtered voice replied. "...an... ead?"

"What?" Hutch looked at Starsky, puzzled. "What did she say?"

"Zebra Three, can you read?" Starsky translated.

Hutch activated the mike. "This is Zebra Three. We copy."

"...ond... bry... ogress..."

"Gimme that." Starsky grabbed the mike, grimacing as the brief contact with Hutch yielded a shock. "This is Zebra Three. Repeat please."

"At last," the dispatcher said. "Zebra Three, respond to the robbery in progress at the corner of Sierra and Fifth. Two suspects on the scene: Caucasian, male, blond hair. Suspect one: six feet one, one ninety-five. Suspect two: five-nine, one hundred and fifty."

Gotta be our boys.

"Zebra Three responding," Starsky said. "Request back up. Notify back up that plain-clothed officers will be on the scene."

"Roger Zebra Three."

Starsky replaced the microphone and, in one smooth motion, turned on the siren and got the car in motion. He didn't speak again until they were on the freeway.

"Open up the glove compartment for me."

Hutch obeyed, grateful that this latest contact didn't yield an electrical shock.

"My cap in there?" Starsky asked.

Hutch pulled out a rumpled blue baseball cap. The word "POLICE" was stitched in bold yellow letters across the front.

"This?"

Starsky glanced over. "Yeah. Put it on."

"Why?"

"Because you match the description of the suspects, dummy. Remember what happened at the restaurant?"

"Oh yeah."

Oh yeah.

Hutch shoved the cap on his head and the little blond cadets yielded to the pressure and finally lay flat. Starsky shook his head and grinned.

Like I said, he grows on you.

It took less than five minutes to reach the scene. Starsky killed the siren several blocks away and circled the strip mall that dominated Fifth and Sierra, giving both detectives a chance to briefly scope out the beauty shop, donut shop, appliance store and barbershop.

"Over there," Hutch said, pointing to the black-and-white that was parked in the alley. Starsky pulled beside the unit and he and Hutch exited the Torino simultaneously.

The two officers who faced them were seasoned, Starsky realized gratefully. The last thing he wanted to deal was another crowd of rookies.

One of the officers grinned at Hutch's hat.

"Smart move, Detective. I'd hate to mistake you for one of the bad guys." He nodded toward his partner, a lanky black man with sharp, dark eyes. "This is my partner, Pete Keller. I'm Brad Morrison."

"I'm Hutchinson; my partner's Dave Starsky. Any idea where they're holed up?"

"Nope. They started off in the barbershop. The owner ran out the back and called it in as soon as they left his place. We're pretty sure they're still in complex, working their way down."

"I'll go." Starsky turned toward the mall. "I'll signal if I see..."

"Wait a minute." Hutch turned his cap around so the POLICE label faced his back and flipped up the hood of his raincoat, hiding the insignia completely.

He met Starsky's gaze evenly. You don't go anywhere without me.

"Correction," Starsky said. "We'll go. If anyone else shows up for the party, make sure they know we're in there. When we signal, you guys take the back." His voice turned to steel. "No shooting unless you know for sure it's not my partner you got in your sights."

"No problem," Morrison said. "We heard what happened at the restaurant. Nobody's bucking to piss you off Detective Starsky."

"Don't let him fool you," Hutch said easily. "Most of the time he's a teddy bear."

"How do you wanna play this?" Starsky asked.

It had taken only a few minutes to walk the short distance to the mall. Now Starsky leaned against barbershop door, his face angled casually toward the next store. Hutch stood about a foot away.

"Drunk and Disorderly?"

"Nah. It's not even noon."

"Slacker and Boss?"

"That's getting old."

Hutch snapped his fingers. "Fender-bender and Tight-ass."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They spoke simultaneously. "I'm not Tight-ass."

Stand off.

Starsky sighed. "Fine."

He peeled off his slicker, handed it to Hutch and stepped from under the protection of the mall awning into the poring rain. It took just a few seconds for the water to drench his hair, plastering it down. As Hutch watched, Starsky used his fingers to rake through the thick mass, slicking it back until it lay flat against his head.

When he stepped back under the awning, the two swapped coats. Hutch gazed dispiritedly as the sleeves of his new jacket stopped about three inches above his wrists.

"This sucks Starsk."

"No complaining. You picked the part." He raked his fingers through his hair one more time. "We've got about ten minutes before I turn back into my gorgeous curly-headed self. Let's go."

Starsky moved first, his head cocked slightly to the side and his shoulders hunched meekly inside Hutch's fancy black slicker. Hutch followed, purposefully staying at least three feet back.

"I mean it!" Hutch yelled. "You come back here you little creep! You dented my ride! You disabled my car!"

Starsky approached the beauty shop, slowed imperceptibly and peered inside. He shook his head quickly and moved on, much slower than before.

"You jerk!" Hutch bellowed. He paused at the door to the beauty shop and stepped inside. His demeanor changed as soon as he entered.

"Who owns this place?"

Half a dozen pink-rollered heads stared at him blankly before a chubby red-haired woman seated behind the counter raised her hand.

"I'm a cop," Hutch said. "There are two armed men somewhere in this area. Does this door have a lock?"

"Yes."

"Use it."

He stepped out, waited until he heard the lock click into place and got Starsky in sight once again.

"You heard me!" he yelled. He took two long quick steps forward and Starsky picked up the pace. They were back in sync. "Come back here you little weasel!"

Starsky slowed slightly as he came in line with the appliance store. He glanced inside. Five people were visible. Two, a tall blond man and a balding man with a large paunch, stood near the cash register. A shorter blond man stood a few feet from the door, his hand thrust deep in his pocket and his gaze locked on the remaining two people who cowered by a refrigerator.

Starsky turned toward Hutch, every trace of his East Coast swagger gone. His mouth was now pinched and his hands fluttered nervously near his waist.

"You... you'd better stop following me," he whined. His voice was an octave higher than normal. Every syllable was enunciated and his New York accent had been replaced with a flat Midwestern drawl. "I mean it. You get away from me or I'll call the police. I will!"

"I'll break every bone in your body, you little jerk!" Hutch roared. "Nobody touches my ride! You hear me?"

He turned, waved the officers forward, then ran toward Starsky threateningly. Starsky reacted like a scared rabbit. He yanked open the door to the appliance store and rushed inside, running frantically in a large circle before finally coming to a breathless stop by the couple who cowered near the refrigerator.

Five faces watched him, shocked.

"M-m-my name is R.S. Silverberg," Starsky stammered. "R.S. Silverberg, esquire." He pointed a trembling finger at Hutch. "That man is h-h-harassing me. Somebody call the police!"

