Thompson watched me read the note and finally snickered, "Love notes? That's really cute. Is that how you two are communicating on this case? Now I've seen everything."

"That's it. Get out." I pointed to the door.

"Yeah, right," he said and didn't move.

"Thompson, get out of my car."

"Stuff it, queer boy."

I stormed around the car, yanked open his door and hauled him out by the collar.
"Better call your uncle, you'll be looking for a transfer or a new job by morning." I threw him against the wall of the alley and got back into the L.T.D. He never flinched. I must be losing my touch.

I backed the car as fast as I could out of the alley and almost over John's toes, but he was quick even with four beers in him.

I drove a few blocks to a crummy, vacant lot and parked the car. There I sat and read Starsky's note again.

Sleeping in a box.

I shook my head and read it one more time. Sometimes my partner's sense of adventure clearly outweighed his sense of survival.

Sleeping in a box.

And here I was, all confident that he was safe and secure behind a locked door at the Viceroy each and every night. So much for that little fantasy. What was I supposed to do now?

Go home, Hutchinson, a voice in my head mocked me. Go home, cook a steak, have a beer and read the paper. Sure, no problem, and pigs will fly.

Sleeping in a box. For the love of... Damn you, Starsky.

Short of yanking him off the street, I didn't have many choices. I sat there in the vacant lot and contemplated my navel. I couldn't come up with a plan that wouldn't make my partner seriously angry with me. Although he obviously didn't mind that I was over-the-top perturbed with him. I don't think he even knew.

I decided to go back to the office and study the case files. There had to be a connection somewhere. How did the killers choose their next victim? Were things as random as they appeared to be?

Passing by the squad room on my way to records, I happened to casually look through the glass. Thompson sat at Starsky's desk talking on the phone. I did a double take, then stood there gaping like a fish.

He looked up and caught me staring, smiled and wiggled the fingers of his free hand at me. I slowly went through the doors, thinking hard, but my mind was mush. I couldn't figure this guy out.

He had the case files open on the desktop, a list of similarities written in a notebook, acting like nothing had ever happened. I pulled out my chair and sat across from him, reaching for the notebook. He pushed it over to me and finished up his conversation on the phone. "Yeah, Bill, I'll catch you down at Sullivan's later, Goldilocks just showed up."

I let it ride. Nothing I said or did affected this guy anyway. Why waste my breath?

"What did you find?" If ya can't beat 'em, join 'em.

"Well," he said without a trace of anger, "after you dumped me in the street, I caught a cab back here and started going through these files. I've been looking for anything that's similar. So far, though, I haven't come up with much. Some of the deaths were by strangulation and some were by blunt trauma, probably a tire iron. Five men and one woman, ages 45 to 65, different heights, weights, hair color, etc. The only thing that connects them is that they were all homeless."

"Ah," I said. Clever, aren't I?

"How about their backgrounds? Did any come from the same place? Did any ever hold jobs in the same companies? Are there any family ties or relations that connect any of them?"

He gave me a withering look. "Hey, you're the fancy-pants detective, you figure it out. I'm just a low life uniform cop."

He slammed his pen down on the files and stood. "I'm going home. I'm not authorized to work any overtime. I'm sure you need time to write another love letter to your partner, anyway. I wouldn't want to interfere." He stormed out of the room leaving me, once again, totally taken aback. I couldn't figure this guy out, and I was tired of trying. I gathered up the files and, for lack of a better idea, went home.

Midnight found me awake and restless. I'd fallen asleep at the kitchen table poring over the files. A strange dream about a gnarled old man sleeping on my porch woke me up. Scratching my head, I opened the refrigerator and took out a beer. I wandered into the living room, picked up my guitar and wandered back into the small green house that Starsk had helped me build.

Sitting there in the dark, breathing deeply the smell of earth and plants, was always peaceful and calming. I sighed and picked out a tune on the guitar...

"There have been times when it's been rainin'. When Lord I swear I've never been touched. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complainin'. It's just that I always seem to miss so much."

Rain splattered in soft drops on the skylights. Normally, I would find that soothing.

Rain. Damn. All I could think of was me here, warm and dry, and Starsky out sleeping in a box. I put the guitar down, grabbed my keys and my gun, then shrugged into my jacket. I had to see if I could find him. I knew he didn't have enough sense to come in out of the rain. I didn't care if he didn't like my 'mother hen' act. How was I supposed to sleep knowing he was out there?

Sleeping in a box...I swear.

I looked and looked but couldn't find him without causing a ruckus in every alley in the District. Too many boxes. I scrawled a note to him and left it behind the Schlitz sign at Joey's. It was still open even though it was very late.

I drove home slowly, knowing I wouldn't get any sleep. Maybe Dobey would let me switch to the night shift while we worked this case.

Sleeping in a box...

Chapter 7

Starsky

The afternoon sun had sunk low enough in the sky to burn your eyes if you looked in the wrong direction. I heard a familiar sound and looked up to see Hutch drive by and noticed that someone was in the car with him.

His passenger looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't get a good enough look to put a name to the face. Hutch had a new partner? I had a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was wrong. I didn't like it one bit. I stood up quickly but the car had already turned the corner.

Frank and I sat and talked the rest of the afternoon away. In between times, I listened to as many snatches of conversation from the homeless crowd that’d gathered by the oil drum, as I could.

A car pulled up along one corner of the lot, and two men climbed out of the vehicle. The car was a custom job, a cherry short chop that gleamed in the late afternoon sun.

One of the men was very tall and dressed in a red three-piece suit. He had a kind of funky, downtown style like Huggy's, only he was bigger...much bigger. The other man was a sleazy white boy with a scrawny beard, scrawny face and scrawny style. His hair was greasy and he wore a long brown overcoat.

Everyone at the lot turned to look, but when they saw who’d gotten out of the car, they all acted like they hadn't seen a thing, and continued their scattered conversations as though nothing had happened. A few of them picked themselves up and walked away with
a speed they usually saved for meal times at the Mission.

I just sat where I was and looked directly at the two men. Maybe that was my mistake. On the street you don't look too many people in the eye.

They sauntered across the lot like they were just making a social call, but they ended up standing right in front of me and Frank.

"Hey green pea, you wanna go for a ride? You know, rotate the tires on my new cherry bomb?"

I thought about it for a minute. At that moment I would have given anything to get away from this street life even for a little while, and I might just learn something about the murders from these two fashion plates.

"Sure." I spoke the word like it didn't matter to me one way or the other. I stood to go with them.

Frank grabbed my arm and shook his head. Just as I was gonna ask him, "why not?" the stylin’ half of the dynamic duo said, "Hey, my brother, could you spot me some ends and I'll catch you back on Monday?"

I started to answer, when suddenly they both turned to look at Frank, who was still holding my arm and shaking his head 'no'.

Whitey said, "Mind your own business, old man," and pushed him to the ground.

At the sight of Frank getting shoved into the gravel, something inside of me snapped and I surprised myself by backhanding Whitey across the face and kicking Mr. Red Suit in the gut.

I reached down to help Frank to his feet, and Mr. Red Suit's fist connected with my jaw. I felt his rings cut my face. I staggered backwards over some chunks of asphalt and landed on my back.

Suddenly they were both kicking me with everything they had. I thought I felt a couple of ribs crack before I could grab the foot that was doing the damage, hold it tight and give it a twist.

Whitey fell on some large rocks and didn't get up again. That only left Mr. Red Suit to deal with. Just as he jumped to try and pin me to the ground, I stiffened my leg and thrust it into the air. It caught him in the groin as he threw himself toward me and stopped him in his tracks.

He backed away with a strangled cry and hobbled quickly to the car, pulling Whitey along with him. The engine roared and streaks of rubber were left on the pavement as they drove away.

Frank was jubilant. "We beat them, Jake. That'll teach them to come around our turf!"

He dragged me to my feet but the pull on my arm made my ribs shift. I couldn't quite stifle a groan.

"Hey, Jake, are you okay?"

"Yeah Frank, I'm fine." Everyone gave us a wide berth as we left the lot.

I thought ‘our turf?’ Had I just taken a beating to defend a vacant lot? No, I’d done it for Frank, and maybe somewhere in the back of my mind, where I had feelings that I hadn't been able to put a name to yet....for Louise and Hutch, too. Damn this case.

****

After eating dinner at the Mission, we slowly walked back to the alley behind the Chinese restaurant as it began to rain. A steady, heavy, downpour. Unusual, but then this whole November was turning out to be a little unusual. Terrific.

Frank ran ahead, but I was just too sore and tired to try and keep up with him. When I reached the mouth of the alley, I saw that Frank had pushed the boxes together, with the cardboard flaps extended and overlapping each other, like a porch roof.

"Hurry up Jake, you'll get soaking wet."

I didn't bother to say that I thought that it was probably already too late to worry about that. I just crawled into my box and tried to shift my weight so that my ribs hurt as little as possible. I was wishing that I hadn't forgotten to get another coat from the Mission's stash of used clothes.

A hand reached around the end of the box and pushed my jacket into the space beside my head.

"No Frank, a deal's a deal. You keep it." I tried to push it back.

"It’s okay, I'm just letting you borrow it until tomorrow".

I smiled in the shadows cast by the back door light of the restaurant. We lay there and talked, as we got wetter and wetter. Trying to take our minds off our misery, I suppose.

I considered getting a room at the Viceroy using Hutch's ten dollars, plus whatever money I had left, to pay for it, but I didn't want to leave Frank alone. I couldn't help but ask Frank why he didn't sleep in the Men's Shelter they set up every night on the second and third floors of the Mission.

"Only the crazy, the sick, or the green peas - you know, the new guys that don't know any better - sleep in the Shelter." He yawned and belched loudly.

"But why, Frank? At least you'd have a dry roof over your head and a cot to sleep on." Both of those things were sounding pretty good to me right about then.

"Why? There's lots of reasons why! It's noisy in there, somebody's always talking or singing, no matter how many times you tell them to shut up. The lights go out at eleven p.m. What if you aren't sleepy then?"
He pulled his coat more tightly around him and went on. "There's no booze allowed, and if you do have some, you've got to pass it around or somebody’ll squeal on you."

He yawned again loudly, and said, "Fights break out all the time, and the gangs in there will rob you blind."

"Wait a minute, Frank. Gangs operate inside the Shelter?"

"Sure, gangs of street people like us. They get up after lights out and walk around checking out everybody's stuff and if you've got something that they want, you'd better hand it over or they'll beat you up...or worse. Listen, it's not safe to even talk about it out loud, so good night."

"Good night, Frank" I rolled onto my back and tried not to think about how wet I was. What Frank had said about gangs of homeless people banding together to prey on their fellow street dwellers, had got me thinking and it was quite some time before I was able to fall asleep.

I thought I heard Hutch's car drive by before I drifted off.

****

We awoke to a sodden mess of cardboard, both under and over us. I was cold and my ribs ached relentlessly. A sudden spasm of coughing left me doubled up and gasping for breath. Oh good. I was catching a cold.

I got up out of the filthy puddle that I was lying in and nudged Frank's leg with the toe of my boot. Another coughing fit seized me and nearly bent me double as I crossed my arms and held my ribs. I was hoping that they were only badly bruised.

"Come on Frank, let's get out of these wet clothes."

The lady at the Mission let us rummage around in the box of used clothes. I picked out a clean but well used T-shirt and a long wool overcoat. I also put on a pair of work pants that were too big for me, but I figured they'd do until we could hit the laundromat.

My hair was soaking wet and hung around my face but there was nothing I could do about that for now. Frank looked remarkably chipper and none the worse for wear, having put his heavy overcoat to good use last night.

After breakfast we headed down to the Sparkle Clean Laundromat over on Bronson St. and I left Frank watching the clothes in the dryer, while I headed over to Joey's Bar and Grill.

The day was already hot and humid and I should have been perspiring in that heavy overcoat, but I had the chills.

As I entered the darkened tavern, I stumbled over the steps to the lounge and clutched the door frame to keep from falling, my face rubbing against the rough wool of my sleeve. I felt the cuts on my face from Red Suit's rings open up again. The pretty waitress looked at me in disgust, as I practically fell into the room. Terrific.

I sat at one of the small round wooden tables and ordered a coffee. The waitress simply stood there and looked at me, so I put Hutch's ten dollars on the table without even being asked.

Would I ever be the same person or think the same way I used to before all of this started? I saw someone else when I looked in the mirror these days, and it was becoming harder and harder to find Starsky in there.

I got up from the table and walked over to the front window. I leaned against the window frame as I looked out, and slipped my hand under the edge of the Schlitz sign. I felt a piece of paper there and quickly pulled out a note. Returning to the table, I sat to drink my coffee, and warmed my hands on the cup for a moment. I scanned the nearly deserted room to make sure that no one was watching and opened Hutch's note.

