*****************************************************

Starsky was running late. In fact he was running and he was late. He glanced at his watch and cursed then sprinted the last two hundred yards home at a speed that would have made a few athletes blush.
Shit, trust me to choose this morning to oversleep.

He showered and shaved and started to dress; fresh new white shirt, the tie his mom gave him for his last birthday and his new dark blue suit with the blue satin lining.
He gulped down a cup of coffee and went over to the ‘phone.
“Hutch? I’m just leaving. Be waiting for me outside willya.”
Some hope, but then if I’m running late maybe he’s on time for once.

He grabbed a black velvet pouch from a bureau drawer and a gift-wrapped package that was on the table in front of the couch. He instinctively cast a quick glance around the house and reached for the holster hanging on the coat stand. He shook his head at the automatic reflex and left it there and skipped down the steps to the Torino.

Starsky was amazed and relieved to see that Hutch was waiting outside his place as instructed. He was wearing a gray suit and looked as smart as his partner. Like his partner he looked uncomfortable in such smart clothes.
He was holding a small gift-wrapped package; he got into the car and put the package on the back seat. He noticed that it was much the same size as the one already there.
He also noted the velvet pouch. I wonder what that’s for

“I hope we didn’t both decide on the same thing.”
Starsky grinned. “Don’t worry; it’s normal; six pens, four watches and a few twenty dollar bills.”
“A bit like when Van and I got married. We thought lists were pretentious; so we got four toasters, two blenders and I don’t know how many carving sets.”
He stopped for a moment and thought of that wedding day. His parents were horrified that he had married without having a steady job; but they liked Van and approved of her. Van’s parents, on the other hand, couldn’t hide their contempt for Hutch and his family. Van’s father was a high-earning lawyer and he expected more for his daughter than some drop-put hippy that she’d held a candle for since they’d been at college together.
He was still lost in his thoughts when they arrived.
“Hey, anybody would think you were the one going through the ordeal!” His partner nudged him.
“Did you…”
“Did I? Come on Hutch what do you think. My mom would have walked through flames to provide the big day for me and Nicky.”
“And your sister?”
“That’s a bit too modern an idea for my mom. She may not be kosher but she’s an old fashioned girl at heart.”
Like mother, like son. He’s far more conventional than he’d ever admit. He’s loving this!

Starsky parked the Torino at the end of a long line of cars and the two of them started to walk towards the synagogue.
“Rabbi Stern teased me because I parked a block away from the Temple the first time I came – but we ain’t got no choice; this time – we walk the mile! Look at all these cars!”
Hutch looked at the line up of cars. There were a couple of Mercedes sedans and a few scruffier cars; the Torino stood out from the crowd – but then it usually did.
Hutch was beginning to feel slightly embarrassed; he had no idea what was expected of him. It occurred to him that Starsky had been in churches before and even if he felt uncomfortable he didn’t show it; he stood and sat with everyone else and sat quiet and respectful when the others kneeled to pray.
But Hutch had never been in a synagogue and he wasn’t sure what to expect. As they approached the door Starsky opened his pouch and slipped a prayer shawl around his shoulders and plunked a beautifully embroidered skull cap on the back of his head; he looked slightly sheepish and pulled a Kirby grip out of his pocket to keep the kippa in place on his wild curls. Hutch was about to ask him what he should do when his partner reached into a box by the door and handed him a paper skull cap. “Put it on and follow me.”
Hutch did as he was told; Starsky grinned, “at least yours stays on without help!”

Hutch followed Starsky into the synagogue. His eyes were drawn to the beautiful carved columns that supported a carved wooden canopy.
There were pews a little like some of the churches he’d been in – more ornate than in his Lutheran tradition, but not totally over the top either.
There was an organ playing and he could see a choir seated beside it.
It seemed to Hutch that there wasn’t much difference between a synagogue and a church; except for the sound. Instead of sitting quietly in their seats, or kneeling in private silent prayer, people were chattering, kids were playing and a group of men with their shawls over their heads were chanting prayers. He couldn’t get over the contrast between the pious prayers and the friendly chatter.
Starsky pulled him to a seat and they waited.
The rabbi came forward and the service began. The Torah scrolls were paraded and then placed on the table and one by one men came forward and chanted a passage from the scrolls.
The rabbi called his son’s name and the boy came to the table.
Starsky nudged Hutch and said in a low voice “Right now he’s trying not to throw up, and he’s praying that his voice won’t choose today to start breaking and that he will remember the words.”
Somewhere in front of them a woman was sobbing quietly.
“Yiddisher mommas; they cry at wedding Bar Mitzvahs and funerals. Mine sobbed so much you’d have thought all three of her kids had just died!” Starsky commented -not without a little humor in his voice; Hutch had never met Lily Starsky and he wondered how much his partner was exaggerating.

The Bar Mitzvah boy got through his ordeal without any obvious problems.

Once the service was over Hutch followed Starsky outside. Rabbi Stern and his son were shaking hands with guests and members of the congregation. When the boy saw Starsky he grinned. “I knew you’d come.”
“I put the word out on the street that no way was anyone to commit a crime today!” He patted the kid on the shoulder and continued “You did well; I hope I was that good, but I can’t remember!”
Rabbi Stern had come up behind his son and had his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “From what you mother tells me, you were word perfect.”
Starsky looked at the Rabbi out of the corner of his eye. “My mother told you that? Hey Rabbi you should know that a Yiddisher mother is not a reliable source as far as her son is concerned. And anyway she was crying so much she probably didn’t notice if I was saying my portion or reciting a dirty version of Three Blind Mice.” They laughed. “By the way; how come you spoke to my mom?”
The Rabbi grinned at him; “she called me, I guess you must have told her something about your visits.”
Starsky looked at Hutch and shrugged “Jewish mothers work in mysterious ways.”

The guests were making their way to the hall where the reception was to be held. Starsky and Hutch followed and placed their gifts on the table – along with a lot of other suspiciously similar packages. Starsky chuckled. “Like I said; six pens, four watches……I expect he’ll take them and change them at the stores they came from; or do a discreet deal with the people who gave them to him. Personally I took the whole lot to the pawn shop and spent the proceeds on Playboy magazines.”
Hutch wasn’t sure whether he should believe his partner or not – anything was possible with Starsky.

When Starsky dropped Hutch off at his place it was gone midnight. “Get some beauty sleep Blondie; I’ll see you at Metro at eight sharp.” Starsky gunned the engine and woke up half the neighborhood as he left.

**************************************************************

Starsky arrived at the squad room the next morning in time to see Hutch disappearing down the hall. He went over to his desk and saw an envelope with his name on it.
One of Hutch’s not-so-funny practical jokes, I guess.

He opened it and sat down in shock. A metal swastika fell out onto his desk. He peered into the envelope and saw a piece of paper; he looked around for something to grip it with. He spotted Detective Jacqui Stevens; “Hey Jacqui, do you have a tweezers handy?”
Jacqui gave him a strange look and dug into her purse. She brought him an eyebrow tweezers and he gingerly eased the paper out of the envelope.
He glanced at the note and went white.
“Heil Hitler”
He used a paper knife to slide the envelope and its horrendous contents into the drawer.
He looked at the other cops in the room. “Did anyone see who put this on my desk?”
They looked at him and saw the combination of horror and hurt on his face; Davis shuffled papers and Jacqui looked embarrassed.
“Well; someone must have seen something! I mean; you’re supposed to be cops aren’t you?” Starsky’s anger was barely disguised. Jacqui cleared her throat.
“Yeah?”
“It was Hutch.” She could barely look him in the eye; she’d seen the contents of the envelope.

Starsky stared at her and then at the filthy thing that lay in his desk. He closed his eyes to fight back the burning tears. He sat like that for three maybe five minutes; too shocked to want to go and find his partner and force an explanation.

Dobey’s office door opened behind him. “Starsky, come in here; we’ve been waiting for you!”
Still stunned Starsky stood up and went into the Captain’s office. Hutch was sitting in the chair to the left of the desk. He smiled up at his partner and Starsky looked hard at the clear blue eyes and the shiny blond hair and Hutch’s even white teeth. He decided not to say anything because he was not sure that he would keep his voice under control.
“Cap’n?” He looked to his boss.
“Hutch and I have been here thirty minutes discussing the bank heists that you two are supposed to be dealing with. Where in the hell have you been?”
But I saw him going down the hall when I arrived

He turned to the Captain. “Sorry, I had to stop by the cleaners to drop off my suit.”
He’d managed to drop a glob of mayonnaise on his jacket at the Bar Mitzvah party and Hutch’s attempts to wipe it off had only made things worse. The stain was a doozie and Starsky knew that the cleaner’s bill would hurt.
“I didn’t realize I was a half hour late. Not like you to be on time, Blintzie” Hutch detected a certain hardness in his voice but made no comment.
I guess he’s having one of his bad days

Starsky sat down and listened carefully while Dobey and Hutch re-capped their ideas and he put in his thoughts on the matter.
As the discussion went on he had to force himself to concentrate on the case and not to think of that envelope and the evil it represented.
Another half hour passed and the two cops were released.