"Ain't nobody gonna call the cops," Hutch bellowed, storming into the store. "Not unless it's to report a homicide. You ready to die you little twerp? Cause you're gonna if you don't do something to fix my car!"

Unaware that they'd been made, Frank and Kevin exchanged quick glances.

Frank, standing with the store manager by the cash register, tightened his grip on his revolver and pressed the gun further into the other man's ribs.

Starsky seemed oblivious to the robbery unfolding around him. He backed up until he was an arm's length from the couple by the refrigerator, his eyes never leaving Hutch's face.

"You keep away from me!" he yelled. "I-I-I mean it. I mean it. I have my law degree, mister. I'll take you to court. I'll sue."

Hutch's face paled then flushed, changing in a matter of seconds from white to pink to red to purple. Without warning he seemed to loose control. He grabbed a lamp from a nearby table and hurled it to the floor.

Unnerved, Kevin moved closer to his brother. Hutch didn't seem to notice. He stalked to a shelf that had light bulbs arranged by wattage and yanked the display to the floor.

Starsky edged closer to the couple and spoke quietly. "We're cops," he said. "When I tell you, hit the floor."

The woman looked at him blankly.

"What?" Her voice was high and nasal; the accent definitely New York.

"We're cops," Starsky whispered. "Get ready to hit the floor."

The woman stared at him for a full minute while Hutch, still waiting for Starsky's signal, lurched with clearly fading energy toward a stack of dinnerware perched on a line of dishwashers.

Realization dawned and the woman pointed a manicured, red-tipped finger at Frank and Kevin.

"Hey!" she bellowed. "You're in for it now, you jerks. These guys are cops!"

Starsky rushed forward, purposefully barreling into the woman and her companion. He forced them to the floor and rolled off in one smooth motion, his gun appearing like magic in his hands. He rolled back quickly taking a position that put his body between the hostages and the Grieves brothers.

Hutch had moved equally fast. He pulled the display of dishes to the floor and hopped over the line of dishwashers during the commotion, using the appliances as a barricade between him and the robbers.

Safe. But he couldn't see Starsky.

Instinctively he reached up and pulled back the hood of Starsky's raincoat, clearing his line of sight. He was tempted to yank off the cap too but whipped it around instead so the POLICE moniker faced forward, impossible to miss.

"Grieves!" he yelled. "Give it up!"

Standard warning. Their code. The last three words were for Starsky: I'm ready. Are the hostages clear? Are you in position?

Nothing... Apprehension took the form of sweat. It ran down his back, along his spine. Where the hell are you?

He tried again.

"Grieves! Nobody has to get hurt!"

Are you okay? Answer me!

"We know about Pike." Starsky's voice followed so quickly that their words almost overlapped. "Don't make this any worse than it is."

They're clear. I'm set. I'm okay.

"You better back off cops!"

Hutch struggled to place the voice. It was cold, almost metallic. He thought it was the older one. Frank?

He peeked up and got a quick look at the situation. Frank had shifted his gun and now had it pressed against the store manager's temple. The hostage glanced once at Hutch then down quickly, his eyes locking on a spot just below the counter.

Hutch knew what he was saying and it made his stomach lurch. I've got a gun. Give me a chance to get my gun!

A flash of yellow in his peripheral vision caught Hutch's attention and he noticed the younger brother turn expectantly toward Frank. The kid held his gun slack, the barrel pointed down. Hutch could've picked him off in minute if he were willing to shoot the guy in the back.

He dropped down quickly.

"You heard my partner," he called out. "Don't make this worse than it already is."

To Starsky: Hold it! New game. Hostage involved.

He didn't have to see Starsky to know that his partner was hunkered down, chewing his lip, trying to think his way out of this mess.

Starsky hated hostage situations, hated everything about them. As soon as they were over he would usually slink away, find a quiet spot by himself and get sick to his stomach. But he always kept a cool head during the crisis, cooler than Hutch on his best day.

Without a word Hutch passed the baton to Starsky, letting him take the lead.

"No need to get excited Frank. Okay? How you doin'?" Starsky asked.

"I'm not answering your questions, cop!"

"Okay," Starsky soothed. "Okay... Look, right now you and your brother have the upper hand. What's it gonna take to get you to let that guy go?"

"You think I'm stupid? You think I don't watch cop shows? This guy's my insurance premium. I ain't lettin' him go!"

My. Starsky and Hutch both heard it. Two guys -- blood brothers -- with their back against the wall, and this one was talking about my insurance. Lord help the other one.

When he spoke again, Starsky mirrored the man's inflection but purposefully kept his own voice slow and non-threatening.

"Look Frank," he said. "You gotta' understand the situation. There're cops in the back, there're cops in here. We gotta' find a way to work together on this thing. Nobody has to get hurt."

To Hutch: Get ready.

"Frank? Maybe we should..."

"Shut up Kevin!"

Kevin! Starsky jumped on the name like a drowning man tossed a life preserver.

"Kevin?" he asked. "Kevin Grieves? It's not to late to walk out of here kid. Put down the gun. That's all it takes."

Hutch poked his head up, catching a quick peek at the action. Kevin had turned toward Starsky, the gun still held slack in his hand.

"I-I can't leave my brother."

"Shut up Kevin, you stupid piece of shit!" Frank ordered.

He pushed the store manager forward and edged toward the front door. He motioned to his brother.

"Get over here!"

Kevin obeyed, taking one lurching step toward Frank.

"Kevin..."

Starsky spoke softy. Something in the detective's voice -- kindness, compassion, respect -- reached the younger man. He hesitated. He might have turned...

...but all hell broke loose.

The back door flew open, kicked in by heavy boots. Keller, Morrison and a second team of uniformed cops entered, guns drawn.

"Police! Freeze!"

The store manager twisted out of Frank's grasp and scuttled on hands and knees back to the counter.

And a battered Chevy jumped the curb and shuttered to a stop by the store's entrance, its engine idling, its passenger door open. The driver, a pock-faced man with long dark hair, leaned hard on the car horn.

Frank rushed toward the door.

The store manager rose from behind the counter, hands wrapped around the barrel of a Magnum.

And Kevin, seeing the gun lock into position on his brother's back, rushed forward, throwing himself between Frank and the store manager.

There were three rapid shots. Silence for the briefest of seconds. And four more shots from the back of the room.

Like a marionette with its strings newly cut, Kevin folded in on himself, chest drooping to his knees, and crumpled slowly to the floor. Down, he turned to the door, reaching out desperately for his brother.