Hey,

You looked terrible this morning, and now I know why. Sleeping in a box? I'm not sure I'm handling this very well.
Had a tough time getting to sleep thinking you were out in the rain somewhere. Took a spin around about 2 AM looking for you.

Go easy on the realism, will you? I mean sleeping in a box is noble and realistic and everything but -- Starsk, be careful. This is your partner talking. I don't want you added to the list of people found with their heads caved in.

Huggy says the word on the street is that it's two guys, not one, that are whacking the winos, and they don't need a reason. They think it's fun - real sickos, buddy. I hope you still have that .38 Special strapped to your ankle.

Hutch

So I did hear Hutch's car drive by last night! Hutch was worrying himself sick about me, and that wasn't good.

If he got too tired or too distracted, he wasn't going to be careful enough on the streets. I knew that for a fact, I'd seen it before.

I rested my head in my hands for a moment and wiped the wetness from the side of my face. I felt my stomach clench into knots.
Well I sure wasn't going to give him anything else to worry about if I could help it. Everything would be hunky dory on my end of things as far as Hutch would know and I'd slug the first guy that said otherwise.

I figured I'd better write him a note and get back to check on Frank. Every moment now that I spent on this case would feel like one too many.

I checked my pockets. I didn't have any paper; it’d been in the navy jacket that Frank was now watching spin around at the laundromat. I plastered on my best smile and walked to the cash register to pay for my coffee and order another one to go.

I gave the waitress a generous tip and politely asked if I could borrow a pen and a piece of paper. She seemed a changed woman, and quickly handed me her pen but said that she didn't have any paper. I thanked her and helped myself to a couple of Joey's cocktail napkins.

I unfolded one of the napkins and began to write Hutch a note. The wetness on my face must have been from the cuts, because a few streaks of red colored the edge of the napkin. Hutch didn’t need to know that.

I wrote as quickly as I could, trying not to leave anything out that might turn out to be a lead. I walked back to the window and slipped the napkins up behind the sign, picked up Frank's coffee and left.

Hutch


I walked into the squad room yawning and bleary eyed from lack of sleep, carrying the stack of case files. Thompson sat in Starsky's place, feet up on the desk, tipped back so that only two legs of the chair touched the ground. He scrutinized me briefly over the top of the paper he was reading.

"So, it looks like Goldilocks had trouble finding a bed that was 'just right'."
Someone snickered.

I shot an evil glare in the direction of the laugh, put the files on the desk and moved toward the coffee machine. I passed in front of Dobey's open office door and he hollered at me. "Hutchinson? Get in here!"

I couldn't suppress a groan. "On my way, Cap."

"Now, Hutchinson!"

I abandoned the luke-warm coffee I was pouring, in favor of getting my butt chewed.

"Papa Bear speaks," Thompson quipped from behind the paper.

I accidentally bumped his chair on my way by, making him lose his balance and curse.

"Close the door," Dobey grumbled, as I stepped into the office. Feeling perverse, I snagged it shut with my foot, Starsky-style.

Dobey glared. "You're on shaky ground, Detective."

Detective? I thought, not Hutch or Hutchinson? This must be serious.

"Captain?" I stood before him, hands clasped behind my back.

"You want to tell me why you threw Thompson out of your car yesterday and left him in the worst section of town?"

"Oh, that." I chuckled with relief. "I thought I was in 'real' trouble."

"I didn't find it amusing, Detective."

I sobered, "Sorry, sir. Neither did I."

Dobey sighed, "Listen, the Mayor is on my back, the media is on my back and now the Commissioner is on my back. To top things off, one of my best detectives has lost control of his partner and..."

I jumped in, "You mean, Starsky? Why would you think he's out of control?" I paced across the room. "He's not out of control." I paced back. "He's undercover and doing a damn fine job of it." I stopped in front of Dobey again. "Who told you he was out of control?"

"Thompson said," he started.

"Thompson?" I cut him off and spat out a question. "Thompson said what?"

"Thompson said," Dobey's voice rose above mine, "that you dragged Starsky into an alley and roughed him up. That it looked like you two weren't getting along."

I stared at my captain in open-mouthed amazement.

"I believe he called it a 'Lover's Quarrel'."

I stood with my palms resting on his desk, shaking my head in disbelief. I leaned toward him and said as ominously as I could, "You don't believe that, do you?"
Dobey stared at his desk top, his hands folded and resting on the blotter. He didn't respond.

I felt myself come a little unglued and counted silently to five before speaking, "How long," I paused counting again, "have you known us?"

He lifted his eyes but not his head, "Close to seven years."

"Have you ever suspected us of being...unprofessional?" I couldn't say it. We’d heard the jab a thousand times from those who knew us and how we worked well enough to joke about it and get away with it, but to think that the joke had gotten this far – to Dobey’s ears – seemed like it had gone past being a joke to something coming in at us from left field. And I was the only one standing here to take a swing at it.

Dobey sat there completely still, our eyes locked and I wondered if I saw something behind his stare. A question? I realized I was holding my breath and exhaled sharply, straightened and looked away from him. Maybe I was overtired and taking offence at something that wasn’t there, but this seemed like the last straw. My own Captain! The man I respected and looked at as a father figure. I pulled a hand through my hair and shook my head as if bugs were buzzing around me.

My world was tilting again and I hated the feeling. I moved to the water cooler in the corner and got a drink, using the moment to explore a few thoughts. Starsky and I were totally confident in our masculinity, of that I was sure. We'd been through so much together. We touch, hug, and share almost everything in our lives. Did people view that alone as something different – not right? Were they wondering what we did in our spare time together? Self-righteous indignation flared and I thought, ‘why do I care what people think’?
For once I was glad Starsky wasn't in the room. He might have done something really off the wall. I grinned at the thought. Would he shout - or get totally silly and throw his arms around my neck and give me a smooch, just to prove he didn't give a damn what anyone thought? Either way he would have done something.

I just stood there, a wry smile on my face.

Dobey was watching me. "I don't see much to be happy about here, Hutchinson."

"You don't?" I laughed bitterly, "I think it's pretty hysterical that you would let an idiot like Thompson influence your opinion of me and Starsk." A nasty thought occurred to me out of the blue. "Unless you've been thinking that way all along – and it makes a difference to you."

I took a sip of water. Keeping my eyes on him to catch his reaction.

He looked at me and shrugged.

Most of the water went down the wrong tube sending me into a fit of coughing. "You must be joking," I finally managed. I held up a hand to stop him from responding. "Never mind, I don't want to know."

I really didn't want to know. My world was rapidly falling out of balance and I had no idea how to stop it. My stomach clenched and my head began to pound. The saner voice in my head said, ‘Nah, that wouldn’t be Dobey thinking like that, that’d be I.A.’

"Listen Hutch," Dobey reasoned, "I don't care one way or the other..."

I interrupted him, "Oh, thank you, that's very comforting, Captain. It's great to have your support." Actually it was great to have his support and I felt slightly mollified, but I was too angry with Thompson to stop now. "What does the rest of the precinct think?"

My anger grew with each sentence. "How many others have Thompson and his gorilla sidekick, Laramie, gotten to? How did they manage to get to you?" I felt like shouting that the rest of the precinct should walk a mile in our shoes, but I knew it wasn’t Dobey who deserved my anger.

I threw my hands in the air. "You, of all people. I can't believe this. Is that what prompted all of this? Captain, you surely don't believe this homophobic crap pouring out of Thompson? Doesn’t everyone know better - know Starsky and I better - than to believe that I’d be out there slapping my partner around over a ‘lover’s quarrel’? "

Just saying it made me sick to my stomach. A mockery of our near perfect friendship.

"Now, Hutchinson," Dobey stood, "calm down. You know me better than that."

"Calm down! Calm down! I refuse to calm down. I'll calm down when that sorry excuse for a cop out there has his head shoved so far up his..." I broke off and flopped in a chair. That line of thought wouldn't get me anywhere.

Dobey came around his desk and leaned against it directly in front of me, folding his arms across his ample middle. "I care about getting the job done – and by the book." He brought his hand down on the desk with a bang that captured my attention.

"The Mayor’s breathing down my neck on this case. It’s turning into a PR nightmare – and what good will it do to solve the case if certain irregularities in method – at least the way Thompson reported it…" he cleared his throat noisily, "…come to light?"

"There has been talk in the last couple days," he admitted, "that had me worried about whether one of my best teams was still working together the way I need them to if we ever hope to solve this case."

I rolled my eyes and wouldn't look at him.

"There isn't anything I can do about rumors that won't make them even worse," Dobey continued. "Most people are just jealous of your arrest record and the fact that you two have remained partners for so long and still get along. I can't change that. But I'll tell you what I am going to do. I'm going to recommend that Thompson make an appointment with the Employee Assistance Program about his drinking. I caught him putting whiskey in his coffee this morning. If he won't go, I'm pulling his badge."

I sighed. At least Thompson would be out of the picture.

Dobey continued, "I'm assigning someone else to work with you on this case."

I glared at Dobey. "I have a partner. I don't need or want another one. Besides, I was going to ask you if I could work a few late nights this week. I don't like Starsky out there at night with no back-up."

"I thought he was staying at the Viceroy. That's safe enough."

"Yeah, well, I did too, but he's sleeping on the streets. Says he needs to be closer to the action." I dragged a hand across my face, feeling tired and disgusted.

"So you've spoken to him?"

"Oh sure," I lied. "We talk every morning." I wish. No need for Dobey to know I felt Starsky might be just a little out of control. "That's why I've been late the last few mornings." Tilting, I thought...my world is tilting.

"All right Hutchinson, I'm trusting you on this for a couple nights but I'm assigning someone to help do some leg work during the day. You can't work all day and night. Go home, son, get some sleep. You look like hell."

Now I was 'son', again. I couldn't keep up with the changes in attitude today. "Okay I'm going out to do some poking around. Then I'm heading home to get some sleep. I'll be back and logged on around 10:30 tonight." I stood and took a deep breath. "Now, I get to face the firing squad."

Dobey looked confused.

"Out there," I nodded to the door. "Rumor Central."

"Send Thompson in, I need to talk to him next."

I opened the door to find at least six officers gathered near the coffee machine. It was the best place to listen to what was happening in Dobey's office. I didn't doubt that they had heard every word we'd said.

They all tried to look busy, scattering back to their desks. I kicked the leg of Thompson's chair giving him a jolt. "Your turn. Have fun." I continued out of the room not bothering to talk to anyone else.

Out on the streets, I couldn't decide what to do; flip or fly, pass or play. Not my usual decisive self, I got in my car and just drove. My eyes felt like sandy marbles and my over active imagination was making mountains out of molehills.

I really needed my partner to bring this all back into perspective for me. Starsky might not have a college degree but when it came to my psyche he knew how to keep my feet on the ground.

I wanted nothing more than to spend the evening with him over at Huggy's. Drink beer, play pool and laugh about how Thompson got the best of me. He'd probably have some diabolical plan to get even, too.

Starsky grew up in a demonstrative family. They hugged and touched with ease, finding comfort in physical closeness. My family, on the other hand, didn't believe in all that emotional stuff. Men didn't hug and ladies gave 'air' kisses that wouldn't mess up their makeup.

It was quite a shock the first few times I was 'muckled' by my partner. He thought nothing of grabbing a leg, an arm or knee in a moment of crisis, whatever helped him feel anchored and safe. Now, I expected it, it was as much a part of our partnership and police work as our guns.

It was damned hard to pull the wool over Starsky's eyes. If I hesitated even for an instant around him, he would suspect something was wrong. I didn't doubt for a moment that he probably was already suspicious from our meeting in the alley. He would be able to tell that I was worrying over something.

I found myself driving past the Mission looking for him. It was lunchtime and he should be getting in the food line any time now. I didn't see him and a knot of worry added itself to my pounding headache and general state of confusion.

Up ahead the light turned red and I found myself watching two street people cross the street in front of me. I was so lost in my own thoughts that it took until they were on the sidewalk and the light had turned green, before I realized one of them was my partner.

The car behind me honked impatiently and I gunned the LTD through the intersection, looking in the rearview mirror for the two men.

There was no Starsky strut, no bounce, no joy, nothing to identify him as anything more than another hapless, homeless person.
Had I seen blood on his face? Was he walking with a slight limp? He was hurting, of that I was sure. Damn it, what happened?

Joey's Bar and Grill loomed down the next block. I stopped in to get coffee and check for a note.

The little spark of enjoyment I got at finding news behind the Schlitz sign was dashed as I read his scrawl on the two napkins he'd used for writing paper.