Standing in front of the coffee machine Hutch put his arm on Starsky’s shoulder and felt his partner flinch.
“What’s biting him?” the blond cop wondered.

Starsky turned and looked him in the eye. “You were with Dobey when I arrived? You didn’t go down the hallway to find something or go the can or anything?”
“No; why?”
Starsky shook his head. “Nothing, I guess I’m more tired than I thought after last night; I must have been seeing things.”
But was I imagining it? Jacqui says she saw you.
He thought quickly – the last thing he wanted was for Hutch to think that he was onto him.
“Lookit, Blondie; I’ve got a couple of things I need to do. I’ll meet you at Huggy’s in about an hour.”
Hutch nodded. He had a date with a snitch who claimed to know about the robberies. “Ok, Starsk. See you there!” He walked away and Starsky watched him carefully.
He’s the perfect cool guy from Minnesota. WASP!

Starsky opened the lower drawer of his desk and took out gloves and a big manila envelope; as discreetly as he could he slipped the swastika and its accompanying note and envelope it. He made his way down the hall and stairs to the lab.

“Phil, could you run this for prints please? Oh and Phil, don’t tell anyone about this and only give the results to me, is that clear?”
Phil had been in the lab ever since Starsky and Hutch had joined the Metro HQ. He knew that if one of them wanted something for his eyes only it was important. “Sure Starsk.”
Starsky had already left the lab when Phil saw what he had to check for fingerprints.
“Phew. Looks like Starsk made himself an enemy!”

He got to work. He dusted the swastika, the envelope and the note with fine powder then shook off the excess. He held each item with pincers as he passed them under an ultra-violet light. There were two clear prints on the swastika and one less clear, but identifiable print on the envelope. He placed the two articles on a prepared tray and photographed them. Then he went to the lab to develop the photos.
Fifteen minutes later Phil had two clear photos of the finger prints and he started to find a match for them. The print on the swastika didn’t match anything on the records; Phil could quite understand why this was for Starsky’s eyes only; he ran a double check to be sure; but the result was the same. Then he checked out the print on the envelope. “Shit! No wonder he wants this to himself!”

Steinmetz and Kurt were sitting in the twin wing-chairs by the fireside in the Brentwood mansion.
“Were you seen?”
“I made sure that some of them saw me, but I made sure that the Jew wasn’t there. I think he arrived as I was leaving.”
“I hope he caught a glimpse of you at least, Kurt. That was part of the plan and I do not want anything left out; do I make myself clear?”
Kurt picked up the iciness of Steinmetz’s glance and nodded. He understood perfectly well; those that displeased Steinmetz had a tendency to disappear and he was counting on living a lot longer.
Kurt was the kind of loser who would sell himself to the highest bidder. He had tried, and failed, to make a career in Hollywood and had fallen into a world of petty crime instead. When he met Steinmetz he was down so far on his luck that even the trashcans had nothing to offer him. Steinmetz’s sexual predations were the small price to pay for having a roof over his head and a full belly. Steinmetz’s political views didn’t bother Kurt one way or the other. Where he came from there weren’t many Jews, and the few that did live in the town were rich; so he was easy prey to Steinmetz’s indoctrination. He was ready to accept that if he couldn’t make it in Hollywood it was because “they” were in control or that it was because he didn’t look right with his blond hair and blue eyes.
“Look at them, Kurt.” Steinmetz had said. “Look at the ones who are at the top of the lists right now. Not many Redfords but plenty of ‘ethnics’; you know what they mean by that don’t you? They mean 'one of them'; Jews and other undesirables.” When had mentioned one or two other names Steinmetz snorted with derision. “They change their names! There are plenty of them and it started a long time ago. They’re in control and they let in the other degenerates – the niggers and the communists and…”
Kurt was not the sharpest arrow in the quiver but he wasn’t so dumb as to add the missing word – ‘homosexuals’ – after all Steinmetz was keeping him in a manner to which he had very happily become accustomed; he wasn’t bright enough to ask himself why it was ok for Steinmetz but not for anyone else.

Steinmetz, on the other hand, was a pure manipulator and he knew that using his sexual power over a boy like Kurt would bring him a loyal and docile follower. Some of his associates were less happy about his ‘degeneracy’ but they held their tongues and stayed alive.
He dismissed Kurt and turned his attention to his next move to discredit the two cops who had foiled his plans.
He picked up the ‘phone and dialed a number.
“I have a new assignment for you. Please come to the house in one hour and bring your partners.”
He went to the bookcase and activated the mechanism so that it slid open to reveal the entrance to a secret sound-proof chamber. He checked the weapons and walked to the target area. Content that the targets were properly positioned he left the room and the bookcase slid back into place.
He settled into his chair and picked up his favorite book. “Mein Kampf”.

An hour later the door bell rang and Steinmetz carefully placed the book on the side table and went to let in his visitors.
“Gentlemen, please come and sit comfortably.”
Steinmetz served his visitors with drinks and got straight down to business.
“It is time to strike again. Your last exploit has still not been dealt with efficiently by the police and a further demonstration of their incompetence is required. The Fourth National Bank on 17th Street is, I feel, and excellent target. It is, after all, almost next door to their headquarters. Tomorrow afternoon at four thirty the security agents will be preparing for the arrival of the armored van; the van always arrives at four forty-five. Tomorrow it will arrive at four forty. You will have exactly five minutes, gentleman, I think that should be sufficient. There are three security agents; it will only be necessary to kill one of them.”
He stood up.
“Now if you would follow me, gentlemen, I will give you the weapons to be used tomorrow.”
The three men followed Steinmetz into the secret weapons room. “If you would like to acquaint yourselves with the guns, gentlemen you will see that I have provided targets.”

Steinmetz left them and went to find Kurt.
The young blond was sunning himself by the pool and Steinmetz watched him appreciatively for a few seconds before going over to the lounger. The boy was perfect…almost too perfect. It was a pity that he would have to be disposed of when his usefulness came to an end; but Steinmetz could not allow any weak links and the boy was venal enough to be a very weak link in the chain.
“Are you enjoying yourself? Do you have everything you need?” Steinmetz sat down on the lounger beside the young Adonis and traced his finger along the boy’s smooth tanned chest.
“Yes sir. I guess I could get used to this kind of life very easily.”
“One day, Kurt, when we have taken over and the Jews are no longer in control; you will be a star and you will have all this, and more perhaps.”
Steinmetz smiled at the boy.
“Now I have a new scene for you to rehearse. You must be sure that you are convincing.”
He handed the boy a sheet of paper. “Read it, and learn it. You must use these exact words. When you are ready we will go to the studio and film your performance.”
Kurt took the typed page and started to learn his lines.

Hutch was in a seedy bar down town. He had an appointment with Gerry “the Weasel” Wesley. The Weasel was late and Hutch felt uncomfortable in this place on his own.

The bar’s owner was a fat blowzy blonde and she hadn’t seen fifty for a long time – in fact she’d probably bid a not so fond farewell to sixty too, now Hutch came to think of it. She was a hard-hearted bitch and she’d have sold her mother for a handful of popcorn; but Hutch had heard that she had a soft spot for Gerry.
The clock told him that the Weasel was now an hour late. He leaned across the bar to Nellie and asked her if she’d had word from the Weasel. She looked shifty and then came over.
“No-one’s seen him for a couple of days Hutch. Not even me.”
“But he called me this morning and said to meet him here.”
“Maybe he did; but I’m telling you I ain’t seen or heard the little runt for two days.”
“If he comes in tell him I’m looking for him, ok?”
“Sure. If he comes in.”
Something in the way she said it made the hairs on the back of his neck tingle.
Hutch drove to the flophouse that had been the Weasel’s last known address. The guy on the desk tried the usual evasive action and Hutch cuffed him to the banister.
He took the stairs two at a time and stopped on the fourth floor.
Room 413 was at the end of the corridor. Hutch listened at the door and heard nothing. He knocked and drew back, his hand ready on the butt of the Magnum. Still no answer. He turned the doorknob carefully and the door opened. He peered round the door, gun at the ready.
The Weasel was sitting in a filthy armchair; he seemed to be staring at Hutch without really seeing him. Hutch walked over to him and saw the confirmation of what his instincts already knew. The Weasel was dead. A thin line of vomit trailed from the corner of his mouth, his lips were frozen in a sinister rictus and the body was cold.
Hutch went over to the ‘phone and used a corner of his jacket protect his hand as he picked up the receiver.
“This is Detective Hutchinson. Send me a coroner’s team and a lab team to the Empire Hotel on East 11th; room ...uh…413.”
He put the ‘phone down and reflected that most hotels never had room 13 on any floor – trust the Weasel to luck out in a hotel that wasn’t superstitious.