Frank glanced back once. Then he was gone. He dove headfirst into the car and the Chevy pulled away, its tires screeching.

"Plain clothes! Plain clothes!" Starsky's voice was strident. "Plain clothes on the scene!"

He dropped his gun and raised both hands, putting them in clear view. "Hutch?"

Nothing!

"Hutch!"

"Here..."

Hutch had crawled over to Kevin as soon as the shooting stopped. Now he sat cross-legged on the floor holding the younger man's hand and staring into Kevin's eyes as their light slowly dimmed.

"You okay?" Starsky asked. When Hutch didn't answer, Starsky knelt beside him worriedly. "Hutch?"

"I'm okay..." Hutch's voice was hoarse, almost inaudible. "He's just a kid, Starsk."

"I know."

"He saw what was going down. He took the bullets meant for his brother and that son-of-a-bitch didn't even stop."

"I know."

Hutch leaned forward and closed Kevin's eyelids gently. "You almost had him, you know?" he told Starsky. "I saw his face. He would've come back to you."

"Maybe..."

Starsky shifted his gaze to the back of the room. The store manager was talking with the two officers Starsky didn't recognize. The manager was gesturing with his hands, pointing an imaginary gun, pulling an imaginary trigger. He was excited, pleased that he'd helped bring one of robbers down.

Starsky felt his stomach churn.

"Sergeant Starsky?"

It was Keller. He held Starsky's gun in his outstretched hand. "Here you go sir."

"Thanks."

"We put an APB out on Frank Grieves and on the Chevy, though he's probably dumped it by now... Who knew they had a driver?" Keller stared down at Kevin Grieves' body and shook his head. "I got a feeling in my gut that the wrong guy got away."

He shook his head again and walked to the far side of the room where Morrison was taking statements from the couple near the refrigerators.

"You know what stinks?"

Starsky turned his attention back to his partner. "What?"

"One of the last things this kid heard was his brother calling him a stupid piece of shit. What a lousy way to die."

"Yeah."

Starsky rested his hand briefly on Hutch's back. "I'll be back."

Hutch turned around, his eyes searching Starsky's questioningly.

You okay?

Gimme a bit.

Starsky holstered his gun and pushed through the front door. He shoved his hands deep in the pockets of Hutch's raincoat and set off down the sidewalk, his shoulders hunched and his head down.

It would be awhile before he came back.

Act Three

Aldus Pike didn't like unannounced visitors. He didn't like cops, and he definitely didn't like these two. He'd dealt with Starsky and Hutch before. Cocky. Tough. They irritated the hell out of him. Under normal circumstances he would have been on the phone to his lawyer the minute they'd pushed their way into his home.

But these weren't normal circumstances.

"Word on the street is one of your boys got caught with his finger in the cookie jar and got himself on your bad side," Starsky said. "Fellow named Frank Grieves. Name ring a bell?"

"Can't place it." Pike glanced at the bodyguard who hulked over his desk like a gargoyle. "What about you Ernie? Name Frank Grieves mean anything to you?"

"Never heard it before boss."

Pike shrugged. "Gee fellas, I'm afraid I can't help you. Your source must be a little off. Sorry." He reached for his phone. "Now if that's all..."

"Not quite." Hutch placed his hand on the phone's receiver.

"We want Grieves," Starsky said. "We know about the money. We know about the twenty-four hour limit. It don't mean squat to us. All we want is Grieves."

"I don't have him." Pike shrugged again. "Feel free to take a look."

"Then you know where he is," Hutch said. "Or, at the very least, you know how to find out where he is. And like my partner said, we want him." He paused. "Alive."

"And he's so important to you because..."

"He was involved in a hostage situation just before noon," Starsky said. "We want to talk with him about what went down."

"Sounds bad." Pike smiled thinly. "I hope nobody got hurt."

That got to them. Starsky flinched and Hutch's expression grew closed, remote.

"Look, enough dancing around," the blond detective snapped. "Let me spell this out for you. We know you're after Grieves and we know one of your men got him out of that mess this morning. You hear from him, you let us know. Understand?"

Pike spread his hands in a gesture of peace. "Of course, Detective."

Hutch turned to Starsky, his expression hard as stone. "You ready?"

"Yep."

Pike watched them leave, intrigued by the way power shifted from one to the other seamlessly. If he could turn them...

He sighed. Getting Starsky and Hutch on the take would have to wait for another day. He leaned on his desk, resting his weight on his elbows.

"Ernie?"

"Yeah boss?"

"Tommy still driving Frank Grieves around?"

"Yeah."

"Then get Joey Luga on the phone. Tell him to track them down. Tell him Frankie's turned into a liability. I want him taken out."

"You sure you want Joey to take him out?" Ernie sounded incredulous. "Him and Frankie got pretty tight when Frankie was working here."

"So?"

"I was just thinkin' that it might be tough to put a hit on your pal."

"He'll get through it."

"Yeah maybe, but Mr. Pike I could just as easily track Frank down and take care of things myself."

"I need you here."

Ernie glanced around curiously. The place was quiet as a morgue. There wasn't any reason Pike couldn't spare him to put the hit on Frankie. The only thing having Joey take Frank out would do was...

A thin smile spread across Ernie's face. Having Joey do Frank Grieves would be like pissing on the man's grave.

"You get it now Ernie?" Pike asked.

"Clear as a bell Mr. Pike."

"Well that got us zip," Hutch said sullenly. He slumped in his car seat, staring out at the rain, watching neighborhoods flash by as Starsky drove them back to town.

"I wouldn't say that. We know Grieves is still alive and that Pike ain't got him."

"Yeah, but we don't know where he is."

"Maybe not, but at least now we got one other person looking for him. Pike's gonna want to get his hands on Grieves before we do."

"Probably plug a hole in him, not that I give a damn."

"Grieves got to you, huh?"

"Yeah." Hutch snorted. "Why the hell am I feeling bad about this?" he demanded. "Kevin Grieves may have been a kid Starsky but today he was just flat out stupid. He threw his life away for nothing. His brother didn't even wait around long enough to spit."

Starsky stayed silent, waiting.

"You know what really gets me?" Hutch asked after a moment. "At the very end that kid reached out like he really expected Frank to come back. What the hell was he thinking?"

"He was almost gone Hutch. He wasn't thinkin' with his head."

"Yeah well..." Hutch shook his head. His voice trailed off.

It was a minute or two before he spoke again.

"If we land Grieves first, there's one thing I want to ask him."

"What's that?"