The note read:

Hutch,

I was leaving a message for you behind the Schlitz sign - and I found there was one already there so I'm writing you another one.

Sorry all I could find was a couple of napkins from Joey's. Don’t mind the ketchup stains.

Huggy said it was two guys? - maybe that ties in with what happened to me today. Two guys came up to me and Frank while we were waiting for the doors to open for lunch at the Mission. Frank is one of the regulars at the Mission - he's a nice old guy, Hutch.

One of the guys said to me, "Hey want to jump in my low rider and we'll rotate the tires?" but Frank grabbed my arm and shook his head, and then one of them turned ugly and started pushing Frank away telling him to mind his own business. The other one said, "Can you spot me some ends, and I'll catch you back on Monday?"

You know I wasn’t going to stand around and watch Frank get roughed up, and I didn't have any ‘ends’ to spot the other guy, so we got into it.

They left pretty soon after that - and I know what you're thinking - but I only left some skin from my knuckles on their faces.

One of them was a tall, heavy set black guy in his mid-to late 30's, wearing a red three piece suit, the other one was a skinny white guy with a beard, long brown hair, blue eyes, in his mid to late 20's and he was wearing a trench coat. Can you find out if they match Huggy's description?

That's why I've got to sleep down here, Hutch. I'm never going find anything out otherwise, and so far all the murders but one, happened at night. Besides, you’d be surprised at how a box keeps out the wind.

What were you doing driving around down here at 2 a.m. anyways? You're the one who's not getting any sleep.

Listen, Blintz, I'm worried about you. If you don't get enough sleep you're going to start making mistakes and who's watching your back these days?
Look for the next note under the rubber mat at the back door of "Taco Treat" at the corner of Silver and 3rd.

S.
p.s. Who's that guy I see you hanging around with all the time? I'm glad if it's somebody to watch your back, but I still don't trust nobody to do it except me.


The note explained his limp; a fight in an alley. Great. Brawling by day and sleeping in a box by night - my partner, the low budget super hero.

I finished up my coffee and stepped out into the humid, smog filled afternoon. Maybe tonight we'd get a break and I'd be able to talk to him face to face. I needed a little Starsky optimism to keep me going. I only hoped he was well enough to give it.

Meanwhile I needed to do some real detective work this afternoon, interview some shop owners and see if any next of kin would speak to me. I had an appointment with Huggy, too. Places to go and people to see, miles to go before I...Thank you, Robert Frost.

The afternoon wore on in a weary haze of angry family members and scared shop owners. No one knew a damn thing except Huggy. He had done some checking around for me and found out the two guys that had roughed up Starsk were just a couple punks trying to make an impression. Huggy didn't think they were worth worrying about. Hah, I wanted to find them both and see just how tough they were, getting their kicks out of roughing up a couple of homeless guys.

Before I turned in for a nap I left Starsk a note under the mat at the 'Taco Treat'. I hoped he ate at the Mission and didn't spend any of the money I gave him on the crap they tried to pass off as food at that place.

Chapter 8

Starsky

A splashing sound.

It was the sound of Frank washing his feet in the toilet bowl that brought me back to the present.

I'd been daydreaming again about waking up in my own bed at home. Home.

Frank and I were finishing up our morning ritual of getting washed - as well as it was possible to get washed using a small sink and a toilet bowl in the public washroom at Needle Park.

I tried to work a lather from the tiny bar of soap that Frank ‘borrowed’ from a cheap motel, while the cold water splashed full force into the sink in front of me.

Staring at my reflection in the cracked mirror, I saw a mass of purple and red bruises covering my chest and right side. This homeless life, this little undercover camp out, was wearing thin. My partner could tell you just how much I enjoy camping. I tried not to think about what it must be like to be truly homeless and not just on assignment.

I looked down at the bloodstained floor, littered with discarded syringes. What I wouldn't give for a real shower and a sharp razor. I couldn't even let myself think about sleeping in a bed. The memory of clean sheets and a soft pillow was just too painful.

I was scraping my chin with one of Frank's disposable razors, which should have been disposed of about three shaves ago, when Frank came out of the stall and sat on the floor to put my...er...his shoes on. I glanced down and saw with satisfaction that the sores on his feet had all but disappeared.

I pulled the razor away from my face as a fit of coughing made me double over, hands wrapped around my sides.

"Holy smokes, Jake, maybe you'd better go down to the free clinic and have them take a look at those ribs." Frank's face registered his shock as he saw the bruises.

I reached for my t-shirt and gingerly put it on. "No, they're okay."  I hoped.

"Well, that cough sounds bad, and that'll finish you quicker than the ribs will, and that's a fact."

Our eyes met in the reflection of the mirror.

I carefully pulled on Hutch's sweater and my lucky jeans. It felt good to be wearing my own clothes again. To my surprise, the old stain that I could never get out of Hutch's sweater had finally disappeared after our trip to the coin wash.

"Hey Frank, good job at the Laundromat." I reached down and patted him on the shoulder, grabbed my overcoat, and headed for the door.

I stepped through the washroom door into the bright morning sunshine and saw the flashing lights of several police cars across the park. It looked as though they were parked near the beach. I stopped in my tracks.

"What's the matter, Jake?" Frank had nearly walked into the back of me. He didn't want to be late for breakfast.

"Let's go see what's going on down by the water," I said over my shoulder as I began to stride across the grass. Frank just stood there, watching me walk away.

"Aw c'mon Jake, it's just some bum that slept on the beach and got beaten up for being so stupid," Frank called after me. He hadn’t moved to follow me.

"You go on, Frank, if you want. I'll catch up with you later." I started to trot.

I crossed the field and reached the railing that ran the length of the park, along the edge of the bluff that overlooked the beach.

People jogged, biked and roller-skated along this walkway, sometimes stopping to lean on the railing and look down at the beach below and out over the expanse of ocean that seemed to stretch endlessly ahead. It was one place where you could forget some of the ugliness that might be seen on any given day and lose yourself in the beautiful blue of sea and sky.

Hutch and I used to come down to the beach a lot.

A sudden breeze wafted a horrible smell towards me and I had to turn away, fighting the urge to retch. When I had my stomach under control again, I turned back and looked over to the water's edge and saw ten or twelve cops standing around a blackened shape on the sand.

The stench was overpowering, even from where I stood. It could only be the smell of burnt flesh. The men on the beach held handkerchiefs, or the sleeves of their jackets, to their faces. One uniformed officer stood a little apart from the others, vomiting into the sand.

I looked at the men below. Dobey was there and so was Hutch. They stood off to one side talking, a little apart from the others. Hutch was rubbing his hands over his face as though he had the world's biggest headache. I wanted to run down to him and say, "Fill me in, partner, and let’s solve this thing."

A man in a brown suit walked over to where Dobey and Hutch stood talking, and I saw Hutch turn his back to the man as he approached.

There was something familiar about the cop in the brown suit. Thompson?  John Thompson?

I suddenly realized who it was that I'd seen in Hutch's car the other day. My partner was teamed up with John Thompson! I felt a flush of anger sweep from the soles of my feet to the top of my head, where I thought it might erupt.

Hutch looked up to where I stood, and I saw him shield his eyes against the morning sun. He froze for an instant and then he took a step towards me.

Just then, Frank's hand clutched my sleeve and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"C'mon, Jake, it reeks down here; let's go get breakfast," he whined in my ear. I grabbed Frank by the arm and hustled him away.

"Ow, what's your hurry, Jake? I never know what you're going to do from one minute to the next. Damn, you change your mind faster than one of those mood rings."

"Sorry, Frank. Let's go get breakfast." I kept walking, dragging Frank along by the arm.

I wouldn't let myself look back.

****

I sat by myself at the end of a long wooden table at the Mission and shoveled the food into my mouth. I didn't feel like talking to anyone right now.

John Thompson. My fists clenched. What was Dobey thinking? I wouldn't partner a trained monkey with John Thompson, because I've got too much respect for animals, and here Dobey had partnered him with one of the best cops on the force!

I think I could make a guess now about what was eating away at my partner, or at least part of it. I wouldn't know everything that Hutch was up against until I'd had a chance to talk to him, and I was thinking that had better be soon.

Frank sat halfway across the room at a long table packed with all of his new mealtime buddies. He was talking to his usual audience, and every so often they would all turn and look at me.

I was in no mood for Frank's stories today. Ever since the little encounter with Red Suit and Whitey in the vacant lot, Frank rattled on about the fight over and over, and the story got longer and longer every time he told it. I glanced over at them and saw that Frank had stopped talking for a moment. The whole table looked over at me again.

"Hi, Jake." Crazy Willie waved at me. He was a regular member of Frank's new mealtime crew.

"Hi, Willie." I nodded in his direction. It might have been funny except that I was in no mood to laugh today. I slammed my plate on the table and got up and walked out the door.

John Thompson.

I started walking; I didn't know or care where. I was just walking.

I felt so frustrated that I felt like walking across the city over to Police Headquarters and telling them I was coming in off this case. I couldn't seem to get a lead that was worth a dime, and everyone was either too afraid to talk or was too busy just trying to survive another day to worry about a fellow street person getting wasted.

But one look at the newspaper headlines that shouted from the corner newsstands told me that this case wasn't going to go away, and the chances of me getting pulled off it before it was solved were next to none.

Quotes from the Mayor screamed from every front page. "We are going to take action!" Yeah, the message he was trying to send was, 'we care'. Well then, how about some real help for the people down here? I made a disgusted sound. Time to get off my soapbox and find the killer.

I nodded at Bill, another Mission regular who sat on the corner of Frederick and 8th, as I walked past.

I slowed my stride. My anger was being replaced by another emotion I couldn't quite put a name to. I felt tired.

I cut across a side street to reach the narrow back alley that ran behind the storefronts. It was an endless stretch of fire escapes and loading bays. I started to walk back towards the Mission.

Several blocks farther on, I heard a noise coming from the mouth of a narrow lane. I was lost in my own thoughts and couldn't immediately identify the sounds that I was hearing. I'd nearly walked past them, before I stopped.

Someone was calling for help. I reached for a gun that wasn't there and sprinted down the alley.

A tall man was kicking the living daylights out of someone on the ground whose cries for help were getting weaker and weaker with every blow. I jumped the last few feet and landed on the assailant's back, knocking him to the ground.

I looked over at the victim. It was Eddie, and he was bleeding from a gash to the head. We looked at each other in surprise for a moment, and I paid for that lapse in concentration. The guy under me flipped me over like a sack of potatoes and punched me in the eye.

He lunged towards Eddie again, and I jumped to my feet and hauled him off the fallen man. I kneed him in the stomach and something clattered to the ground. A knife had fallen from his hand and as I dove for it, he turned and ran.

I stayed where I was, slowly pulling myself up into a sitting position on the pavement and tried to catch my breath. I was reminded how much everything hurt, my ribs most of all. I glanced over at Eddie, who was looking at me uncertainly.

"Are you okay?" I asked him as I panted for breath. "How's your head?"

I reached down and ripped off a piece of my t-shirt and turned to kneel in front of him. I pressed the bunched up fabric against the cut on his forehead.

I took this opportunity to have a good look at Eddie. He was just a young guy - maybe in his early twenties, maybe still nineteen - it was hard to tell. He was thin, too thin, with long dark brown hair combed straight back and blue eyes.

Those eyes were staring at me while I tried to stop the bleeding the best I could without hurting him by pushing too hard against his forehead. He was too young to be living on the streets.

I glanced down at his torn and dirty t-shirt. He looked like he'd been roughed up pretty good. The crook of his arm caught my eye and my stomach did a slow roll as I saw the needle tracks there.

The kid was a junkie, and it was a safe guess from our meeting the other night that he was turning tricks to feed his habit. A male prostitute. Didn't life just stink sometimes? The more time that I spent on the streets, the less I wanted to know.

"My head's okay. How's your eye?" He spoke softly and continued to sit quietly and stare at me.

I felt the side of my face and winced. "It's nothing. I guess I'm going to have a shiner, though." I thought I'd gotten off easily with just a black eye this time. "Who was that guy who attacked you?"

Eddie's face grew sullen. "Oh, just some bad news. Hey...um…thanks for helping me. I think he might have killed me, or at least cut me up pretty bad, if you hadn't stopped him."

"That's okay, I'm just glad I happened to walk by at the right time."

Eddie began to get up and I pulled him to his feet. Neither of us wanted to mention our first meeting the other night.

"Hey you'd better get that cut stitched up." I grabbed his elbow as he started to wobble.

"Yeah, I will...and thanks again."

I handed him his overcoat, which had fallen to the ground. He began to walk somewhat unsteadily down the alley, and I sat back down on the pavement to catch my breath. Another fit of coughing left me gasping, and when I looked up again, Eddie was gone.