Starsky was driving along Olympic when he heard the dispatcher send the teams to the hotel.
“This is Zebra Three. Anything I can do?”
“Aren’t you already there Starsky? Hutch called it in.”
“I will be in a couple of minutes.”
He checked the side mirror and the rear view and pulled off a perfect 180° turn and roared off up the street. A couple of kids on skateboards watched as he passed, then glided on their way weaving through the sidewalk traffic and irritating more than one pedestrian.

He swerved to a halt outside the hotel just missing a down and out and his shopping trolley full of junk. Starsky ignored the old man’s insults and ran straight up to the fourth floor of the hotel. He arrived in front to Hutch and took a second to catch his breath; and counted to ten.
Just keep cool and don’t let him get to you whatever he says or does. Keep it friendly; don’t let him think you’re on to him.
“Need any help? I heard the dispatch so I came straight here.”
Starsky was making a physical effort as well as a mental one to keep calm and friendly with Hutch.
He looked into the room and saw the Weasel. “Aw shit!”
“That’s just about what I said. He was supposed to give me the low down on the robberies. Guess this puts us back in square one.”
Hutch went to pat Starsky on the shoulder; but his partner pulled away as if he had been burned. Starsky looked at him in a strange way and said:
“Come on; the lab guys are downstairs; we might as well get out of their way.”

They had to stop on the second floor landing to let the coroner’s team get past with the gurney.
Starsky continued to his car without a word. Hutch was still trying to work out what he might have said or done to make his partner mad.

Starsky wasn’t the only one who’d picked up the dispatch message. In these days of CB radio and scanners all the hangers on and rubbernecks for miles around turned up any time a call went out for the coroner’s wagon. A few journalists relied on scanning for leads to another juicy “the public has a right to know” scoop; the local TV teams usually got to the scene before the police left.
This time there was no gauntlet of flashguns and dumb questions.
“Somebody must’ve decided that a dead Weasel isn’t worth stopping a ball game.” Starsky muttered.
“Last one to The Pits buys the beer!”

He saw the look on Hutch’s face and bit his lower lip. Make an effort, Dave; don’t let him see how you feel

“OK, I’ll give you a head start. I won’t get into my car until you’ve pulled away from the curb.”
Hutch went to his car and Starsky watched him open the door. As soon as the clunker’s engine had hiccupped into life Starsky was back in the Torino and gunning the engine.

Hutch could save his money this time. As the two cars made their way to Huggy’s bar (Starsky took a short cut) Dobey’s voice cut into the airwaves.
“Starsky! Hutchinson! I want you two here right now!”
Starsky took a couple of swift turns and Hutch saw him as he passed going in the wrong direction. He picked up his radio: “Hey, Starsk?”
“Yeah?”
“Lost your way; Huggy’s is to the east of here!”
“Wise guy, didn’t you have your radio on? Dobey wants us, pronto!”
Hutch sighed and turned back to follow the Torino to 17th and Main.

Dobey was sweating and looking as if he might explode any minute. Instinct told the two cops not to be too flippant.

“In my office; both of you.”
They followed Dobey into his office and sat down.
“I want you to watch this and then I want an explanation.” Dobey mopped his face and pressed a button on the remote control for a video machine connected to a TV set in his office.

The picture flickered into focus. A pretty journalist was standing in front of the
Empire Hotel. She announced that a known criminal had just been found dead.
“Known criminal? The Weasel was a nothing!” Starsky exclaimed.
“Shut up Starsky and watch!” Dobey was not in any mood for interruptions.
The journalist spoke for a couple more seconds and then turned to…
“Detective Hutchinson. You found the corpse; what do you think happened?”
The two cops had their eyes riveted to the screen.
The guy looked like Hutch; he even sounded like Hutch. Starsky began to feel sick; something bad was going down and he had a feeling that he was the target.
“Well Katie, unfortunately Mr. Wesley was a low-life and I have to say that although I have never had dealings with him I do know that my partner occasionally used him as an informant.”
Starsky shot a look at Hutch out of the corner of his eye; then returned his attention to the TV set.
“I don’t always approve of the people my partner chooses to deal with; but I guess they all stick together don’t they?”
“Could you explain that, Detective Hutchinson?”
“Well with pleasure Katie. You see Mr. Wesley was Jew and my partner is a Jew so…….”

Whatever Hutch said on the screen was drowned by the sound of Starsky slamming the door behind him.
Hutch stood up but Dobey motioned him to sit again.
“Let him go. Now, Hutch maybe you can explain this to me satisfactorily – or do I get someone from IA down here?”

Hutch looked sick. If Starsky had hit him in the guts it would have felt better.
“I can’t…I mean...it wasn’t me…I…uh…”
Dobey wiped his face yet again.
“Well if it wasn’t you it was your twin brother. And we both know you don’t have a brother. We’ve had at least a hundred and fifty calls since that went out and they’re still coming in. Some of them sympathize with what was said; the Anti Defamation League wants your ass on a plate and the JOA, that group that was picketing the ballet dancer, thinks that you should at least make a public apology. And that isn’t to mention the Chief of Police, the Mayor and the Governor who have all called to tell me to put you on suspension without pay. Plus; we have Starsky out there like an unexploded H-bomb that may just go off in your face.”
Dobey stopped to draw breath and Hutch tried to say something but his mouth was dry and his tongue felt like it weighed a ton.
“It wasn’t me Captain. I was still in the room with Starsky. There were no TV crews when I arrived or when we left.”
“Wait a minute. Are you telling me that you two did not arrive together?”
“I had an appointment with the Weasel and Starsky was doing something else…he came when he heard the dispatcher sending the back up.”
“So Starsky can not confirm that there was not TV crew in sight when you arrived?”
“No…but Captain, I’m telling you that there was no-one there – how could there have been? I mean when I arrived I thought that Weasel was waiting for me – alive.”

“It’s not enough Hutch. But maybe it’s a start. I’m giving you twenty four hours to prove that it wasn’t you…with or without Starsky!”

Hutch ran out of the office; Starsky wasn’t in the squad room and the other cops all gave him strange looks. He started off down the hallway and nearly collided with a young uniformed officer that Starsky had once slapped for calling a black man a ‘nigger’; the cop steadied Hutch and said “personally I’ve never understood how you could work with him.” Hutch pushed him roughly to into the wall. “I’ll remember that; and when I’m clearing myself with IA I’ll tell them about you.”
He ran on down to the street but the Torino was no longer parked in front of the building.
“Just pull yourself together buddy” He told himself. He went back up to his desk and picked up the ‘phone. The ringing tone echoed in his head and after a couple of minutes that seemed like an hour, he hung up.

Starsky wasn’t sure how but he got home in one piece. He was so mad that he’d burned two red lights and nearly hit a bus. He slammed the car door and took the steps up to his house in three leaps. He went in and locked and chained the door.
He tore off his jacket and flung the holster and gun across the room; it hit a vase his mom had given him and smashed it and Starsky screamed a couple of choice obscenities. He stormed to the bureau and opened the top drawer. He hesitated for a moment and then closed the drawer again.
He went to the kitchen and found a beer. He leaned against the fridge and started to drink from the can. As he did he slid slowly down to the floor and sat like a rag doll with his legs splayed out in front of him and his back against the fridge door. He took another gulp of beer and stared into the room. Anger surged up again and he slammed the can against the cabinet opposite him; a spray of foaming yellow liquid flew across the floor. Tears streamed down his face.
He had no idea how long he had been sitting there when the ‘phone began to ring. He let it ring until whoever it was gave up.
Whoever it was. He knew who it was! He had no intention of speaking to him; not now and maybe never again.

Huggy saw the newscast too. He couldn’t believe what he heard and saw. He knew that if he was angry, Starsky would be semi-ballistic by now. He wasn’t too sure he’d be able to handle speaking to Hutch in friendly terms either. He went behind the bar and dialed the dark cop’s number.

Sitting on his kitchen floor Starsky ignored the ‘phone for the second time.