"I wanna know it feels to have somebody love you that much. I wanna look him right in the eye and have him tell me how that feels." He shook his head again. "Son-of-a-bitch."

The thing about these guys was that they could find him anywhere. Anywhere!

Huggy sighed as a blond head peered over the cubicle wall and two pale blue eyes blinked at him curiously.

He shook his head. Damn!

"Where's your pal?" Huggy asked. "Or did all these books scare him off? It is a library you know."

"Couldn't find a parking place," Hutch explained. "He's babysitting the third member of the team."

"Umm."

Hutch leaned over and picked up one of the books spread out on Huggy's table.

"The Black Entrepreneur," he read. He flicked through the rest. "Creative Financing for the Modern Businessman. Starting Your Business from Scratch. What's this, Hug? Don't tell me you're going to start walking the straight and narrow."

"For your information, I'm already straight and I've always been narrow," Huggy snapped. "If you must know, I'm thinking about opening a place of my own. I'm thinking maybe something in the restaurant arena. A little food, a little club. Something in the neighborhood but definitely something nice."

He glared at Hutch.

"Go ahead Blondie. That's your cue. Tell me all the reasons it can't be done, or why I can't be the one to do it. Go ahead. Laugh."

"I'm not laughing." Hutch leaned on the cubicle wall, his lanky frame blocking the library's modest overhead light. "You're as entitled as anybody to dream Huggy."

"Just not likely to get it, huh?"

"That's not how I see it. You've got the idea. You've got the drive. You're smart as hell. What's to hold you back?"

"How about my somewhat checkered past? Bankers frown on that kind of thing."

"Maybe, but they love cops. You know that little box on the loan application that says 'reference'?"

"Yeah. It's the bane of my existence."

"Put my name there. I'll do what I can."

Huggy stared. "Really?"

"No promises, but I'll try."

"Thanks!" He might have said more but a car horn sounded outside. Huggy shook his head and grinned. "Your partner I presume."

"I presume."

"Then what can I do for you?" Huggy asked. "You're still looking for those two guys you asked about earlier?"

"Only one now. The younger one got himself killed this morning. We're looking for Frank."

"Umm, well that explains something I heard on my way here. Word on the street is that Pike dropped the twenty-four hour grace period and just put a hit on Grieves. Guess the heat from this morning got to be a little too intense."

"Any word on where it's going down?" Hutch asked.

"Not a peep. All I heard was that Pike wants it taken care of ASAP. I heard he's even sending one of his top guys to do the deed, somebody Grieves was pretty tight with when he and Pike were on the up and up."

"That oughta' be interesting."

"Yeah."

"Keep your ear to the ground for me, will you?" Hutch asked. "This one's important Hug."

"Sure."

The horn blared again -- two quick blasts that made it clear something was up.

"See ya'." Hutch waved over his shoulder. "Stay in touch."

Huggy nodded, watched him go then turned his attention back to the books. Who in the old neighborhood would ever believe he was going to open a restaurant?

And who would believe a cop is gonna help me do it?

Starsky was about to press the horn again when Hutch walked out of the library. One look at his partner told Hutch that Starsky wasn't just being melodramatic. Something was up.

Starsky had the car back in traffic before Hutch even had his door closed.

"What happened?" Hutch asked.

"Chevy's been made," Starsky said. "Uniforms tailed the guy to a hamburger stand near the docks."

"Grieves with him?"

"Nah uh. He's riding solo."

"Not good for our boy."

Starsky shot his partner a curious glance.

"According to Huggy, Pike put out a hit on Grieves after we left. Huggy doesn't know who he tapped but word on the street is that it's someone Grieves trusts."

The two men exchanged a quick glance. It was ironic that, after leaving his brother to die alone on the appliance store floor, Grieves might be done in by someone he was close to.

By the time Starsky and Hutch arrived at the restaurant Pike's man had been arrested, handcuffed and parked unceremoniously in the back seat of a police cruiser. He glowered at the two plainclothed detectives as they approached.

"You read him his rights?" Starsky asked.

The uniformed officer nodded, then shrugged. "Said he didn't do anything. Said he doesn't have anything to hide, doesn't need a lawyer."

"Pull him out."

Once out of the cruiser the man blinked several times, trying unsuccessfully to keep the rain out of his eyes. Starsky and Hutch stepped on either side of him, sandwiching him between them.

"What's your name?" Hutch asked.

"Tommy."

"Tommy what?" The question came from Starsky.

"Tommy Dane."

Hutch: You work for Pike?

"Pike?"

Starsky: Aldus Pike.

Hutch: Loan shark.

Starsky: Put a hit on a guy named Frank Grieves earlier today.

Hutch: Set you up to take the fall.

"Fall?" Dane turned from one to the other, the skin on his face tightening like a fist. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Hear that Hutch?" Starsky asked. "He don't know what we're talking about."

"Want to help him out?

Starsky shrugged.

"We're talking about life in prison Tommy," Hutch said. "That's what you'll get for being an accessory to murder."

"What murder? I didn't kill nobody. I've been right here for the past ninety minutes."

"That's why they call it accessory before the fact," Starsky explained. "Just because you don't pull the trigger doesn't make you any less guilty. We may not be able to take Pike down for Grieves' hit but we can definitely get you."

"You got kids?" Hutch asked.

"Yeah." Dane answered slowly, his voice husky. "One. My wife just had a baby. A girl."

Starsky glanced away. "It's gonna' be hard on her, growing up without a dad."

Hutch: Where's your wife gonna' turn for help? Pike? You won't be there to keep him away.

Starsky: He'll get her in deep. You know that.

Hutch: Once that happens...

"Shut up! Shut up!" Dane exploded, whirling to pound his handcuffed wrists on the roof of police cruiser.

"Listen to me," Hutch said. "We know who, we know why, we know when. We just don't know where."

"Help us stop it." Starsky ordered. "We'll help with the DA."

"Pike'll kill me."

"You know how Pike operates." Starsky's voice was cold. "Without us you're dead already. The bullet just hasn't found you yet."

"We're offering you a chance," Hutch said. "Take it."

Dane turned a tortured face toward the sky. No matter what the detectives said, he'd come to the end of the road. Pike would get to him even from jail. He'd find a way.

"I want... I want one of these uniformed cops to go to my house. I want him to get my wife and my kid. I don't want them left alone. Not a for minute. I want your word."

Starsky nodded slowly. "You got it." He pulled a pad and pen from his pocket. "Address?"

"Three seventy-two Moore."

"Wife's name?"