After I walked back to the Mission, the afternoon passed like every other afternoon had passed down here lately.

I asked Frank if any of his lunch buddies had heard anything about the body they'd found on the beach. Other than Crazy Willie's theory about alien abduction, no one seemed to know or wanted to say a thing.

As darkness fell, the faithful gathered in the vacant lot three blocks from the Mission. I don't know whether fear prompted them to go there, or maybe just loneliness, but I had never seen so many of the homeless gathered together in one place, outside of mealtimes.

The fire in the oil drum blazed high and bright. Frank and I squatted across from each other, part of a large group of men shooting craps on the ground by the wall of the pawn shop.

The light from the fire flickered across the men’s faces, as we crouched on our haunches and rolled the dice. We looked like a circle of cavemen banging on the dirt with bones. It reminded me of a scene from a late night movie that I'd watched a long time ago.

The cops hadn't been around to bother us. Bother us? I just realized what I'd been thinking. Hutch, get me out of here.

I was starting to lose my grip on reality...lack of sleep'll do that to a person, you know? I smiled to myself. Hutch'd probably say not to worry about it, that I'd already lost my grip on reality a long time ago.

Some men had gathered to watch the craps game, and an even greater number of them stood around the fire blazing in the oil drum, playing 'pass the bottle', and getting loudly drunk.

I looked up after a throw, feeling somebody's eyes watchin’ me. I saw Eddie standing there, leaning against the wall and watching the game. He had a small white bandage on his forehead. When I glanced over at him, he looked me in the eye and nodded his head once in a silent greeting.

Suddenly a scuffle broke out near Frank. Someone had decided to change a bet and had reached into the small pile of money in the center of the circle. Afterwards no one could seem to remember who’d done it.

Another fight. Great. At this rate the only way that I'd be leaving the Mission district was in a body bag.

I stood and jumped back out of the way of the swinging fists and thrashing legs. I heard someone call out "Jake!" amidst all of the shouting, and looked over to see Frank get punched in the stomach and pulled down to the ground. Terrific. I sighed and waded into the fight.

I pushed and threw bodies out of my way until I reached Frank and hauled him out of the way of a kick aimed at his face. Just as I’d pulled Frank out of harm's way, I heard someone else shout out my name again, and I turned in time to see a burning two by four swinging toward my head. I closed my eyes and raised my arm to ward off the blow.

The roar of a single gunshot stopped all movement and rooted everyone to the spot. I waited a moment for the blow that never came, then opened my eyes and lowered my arm.

It would have been comical to see the way everyone had frozen still, if I wasn't caught right in the middle of it all. I looked to see who had fired the gunshot. Hutch!

He stood in the center of the vacant lot surrounded by battling street people, all suddenly stopped in their tracks and staring at him with hatred and fear. He had the Python raised in his fist over his head, and anger blazed in his eyes brighter than the fire crackling in the barrel beside him.

It really was my partner, and he was a welcome sight for these sore eyes. But what was he doing here? Was he crazy? This many guys would swarm him, and I wouldn't be able to stop it, although I'd go down trying.
I jumped up before anyone began to realize what was happening and kicked the oil drum as hard as I could, sending it rolling across the lot, flames and chunks of burning wood spraying out of the end of it.

It was as though someone had thrown a switch and everyone began to shout and scramble out of the way of the burning barrel. Another scuffle broke out in the corner, over the snatched money from the craps game.

I strode over to Hutch and began to push him around the corner of the building shouting, "Get out of here, go on, get out of here!" My voice was all but drowned out by the yelling and cursing of everyone else.

As soon as we were around the corner and out of sight, I stopped and said, "Hutch, are you crazy? This isn't safe. It's not safe for you here! Go on, get out of here," I hissed at him.

A sudden fit of coughing left me doubled over, and I felt Hutch's hand on my back. When I was finally able to straighten up, I said, "Listen, Hutch, thanks for what you did tonight. I know we've got to talk." He was staring at me. Great time for me to have a coughing fit.

He raised his other hand to touch the side of my face where I had the shiner. I didn't try to pull away, but I looked him in the eye and said, "Go on, Hutch, get out of here".

"We've got to talk." He spoke quietly, his eyes boring holes into mine.

"I know. Leave me a note and let me know when and where, okay? And make it soon, huh?" I glanced behind me at the sounds coming from the vacant lot.

"Hutch," I grabbed his arm, "if they find out you're a cop, I'm not going to be able to keep them off of you, and if they see me talking to you..." I could see by the expression on his face that I'd convinced him - for now. I couldn't let him know how badly I wanted to go with him. I’d made a promise to Louise and I had to keep it.

He just kept staring at me as though he wanted to say something and didn't know where to start. It wasn't safe for him here.

"C'mon Hutch...go!" I turned and walked away to make it easier on him, easier on the both of us. If we'd ever needed to talk about a case and about everything that was on our minds, the way good friends do, it was now.

Before I could take two steps, he grabbed my hand and covering it with his own, pressed something into my palm. I patted his arm and gave him my biggest smile. He didn't know what it cost me to do it.

I turned and ran back towards the vacant lot. Just in time too, as I saw Frank and some of his cronies walk around the corner of the building, looking for me.

Later that night, as Frank and I walked back to the alley together, all he could talk about was how I'd kicked over the burning oil drum. I could see that it would become another story for the lunch table crowd.

I fell asleep feeling heartsick at the chances that Hutch was taking with his safety. I was heartsick at the chance that he'd taken charging into that vacant lot tonight - because he thought I'd needed him.

****

I woke the next morning certain of one thing. I was sick. I lay there for a moment, breathing deeply and trying to calm the feelings of nausea that washed over me in waves.

My chest ached and I needed to cough but tried my best to hold it back. I knew it was going to hurt like hell. I rolled off the piece of cardboard I'd been lying on beside Frank's box and crawled to the opposite side of the alley, as far away from Frank as I could.

I was so violently ill that I thought my insides were going to be ejected along with last night's supper. I stopped at last and turned away to sit with my eyes closed, just trying to breathe as deeply as I could. I didn't want to do that again.

I could feel myself trembling, and it felt like someone had suddenly turned up the heat about ten degrees. I started when I felt someone's hand on my arm and opened my eyes to see Frank's worried face hovering over me. He didn't say a word, just started to wipe my face with his spare t-shirt. 

I tried to smile at him and said "Thanks, Frank."

"No problem, Jake, that's what friends are for." He stood and said, " I'm going to get you a glass of water, Jake. You just sit tight." He scurried down the alley and turned the corner toward the front of the Chinese restaurant.

I reached into my coat pocket and fingered Hutch's notes. I had three of them. I pulled them out and re-read them, wishing that he was here right now. No matter how ill I felt I had to go and pick up Hutch's note that I knew would be under the mat at Taco Treat, and leave one for him, or he'd worry himself sick. I pulled myself to my feet and groaned.

Just then Frank came around the corner with the glass of water.

"What are you doing, Jake? You're too sick to be going anywhere."

"There’s something I've gotta do, Frank. I won't be long. You wait for me by the Mission. I'll see you later, okay?" I shuffled slowly past Frank and tried not to see the worried look on his face.

I don't remember how long it took me to get to Taco Treat. I wasn't moving too fast, although sometimes the street seemed to spin at top speed in front of my eyes.

It was still early when I got there and the taco stand hadn't opened up for the day. I slid Hutch's note out from under the mat and sat on the back step to read it.

Starsk,

Dobey’s having a fit. He gave me a serious dressing down this morning. It was my fault.

The guy he has assigned as my temporary partner is a real yahoo. Thinks he's got all the answers. I blew my stack yesterday and left him standing down by the Mission. He made one too many wise cracks about the homeless being worthless pieces of garbage. I told Dobey I didn't need or want another partner. We'll be lucky if he doesn't yank us both from this case.

I know you think we're getting closer to finding the killer but I have my doubts.

The two guys that assaulted you are two new punks trying to break into the big time. They don't fit the description Huggy gave me for the guys that are hitting on the homeless. I'd bust them if we could get anything to stick. We need some solid evidence.

I'm going on the night shift until this is done. Pay no attention to the bleary-eyed cop in the brown Ford. I'm not sleeping anyway knowing you're out there with no one watching your back. Just clue me in to which box you plan to sleep in tonight. I'll only be a shout away most of the time.

Let's nail these guys soon. I hate this gig.

Hutch

I sat there and rubbed my eyes. I felt angry all over again thinking about Hutch being assigned to John Thompson, and we hadn't had a chance to talk about it...again! Night shift? Seemed to me that he was working day and night.

I sure wasn't going to let on how I was feeling right now; he had enough on his plate. I pulled a pen and a piece of paper out of my pocket and began to write a note for Hutch.

I slipped the note under the mat. I stumbled getting to my feet and had to steady myself against the wall of the food stand. Staggering like this, at least I would look the way that most people expected the homeless to look. I slowly began to walk back toward the Mission.

Chapter 9


Hutch

My hopes of getting a nap before starting the night gig had been dashed by a call from Captain Dobey. Another body had been found, and he wanted me to check it out.

I made the trip down to the beach to find the usual cacophony of police vehicles and flashing lights that always surrounded a crime scene.

The preliminary investigation wasn't much help. The victim was probably killed by a blow to the head with a blunt object. The body was burnt to a crisp.

I took a quick peek under the coroner's tarp and wrinkled my nose in disgust. The body was pretty much unrecognizable.

Only an M.E. would be able to determine age and sex. The whole thing kind of killed my appetite and made sleeping a joke. If this was done by the same guys, they were upping the ante by burning the victims. I had horrible thoughts of them torching first and bludgeoning second.

The game had changed, and I was seriously worried about leaving my partner out there with no one keeping an eye on him. Though I might not be at my best, tonight I would be there.

Ten o'clock came quicker than I thought it would. I did manage to get a little sleep even if I did dream about fires and weird night creatures.

Still tired and lonesome, and armed with a thermos of strong, black coffee, I parked the LTD a couple blocks from the Mission.

I planned to sit for a while, then go for a stroll and see what I could see. I purposefully wore scruffy jeans and a tee shirt topped by a loose flannel shirt to hide the Python, and a black watchman's cap.

The bad thing about being blond is that it's very distinctive and easily remembered. I didn't want anyone taking particular notice of me this evening.

If nothing was happening I would move the car to a new location and sit some more. Unless, of course, I found Starsky or he found me, then I thought I'd pull the plug on the whole deal and take my partner off this case.

I was getting bad vibes tonight.

The first thing that startled me when I dragged myself out of the car two hours later was the smell. Something was burning somewhere. And after seeing the body that morning, that bothered me – probably more than it should. I stretched and yawned, trying to work the kinks out of my back, then shoved my hands into my pockets and slouched down the sidewalk, staying close to the buildings.

Almost every doorway harbored a body. The alleys were lined with boxes of all sizes and shapes; some had feet sticking out of them. No one spoke to me, and some cringed back as I strolled by.

In the third vacant lot I passed, a trash barrel burned, throwing a ring of light for twenty feet in all directions. Guys were playing cards and dice by the light; some just sat on their haunches and stared into the flames.

I leaned on a signpost in a shadow and scanned the faces. I couldn't be sure, but I thought one of the guys playing dice looked like Starsky.

I moved to the other side of the lot, careful not to draw attention to myself. I could see the faces of the two guys playing dice from there. The profile was unmistakable to me.

He had a black eye and some cuts on his cheek. I could just make out a slight bruising along his jaw line. It was Starsky. He looked terrible and as I watched, he coughed several times with one hand to his mouth and one clutching his side. Get slugged in the ribs, buddy?

He looked up, searching beyond the ring of light thrown by the barrel. I felt like I had a neon sign on my forehead and ducked a little deeper into the shadows. Shaking his head as if casting off a thought, he went back to rolling the dice.

He looked like hell and I hoped that part of it was an act but I doubted he would have gone so far as to get bruised up for the sake of a good cover disguise.

I thought about moving in on the dice game and decided against it. I had a feeling the old guy rolling the bones with Starsky would recognize me from the alley. What was his name? Frank?

I dropped back even further into the shadows and looked for small groups of younger men that might fit the gang description Huggy gave me. Wouldn't it be grand if a couple guys sporting a bloody tire iron and a gas can strolled up to the barrel? Not likely.

The whole scene gave me the creeps. It wasn't a safe place to move around in and I felt for the comforting weight of the Python. There were people here that might knock you on the head for a pack of cigarettes if the mood suited them.

The smell was awful, burning trash, body odor and urine to name a few. Every puff of wind brought a shower of sparks from the barrel and another ghastly aroma to my nostrils.