Huggy didn’t like the idea that Starsky might be out there mad enough at Hutch to hurt him; or hurt enough by Hutch’s words to harm himself. He called to Angie to keep an eye on the bar and went out back to where his fifties Chevy was parked. He drove over to Starsky’s place and sighed with relief when he saw the Torino slewed across the driveway. He went up the steps and knocked.
No answer.
He knew that both cops left a key where the other could find it in an emergency so he felt up along the lintel and then remembered that Starsky’s key was under the mat.
He slid his hand under the doormat with its slogan in big black letters ,”WELCOME”, and his fingers touched metal.
He put the key in the lock and turned it. He tried to open the unlocked door and only got it as far as the heavy duty security chain would allow.
A gruff voice from inside shouted “Fuck off!”
Huggy heard the hurt in the gruffness and declined to take the advice.
“Starsky? It’s me Huggy; come on let me in willya?”
He heard movement and Starsky’s stormy face appeared in the opening.
“Whaddya want?”
“Hey man. I saw the TV. I reckoned you needed a little friendship.”
Starsky looked at Huggy and shrugged. He released the chain and padded back into the house. Huggy let himself in.
“Hey Hug; don’t leave the key where the WASP might find it!”
“Don’t want him buzzing by, huh?” Huggy was relieved to see that he raised a smile.
Starsky came out of the kitchen with a fresh beer for himself and a can for Huggy. He raised his can in a mock toast and said “To Jews and Niggers; may we swat any wasp that gets in our way!”
Huggy sipped in silence. He’d known Starsky a long time now. He’d kind of known him at high school, but Huggy didn’t really move in the same circles as the more athletic David Starsky. When Officer Starsky had first come into The Pits with his blond blue eyed and very green partner, Huggy couldn’t believe his eyes; but he was happy to be of help whenever he was asked and the ‘dynamic duo’, as he liked to call them, had become good friends. He knew that Starsky had a short fuse – he’d spent plenty time in the penalty box at the rink and his reputation on the football field was that of an aggressive player who fought his way through. Huggy also knew that although the fuse was short and the explosions spectacular, Starsky did not like people who sulked. He rarely held hard feelings and made up quickly once the anger was vented. And to be honest, Huggy had rarely seen Starsky blow up at someone who didn’t deserve it.

They finished the beers and Starsky automatically went to fetch more.
“I don’t have much to eat in the house Hug, so if you get to drunk to drive you’ll have to crash on the couch. And I personally intend to get too drunk to drive!” He giggled. “Not that I was thinking of going anywhere.”
“That’s a relief. I half expected you to go over to Venice and wreck Hutch.”
“Nah. You know what? I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.”
Huggy couldn’t think of a reply so he went back to the beer.
Starsky wandered over to the stack of discs in the corner of the room; he selected one and put it on the turntable. The heavy guitar riffs of Springfield playing “Born in the USA” filled the room. “Seems a good enough choice, dontcha think, Hug?” Huggy was relieved that Starsky still had some sense of humor.
“What are you going to do about it Starsky?” Huggy was concerned not just for his friend but for the team that was Starsky and Hutch. Like he’d said before, one without the other was ‘lopsided’ and he couldn’t imagine either of them working with someone else. If the team broke up the Police Department would be two good detectives short in no time at all.
“Dunno. Part of me wants to confront him and…Huggy he’s never lied directly to me before. “
Starsky was lost in his thoughts. No, buddy, you’ve never lied directly to me…
Sure, for their work they’d sometimes had to keep a little secret from one another. Starsky had even gone undercover without Hutch being in on it. But this was more than a sleight of hand…this was ugly anti-Semitism and it seemed to be coming from one of the people he most trusted and …yes…loved in the world. The hurt was worse than the anger as far as Starsky was concerned. If Hutch had simply made him mad, he would have maybe thumped him; he would have certainly chewed him out – publicly or privately…but he didn’t know how to handle this hurt. He needed Hutch; he needed his love and support while he still had to confront a world without Terri. And just as he thought that the ground was getting a little more solid under his feet – Hutch pulled it out from under him. And what a way to do it! After working together for nearly nine years he found out that Hutch was an anti-Semite, a closet Nazi, a…a …lousy rotten fascist!
“I don’t know, Huggy. I just don’t know.”
They ignored the ‘phone twice more that night.

Hutch went home; he tried calling Starsky’s place and still got no reply. He called the Pits to see if his partner was drinking there – Angie told him that Huggy had gone out and that Starsky hadn’t been in. He grabbed his keys and went back to his car.
The drive to Starsky’s place was pleasant at this time of the evening. As he approached the wood-built house he saw that Huggy’s tail-finned monster was drawn up behind the Torino. He stopped; there was only one light showing and Hutch decided to go home.
Let him get it off his chest.

He drove back to Venice and on past his apartment down to the beach. He parked alongside the enclosure where the muscle men showed off their wares all through the day and started to walk along the paved cycle-track. He broke into a run and jogged a few hundred yards before turning back. He wasn’t dressed for jogging and the California spring evenings still had a chill by the coast.

***************************************************************************

Steinmetz was very pleased with Kurt. The boy had put in a very convincing performance.
Now it was up to the other team to do its job.

At exactly four forty a Brinks van drew up in front of the Fourth National Bank on 17th Street. Two uniformed guards stepped out of the back of the van and went into the bank. They went straight to the back room where two tellers were preparing the sacks of money to be transferred to the central store. The bank security guard noted that the van was early; but he put that down to the vagaries of the local traffic.
In the back room the two guards drew their guns and ordered the tellers to lie face down on the floor. One of them then searched behind the desk until he found what he was looking for…the silent alarm that would alert the nearest precinct that an armed robbery was taking place in the bank.
He pressed the button and sat down to wait.

Starsky and Hutch were the first to arrive. They went into the bank with caution and were surprised to see that nobody seemed to be aware of the drama that was taking place somewhere in the building.
Starsky went over to the counter and asked for the director. Hutch was talking to the Security guard. The back room door opened and the two ‘Brinks’ men came out; each pushing a teller in front of him as hostage. Starsky and Hutch reacted immediately.
Each drew his gun; and turned to face the hold-up artists.
A shot rang out and before anyone could be sure of what was happening, the security guard fell to the floor. Hutch went and crouched beside him; he felt his pulse and shook his head.
In the confusion the two thieves had managed to rid themselves of their hostages and escape.
Starsky ran out of the bank leaving Hutch to wait for the back up to arrive.
“This is Zebra three. Put out an APB on a Brink’s van heading west down 17th Street; I’m in pursuit but I need back up.” He didn’t get any further - a truck full of fruit pulled out in front of him and he hit the brakes as hard as he could. He just managed to avoid it but by the time the mess was cleared the van was long gone

The next stormcloud was about to discharge its thunderbolt. When Starsky reported for duty the next morning the thunder was still rumbling in Dobey’s office.
The Security guard had been killed by a bullet that apparently came from Starsky’s gun. Dobey handed him the neatly typed report. Starsky sat down and read the page in front of him as carefully as he could. The bullet was the same caliber as the ammo in his gun; ballistic tests would be needed to confirm whether it had come from Starsky’s gun or not and he was requested to go and fire in the range, ASAP.
He read on. “The security guard….da dah de dah de… what the fuck?”
“Officer Hutchinson confirms that his partner had drawn his gun and was in position to fire. Officer Hutchinson further states that his partner had expressed a desire to ‘get rid of this scum’, in reference to the robberies that had been taking place. Officer Hutchinson can only assume that in the confusion of the situation his partner, Officer Starsky, had fired at a man in uniform without taking care to verify whether the target was one of the robbers. Officer Hutchinson further confirms his partner’s ‘hot-headed behavior that is so typical of his race’…”
Starsky screwed the page into a ball and threw it at the waste basket – for once he missed.
Dobey watched him quietly. Starsky had a foul temper but he was rarely unpredictable; and right now Dobey had a pretty good idea what was going through the angry cop’s mind.
“Go home and calm down. I’ll handle this. I don’t know what Hutch thinks he’s playing at…”
“Playing! You call that playing? Captain he comes across like a member of the SS!”
“Go home, Starsky. That’s an order.”
Starsky stood up and fixed Dobey with his gaze. “If he can’t explain it this time I never want to have anything to do with him again. So find him a new partner; I’ll get a transfer!”
“Starsky! Go home and wait for me to call you.”
Starsky turned and walked to the door and Dobey could see the hurt and the anger in the way his shoulders were working their way up to his ears.