"Cherry. My daughter's name is Marie."

"Okay." Starsky started away.

"Hey...!"

Starsky turned, his expression closed.

"She... she doesn't know." Dane stammered. "She thinks I'm a butcher. She doesn't know I only work at the shop part time."

Starsky's expression softened. "Yeah, okay."

Dane sagged as soon as Starsky moved away. He didn't resist when Hutch nudged him back inside the car.

"What do you want to know?" Dane asked.

"Where?"

"Lower East Side. Saint Louis Park."

Hutch stiffened. "Why there?"

"Storm drains are full. Body won't be found for days, maybe weeks."

I don't like being scared of stuff Hutch, but...

Hutch forced his mind back to the present. "Who's doing the hit?" he demanded.

"Joey Luga."

"Hey?" Starsky approached from behind. "Whatcha' got?"

"Joey Luga's doing the hit."

"Where?"

Hutch faced him full on. "Saint Louis Park. By the drains. Dane says they figure the body won't be found for awhile if it gets dumped in there."

A sea of emotions played on Starsky's face: loathing, shock, resignation. Then he straightened. "Okay."

"Look Starsk, we don't have to go..."

"If we don't, Frank Grieves will get his worthless brains blown out. Besides, it's our case. We never walk away from a case Hutch."

"Then stay here. Get these guys organized..."

"And let you go down by yourself. No way!" Starsky glared at his partner. "Unless you think I can't pull my weight, can't back you up. You worried about that?"

Hutch didn't blink. "No."

"Then let's go."

The park looked deserted.

Starsky drove through once, quick enough to avoid suspicion if anyone happened to be looking but slow enough to allow Hutch and the two uniformed officers in the back seat to have a good look.

They saw the car the second time through. It had probably been driven in while they circled the park's winding roads. Now it was parked beside a storage shed used by maintenance workers.

Hutch stepped out quickly and placed his hand on the car's hood. Hot.

Starsky climbed out more slowly. The two uniformed officers unfolded themselves like fans and eased out of the back seat, shaking their limbs to restore circulation.

"There are two sets of storm drains in this park," Starsky explained. "The largest is that one over there." He pointed to what looked like a river about eighty feet away. "The drain's about twenty feet wide and it runs the length of the park. Luga and Grieves could be on either side, close to the edge or in the trees that run alongside."

"Where's the other drain Starsk?" Hutch asked.

"West entrance, other end of the park. Too far for Luga to risk walking there and back. Someone's liable to see him."

One of the uniformed officers squinted through the rain at the storm drain. From where he stood the drain looked like one continuous stretch of water.

"I thought there were supposed to be -- I don't know what you call 'em -- pathways over the drains."

"There are," Starsky said. He nodded to Hutch. "He's talking about a pedestrian overpass. There're three or four, I can't remember. They're about two blocks apart."

The officer whistled. "Long stretch, particularly if you're in the drink."

"Then let's stay out of the water," Hutch said, his eyes locked on Starsky. "Okay?"

Starsky's smile was wan. "Okay."

"How 'bout you and Polk drive to the other end of the park and work your way down?" Hutch suggested. "Myers and I'll work our way up. Squeeze him."

Starsky flicked a quick nod at Polk. "Let's go."

"You don't know how glad I was to see you Joey," Grieves said. He threw an arm around the shoulders of the burly, black-clothed man who walked at his side. "Man, when you pulled up and made Tommy let me outta' the car, I coulda' kissed you."

Luga grunted.

"You gotta' tell me though, how'd you get Pike to go along with it? How'd you get me outta' the squeeze?"

"Heard 'bout Kevin," Luga said, expelling the words like a belch. "Talked with Mr. Pike. Asked him to give you more time. Said you'd be busted up."

"Oh, yeah. Yeah that's right. I'm busted up."

"Hadda' be rough."

"Yeah."

Luga wasn't wearing a hat. The rain had drenched his hair and droplets spilled into his eyes. He brushed them away with the back of his hand.

"I heard what you hadda' do," he said gruffly. "Turning your back on Kev couldn't have been easy but sometimes you gotta' make them -- whatta' they call 'em? -- tough choices."

"Yeah." Grieves tightened his grip on the other man's shoulder. "A lotta' people wouldn't get that Joey. A lotta' people wouldn't understand."

"I understand." Luga slowly steered their path closer to the edge of the storm drain. "I understand fine."

Starsky tried to shake off the feeling that wrapped itself around him like a shroud. It tightened around his chest, making it hard to breathe, making him want to run, to shout, to do anything that would get him the hell away from this water and out of this park.

He glanced across the water and caught Polk's eye. The officer nodded slowly.Scared.

Starsky knew why. His nervousness was palpable; Polk could feel it.

Starsky shoved his fists deep in the pockets of Hutch's raincoat, remembering how Hutch made them switch jackets again before Starsky and Polk set out for the far end of the park. No explanation given.

None needed.

He hunched inside Hutch's jacket, grateful that this inanimate object could help ease his fear.

Luga's steps had gotten slower and slower. When he finally stopped, Grieves looked at him expectantly.

"What gives Joey? What's on your mind? You got a plan?"

"No." Luga sighed. "Look Frankie, you 'n me been pals a long time. Going on five years ain't it?"

"Yeah."

"Then you gotta' know how hard this is for me." Luga took a step back. He moved quickly for the first time and a snub-nosed revolver was in his hand in seconds.

"Joey..."

"Mr. Pike didn't gimme no choice Frankie. Said you were a liability. Said you gotta' go."

"Please Joey..."

"You shouldn'ta taken the money," Luga said. "You were stupid to take the money."

Hutch let his concentration break for just a minute and stared at the clutter that now filled the drain. A tree had fallen over and the current was so strong that it dismembered the wood with cruel efficiency, shearing away bark and snapping man-sized branches like they were twigs.

"Hey!" Myers cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted again. When he caught Hutch's attention, he pointed toward two tall shapes standing near the lip of the storm drain.

Hutch saw the shapes, saw what about to happen. He didn't bother to pull his gun. Instead, he ran forward yelling as loud as he could, hoping that might be enough to save Grieves' life.

"J-J-Joey..." Grieves stepped back, his hands raised in supplication. "P-p-please man. We're friends. We're pals. I-I-I'll leave town. Pike don't need to know. I-I'll blow man. I'll never show m-my face here again."

He glanced over his shoulder. He couldn't swim worth a damn and the water was moving so fast.

"J-J-Joey please..."

"I'll make it fast Frankie. That's all I can do."