Without warning, the hairs on my neck stood on end. I put my back to the nearest building and scanned the street. Two punks made their way towards me, laughing and punching each other. They were calling something into each alley they passed.

As they grew nearer I could make out the words.

"Here piggy, piggy, piggy. Come out, come out, where ever you are."

"Soooeeeee, sooooeeeee, come-on pig."

It was a salt-and-pepper combo and they were high as kites. The black man carried my coffee thermos under his arm and my police radio in one hand. It had obviously been torn from under the dash of the L.T.D., wires swinging uselessly from the back.

The scrawny, white guy wore my leather jacket and my favorite Ray Ban sunglasses perched on the top of his head. That'll teach me to park in a bad section of town.

I ducked back into an alley and hid in the shadows, letting them go by.

They paused and peered into the darkness giggling and calling. "Here piggy, piggy, piggy. We got somethin' for ya!"

They matched the description of the guys that roughed up my partner the other day. The black guy stopped and swayed. In a circus barker's voice, he called "Come and see the beeeeg pig. Raised by a little 4-H girl… Stand back, folks."

He bent and slapped his knee, laughing and wiping his eyes. I was not amused. Stepping out of the shadows, I grabbed the collar of his coat and yanked it down to trap his arms. He gave a yelp of alarm and struggled, but he was too high and too late to help himself.

I swung him by the coat, sailing him into the wall headfirst. He hit, bounced and lay flat on his face in the trash, not moving. The other guy started to move in on me, but I had the Python out and under his chin before he got far.

He backed away, and I stayed with him until he was backed against the other side of the alley. He looked at me bleary-eyed and begging.

"Hey, man, we didn't mean any harm. Just lookin' to give this stuff back. We been lookin' all over for you." He took my coat off and dropped it in the dirt. "See, you can have it. Man, I think you killed Junior. He ain't movin'." He peered at the figure lying face down.

I snarled at him. "Whaddaya know about a gang that gets its kicks torching the homeless?"

He looked at me startled, "I don't know nuthin', man. I don't hang out with them dudes."

I grabbed his shirtfront and slammed him against the wall. "Talk to me!"

He started to cry. "I...I...I...those guys give me the creeps. I won't hang with em'."

"Who?" I shouted.

"I don't know...know...any names." Behind me, Junior groaned and levered himself to his knees.

"Where do they hang out?" I shook him. "Answer me!"

"I swear...I don't know where they hang."

Junior made it to his feet but he was holding his head and moaning. "They're not from the city. No one around here knows where they come from or where they go. I saw 'em goin' into the storm culverts once. Nobody normal would hang out there. The rats are huge down there. Oh man, I think you cracked my skull."

I let go of Scruffy and shoved him toward his buddy. "Take him and get outta here." They went, leaving my belongings scattered in the alley.

I was excited - a lead! - and it was as simple as asking. If I could get Starsky's attention from his dice game and get him close enough to talk to, I'd tell him. Maybe it was enough of a lead to convince him he didn't need to be out here any longer.

Then we could both get some sleep.

I left the thermos and radio, took my jacket and sunglasses and slunk back closer to the vacant lot with the burning trashcan. Just as I rounded the corner, still sticking to the shadows, a scuffle broke out near the barrel.

Guys were shouting and shoving each other. Starsky was standing off to one side, but when people went down, he jumped in.

Someone had a burning board by the end, and I could see it waving dangerously close to my partner.

Enough was enough. I pulled the Python and fired once in the air. Not a smooth move at any time, but right now there was only me and at least thirty other guys. I needed to make an impression. There's nothing like the roar of a .357 magnum to bring a halt to the action.

I hate shooting into the air. You never know where the bullet's going to land, but it's a sight better than trying to fire into something you're not sure of. The Python packs a wallop, and it will go through walls without much trouble.

Now that I had put a damper on the activity around the burning barrel I felt a distinct need to make an exit before these guys decided I was the enemy. I wanted desperately to talk to Starsky, but I couldn't seem to find him now that the activity had ceased.

Before I could make another move, the burning barrel got kicked over and galvanized everyone back into action. Guys were running everywhere trying to avoid being burned.

I holstered the Python and started to move forward, looking for my partner when suddenly he was there standing in front of me.

He gave me a shove out of the lot and around the corner before I had a chance to say a word. He wouldn't look me straight in the eye, a sure sign he was hiding something. He just kept shoving me and telling me to get out of there, that it wasn't safe for me to be caught.

I didn't give a damn about being safe. Safe from what? I just wanted to make sure he was all in there. He was so dirty and grubby-looking it was hard to tell where the act ended and my partner began.

Starsky looked like death warmed over, but the fire in his eyes told me he wouldn't take much jiving from me tonight. He didn't like my White Knight act one bit. I could tell I'd gone a bit too far jumping in like that. I'd be pretty pissed off if he'd compromised my cover like that.

I just wanted five seconds to talk plain, normal talk. It wasn't to be, he doubled over in a coughing fit that made me wince, and when he stood I put a hand to his head to check for a fever and get a better look at the shiner he was sporting.

He didn't flinch when I touched his face, though I'm sure he wanted to slap my hand away. I could tell he thought there were other things more important than the condition he was in. Sometimes he can’t see the forest for the trees. His eyes looked into mine and he just said, "Get out of here."

I didn't hear the rest of what he said, other than that I should leave him a note and set up a meeting.

Right. I pulled some cash from my pocket and shoved it into his hand and then he turned and ran back to the vacant lot  - and I, stupid me, let him go.

I went back to my car and found the passenger door had been jimmied open. Nothing had been taken but the radio. I'd have to get a new one in the morning. That would take some time.

I figured I could get someone to take me around to the storm culverts and check them out. There wasn't much point in hanging out here for the rest of the night, but I did anyway.

I put on a late night talk show and cruised the streets, feeling out of step with life in general. Working nights will do that to you, anyway. It's a whole other world out there that lives from eleven to seven and sleeps during the day.

The radio talk show host was going on about the plight of the homeless. Funny, I didn't see a single talk show host hanging out around that barrel tonight. How would they know about the plight of the homeless?

****

The next morning, before I headed for home, I took the L.T.D. to the police garage and left it for the mechanics to install a new radio. I made the black and white that took me home stop by the Taco Treat so I could exchange notes.

I quickly read the one Starsk had left for me...

It said:

Hutch -

What were you thinking charging in like that last night? If I hadn't kicked over the oil drum, taking everybody's attention away from you for a minute, my cover would've been blown.

It wasn't a real fight you came in to bust up anyways, okay maybe it was, but I can handle myself out here – really. Some of the guys were just trying to push their way closer to the barrel to get warm. Everybody's scared since the murders started, Hutch, and that fire is the only light in the vacant lot at night.

Wow, you were an impressive sight though, Blintz. That's the first time I've seen you from the other side of things and you can be pretty scary. I sure wouldn't want to be a bad guy that crossed you.

I'm as sick of this case as you are and I miss talking to you face to face. I think we work best when we can bounce some ideas around together. All I seem to be thinking about lately is when we can line up for the next meal. Okay so I'm usually thinking about the next meal.

Hey, thanks for slipping me the ten spot last night, but I'm telling you, another stunt like that and everybody's gonna know that something's up.

Get some sleep, Blintz, and stop worrying. That cough I've got is nothing; you're the one that looks ready to keel over.

Look for the next message back of Heavenly Delite Massage - under the stairs.

Starsky p.s. -Don't worry about Dobey; you know his bark is worse than his bite. I'm glad you dumped Thompson. I think you know what I'm gonna say to him if I ever see him. The thing is - who's watching your back?

I was right...he was pissed. So I scrawled one for him and took it over to the Massage Parlor.

It read:

Sorry,

I know, I'm a jerk. I overreacted. I thought those guys were coming closer to pick out a new victim. I wasn't thinking clearly. I just saw the commotion and waded in. I know you can handle yourself. I'll back off.

Where did you get the boots? Why is that Frankie guy wearing your sneakers? Really, Starsk, the shoes off your feet?

I hope you didn't actually spend the ten bucks on a bottle for your buddies - please tell me you spent it on food. Next time I'm going to slip you a pizza so you can't be sweet-talked into buying the booze.

Another guy was found dead down by the beach. I think that makes seven. This time he was burnt to a crisp. That's why I went a little haywire when I saw those guys moving in on the trash barrel.

You've got to let me know if you're not feeling well. You can always come in for a while, homeless guys disappear all the time. We can make up a story that you were in the hospital or got arrested for something. Think about it, Starsk. I’m not sure you’re accomplishing much anymore by staying undercover. Tell me I’m wrong.

I can always come down there and bust you for some petty thing and get you out of there for a bit. What do you think? If you don't look a little better in a couple days, I'm gonna bust you myself.

Be careful

Hutch

Starsky


I lay on the ground on a piece of filthy cardboard and thought, this is a hell of a way to go out.

When I finally dragged myself back from leaving the note for Hutch at Taco Treat, I pulled my piece of cardboard a little distance away from Frank's box, over behind the dumpster.

I just felt like lying down, even though it was broad daylight, and I didn't want anyone to see me. Last night's freak rainstorm had done it’s work.

Frank hovered around me all day, in between trips to the Mission, but I just felt worse and worse. He managed to bring me some soup from somewhere, and I tried to eat it to make him happy, but it wouldn't stay down.

Now it was almost twilight again. I saw tiny gray spots dance in front of my eyes, like the static on a television screen - the grey haze that you see only briefly at that moment when day slips into night.

I had felt too hot all day and I'd asked Hutch to turn on the fan, before I could catch myself. I saw Frank look at me then, an unreadable expression passing over his face, but he didn't say anything.

Now, even before night had completely fallen, I was freezing. I couldn't control my shivering.

"Frank, I'm cold." Even my voice shook.

"Here Jake, take my coat. I'll put on that blue jacket of yours". He gently covered me with his own overcoat, laying it like a blanket over the heavy coat that I was already wearing. He rose from where he had been kneeling beside me.

"Frank, don't go," I touched his leg. The thought of being left here alone, when I felt like I might not see morning, filled me with an irrational dread.

Frank quickly knelt beside me again. "Listen Jake, you're sick and you're cold. You've got a bad congestion in your chest. I'm going to go get something that'll make you feel better. I'll be right back"

He got up and quickly walked down the alley.

I rolled over on to my back and stared at the sky. Night was nearly here. Today had been a wasted day...lately it seemed as though they were all wasted. When was I going to get a lead?

I probably should have tried to call Hutch that day, but I'd felt so bad that I didn't care about anything. I didn't have the strength to care. Besides I knew if I'd done that, it would have meant getting yanked off the case - with Hutch probably still left on it.

I decided I'd just have to see how I felt the next day. It had taken me all this time to get the people down here to trust me and get used to seeing me around.

I finally might be able to get some real information - if I could stand, if I could walk, if I was... I was so cold.

I must have dozed off for a while because Frank's hand on my arm caused me to sit up with a jerk and sent my heart up into my throat.

"Here Jake, drink this." It was dark in the shadow of the dumpster, and I couldn't see what Frank was holding in his hand.

"What is it Frank?" I really didn't feel like I could drink anything and keep it down.

"Brandy, Jake. Go on and drink it." Frank pulled me up into a sitting position and sat on the ground beside me.

"Brandy! Frank, where did you get brandy?"

I looked at him in disbelief and then at the bottle in his hand. Yep, it was brandy, and the good stuff too. I wondered how many favors he'd called in to get it.

"Thanks Frank, but I don't think I can...."

"Drink it, Jake." He had removed the paper seal and unscrewed the cap. He held it to my mouth. I looked over at him and our eyes met. I felt a slow smile form on my lips.

Life out here was a constant surprise.

"Okay, Frank." I closed my eyes and took a swallow. Liquid heat coursed through me. I gasped and he laughed.

"There, what'd I tell ya, Jake? Just what the doctor ordered. Have some more."

I looked at him sideways for a moment, and then took another swallow. This time my head seemed to feel the rush of heat.

I blinked and leaned back against the wall.

"Whoa, Frank, I think that's enough. This stuff packs a wallop." I was no longer shivering and I felt warm all over. I think I'd even started to sweat a little.

"Here, you want some?" I waved the bottle in his face.

"No, that's for you. Have another drink, Jake. It'll burn the sickness right out of you."

"Oh, I think I've had enough." I was starting to feel lightheaded. Not eating all day probably didn't help either.

"Just one more big swallow, Jake. Okay?"

"Frank..."

"Jake..."

"Okay, just one more, but that's it." I tipped the bottle to my lips and took a long drink. As I pulled the bottle away, the alley began to tilt, and I reached for Frank to steady myself.