This time Starsky didn’t close the drawer empty-handed. He sat on the couch and stared at the pouch and the Zippo. He hadn’t thought he’d ever do this again; and then he’d had to do it. For an undercover assignment he’d smoked a couple of joints. Now the need was there. Not an addictive need; an emotional need. Back in Hawaii the doctors had turned a blind eye when the GIs being treated for their injuries smoked a little pot; Dr Laurence had told him that they were even beginning to think that marijuana could help in the battle against pain; now he was battling emotional pain and he reckoned that he might just as well finish the extremely good quality stuff he’d bought from Dale a while back. If he left it too long it would go stale and not have the same effect.
Starsky took the pouch and pulled out a packet of rolling papers.
Might as well have a big one.
He licked the ends of two papers and overlapped them to double the length. Holding the papers in his right hand he pinched enough of the grass from the pouch to fill a fat joint. A few deft movements settled the grass into the center of the papers and he began to roll it between his thumbs and forefingers until the joint took shape. He carefully licked the length of the gummed edges and rolled the joint as tight as he could. He twisted off the ends and reached for the Zippo.
Starsky sat holding the joint between his lips and re-read the Zippo. The song echoed in his head:
And it’s one two three what are we fighting for? Good god I don’t give a damn, next stop is Viet Nam. And it’s five six seven eight open them pearly gates…….”
He flipped the top of the Zippo and the flame flared; he leaned forward and lit the end of his joint and inhaled slowly and deeply.
A couple of drags later and he felt easier about life. He drew the fragrant smoke into his lungs and let the effect ease his mind.
He started to float above his unhappiness. The thought of Hutch’s naïf question “Who’s Mary Jane?” set him giggling.
Oh Mr. Goody Two Shoes. The Blond Blintz. I’ll bet he never understood “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” either! Too busy being John Denver or Joan Baez to get down run barefoot in the grass! Boy am I glad I didn’t tell him I still had some left.
He took another toke. Euphoria began to take over. He reran scenes of the past few years in his mind. All the times he’d seen Hutch look sick or disgusted when things weren’t as squeaky clean as Duluth. All the times he’d picked his partner up and loved and cared for him when he needed it. He saw Hutch strung out and fighting for a piece of candy and screaming, pleading for ‘help’. He remembered those terrible days of cold turkey. He saw Hutch sitting by his own bed as he lay trying not to die after a lethal injection. He remembered the tender way that his partner had nursed him when all the while he could feel himself bleeding to death in the back room of a restaurant. Most of all he saw Hutch standing by him; silent and loving, while he grieved Terri until he thought his heart would burst and that the tears would burn his eyes blind.

The joint was burned down to his fingertips; he felt in the pouch and found the roach clip fashioned from a Viet Cong identity tag; the only souvenir he’d ever taken from enemy dead.
Using the clip he got the last concentrated effects from the joint. Despite being high he knew that he still had enough for another joint if he wanted it; he also knew that he had better keep the stuff hidden. He carefully gathered any shreds of grass that rested on the table and put them in the pouch. He slipped the papers back in place and placed them and the Zippo back in the drawer.

He lay down on his couch and drifted off on what was left of his trip.
He must have lain there about a half hour when it came to him. The mists of the trip suddenly seemed to clear to show him what they had all missed.
Well I’m in no fit state to go and tell the Captain, he giggled as the thought of what would happen if he turned up at the Precinct stoned.
He settled back and drifted off to sleep.

************************************************************************

Dobey watched Starsky leave and sighed. He could smell a set up and despite all his years on the force he still disliked the odor. Under normal circumstances he’d have put his two best men onto the case; but these circumstances were not normal. His two best men were unlikely to stay in the same room with one another; let alone work together.
His own reaction was in danger of getting in the way. He was beginning to wonder when Hutch would make a comment about his Captain – would he call him a Nigger?

He picked up the ‘phone to find out where Hutch was and the answer put the ball back into play.
“Hutch has just gone up to IA, Captain.”
He pushed a second button on the phone console. “Dobbs? When did Hutchinson give you his report?”
He listened in silence.
“So what in the hell is the report I have in front of me?”
“I’m telling you Dobey; he’s in here right now. No…no…he wasn’t in the building when I called for him the first time.”
“Thanks Dobbs. Let me have a copy of the real report as soon as you can will you?”

Dobey leaned back in his chair and wiped his brow. He thought about how to handle the situation for a while. He passed through the squad room. “Tell Hutchinson to wait for me.”

Starsky was still dozing in the pleasant clouds of his trip.
Somewhere behind the clouds and flowers someone was hammering a nail or something like that. Maybe it was enemy fire – he couldn’t tell.
He focused his fuzzy brain on the sound. It wasn’t hammering or gunfire; someone was knocking on the door.
He stood up and walked to the door; carefully planting one bare foot on the ground before picking up the other. The cloud was pretty solid; but he didn’t want to fall off it quite yet.
He opened the little latticed window in the door and peered into the sunlight.
Dobey’s fat face filled the frame like a big black sweaty moon.
“Hiya Cap’n. What’ya doin’ here?”
“Let me in Starsky.”
Starsky reached out for the door handle. He slid the security chain very carefully – he didn’t want to break it and things are real fragile in cloudland.
It seemed to Starsky that the door opened in slow motion. Dobey looked like one of those toys he had when he was a little kid. Knock it over and it rocked back upright.
He wandered back to the couch and Dobey followed him into the house.
The Captain hadn’t been a cop for twenty odd years for nothing. He sniffed the air and detected the distinctive perfume of pot. One look at Starsky’s dilated pupils confirmed what his nose told him. He picked up the roach from the saucer that the young cop had been using as an ash tray.
“Starsky; what in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Starsky fought to focus his eyes. “Hey Cap’n; it’s for personal use only and I don’t have an ounce left!”
Dobey shook his head.
“It’s OK. I’m almost down again. What are you here for?”

Starsky was in the kitchen fiddling with a kettle. He was still moving with exaggerated deliberation. He spooned tea into a pot and managed to fill the kettle with water. He leaned against the counter and waited for the kettle to boil. He was staring at the kettle with a puzzled look on his face when Dobey came over and pushed the button to switch it on.
“Works better that way, David. Are you sure you can handle this, or would you like me to do it for you.”
“No Cap’n. Take a seat. I’m fine; honest.”

Starsky was balancing the tray on his fingers like a well-trained waiter. He placed it on the table in front of the couch and grinned at his Captain.
“Steady as a rock!” He sat down heavily and chuckled.

“Hutch is with IA right now.” Dobey said quietly.
“Hope they don’t throw away his badge ‘cos I have an idea where I want to pin it.”
“No. He’s with them giving his report on the shooting.”
Starsky put his cup down carefully and stared at Dobey. “What? Well if he’s with them now where did that…” He sipped his tea again.
“I don’t know, Dave. But I do know who is best placed to find out.” Dobey didn’t need to say anything else.
Starsky stood up and looked around the room for his gun. The holster was on the floor in front of the peacock chair but the gun must have slipped under the couch when he threw it across the room.
He knelt down and felt under the couch – Dobey shifted his feet to one side. Starsky stood up; he was staring at the gun in his hand.
“How come I didn’t notice?” He weighed the gun in his hand and turned it over in to examine it carefully. He held it out to Dobey.
“What is it?”
“It’s not my gun, Captain. It’s the right model and all; but it’s not my gun.”
Dobey took the gun and turned it over in his hand before returning it to a stunned and confused Starsky.
“Are you sure that you are capable of knowing right now?”
“Captain, I spent a lot of time in ‘Nam stoned out of my mind; but I would have known if someone had switched my weapon. This is not my gun.” He turned it to one side and showed the captain the side of the butt. Like all weapons made by the manufacturer it had the trademark engraved and a serial number…all weapons except this one. The serial number had been expertly filed away.
“The only time anyone could’ve made the switch was when I went to ballistics. Captain…”
“Very professional.” Dobey commented.
“Yeah. The question is ‘who’ and ‘how’ and ‘why’. Ok that’s three questions but you know what I mean.”
“Find out, David. I’ll tell Hutch to join you.”
“No. I’d rather do this on my own. Let whoever is trying to split us up think they are succeeding.”
“OK. But I’ll keep him in the picture. He felt bad enough the last time you went undercover without telling him where you were.”
“I’ll let you know what’s happening and you can pass it on; until I’ve got this straight in my head, I’m not sure if I can handle him.” That way only he gets to know what I want him to know.
He started for the door and Dobey followed him out.

Dobey went back to the Precinct and waited for Hutch.
The blond cop came into his boss’s office about five minutes later.
“Wow! That was one of the worst sessions I’ve ever had with those guys. They really seem to be on my case…I got the feeling that Dobbs didn’t believe a word I was saying to him. “His voice trailed off as he saw the expression on Dobey’s face.
“What is it?” In a way he didn’t want to know the answer because he was sure that it had something to do with Starsky.
“Sit down Hutchinson; and read this.” Dobey slid the close-typed page over to Hutch.