"Hey!" By the time the shout reached their ears it sounded more like a whisper than an order barked and demanding to be obeyed.

Both men turned. And turned back.

Grieves saw the look in Luga's eyes and realized his time was over. He decided to take a chance.

"What the hell?" Hutch watched in confusion as one of the men stepped away from the other and jumped into the swirling water.

Jumped! Not pushed!

The other man stared down. Something was in his hand. A gun? Hutch started to draw his own weapon but stopped when the other man dashed away from the drain and raced into the park.

Heading back to his car. Well, he'd find a surprise there since Starsky had slashed both of his front tires before he and Polk drove away.

"Myers!" Hutch waved and captured the officer's attention. "Call for back up and a rescue squad." He glanced down at the water, judging the current. It was running toward the far end of the park, toward Starsky.

A half block away Grieves' blond head bobbed in the water. The man's face was contorted, his features unrecognizable through the haze.

"Tell Polk to let Starsky know that Grieves is in the water," Hutch shouted. "Make sure that he knows it's Grieves in the water."

Myers nodded and hunched over, pulling the radio off his belt and speaking rapidly.

It was cold. So cold.

Frank Grieves felt himself carried along by the current, then slammed into something hard.

He clutched at it frantically.

"Frank?"

Who? The voice sounded like Kevin. Where was Kevin?

He remembered the little store. Remembered Kevin running forward, Kevin on the ground.

This couldn't be Kevin? Then who?

Grieves was in the water!

Starsky heard the words, understood them. But something was wrong. He felt it.

He yanked his keys out of Hutch's pocket and threw them at Polk.

"Get the car," he ordered. "I'm headed down. Find me. Pace me."

Polk took one look at Starsky's face, grabbed the keys and ran.

"Take my hand!"

Hutch lay on his belly and reached out. Grieves was less than ten feet away, one battered hand wrapped around a rung of a rickety service ladder that extended from the lip of the overpass to the cement base of the drain's floor.

"I can't!"

"Take my hand!" Hutch ordered again. "You're close enough Frank. I can grab you."

The man shook his head. "Don't... trust... you..."

Hutch glanced up. The drain was full of debris. Until now Grieves had been lucky but if he didn't get out of the water soon nothing would save him. There was too much stuff to hit him, hurt him, weigh him down.

"Damn it!" Hutch swore. "Take my hand! Take my hand!" He stretched out further, the toes of his shoes digging trenches in the soggy ground.

Grieves looked at him, the blond hair and pale blue eyes indistinguishable from his own.

The man shook his head.

A piece of metal surfaced in the water, spinning dizzily in the current. It slammed into Grieves without warning and his fingers lost their grip on the rung.

He reached out, frantic, desperate. His hand latched onto Hutch. The current was too strong, too fast. It swept him away.

But Grieves didn't let go.

And Hutch was pulled into the water with him.

There was blood in his eyes.

He knew it was blood. He thought it was his.

He didn't know for sure.

Hutch felt himself slammed into the slick cement wall that formed the side of the storm drain. He tried to claw his way up but felt his nails tear back from the skin at the futile effort.

A second later he was swept away again.

He heard Myers shout his name but he didn't have enough strength to call back.

Unlike Grieves, who was being pulled along on a fairly straight course, Hutch was swept along a different current. He was pulled out a few feet then slammed back into the wall.

This time he led with his head and the world went black.

Starsky saw the blond head rush toward him.

Hutch!

He wanted to help, to leap into the water, to pull Hutch out. But he couldn't move.

He couldn't move!

Starsky began to shake.

There was water on his face. Not just rain. Tears.

His hands opened and closed spasmodically. He felt a rush of anger.

Where was God?

God let his father die. God let Jim Lavezza and Benny die. God was going to let Hutch die too.

And he couldn't help!

The anger was gone. In its place, Starsky prayed. He bargained. He offered his life, his heart, his soul. Anything.

The blond head moved closer. It lolled lifelessly on a body broken and battered.

The body rolled.

Starsky saw the face.

Grieves!

He was being carried on someone's shoulders.

He'd played a game like that as a kid in Minnesota. Boys would hoist him on their shoulders, carry him across the playground to a soft snowdrift, swing him by his arms and legs then toss him in.

For a moment he would sail through the air free as a bird. Then he would hit the snowdrift and slide down, water in his eyes, water in his nose, so much water he could barely breathe.

Like now.

Hutch broke the surface and shook his head, trying to clear his mind.

Where was he? Not Minnesota. Not home.

Something sharp snagged his leg, cutting the flesh. A smooth metal pole brushed his hand and he grabbed it, his hand and legs wrapping around the metal in a death grip.

And the water rushed by, under his chin, over his head.

Hutch blinked rapidly. He could see the next overpass. He could make out the curved metal of the maintenance ladder. It was so close. The current might carry him there.

But he couldn't make his body move. He couldn't let go.

Don't... trust...

He blinked again. He could see a flurry of action on the overpass, could make out the shapes of three men in the outworldly red glow of the mars light.

The Torino was close.

Hutch opened his mouth to shout but breathed in water instead. He retched. His lungs hurt like hell!

He broke the surface again, his anguished face turned by fate or by luck toward the overpass, toward Starsky.

Starsky paced the lip of the overpass like a man in a daze. He moved like he was lost. His face was contorted, his expression haunted, terrified, desperate. He wiped a hand across his eyes and Hutch knew he was crying.

The two uniformed cops huddled together, facing the other way. They didn't know how to help Starsky, didn't know how to deal with his grief.

Starsk...

Starsky turned away then, in a split-second, turned back. His eyes searched the water. He saw Hutch and their eyes locked.

Hutch smiled softly, his expression quiet, resigned. It said, It's okay.

It said much more.

And Starsky moved, shooting forward like a rocket, propelled by something much stronger than fear. He raced toward the lip of the overpass, pulling his handcuffs from his pocket as he ran.

The higher rungs on the overpass's maintenance ladder had been pulled off long ago. As a result the ladder now consisted primarily of two parallel poles that stretched from the top of the overpass to the cement base. Starsky slipped one cuff around a pole and the other around his wrist, locking it with a snap.

Then he jumped.

The current caught him, yanked him first under then away. But the handcuffs held, even though the human muscles held in their grasp strained and popped in protest.

"Hutch!"

Hutch went under, stayed under for too long. When he surfaced, his eyes were glazed, without emotion.

"Hutch!"

The blond head turned toward him slowly.

Starsky hooked one leg around the ladder and opened his arms. "Let go Hutch."

Hutch blinked, trying to understand.