"I gotta sit down, Frank." Everything was moving in a kind of gentle slow motion. It made me want to close my eyes. It felt so good to be warm.

"You are sitting down, Jake." Frank took the bottle from my hands and set it on the ground.

"Well then, I gotta lay down." I eased my head back onto the cardboard I'd been using as a mattress.

Between the rain the other night, and that first visit from Eddie, I'd decided I didn't like sleeping in a box anymore. It made me feel too claustrophobic.

The cardboard was spinning around though, and I didn't like that either, so I closed my eyes to stop it.

Frank adjusted his coat that I was using as a blanket, pulling it up to my chin. He patted my arm. "I'll be right over here, Jake, if you need anything."

I heard him move back to his box; didn't want to open my eyes, though. I felt too comfortable, felt like I could actually sleep for the first time in days.

"Thanks, Frank" I sighed.

"Don't mention it, Jake."

As I drifted off, I felt a terrible sense of dread come over me.

****

Somehow I was running, running, but I couldn't quite turn around to see what it was I was running from. I heard a cry, and I slowed my steps, heard another cry, louder this time, and I stopped.

I turned in a horrible slow motion movement, but now I couldn't move my feet. They were rooted to the ground.

The cries grew louder and I struggled to move. The cries turned to shouts and....I sat up with a jerk; my heart pounding so hard in my chest that it was almost painful. Sweat streamed down my face and I listened, trying to calm my rasping breaths to hear, but only an eerie silence greeted my straining ears.

I pulled myself to my feet, pausing to steady myself against the dumpster, before I tried to take a step.

"Hey, Frank, you awake? Man, I just had some dream." Silence greeted my ears. I figured he must have been sleeping and I wondered what time it was.

I stepped gingerly around the end of the dumpster. I was still feeling groggy and wrapped up in the fog of the dream, but I thought my chest ached a little less and I hadn't coughed since waking up.

"Hey Frank, you there?" I looked over at his box and I was struck by the odd angle of his feet sticking out of the end of it.

I stepped closer into the glare of the restaurant's back door light and saw the blood.

"Frank!" I scrambled to the box and grabbed his feet. I pulled him out of its darkness and into the light.

I dropped to my knees and stared in disbelief and horror at his ruined head. The back of his skull had been crushed and there was blood everywhere. Blood inside the box, on the ground, all around him, his face and hair red with it.

"No!" Where had I been when he needed help? I was sleeping - sleeping! - and I didn't hear a thing. That's the thanks you get for helping me, Frank. I was damn well sleeping when you needed me.

Suddenly I remembered my dream. Those shouts had been Frank's shouts and I'd done nothing to help him.

I put my face in my hands and heard a sob being torn from my throat. I mourned the loss of someone whose friendship I valued...didn't realize how much I'd valued, until this moment. I reached down and closed his staring, sightless eyes.
I whispered, "I'm sorry Frank, so sorry. You deserved better than this."

He had been a constant throughout my time down here, taken care of me, showed me the ropes and bragged about me to all of his friends like I was Superman and Batman rolled up into one. Yeah, I was big help to you, Frank, when you needed it.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!" I kicked over the garbage cans that lined the wall, blind rage and blinding tears moving me in an unreasoning fury.

I threw the lid of one of garbage cans across the alley, smashing the back window of a dry cleaner. The wail of the building's alarm system startled me into stillness.

"I'm sorry, Frank, so sorry..." I took off running into the darkness of the alley, the sound of the alarm ringing in my ears.

I rounded the corner of the alley and turned on to Broadview. The street was crowded, and I forced myself to slow to a fast walk. The garish lights from the all night storefronts lit the street up like day.

I walked blindly, looking for what, I don't know. It was do something or explode.
Frank's body had still been warm, and whoever had done that to him would definitely carry the signs of it on themselves.

I walked unseeing through the crowd of people, pushing anyone aside who didn't get out of my way quickly enough.

I walked, almost ran, past an assortment of all night sleaze. Porno movie houses, strip clubs with the music blaring through the open front doors, massage parlors - strictly legit, strictly therapeutic – yeah, right.

One of the two-bit hustlers who stood outside the strip clubs yelling about the beautiful girls and offering free admission, stepped in front of my face.

"C'mon buddy. I've got Miss Nude California 1974 in there. I'll get ya in free, with a three-drink minimum. She's got..."

I grabbed his shirt front and spun him into a parked car, punching him low in the stomach and tossing him to the pavement. I stood over him panting.

His face turned into a snarl and if he’d moved, I don't know if I could've stopped myself from... I rubbed my face. What the hell was the matter with me? All I felt was blind rage.

I turned away and kept on walking down the street. I looked over my shoulder to see if he was following me, and I saw him standing in the middle of the sidewalk, his shouts drowned out by the blaring music, giving me a street salute. His left hand clutching his right bicep, while his right fist swung up... Mook.

I had to turn away. I didn't trust myself not go back and ask him to repeat it to my face.

Another half a block and I found myself in front of the Heavenly Delite Massage Parlor. I turned down the alley, walked to the back door, and found some guy hanging around the door, either trying to sneak in or looking for a place to shoot-up.

"Get outta here." He didn't argue with me, just took one look at my face and left.

I walked behind the back door stairs and crouched down to look under them, searching for the note that I was hoping to find there. I saw a glimpse of white and reached up to pull the piece of paper from behind the cross brace. I leaned against the back of the staircase and opened it.

Sorry...

As soon as I read the first word, 'Sorry,' I felt my face crumple. No you don't, David Michael Starsky, you're getting soft!

I went and sat on the bottom step of the stairs and pulled out a pen and paper. I wrote Hutch a quick note. I was afraid to say more.

It read...

Hutch -

Don't be sorry. Maybe your sixth sense was working.

I found Frank's body tonight – you’ll probably get the call. I heard a noise, but it was too late by the time I found him. There was so much blood. Damn.

He was a nice old guy, Hutch. You would’ve liked him. He wouldn't hurt a fly. I had to get out of there for a little while.

I'm gonna catch whoever did this.

S.

I moved to the back of the stairs and crouched to tuck my note in behind the cross brace where I'd found the first one.

I picked up Hutch’s note, stood, and took a deep breath. I held it up to try and catch the light from the grimy bulb hanging over the back door. Shaking my head to clear it, I finished reading the note.

Sorry,

I know, I'm a jerk. I over reacted. I thought those guys were coming closer to pick out a new victim. I wasn't thinking clearly. I just saw the commotion and waded in. I know you can handle yourself. I'll back off.

Where did you get the boots? Why is that Frankie guy is wearing your sneakers? Really, Starsk, the shoes off your feet?

I hope you didn't spend the ten bucks on a bottle for your buddies...please tell me you spent it on food. Next time I'm going to slip you a pizza so you can't be sweet-talked into buying the booze.

Another guy was found dead down by the beach. That makes seven. This time he was burnt to a crisp - that's why I went a little hay-wire when I saw those guys moving in on the trash barrel.

You've got to let me know if you're not feeling well. You can always come in for a while; homeless guys disappear all the time. We can make up a story that you were in the hospital or got arrested for something. Think about it, Starsk. I’m not sure you’re accomplishing much anymore by staying undercover. Tell me I’m wrong.

I can always come down there and bust you for some petty thing and get you out of there for a bit. What do you think? If you don't look a little better in a couple days I'm going to bust you myself.

Be careful

Hutch

I turned to lean against the drainpipe that snaked down the wall, holding on to it as tightly as I could while I fought for control. The floodgates opened then, and I sank to the ground and just let it come.

Chapter 11

Hutch


Troll-like people sneered and grabbed at my arms. I fought them, kicking and yelling, but they kept coming, piling on top of each other in writhing heaps of tattered, dirty clothes. They were smothering me with their sheer numbers.

Just out of reach, a pay phone rang and rang but I couldn't get to it. The night creatures were too thick; there were too many of them. I shouted at them to leave me alone.

The phone rang on and on, still just out of my reach. I wanted to answer it but those damn creatures... I shouted again - and woke to the phone on the nightstand ringing and ringing, the bed sheets a wild tangle around my legs and torso.

With a growl of frustration, I lunged for the phone and succeeded in knocking over the lamp and the clock. I got the phone on the second try and put the receiver to my head. "Yeah?" I snarled.

There was no answer. I looked at the phone in disgust. It was upside down. I fumbled it right side up and tried again,

"Yeah."

I almost expected it to be Starsky. Who else would call in the middle of the night?

Captain Dobey would. "Ken," he said, sounding far away. It must have been a patch through from his car.

"Yeah." I squinted at the alarm clock on the floor, it's fluorescent dial the only light in the room.

"Another body's been found."

"Yeah." I have a limited vocabulary at three a.m.

"I want you there."

"Yeah." I ran a hand through my hair beginning to comprehend what he was saying. "Where?"

"Alley behind the pawn shop on Fitch St. Got that?"

"Yeah, Pawn Shop on Fitch St."

"Dobey out." He disconnected.

I righted the lamp and turned it on, picked up the clock and unwound the phone cord from my neck. Less than five minutes later, I was speeding towards Fitch St.

Dobey had sounded funny over the phone, but I couldn't pinpoint why. Well, no matter, I would find out soon enough.

Two black and whites, a Coroner's wagon and Dobey's car added to the circus-like atmosphere of the crime scene. Yellow police tape criss-crossed the alley.

Deep in the shadows, people moved about – some simply homeless, some probably up to no good. I was immediately reminded of the dream I'd been having when the phone rang. These people were the creatures of my dream.

I forced myself to study their faces. One of them might be the killer, one of them should be Starsky. He had to be nearby.

Then it occurred to me what had been strange about Dobey's call. He had used my first name. The only time Dobey uses first names...my stomach lurched.

Starsky? Oh, dear God, no!

I barreled through a group of rubbernecks, dove under the yellow tape and rounded the Coroner's van. Dobey had his back to me, but his bulk was unmistakable even in the dim light.

A figure lay on the ground before him, covered with a tarp, covered except for the feet, except for the shoes. Well, I should say shoe.  One of them was missing.

A blue sneaker with white stripes.

I froze, the bottoms of my feet opened and I swear my soul dropped out. You hear of someone's blood running cold. Mine turned to liquid mercury and followed my soul out through the bottoms of my feet. I almost dropped to my knees.

How many things can you think in two or three seconds? I thought the person who was dying had the flashbacks, not the one left behind. So many things went through my head, so many things I wanted to say, so many things we still had to do, but now… No, not now.

Oh God, no! I should never have gone home, I should have yanked him off the street last night. Why didn't I put a stop to this madness days ago? Why? Damn it, why?

I stood there breathing in ragged gasps, staring at that damn sneaker while utter terror and overwhelming grief rooted me to the spot. I must have made a sound because Dobey turned and saw me. In a half dozen steps, he had me by the shoulders.

"Ken?"

I made a strangled reply, not a word, a noise, but I never looked at him. I couldn't take my eyes off the shoe. He shook me gently to take my attention from the body. "It's not him, Ken. Do you hear me? It's not Starsky."

That took a moment to sink in. When it did, I took a real breath and cursed, looking frantically around myself.

"What's wrong?" Dobey asked, still holding my shoulders.

"I gotta sit down," I croaked and I meant it. He guided me backwards and sat me on the bumper of the Coroner's van. I put my head in my hands and fought the urge to vomit, shaking like a leaf.

"I thought the same thing, Hutch," Dobey grumbled softly. "The description on the radio fit Starsky to a T. The dispatcher called me at home."

"Who...who made the original call?" I stuttered. I do that when the pressure gets to me.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Are you okay now?"

"Oh, sure." I couldn't help being sarcastic. I thought I might never recover from this scare.

"You want to look at the body?"

It was standard operating procedure for the primary to view the crime scene. That included the body. I raised a hand. "Just give me a minute."

"Take your time," he replied, "he's not going anywhere." He wandered back toward the body to direct the photographer.

Damn it, I hated this case from the beginning and now I hated it with a passion. I heard a voice behind me and could barely believe my ears. Thompson.

"Hey Goldilocks, that dead guy looks an awful lot like your partner, don't you think?" He came around in front of me, standing with his hands on his hips, grinning. "I didn't realize it until after I made the call. I bet that gave ya a scare, huh?"

Something inside me came apart. No one with any compassion would have done that. The fact that it was Thompson, and he had duped me again was more than I could take.

I came up off the bumper lunging for his throat. He let me grab him, then shouted, "He's nuts! Somebody get this guy off of me. He's gonna kill me!"

In my ear he whispered, "I thought you fairies didn't like violence?"

I shoved him away from me just as Dobey took my arm. "Hutch, calm down. I won't have any public displays here. Thompson, you go mind the traffic."