**************************************************************

Starsky arrived in front of the JOA headquarters and faced up to the heavy at the door. The security guard recognized him and knocked on the door. Kauffman appeared almost immediately; he took one look at Starsky’s face and invited him in.
Starsky followed Kauffman across the hall.
“Nice place, you’ve got here.”
They went into the main office and Kauffman gestured to the cop to take a comfortable chair by the fire-place; he sat opposite his guest.
“So Detective Starsky, what can I do for you?”
“I’ve come to sign up. I want to join your organization – in fact I’d have joined you when we last met but…”
“But you weren’t sure what the blond would think?”
“No, not that. I was too busy doing my job to get involved with you then. Now I want to join.”
“I saw the TV news, Starsky. Your partner pushed you too far, didn’t he?”
Starsky was silent; he was staring into the flame that flared in the fireplace.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive him.”
“You may not have to.”
Starsky looked at Kauffman and his blue eyes were filled with tears. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re being set up. I’ve heard rumors that the Fascists want to revenge the cops who foiled their last move. You are the perfect target; aren’t you? Efficient cop and Jewish; and your partner is perfect Nordic blond.”
Starsky thought for a moment and sniffed. He brushed his nose with his finger and took a deep breath.
“Are you trying to tell me that they are using Hutch to get to me?”
“No. I am telling you that they are getting to you by making you think that your partner is one of them.”
Starsky shook his head. “Let me get this straight. They’re using Hutch and he doesn’t know it? Listen Kauffman, Hutch can be a bit naïf at times; but he’s not dumb. And he certainly isn’t dumb enough to let them use him without his realizing it.”
Kauffman didn’t answer. He went over to the desk and handed Starsky a sheet of paper.
“Fill in the form, Starsky and I’ll sign you up – that’s if you really want to join us.”
Starsky searched his pockets for a pen and started to fill in the information – name, address etc. etc. He handed to back to Kauffman with a shy smile.
Kauffman opened a file and handed Starsky a photograph. “Look familiar?”
The photo was a black and white glossy; standard issue for aspiring actors. Starsky glanced at it; missed a beat and looked again more carefully.
“Holy shit!”
Kauffman smiled.
Starsky looked closely at the photo. “It had me fooled for a minute – but it isn’t Hutch.”
“Not just you. Everyone who saw the TV broadcast was fooled. Just what they wanted.”
Starsky sat back in his chair and lowered the photo. “OK Kauffman; tell me all you can about this.”
“About a week ago I got word from one of our members that some material was missing from the local TV station; a camera; tape recorder, that kind of thing. At the same time I also heard that Steinmetz had a new protégé…and Starsky when I say ‘protégé’ I mean toy-boy. Despite all the Fascists condemnation of what they call ‘degenerates’ Steinmetz just can’t resist a pretty boy. And it would seem that he has found a new one. The boy in the photo is Kurt Richards. He’s a greenhorn kid from somewhere in the mid-west where they don’t see many Jews or Blacks so he’s pretty ignorant about ‘minorities’.
He’s been trying to get into the business for about six months. He doesn’t have much talent; but he has learned to use his good looks. Unfortunately for Kurt even if he gets beyond kneeling under the producer’s desk he doesn’t get much further. And like a lot of desperate kids he’s willing to do anything for a meal and a bed. As you have seen, however, the boy can act better than the studios have given him a chance to show. Steinmetz picked up on him about a month ago – just after his lawyer got him off the hook. You can see what he saw in the boy – can’t you?”
Starsky nodded. “Go on.”
“Steinmetz uses them; abuses them and ultimately disposes of them once they begin to bore him. Kurt is currently serving his purpose; when the role is played I suspect that Steinmetz will be looking for a new prey. Unless of course you manage to make a strong enough case against him this time…and you will.”
“How?”
“Starsky think. Not only is Steinmetz trying to destroy you and your partner; when he no longer has use for Kurt the boy will disappear. And that, I do not need to tell you Detective, is murder one.”
“Not if I can stop him in time. I need all the help you can give me on this Kauffman; I don’t have my usual backup for obvious reasons.”
“I’ll be in contact this evening. In the meantime, why don’t you start looking into the Fascist Party of America? But be careful; they have friends is very high places.”

As Starsky drove back to the Precinct he was turning over in his mind all that Kauffman had told him. Things were beginning to fit together in his head. He went down to the locker room to pee and freshen up; when he opened his locker he had the next bad surprise. Someone had put a grey and black striped shirt and cap in the locker; the shirt had a number on it and there was a note pinned to the cap. “This is the uniform that you should be wearing.” He sat on the bench and stared at the ugly garment. He knew what it was – his great uncle Manny still had his; kept in a closet so that no-one should ever forget. His great-uncle also had a serial number; tattooed on his arm.”
He slammed the locker shut and ran up to the lab. “I need someone to come and take prints off my locker. You’ll find mine; but I need to know who else has opened it. Take prints off the coat hanger in there too. When you’ve got them; I’ll be with Dobey.”
He set off for Dobey’s office.

“Captain, I’ve had another message.”
Starsky took a cup of water and sat down opposite Dobey. When he told Dobey what he’d found in his locker the black man sighed.
“I got a message too. Someone burned a cross outside my house last night.”
Starsky told Dobey everything that he had learned from Kauffman.
“We have to find a way to trip them up, Captain. I think with Kauffman’s help I can do it. Just keep the WASP out of my way.”

Hutch was in Nellie’s bar. He’d stopped off at the Pits but he had the feeling that he wasn’t welcome; as soon as he walked in, Huggy had walked out. He was sitting at the bar staring at the bottom of an empty glass. Nellie offered him a refill; once again, Hutch detected a certain coldness in her attitude towards him.
The TV set was on and a couple of men were discussing the “latest example of our gun happy Police department’s behavior.” Starsky was being pilloried. One of the two was particularly hard on Starsky; Hutch stared at the screen. He’d seen that face before…where? He ransacked his memory and it came to him. The guy was an apologist for Hitler – he denied the existence of the Holocaust – and here he was bad-mouthing Starsky as a “violent and dangerous element”.
How come they asked him for his opinion?

Hutch drained the last drops of beer that had settled in the glass after he put it down on the counter. He started up the steps to leave; Starsky was coming in.
“See you needed a change of scenery too!” Hutch quipped. Starsky gave him a sour look and continued to the bar. Hutch followed him.
“Hey Starsk; come on give me a break willya. I swear I don’t now what’s going on.”
Starsky turned his back. Hutch put his hand on the dark man’s shoulder; Starsky got off his stool and walked to a far table. He called to Nellie “What does a guy have to do to get some peace in this joint of yours?” Hutch was stunned. He saw Nellie staring at him and then at Starsky – she didn’t get it either. He decided to let things be and went back out to his car.
Starsky came back to the counter and Nellie served him a beer.
“Last time I saw you two go through a routine like that you split his lip.”
Starsky looked at her, his face expressionless. “This time I’m likely to bust his…”

Hutch sat in his car too stunned to put the key in the ignition.
Talk about bad timing.
“That’s it! Timing!” He started the engine and set off to the TV station.
When Ruben the studio gopher saw Hutch arrive he ran to the nearest ‘phone.
“Kauffman; the blond cop has turned up at the studio. He might tip them off; what do I do?” He listened for a minute of so then hung up. He ran over to intercept Hutch.
“Can I help you?”
Hutch flashed his badge. “I need to speak with the crew that went to the Empire Hotel the other day.”
Ruben didn’t miss a beat.
“They’re in Alaska.”
“What about the director of the station or someone. I need information about that night.”
Ruben thought on his feet. “Right now they’re all in a big meeting with the network honchos. I’m about the only person not invited – me and the technicians who keep us on the air. Why don’t you come back tomorrow? Call first maybe – these guys are so busy and all…”
Hutch could tell that he wasn’t going to get very far and he decided to call it a day.
“OK. Look if I call, who should I speak to?”
Ruben gave Hutch his name.

Starsky and Dobey were trying to think of something light to talk about while they waited for the prints from the locker. A lab technician came in with the readout and when Starsky saw it he sighed with relief.
“They’re getting sloppy. It should have been Hutch’s prints like the last time.” The prints were unidentified; but Starsky was going to find out soon enough whose they were. Sooner than he expected.
Dobey was watching Starsky carefully.
“Go home, Dave; I’ll let you know when Kauffman is ready.”
Starsky stood up, sketched a salute and left the office.
He pulled into his driveway and glanced at the scruffy car the car parked outside the house on the other side of the road; if he didn’t know better he’d say Hutch had changed his car again. He locked the Torino and walked up to the door. As he opened the door he heard a movement inside the house. He sighed.
This is the last thing I need.

He drew his gun and opened the door enough to slip in to his house. There was someone in his bedroom. As he crept over to the doorway he slipped the safety catch and held his gun ready. He held back as far as he could and peered at an angle into the room.
At first glance it looked like Hutch; but Starsky could see that this man was younger than his partner. The intruder still had the slenderness around the waist that most people have lost by the time they hit thirty – the difference between a man and a boy. Starsky pulled back. He decided to let whoever this was do whatever he was there to do. He made his way quietly to the kitchen and slipped behind the cover of the fridge.
The blond intruder was looking for something. He was methodical and he wasn’t leaving any mess. Just shows it can’t be the Blintz.
He made one big mistake, however; he didn’t wear gloves!