"It's okay," Starsky promised.

Don't... trust... Hutch shook his head. Someone had said that. Who said that?

"Hutch!"

He'd said that once to his brother. To Will.

"Hutch?"

His grip tightened. Will?

"Please Hutch..."

He knew this voice, knew this man. It wasn't Will!

"Hutch!" Starsky barked the order, his voice cutting through the haze in Hutch's mind. "Let go now!"

He did.

The current caught him and he shot forward like a missile. Something tugged at him. A branch. It tore his shirt. Cut his skin. Let him go.

He slammed into the far wall again.

And then hands grabbed him and held him close, pushed his head above the water, helped him breathe.

He could hear excited voices from above. Then someone was shouting in his ear. Too loud! He shook his head, pulled back to look. Starsky's face swam into focus. Long brown hair hung in his eyes.

For a moment Hutch's mind was clear.

"I thought..." He struggled to speak, to form the words. "I told you... stay out... of the water..."

Starsky shrugged. "Forgot."

He moved suddenly, pressing Hutch against the ladder and turning his own back to the current. Something slammed into them hard. Hutch was pushed forward but Starsky absorbed the impact. Hutch heard him suck air, gasping in pain.

The arms around him loosened for just a second, then tightened fiercely.

Hutch twisted to look. Starsky was blinking rapidly, tears forming then spilling from his eyes.

Why? Hutch's thoughts were jumbled again, confused. What happened?

Something slammed into them a second time. Hutch was pushed forward and he heard Starsky grunt.

"Wassa matter?" Hutch asked. His voice was thick; the words were slurred.

Another impact. This time the sound that rose from Starsky's throat was strangled, half-laugh, half-sob.

Hutch looked around, trying to get his bearings. He was lost, disoriented. Where were they?

Something hit them again. Starsky groaned.

"Oh jeez..."

"Is okay," Hutch soothed. He patted Starsky's arm. "I'll fix it... I'll fix it."

"Sergeant Starsky!" The voice called out from above. "Give us your hand!"

"Take Hutch!"

Somebody grabbed his shirt collar and pulled. Buttons strained, popped. But he was high enough for someone else to grab his arm, his hand.

Starsky let go.

For a moment Hutch was in the air. In Minnesota? On the playground? Then he was on the grass. Wet. Cold. He shivered.

"Stay here!" Someone was yelling in his ear. "Don't move! Don't move!"

Hutch could feel the ground shake as people milled around. He could hear a siren. Far away.

He tried to stand up.

He managed to roll over.

He saw two men bending over the overpass. They were working, shouting.

Starsky?

The siren grew closer. Sounds different. Not police.

A rescue squad pulled up and two men jumped out. They wore blue. Hutch couldn't differentiate them from the men already there. His thoughts returned to the one who wasn't.

Starsk?

They were moving so fast, pulling things out of the truck, tying themselves off like they were going rappelling, standing on the side of the overpass, then stepping off.

More sirens. Police this time. Fire engine maybe.

One of the men climbed back over the overpass. He had something over his shoulder. It was dripping, limp, attached somehow to the maintenance ladder. The other man climbed up after his partner. Together they lowered the first man's burden to the ground.

Hutch was on his knees then, somehow, on his feet. He stumbled forward, pushing his way through the crowd. People were talking. A few words filtered through. Only one mattered. Alive.

He sank to his knees beside the limp form, watching Starsky breathe in shallow, rapid gasps.

"Can you -- Hey!" One of the men shook him roughly by the shoulder. He pointed to the cuff. "Can you help with this?"

Hutch nodded. He dug into Starsky's pants pocket and pulled out the key.

Someone took it, unlocked the cuffs. Starsky's arm hit the ground. It fell twisted in an odd shape, looking wrong.

Hutch thought about Grieves, about the question he'd wanted to ask. How does it feel to have somebody love you that much?

He didn't have to ask.

He settled beside Starsky protectively.

He already knew.

Epilogue

"Here you go!" Hutch plopped a straw in the large glass and slid the yellowish-green concoction under Starsky's nose with a grin. "One Hutchinson special with extra vitamins, extra soy, extra protein and two raw eggs. Dig in."

"Thanks." Starsky leaned forward obediently. He'd subsisted on Hutch's shakes for the past twenty-four hours, had even grown to like them but the smell coming out of the glass this morning was noxious. He wrinkled his nose.

"Uh Hutch..."

"What's wrong buddy? Shoulder bothering you?" Hutch pushed the glass away and leaned forward in his chair to study Starsky closely.

It was a pathetic sight.

Starsky's left shoulder was dislocated and immobilized in a sling. The biceps muscle in his right arm was torn in two places and wrapped from shoulder to elbow in a pressure bandage. Raising that arm above the waist caused excruciating pain.

Starsky could take care of some basic needs but he couldn't feed himself, couldn't comb his hair, couldn't even tie his shoes.

Hutch was released from the hospital after a day and a half. Starsky had been kept for three.

"Nah, shoulder's fine." Starsky forced a smile. "I was just thinking that maybe we should go out for breakfast. My treat. My way of thanking you for looking after me."

"You don't have to thank me. Besides..." Hutch slid the glass back under Starsky's nose. "I already made the shake."

The smell was horrible!

Starsky remembered something from high school biology class, something about a person's ability to taste being tied to the ability to smell. He took a deep breath. Maybe it wouldn't taste so bad if he didn't inhale.

"But before you start..." Hutch slid the glass away again and fished inside his pants pocked. "I found this the other day. I want you to have it."

He pulled out a little silver disk.

"What's that?"

Hutch scooted his chair around the table and sat beside Starsky. He dropped the disk in the palm of his hand and fingered the small, raised letters etched around its lip.

"Swimming medal. Got it in high school for endurance." Hutch grinned. "Swam sixty-eight laps before I went under." He slid the disk toward Starsky. "Of course bobbing up and down in a storm drain for forty minutes isn't the same thing, but it's gotta' be some kind of record."

Hutch scooted his chair back to the head of the table and slid the shake toward Starsky.

"Now dig in."

If anything, the smell had gotten worse. The drink had started to separate and lava-like bubbles were breaking the surface. Starsky rolled his eyes. If Hutch didn't look so serious he'd swear he was on the receiving end of a practical joke.

"Thanks..."

Someone knocked at the door and Hutch pulled the shake away once more. "You expecting someone?"

Starsky shook his head. But you don't know how glad I am for the interruption.

"Me neither -- oh!" Hutch snapped his fingers. "I almost forgot. I talked with Huggy last night. He told me he was going back to that place where we found him a couple of days ago..."