I yanked my arm free from Dobey's grasp and glared at Thompson, stepping into his space and getting in his face. "You made the call?"

"Yup," he answered, not an ounce of fear or regret in his voice.

Dobey loomed behind me, or I think I would've decked Thompson there on the spot. Instead, I brushed past him with a disgusted grunt and went to look at the body. I meant to make it a quick look, but I knew this was a friend of Starsky's, so to speak, and he deserved more than a casual glance.

Gory details aside, the guys head was almost split in two. An aroma of lighter fluid rose from under the tarp. I had to close my eyes and fight the bile that rose in my throat. It didn't help. When I closed my eyes, the face of the man bludgeoned became that of my partner.

I haven't been physically ill at a crime scene since I was a rookie cop, but this was more than I could take. I was too tired, too angry, too distraught and my stomach went into full rebellion. I lurched away from the body into the shadows. Leaning on the wall of the nearest building, I heaved until my guts were empty.

Dobey was there. Coming up behind me, he put a fatherly hand on my back and waited until I could breathe before he spoke.

"Hutch, are you all right, son?" He spoke quietly. "When was the last time you spoke to Starsky?"

"Last night." I didn't need to tell him we had only said three words to each other. "I saw him last night."

"I want a full report on this case on my desk by tomorrow afternoon. There are some things going on here that I don't seem to understand. If I don't like the sound of your report, both of you are coming in."

And here I was thinking he'd come over to give me some comfort.
I had no intention of stopping this investigation to write any damn report. He'd get a verbal report tomorrow and it would have to do. Gee. Maybe he'd pull us from the case for insubordination. I'd be heartbroken.

All I wanted to do right now was find Starsky. He'd been attached to this guy's hip for the last five days and now he was nowhere to be found. For all I knew, the weirdoes that had whacked this guy had my partner. The thought gave me the willies.

"Captain, I'm going out there to find him. I won't have time to write any reports until I'm sure he's safe."

The look on my face must have kept him from arguing with me. An officer from the crime lab called to Dobey from across the vacant lot. When he turned, I made my escape, slipping under the crime scene tapes into the shadows.

I combed the nearby alleys for my partner, giving up all pretense of not being a cop. I stopped to talk to anyone coherent enough to answer my questions. Had anyone seen him?

Jake? Everybody knows Jake, they answered.

He was just here.

He just left.

Leave Jake alone. He’s done nothin' wrong.

I just want to talk to him, I explained over and over. When I heard myself start to beg, I called it quits. Begging the beggars. If wishes were horses… One thing for sure, he was avoiding me for some reason.

I wound my way back to the alley to find the body had been removed, leaving a white chalk outline and a dark stain on the pavement. The morning had finally dawned, and I had been searching the vacant lots and alleys for over two hours.

Dobey leaned on the fender of my car as he spoke to two uniform cops. Thompson and Laramie. Great. He caught sight of me over their shoulders and dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

They turned and slouched towards a cruiser parked at the edge of the vacant lot. As they passed me Thompson smiled and waved. "Hey, Hansel. Where's Gretel? You run out of bread crumbs?"

I was too tired and disheartened to bother to respond. I managed to throw a glare in their direction, but neither paid me any attention. Approaching Dobey, I braced myself for a barrage of questions. He looked exhausted. It had been a long night.

"Did you find him?" he asked, scrubbing his face with both hands.

I sighed heavily and leaned on the hood next to him. I couldn't decide what to tell him.

Let's see, I thought, I could say I can't find him 'cause he doesn't want to be found. Yes, I could say that.

Or I could say, Starsky? Jake? A bum all the other bums seem to like enough to protect - my partner? Who knows where he is? I sure as hell don't.

Then there's always door number three: I am in complete control of this undercover operation. Yes, I am. I know exactly where my partner is at all times. Well, that was a load of bull. The silence stretched to an uncomfortable length.

"Hutch?" Dobey looked at me with concern.

"Huh?" I'd spaced out on him, too tired to try to make sense of all this.

"Did you find Starsky?"

"Oh yeah, he's fine. A little shook up, but fine."

"Did he see anything?"

"No...said he'd gone to take a leak and when he came back he found Frank dead." Why was I lying? It came so easy it startled me. Maybe this was the one time I shouldn’t be covering for my partner. "We're gonna meet tonight at the Viceroy. He figures somebody must’ve seen something, but he's got to check with some of the other guys and see if he can get a description." I prayed this was true. I needed to see him now more than ever, and not just to share information.

Dobey bought it. Heck, it sounded great to me. So good in fact, I believed it myself.

"Get some rest, Hutch." Dobey pushed himself off the bumper and lumbered to his car. "Keep me informed."

"Yeah, sure." We were both so tired that neither cared about reports right now, or anything else for that matter.

I wanted to see if Starsky had left me a note, and I wanted to leave one for him. A meeting tonight at the Viceroy sure sounded like an excellent idea.

Maybe I could bribe my buddy with some food. I felt like I was trying to catch a wild animal - a little food bribe and a ' Hav-a-Hart ' trap. Dandy. It might even work

I drove over to the massage parlor and found the message he’d left. Thank God. I had no idea what I would've done had there been no message. At least he was still alive and not being held by anyone. But he must have just written it…hours ago? …less? Where was he? I scribbled him a note and left it where the other had been.

Starsk,

Yeah, I got the call and responded in a total panic. Your buddy Frankie had the same basic description as you. Almost killed a few pedestrians getting to the crime scene. Then when I got there, I forgot you had given him your shoes. You can imagine how I felt when I saw that blue sneaker sticking out from underneath the coroner's tarp. My hands are still shaking. I'll get over it. Maybe.

Coroner says he was killed with a blunt object. Probably a tire iron. He was also doused with kerosene but something or someone must have interrupted the perps and they didn't 'light the candle'. Did you see anything?

Huggy says the homeless are pretty panicky and some of them are talking about storming the police station. They wouldn't have a leader among them, would they? Don't start a revolution, okay? I'm doing the best I can to find these guys.

Please be careful. I got a bad feeling that if these lunatics find out there's an undercover cop hidden amongst the locals, they're gonna come looking for you.

Watch for me down by the Viceroy around midnight. I booked you a room and I'll bring you some good food. How does Mexican sound?

I’ll meet you there,

Hutch

A real meeting! Wow, I was already getting excited about finally having a one on one talk with Starsky. I didn't like the feeling of not being able to reach him at all.

I left the note and hoped like heck he’d be back to pick it up today. I needed to hit the hay. Things would look better with a couple hours of sleep to my credit. Later on I wanted to see Huggy again and talk to the people at the city water department. I needed to know if they had any trouble with people using the storm culverts for hangouts.

Chapter 12

Starsky

I awoke cold and stiff from a night spent lying on the beach. The sand under my face was damp and hard. I remembered wandering down here late last night looking for some peace and a quiet place.

I'd made up my mind I wasn't going back to where I'd last seen Frank's body. As I lay there, I almost expected to hear him say, "C'mon Jake, we're going to be late for breakfast." Breakfast held no interest for me today, but talking to Frank's regular mealtime buddies did.

I slowly pushed myself up from the sand, brushing it from my hair and clothes. I paused as the now familiar cough took my breath away and sharpened the dull ache in my side to a stabbing pain.

The sky was rosy and the gray ocean swells were flecked with foam. I barely gave them a glance. I hugged the overcoat tighter to my chest and began to make my way across the park toward back alleyways that surrounded the Mission.

Entering the first narrow alley, I saw sleeping bodies tucked into every available space. Even where there was no space, where you couldn't imagine anyone trying to sleep. They’d lain down to sleep where they thought they might be safe. Until we could find who was responsible for these murders, no one was safe.

Nodding to the faces that had become so familiar to me, I stopped to speak withany of them that I could rouse into speech at this early hour.

Turning down the adjoining alley, I saw Crazy Willie on the sidewalk, and he stood when he saw me approach. He stepped toward me, a big trusting grin on his face, and I felt the restraints holding the grief and loss I was feeling inside me snap.

" Hi ya, Jake..."

"Did you sleep out here last night?" I was surprised at the amount of anger in my voice, anger that covered up the fear.

"Jake?" Willie's forehead wrinkled in confusion.

"Willie, did you sleep out here last night?" I grabbed the lapels of his coat and pushed him up against the wall. Fear had control now.

"Yes, Jake." The big man was almost cowering.

I took a deep breath. "Okay, I want you to listen to me very carefully. I don't want to catch you sleeping out here again, Willie. You hear me?"

"But, Jake..." The words escaped his lips, small and whining, like a little boy who doesn't understand.

"Promise me, Willie, that beginning tonight you are going to start sleeping in the Men's Shelter at the Mission."

"But, Jake..." He was still certain that I simply didn't understand how things were.

"Promise me, Willie." I pushed my face close to his and stared into his eyes, unashamedly using intimidation now. To make him remember, to exact a promise.

"Okay, Jake, whatever you say. But why?" Still good-natured, but accepting now, no longer arguing. Good. If only he would remember.

"They killed Frank last night, Willie, and I don't want to see the same thing happen to you." I felt the words catch in my throat.

"Killed Frank? What did you say, Jake? Not Frank..." His face began to crumple. "Not Frank, Jake."

I released my grip on his lapels, and pulled him into a hug. "You promised me, Willie. You're going to sleep in the Men's Shelter until I tell you to stop, okay?"

"Okay, Jake, whatever you say." He was wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

I patted his arm, and then grabbing a handful of sleeve, pulled him along with me toward the Mission. "C'mon Willie, let's go get some breakfast."

I sat alone at an empty table, with a plate of food that I didn't want, and I could feel the eyes of the other men from Frank's old table of regulars on my back. One by one they came to sit with me until their table was empty and mine was full. As they found their places at the table, they leaned in to speak their own words of comfort in my ear, or touched my arm as they passed.

Frank's body was in the morgue, but we were having a wake for him here.

I tried to speak quietly with each of them one on one, arguing, persuading, joking until I had wrung an agreement from each of them to sleep in the Men's Shelter until I would tell them otherwise. I looked into their eyes and shook their hands. I felt that most of them would keep their promise...at least for one night. I would take what I could get. It bought me - and them - one more day.

I could feel the unshed tears build behind my lashes by the time I had spoken to them all. Willie and I were left alone at the table at the end, the last two mealtime stragglers in the room.

Suddenly I felt cold fingers clutch my heart.

"Willie, have you seen Bill?"

Willie began to count under his breath, and scrunched up his eyes in concentration.
"Not since yesterday, Jake."

"Where did you see him yesterday, Willie?" Patience, patience...don't scare the memory away.

"Oh, his usual spot. The corner of Frederick and 8th."

"Do you know where he sleeps?"

"Sure everybody knows; the grate beside the Townsend First National is his."

"Thanks Willie, and listen, you're sleeping in the shelter, right? You promised me."

"Yeah, Jake. I promise I'll sleep there tonight."

"Good man, Willie. Keep your ears open if you hear anyone talking about what happened to Frank, okay? I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Where you going, Jake?"

"I'm going to look for Bill."

I headed out the front door of the Mission, and walked by the small groups of men gathered in knots along its wall. Silence fell upon each group in turn, as I passed. I didn't look at their eyes. I couldn't stand to see the sympathy that I knew would be there.

The numbness that I had been clutching to me all morning, my shield and armor, was buckling. All of that unspoken sympathy in their eyes was for me - for someone who had lost his friend, his support on the street - because they knew what would happen next. They had seen it countless times before.

If I turned to look at them, I would see their sympathy for another street person who, without a companion, would sooner or later turn into a loner babbling to himself all day as he wandered the streets alone.

If they only knew that his death was my fault. Where was I when he needed me? I hardened my eyes and looked away.

****

I walked on in the direction of the Townsend First National, only stopping when I found myself standing again in front of Heavenly Delite Massage. I hoped - hell, I needed - to find a note there from Hutch.

I moved quickly to the back door, crouched and reached up under the stairs, turning my head aside against the overwhelming stench of urine. I grasped the slip of paper that I felt tucked in between the rough boards and pulled it free. I hesitated a moment before opening it, remembering another note that I had read there last night. Last night.

I concentrated on opening it; raw nerves making my hands shake.

Starsk,

Yeah, I got the call and responded in a total panic. Your buddy Frankie had the same basic description as you. Almost killed a few pedestrians getting to the crime scene. Then when I got there, I forgot you had given him your shoes. You can imagine how I felt when I saw that blue sneaker sticking out from underneath the coroner's tarp. My hands are still shaking. I'll get over it. Maybe.

Coroner says he was killed with a blunt object. Probably a tire iron. He was also doused with kerosene but something or someone must have interrupted the perps and they didn't 'light the candle'. Did you see anything?