Kurt continued his search. Steinmetz had told him to find something that the Jew cop valued; all he had to do was find it and destroy it. He walked back into the main room and saw his target. On a side table was the almost finished model of a full-rigged galleon. Next to it were a couple of sheets of balsa wood and a cutter.
Kurt stood and stared in awe at the model. When he was a kid his mom and dad gave him kits to make model airplanes and stuff but he could see that this was not made from a kit. Any guy who cut his own patterns like this would really value his work.
Starsky held his breath and then swallowed hard as Kurt lifted the ship and smashed against the wall. Four months of painstaking work lay shattered on the floor.
Kurt looked pleased with himself and turned to leave the room. Something attracted his attention. He went to the bureau and picked up a photo frame. Again Starsky felt his heart leap into his throat as the blond smashed the photo of Lily.
Let him go.

Starsky let Kurt leave the house before darting to the front door. He watched through the little window in the door as Kurt went over to the car across the road. As soon as he heard the engine fire; Starsky was down the steps and into the Torino.
He followed the car discreetly. They made their way back down the canyon into West Hollywood and then took I10 where it runs as a freeway above the LA traffic snares. They were heading for Santa Monica. Kurt took the Santa Monica exit and headed for San Vicente and from there they made their way back up to Brentwood.
It seemed to Starsky a pretty long way around – but then Kurt probably didn’t know the streets the way his pursuer did.
Kurt pulled into one of those broad leafy avenues that reflect the prosperity and comfort of the people who live in them. Well-kept lawns descended to the sidewalk; elegant gates hid gravel driveways leading to big houses. Starsky wondered what it would be like to live in a neighborhood like this; but when it came down to it he preferred his canyon.
Kurt stopped in front of one of the gates and waited. Starsky watched as the gate slowly opened to reveal a mansion that looked like a castle in a horror movie. No, it came to him, not a castle in a movie but a mountaintop lair. The house had sinister gray walls and two little turrets that reminded Starsky of the lookout towers on prison camps.
Charming taste this guy has. Goes with his political views, I guess.

The Torino’s engine growled softly as Starsky cruised past the house and noted the number. He gunned the engine and drove back home. He felt the beginning of a headache in the back of his skull; as he drove home the sun was getting low in the sky and even with the visor down and his shade pushed right up he couldn’t keep it out of his eyes. By the time he let himself into his house his eyes were throbbing and he could feel the nausea rising.
He hadn’t noticed that he was being followed.

***********************************************************************

Starsky woke up in another room, and pain told him he wasn’t hallucinating. He tried to open his eyes and found that he was blindfold.
Someone hit him hard in the gut and he would have doubled over if he could but his arms were wrenched up behind him and his wrists tied together; he must have been suspended from something because he couldn’t feel a solid surface beneath his feet.
His whole body was sore and aching
The punch to the gut was followed by a blow across his face.
“At least have the guts to let me see who you are!” he yelled.
The next blow was below the belt and knocked all his breath out of him. He forced himself to recover and he managed the same challenge although this time his voice was a pained croak.
Whoever was using him as a punching bag appeared to be enjoying it. A series of blows caught him in the solar plexus and the chest and another one to the side of his head nearly knocked him out.
“Enough.” A voice said gruffly – Starsky knew he’d heard that voice somewhere before but his head was buzzing and pain was searing through him. He heard two sets of footsteps walk away.
“Hey! Let me down.” The only reply was laughter.
The full weight of his body seemed to be pulling his shoulders out of their sockets. Starsky knew that he had to find some way to relieve the drag on his sore and vulnerable joints otherwise he’d be back in the emergency room suffering the misery of having one or both shoulders pushed back into their sockets. The last time he’d dislocated a shoulder he’d been leaning against Hutch whimpering in pain…he couldn’t be too sure that he’d get to lean on his partner again.
He started to swing himself gently and exploring the space with his feet. He reached behind him with his left foot and touched something solid. Thank God for that, they left me close to the wall.
Carefully; avoiding more pain at all costs, he extended both feet behind him and found that he could push them against the wall and take some of the weight off his arms. It was far from comfortable; but it was better than nothing.
He may have stayed like that a few minutes or a few hours; he had no idea. When he heard the footsteps returning he gritted his teeth and released himself from the wall; by the time his torturers returned he’d stopped swaying and was suspended as they had left him.
Someone tore the blindfold away and he was blinded by a spotlight trained on his face.
His head exploded; he couldn’t help wondering how his captors would feel if he threw up all over them. He didn’t get the chance to find out. Someone threw a bucket of cold water over him.
“Undress him.”
Starsky remembered where he’d heard that voice before – Steinmetz. His shirt was ripped off him and someone started to pull of his shoes, socks and jeans. Whoever it was hesitated but Steinmetz’s voice rang out. “Naked! I want him naked.”
Starsky hoped he wasn’t blushing as his underpants were removed.
Another bucket of cold water splashed over his body.
“I am a very patient man; Starsky; very patient. And I intend to take my time in watching you suffer. And you will suffer, Jew. When I have finished with you …you will be begging for it to end. And how will it end, I wonder? I have a canister of…well let’s just say that it is a souvenir of my past activities…and I have an airtight chamber. I’m sure you understand what I mean.”

The light was switched off and Starsky hung dripping and shivering and wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this one alive.
Starsky had no idea how long they left him. He was cold and scared; and very uncomfortable. It seemed like hours; it was certainly long enough for his bladder to have filled.
His captors had returned.
This time they didn’t blind him with light and there were no more buckets of water.
One of them cut him down. Starsky’s leg muscles gave out and he collapsed on the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. His arms felt like they no longer belonged to him and he’d lost most of the feeling in his hands ages ago. He felt two men grab him arms and he was dragged slumped between them, skinning his knees on the concrete floor.

He was thrown onto the floor and he heard the door slam.
As his eyes accommodated to the darkness Starsky tried to look around the cell. No window, no grating… oh my God, there isn’t any ventilation in this place!
He scuttled himself against the wall and wrapped his arms around his knees, drawing in his body to retain as much natural warmth as he could. He tried not to move too much –to preserve as much precious air as he could.
He wanted to piss and worse.

****************************************************************

Kauffman was in Dobey’s office.
“My people are ready. My contact at the studio tells me that Steinmetz and his friends are preparing another broadcast. It seems that this time they intend to film, shall we say, ‘on location’. They have managed to acquire a broadcasting van – they will be ‘going live’ as they say in the business.”

Hutch rubbed his face; he was exhausted and it showed.
“Do we have any idea what they are going to broadcast this time? Maybe I’m going to appear in a white hood and burn a cross or lynch Huggy.”
Dobey shot him a sour look.
“Sorry Captain; but like Mr. Kauffman says, I’m a victim in this too.”
Kauffman leaned forward: “I have a question. Has anyone seen Starsky recently?”

Dobey had hoped that Kauffman wasn’t going to ask that question. When he hadn’t heard from Starsky for over forty eight hours Dobey assumed that that he was with Kauffman; the question proved that he was wrong. He looked at Hutch.
“We thought he was with you…at least the Captain did; Starsky’s been avoiding me ever since the fake IA report. I figured I should leave him until he’s ready to talk to me.”

“No. I haven’t seen him since he came to ask me to help him with his plan.” He reached over to the desk. “May I use your ‘phone?”
Dobey gestured and told him how to get an outside line. Kauffman dialed rapidly and his call must have been answered immediately.
“Starsky’s missing. No-ones seen him for about forty eight hours…yes I know that…What about the boy…Kurt…Oh now that is interesting. See what you can find out and get back to me…I’m with Captain Dobey.”

Hutch and Dobey looked at him expectantly.
“I don’t like the sound of this. Apparently the actor – Kurt – was seen going into Starsky’s house. Starsky went into his house and then he followed Kurt to Steinmetz’s place. My people lost him after that. They tell me that Starsky started to drive away from Brentwood but that he just seemed to disappear.”

“Wait a minute.” Hutch cut in. “The Torino isn’t exactly a standard model – someone must have seen him.”
Kauffman shook his head. “My people lost him, that’s all I can tell you. The last they saw of him he was pulling away from Steinmetz’s house.”
Hutch jumped up. “I don’t know what you had in mind but I’m going in there right now.”
Kauffman reached out and held his arm.
“That’s exactly what they want. Then they’ll have both of you.”
“I don’t care what they want. If they have Starsky they are going to hurt him – maybe even kill him; and I’m not going to let that happen. He’s my best friend and I can’t let him go that easily.”
Dobey knew Hutch well enough to see that there was no point in trying to stop him from going in to save his partner.
“OK Hutch. But I want Mr. Kauffman to go with you.” He stopped Hutch from interrupting by thumping his fist on the desk. “Mr. Kauffman knows more about this organization than we do. Let him help.”
Hutch acquiesced and he led Kauffman out of the office and down to the precinct garage. When Kauffman saw Hutch’s car he missed a beat. “I suggest we take my car. It will be less conspicuous in that part of town.” He led Hutch to a dark BMW saloon.