"The library?"

"No, no, no. Annie's, Abby's -- what was it called?"

"Antha's?" Starsky's face brightened. "Antha's Restaurant?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. That's it." He opened the door and Huggy stepped inside carrying a large Styrofoam container.

"Hey ya' Hutch." He glanced at Starsky. "Stumpy."

"What's in the box Hug?"

"Take out." Huggy settled at the table and flipped open the lid.

Starsky inhaled deeply. Heaven!

"Got some silverware Hutch?" Huggy asked.

"Sure."

"Grab a set for yourself while you're at it," Huggy said. "I got an extra large order."

"Hey Hutch?" Starsky turned from one man to the other. "Hug?"

"So how long you gotta' take care of Starsky No-Arms?" Huggy asked.

"Doc says he'll get full use of his right arm again in about a week."

Hutch sliced off a piece of French toast and popped it in his mouth. The expression on his face changed from apprehension to curiosity to delight.

"Huggy, this is incredible."

"Best in the world."

"Hey c'mon you guys..." Starsky turned from one to the other, trying to get their attention.

"You're telling me. Starsky said they were good but I had no idea." Hutch popped another piece in his mouth. "I can't believe this." He smacked his lips in delight. "How 'bout a little more syrup Hug?"

"Please."

Starsky slumped in his chair, defeated. He eyed his shake sourly. It looked like a lousy combination of Gatorade and mud. Nothing Hutch created in his blender had ever looked this bad.

He was in hell.

"Hey!"

Starsky glanced up. Hutch stared at him, a forkful of toast poised in the air.

It was a joke! The blond grinned. Huggy laughed. Starsky blinked, trying to catch up.

Hutch leaned over and hooked his foot around Starsky's chair, sliding it across the floor, pulling it close.

"Open."

Starsky obeyed. Hutch dropped the forkful of toast in his mouth and used his index finger to close Starsky's jaw.

"Chew."

Outta' hell. Back in heaven.

Starsky munched contentedly, his eyes closed. Joke's on me. I don't care.

He opened his eyes and saw Hutch watching him. Smiling. Happy. Another forkful of toast waiting in queue.

He opened his mouth.

Heaven.

"Profiles In Blue" -- Transcribed Interview (unedited)
Ken Hutchinson, Dave Starsky, Jan. 13, 2001

KH: How have we changed since we started the force?

DS: That's a good question.

KH: Yeah, it is. How've we... Well, there's the obvious. We've gotten older, heavier, got less hair.

DS: You got less hair. My gene pool came through for me just fine, thank you.

KH: (laughs) Speaking of jeans...

DS: (groans)

KH: Remember those ratty things you used to wear?

DS: (laughs) Please. I couldn't get in those jeans today if you gave me a chisel and ten sticks of dynamite!

KH: (laughs)

DS: (laughs) (pause) I don't know. There's other stuff too, I guess. I mean, we were pretty idealistic when we first started. Don't you think?

KH: Yeah. When we started out, man we thought we could save the world.

DS: We were super cops. We were gonna hit the streets and really turn things around. (pause) We didn't save the world but I think we made a difference, don't you?

KH: I don't know. Maybe.

DS: What maybe? Sure we did... He's just being modest. (pause) Seriously...

KH: What?

DS: We did a lot of good stuff; you oughta' be proud. (pause) Tape recorder can't hear a shrug Hutch.

KH: You sound like you're talking to one of your kids.

DS: Wanna guess which one?

KH & DS: Kenneth Michael Starsky!

KH: My namesake. Great kid.

DS: Yeah... he is.

KH: (pause) I don't know... When I started the force I thought there'd come a point where I'd accomplish everything I set out to do. Then I'd be through. (pause) Never happened. I mean, I got really pissed off a couple of -- I'm sorry. Can I say 'pissed off' on tape?

DS: I hope so. You've done it twice already. (laughs) Potty mouth.

KH: (laughs) Asshole. (groans) Oh jeez, the tape. I'm sorry...

DS: (laughs) Give him a minute. He'll find a way to blame this on me.

KH: (laughs) Don't have to Starsk; it's all on tape. (pause) Like I was saying, there were a couple of times where I wanted to chuck it in. I did once too; or rather, we did. But I always came back. (pause) There were bad times though. Dark... Got angry a lot... (pause)

DS: (soft) You got through it.

KH: Yeah. (pause) Yeah... (pause) I-I think I got turned around. What was the question?

DS: How've we changed since we started the force?

KH: Yeah. (pause) What about you?

DS: Like we have enough time for that.

KH: Pick one thing.

DS: Hmm. I guess I got smarter.

KH: He went to night school. Graduated from college with a 3.9 GPA.

DS: Worked my butt off because somebody forgot to tell me that people only care about your GPA while you're in school. After I graduated, nobody even asked.

KH: (laughs) I did.

DS: (laughs) Lotta good that did me. (pause) But I don't mean just college. I mean I got smarter about other stuff, life stuff. (pause) I was a little wild when we first started, had a few issues with power, with trust. Wouldn't take direction if you pointed me north and paid me a million bucks to go...

...Once, at the Academy, we had to do this trust fall thing where you fall backwards and hope some clown you don't know from Adam is there to catch you. We were supposed to do that our second week. I could not do it. No way. And since I wouldn't trust anyone to catch me, nobody was gonna' trust me to catch them. I was S.O.L... The instructor probably would've kicked me out right then and there except Hutch steps up, looks me in the eye, says 'I trust you, 'turns around and pitches backwards like a tree. I almost broke my back catching him... Next thing I know he straightens up, holds out his hands like he's gonna catch a football and says, 'C'mon.' (pause) I didn't even think about it; I just did what he said. I don't know why... Guess I trusted him, even then.

KH: (soft) I don't remember that.

DS: Yeah. (pause) (laughs) 'Course I spent two months in traction 'cause you dropped me.

KH: (laughs)

DS: (laughs)

KH: (pause) What really happened?

DS: (pause) I tried to say thanks. You blew it off, said you figured I was good for it, that sooner or later I'd pay you back.

KH: Umm. (soft) You did.

DS: What?

KH: I said, I was one smart kid. Got you on the hook the second week. (laughs)

DS: Yeah! (laughs) (pause) I dunno. I keep thinking about that save the world thing. We didn't do that but we helped some folks, made a few bad things right. We cleaned ourselves up pretty good. We made a difference. Really. Don't you think?

KH: (pause) Yeah. (soft) Yeah, we did.

DS: Yeah, we did.

END