Huggy says the homeless are pretty panicky and some of them are talking about storming the police station. They wouldn't have a leader among them, would they? Don't start a revolution, okay? I'm doing the best I can to find these guys.

Please be careful. I got a bad feeling that if these lunatics find out there's an undercover cop hidden amongst the locals they're gonna come looking for you.

Watch for me down by the Viceroy around midnight. I booked you a room and I'll bring you some good food. How does Mexican sound?

I’ll meet you there,

Hutch

Meet Hutch at the Viceroy? My spirits lifted, and for a brief moment I felt ridiculously happy. It would be a chance to talk with the Blintz, and take some of the load off my shoulders and try to ease some of the load off his. They say two heads are better than one, but in our case sometimes it seems like two heads are one, and that we can't always see the whole picture without feedback from each other.

Mexican! Just the icing on the cake, but it sounded like mighty sweet icing, when your main meal of the day seemed to consist of a scoop of watery scrambled eggs. I couldn't even let myself picture mashed potatoes, thin gravy and corn any more.

A shudder went through me, like somebody was walking on my grave. I remembered the tip I'd gotten that morning from one of guys I'd talked to at Frank's table of buddies. As we'd sat there at breakfast, I'd told them straight out that I was looking for information about who'd killed Frank.

I don't know what they thought about my questions. They probably thought that I was crazy to go messing around chasing after some guys who were going to get me killed, but now that it was personal, now that it was about Frank's killer, they were willing to talk about it.

I got more information in those few minutes than I'd gotten in all the days that I'd been out there living on the streets with these men.

It seemed a gang of punks were meeting pretty regularly down on the beach at Needle Park and after almost every one of these so-called meetings, wingdings, whatever, that someone else turned up dead.

I also found out that these punks liked to torch things - abandoned cars, the boxes guys slept in - with or without the guys still in them. I was going to check it out that night, even though a couple of the guys practically begged me not to.

I sat down on the steps and rubbed my face. Damn. I needed to follow this lead. I'd just have to tell Blondie that I'd take a rain check. But maybe we could still arrange to meet and at least get a chance to talk.

I pulled out a pencil and began to write.

Hutch -

Don't be mad, but I can't meet you at the Viceroy tonight. It's not that I couldn't really use the chance to talk to you. I think I need that more than the Mexican food.

But it doesn't seem right somehow - me sleeping in a bed, even if it's one at the Viceroy, and eating some real food after what happened to Frank.

I've been thinking - you don't suppose that hit was meant for me, do you? I never thought about my sneakers sticking out of that box at night - somebody could of thought it was me. There are a few people I haven't exactly rubbed the right way down here.

There always seems to be somebody down here, who doesn't have very much, trying to rip off somebody else with even less.
I'm sorry it scared you Hutch, I know how I would've felt if you were the one undercover and I was the one finding the body.

If you want to talk, meet me at Needle Park down by the water, same time - midnight. I got a tip about some guys who get their kicks out of torching things.

Thanks for the offer of Mexican, Hutch. I'll take a rain check.

Starsk


I stepped behind the stairs and crouched, reaching to push my note between the rough boards. I felt a splinter of wood push up under my nail. If the Blintz were here, he would have already been trying to get me to go for a tetanus shot. We kid each other about it, but bottom line, it’s nice to have somebody out there who cares.

I shook my head to clear it. 'Nuff of thinking like that.

I carefully smoothed out Hutch's note and then folded it as neatly as I could and tucked it into the inside breast pocket of my overcoat along with the others. Hand on chest, I gave them an unconscious pat, and then straightened and strode out of the alley and turned towards Frederick and 8th.

I scanned each alleyway as I walked, hoping to find Bill there. My steps quickened. I wanted to find him in one piece.

I wanted to see him sitting on the plastic milk crate that he used for a chair, playing a harmonica badly, with an old greasy hat laying on the pavement in front of him, hoping for some extra coins.

*C'mon, c'mon*. I began to trot as I approached his corner. As I passed the closest alley, I saw what looked like a pile of rags lying on the pavement.

"Bill?" I called out hopefully as I ran and quickly knelt beside the pile of clothes, lifting the figure under them into a sitting position.

"Are you all right?" I searched his face. Slowly the eyes opened, followed by a big grin.

"Jake! How are you?"

He pulled himself to his feet, gripping my shoulders. He stood swaying and grinning at me foolishly, waving a bottle of Aqua Velva in my face.

"Have a drink, Jake, and forget your troubles. This'll help you forget."

"Bill you've got to stop drinking this stuff." I grabbed the bottle from his hand, letting go of one of his arms, and he slumped to the pavement again. I crouched beside him, waving the bottle in front of his face.

"Stop drinking this shit!" I smashed the bottle on the concrete, sending glass shards flying everywhere.

"Here!" I pushed the ten dollars Hutch had given me in the vacant lot into his hand.

"But Jake..."

"Listen to me! Did you hear what happened to Frank last night?"

"Yeah, Jake, I'm sorry. That's why I thought maybe the Aq...you know, sounded better than breakfast this morning. It was all I had enough money for."

I felt my anger drain away.

"Listen Bill, I want you to start sleeping in the Men's Shelter tonight. After what happened to Frank, just tell me you'll do it, okay?"

"Sure Jake." He was patting my arm like he was trying to comfort me.

"Bill, you gonna be okay if I leave you here?"

"Sure, Jake, and thanks." He was patting my arm again.

I had to get out of there.

****

Night was falling, the streetlamps began to flicker, and everyone stood around in small groups, just beyond the reach of the light's dim glow.

Someone was singing quietly off-key. Even Bill had come in from the streets to hang out, closer to the Mission than you usually ever saw him, his harmonica sounding sad and low.  

I had spent the day talking to everyone that I could, recklessly asking straight out for any information about Frank's possible killer and the killers of the other street people.

Everyone looked at me sadly, thinking it was because I wanted to avenge Frank's death, but they gave me what cooperation and information they could. Too bad it had taken Frank's death to make that happen.

I leaned against the wall of the building next to the Mission, and looked down the darkened street. I was listening to the murmur of voices behind me, when someone approached me from the shadows.

It was Eddie, and a huge mountain of a man who followed silently behind him. The man’s shaved head gleamed dully under the street light.

Eddie walked toward me as though he was going to pass by and then stopped to light a cigarette across from where I stood, half turning away as the flame sparked in his cupped hands.

I spoke to him without moving, quietly so that only he could hear. "Watch your back. Stay off the street for a few days."

Without turning his head, he glanced over at me and gave a slight nod. He took a long drag on the cigarette and spoke, still not facing me, his eyes focused straight ahead on some spot in the darkness.

"I heard." The smoke drifted around the words as he spoke. "Crazy Willie was telling me, and anybody else who would listen to him. What are you trying to do?"

"Save some lives."

"If fewer people are sleeping outside, it makes the ones who are, more of a target."

"I know."

"The Men's Shelter is going to be overcrowded tonight."

"Yeah, and if the system and the resources get overloaded enough, maybe the shouting down at City Hall for more money for food, shelter and programs will get a little louder, and maybe..."

I stopped as Eddie turned toward me then and stepped in closer. There could be no doubt that he was talking to me now, if anybody happened to be looking. The expression on his face told me that he no longer cared if anyone noticed.

Something had changed about Eddie since I’d seen him last, something about his eyes and his voice, the way he walked. He was different somehow than he’d been when I'd seen him in the first few days after he'd been attacked. And was the big, bald hulk beside him his muscle? The way the big man hung back respectfully, walking a few steps behind Eddie, made me think so.

Yeah, Eddie had made a few changes in his life. He would be a victim no more.

Except to the drug.

As he stepped into the light of the street lamp, I could see the tracks on his arm when he bent his elbow to take a drag on the cigarette. His eyes were slightly glassy but lucid. Deadly lucid. He was in maintenance mode, the sure sign of a true junkie.

Damn them. Damn them to hell whoever had gotten him hooked on the junk.
Welcome to the big city, young man.

I straightened as he stepped in close and stiffened when he reached inside the Hulk's overcoat pocket. His companion stepped closer. Here we go.

In one swift movement, Eddie pulled a gun from his companion’s coat pocket and thrust it into my hands. He turned his head to look toward the groups of men gathered outside the Mission and moved to lean against the wall beside me, his back blocking their view.
He asked softly, "Know how to use it?"

I looked him in the eyes, trying to mask my astonishment. "Yeah, I know how to use it," I tried to reply as nonchalantly as I could, holding the gun to catch the street light. It was the exact make and model of my own gun. The coincidence was eerie.

I looked at him quickly to read his expression, catching him in the act of studying my own face. The serial numbers were scratched away, but the gun had been recently oiled and cleaned. In fact, it looked new.

I looked closely at Eddie, his face lit by the glow of the cigarette that he held stiffly between the first two fingers of his right hand, and he looked at the ground. The fingers holding the cigarette were shaking badly.

I could hear Hutch's voice telling me to take the gun, and Dobey's voice telling me that I could never use it.

I felt my mouth form a crooked smile. I handed the gun back to Eddie. "Thanks anyways, you keep it," I said, pushing it back into his hand.

The mask dropped away and his voice sounded just like the big kid that he was, "Ar-are you sure? You might need it."

"Nah, it's okay. I'm just going to snoop around, see what I can find out about who killed Frank."

"Yeah, but you don't know what you're getting into, Jake." His voice sounded sad and full of regret.

He looked away and took a last drag on the cigarette. When he swung around to face me again, he’d pinched the cigarette butt between his fingers, and his voice and emotions were firmly back under control.   

"Well suit yourself, I'll be around," he drawled, affecting a sophistication that his eyes told me he didn't feel.

He turned and handed the cigarette filter that he'd been rolling between his fingers to his companion, who promptly opened his mouth and swallowed it with obvious pleasure.

I tore my eyes away from what I'd just seen as Eddie spoke to the Hulk. "C'mon, Bruno."
Smiling wryly at my amazement and his open display of power, he stepped back into the shadows. 

As they moved away, disappearing into the darkness, I heard the sound of the Mission doors being unlocked and turned to watch the men shuffle inside. I walked past the open doorway, crossed the street, and entered the park.

I ambled across the grass. It looked black under my feet in the darkness. Making my way toward the silhouette of the public washroom building, I tried to make my movements appear as aimless as I could, and watched the shadows.

I leaned against the washroom's cinder block wall and scanned the open field, hearing raucous laughter rising from the direction of the beach. Turning toward the sound, I slouched down further inside my heavy wool overcoat, and shuffled slowly and unsteadily toward the walkway that overlooked the sand.

A gang, wearing its colors, had gathered around a fire burning directly below the cement wall where I stood. I heard a noise behind me and turned, but too late. A sharp pain exploded inside my head and suddenly everything went black. I was falling...

****

The beep, beep, beeping of a truck backing up sounded so loudly in my ears that I thought they would burst. Every beep stabbed like a knife into my brain.

I tried to pull my hands up to cover my ears and was surprised at how much it hurt to try. I didn't want to move. Everything hurt too much. But the beeps were getting louder and I had to try and open my eyes and end this dream. Let it be a dream.

I opened my eyes at last and found myself face down on a sticky asphalt surface, filthy bits of paper and loose trash blowing against my face.

A loud crash forced me to push myself up into a sitting position, the fire along my ribs and the blinding pain from moving my head too quickly, nearly causing me to black out. I caught a glimpse of a dumpster being upended and slammed against the back of a large truck

Flashes of lightning danced behind my eyelids as I squeezed them tight against the relentless ache. I raised my hand to wipe the wetness from my face and when I opened my eyes again, saw that my palm was bright with blood.

I was sitting in an alley, a noisy alley, and I knew that I had to get out of there. I fought to remember as I tried to slow my breathing and gain some control of the pain.

A gang. The last thing I remembered seeing was a gang...at what?...about ten o'clock last night? Obviously it was not 'the' gang, or 'the' killer, because I was still alive. At least I thought I was still alive.

I slowly pulled myself to my feet. I didn't want to risk finding myself face down on the pavement again. Okay, I was standing.

I had to tell Hutch where I was and what had happened. I could sure use you here now, buddy. I wished that I'd taken him up on his offer of Mexican.

I don't know how I managed to walk the two blocks to Heavenly Delite, to leave Hutch the note. Sheer pig-headedness I guess. You'd have to ask my partner about that.

It was a short note, because I could hardly see the paper.

Hutch
- got rolled by a gang of punks in the park. Took me for a ride and dumped me in an alley near the Viceroy. Hey, guess I should of met you there after all, Blintz.
I'll be in the room you rented.

Starsky

Now, if I could just make it to the Viceroy.