On the way to Brentwood Kauffman explained a little more of what he knew.
“I’m afraid I didn’t tell you everything in your Captain’s office. The ‘live broadcast’ will be of your partner’s death. You have to understand how much Steinmetz admires the meticulous way the Nazis kept records of what they did. Steinmetz has good reason to hope that some of the films that were made at the time never come to light – he was a guard in one of the camps. No-one has ever been able to bring enough evidence against him…and the statute of limitations is in his favor; with every year that passes the harder it will be to bring charges. We have enough evidence…but he is very careful.
He made a mistake over the ballerina and if his lawyer hadn’t been so quick we might have been able to get to him…but…”
“And what would you have done to him?” Hutch was curious to know whether Kauffman would have handed Steinmetz over to the police or executed private justice.
“We’d have shipped him to Israel; like Eichmann.”
Kauffman slowed down and turned into the street where Steinmetz lived. He stopped opposite on of the most sinister houses Hutch had ever seen in his life.
“That is Steinmetz’s house. Does it remind you of anything?”
Hutch said quietly. “How did he get away with building a replica of Hitler’s lair without anyone noticing?”
“Some people will turn a blind eye when the price is right and Steinmetz has friends in high places. Sergeant Hutchinson; our present Governor is not an evil man…he’s not a very intelligent man either…which makes it easy for his wife and her ultra-right wing friends to influence him. The Nazis made a stand against Communism, Sergeant, and as you know the Governor is an unrepentant ex-McCarthyite.”

Hutch sat in silence for a moment.
“Kauffman, I need to know if you are keeping anything from me.”
“Steinmetz was responsible for the gas chamber.”
That was all Hutch needed to know. He was out of the car and on his way to the gates before Kauffman could follow him. The BMW’s engine purred and Kauffman drew up to block Hutch from going through the gate.
“Get back in. I’ll take you to an easier entrance.”
They drove along the perimeter of the house and Kauffman stopped at the entrance of a service alley. He switched off the engine and the two men started up the narrow lane.
About halfway along the Steinmetz property was the gate used when it was the day for the garbage round. Despite all the other security this gate was unlocked. Hutch couldn’t believe his luck.
He unlatched the gate as quietly as possible and the two of them slipped into the back yard.
At the back of the house was a low dark building. It only had one window and that was filled with light – the kind of bright light a camera needs for clear images. Hutch and Kauffman exchanged glances and went closer.
Hutch peered into the window. He pulled back and beckoned to Kauffman to join him.
“They’ve got Starsky in there. I don’t know what they’ve done to him or what they intend to…”
“I think I know.” Kauffman pointed to a ventilator that could only be opened from the outside. “I told you what Steinmetz did in the war…”

Hutch was galvanized into action. He burst into the hut and found himself staring at a corpse lying on the floor.
He turned the body over and began to understand.

“Welcome Mr. Hutchinson. You must admit that Kurt is a very good likeness.”
Steinmetz was standing in the doorway.
“Where is he?”
“Oh, are you really concerned about the Jew? Well if you really want to see him while he’s still alive…”
Steinmetz turned and Hutch followed on his heels. Steinmetz pointed to a window.
“He’s in there; but I’m afraid you are too late.”
Hutch looked through the window.
Starsky was huddled in a corner of the room. He was naked and unshaven and from where he was, Hutch could see the cuts and bruises all over Starsky’s body. Hutch noticed that some kind of steam or smoke was filling the room.
Starsky saw it too and seemed to withdraw into himself. Hutch watched as his friend who was usually so ready to fight seemed to just cave in. He turned to Steinmetz.
“What have you done?”
“I just carried out orders, you know. All those years, I just carried out orders…and now I give the orders. But I also carried them out this time.” He looked at the wall and Hutch saw a hatch opening beside him. Pushing Steinmetz to one side Hutch lifted the flap and removed a tin of Zyklon B. He flung it at the window and it shattered its way outside the building.
“How do I get in there? Steinmetz; if my partner dies not even your friends in Sacramento will be able to help you. In fact; if my partner dies I will personally escort you to Israel to answer for your crimes.”
Steinmetz remained silent. “It is too late. Look”
Starsky was collapsing. His head was slumped to his knees and his arms hung loosely by his side. Hutch watched in horror as his friend started to slide down the wall.
He searched frantically for the door into the death cell and finally located it; it was so close to the corner that it was hard to see the tell-tale hinges. He pushed Steinmetz to the door.
“Open it! Open it now!”
Steinmetz thought for a second – that seemed to last for minutes – he handed Hutch the key.
Hutch yelled at Kauffman; he handed him the Magnum and told him to keep Steinmetz covered.
He fumbled the key in the lock and took a deep breath then burst into the room. He rushed over to the lifeless form slumped on the floor and caught hold of the nearest part of Starsky’s anatomy. He dragged Starsky by the feet and pulled him out of the room.
“Get an ambulance.” He shouted to Kauffman.
He leaned over his partner.
“Come on Starsk. Don’t quit on me now.”
He looked at Starsky’s bruised body and took off his jacket to cover him a little.
He was about to yell for an ambulance again when three uniformed cops came in to deal with Steinmetz and Kurt.
“There’s an ambulance on the way, Hutch.” One of them said.
Hutch could smell that his partner had soiled himself as he started to lose his battle to stay alive. He called one the uniformed cops over.
“Go find me some water and a cloth; I can’t leave him in this mess.”
Hutch started to pump Starsky’s arms as if he was dealing with a drowning victim. He struggled to remember the routine. Heart massage; then breathe into the mouth.
Oh god; how many times am I supposed to pump before I give him mouth to mouth?
He pumped and breathed and pumped and breathed.
He felt for a pulse and found a murmur of life in his friend’s neck. He pumped and breathed again and again.
Starsky was still alive; a choking strangled sound in his throat signaled that Hutch was getting somewhere. He pulled the limp body up and propped Starsky against his chest; Hutch wrapped his arms around his partner and held him in an attempt to stop him from slipping away. Another little choking sound and Hutch was sure that he could feel Starsky’s pulse a little stronger.
The uniformed cop returned with a basin of water, a washcloth, soap and a towel.
Gently, as if he was dealing with a child, Hutch cleaned Starsky’s body. As he did so he examined the marks of the beating his friend had taken – what he saw made him feel sick. He had another shock when he pulled Starsky’s arm to straighten him up a little. On the inside of the strong muscular arm was a series of figures.
The bastards…they couldn’t have…
He ran his finger hand along Starsky’s arm to see if there was any sign of inflammation and to his relief the figures smudged under his damp fingers.

The paramedics arrived; followed by Dobey puffing and panting with the effort of running through the house.
Hutch held his partner tenderly while the ambulance crew checked his vital signs.
“What was it, Hutch; do you know?”
Hutch gestured with his head to the broken window; the paramedic followed his gaze and whistled.
“I didn’t know there was any of that stuff left.”

Hutch helped them lift Starsky onto the stretcher and walked alongside it still holding his partner’s hand. He climbed up into the ambulance and sat cradling Starsky’s head in his lap as the ambulance tore through the busy traffic to the hospital.
He stayed with Starsky while they ran a few more tests. Starsky was still unconscious and naked under the sheet.
Finally one of the doctors came over to Hutch.
“He’ll be ok. We are able to counteract the poisoning effects and fortunately for your partner he is a very fit and healthy young man.; His lung capacity has saved him. He must have taken a beep breath when he realized what they were doing. He’ll be under oxygen for another twenty four hours; but I don’t think there will be any lasting effects.”
An auxiliary came to wheel Starsky up to his room and Hutch walked alongside.
The auxiliary and the nurse lifted Starsky onto the bed and Hutch helped to dress him in a hospital gown. They lay Starsky down on the pillows and the nurse placed the oxygen mask over his face.
Hutch sat down for a long vigil.
He looked at Starsky lying on his back, his face relaxed into a slight smile. The thick curls had fallen back from his brow and Hutch saw the ugly marks on his forehead.
He touched his partner’s cheek gently.
“Sleep buddy. You’ve been through the worst of all nightmares. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He spoke gently, as if to a sleeping child.

The doctors decided to keep Starsky under for another twenty four hours and Hutch knew that there was nothing more he could do at the hospital. He returned to the precinct where Dobey and Kauffman were waiting for him.
“Steinmetz is in a holding room, Hutch. I thought he should wait until you were ready to question him. I guess he’s sweating by now.” Dobey wiped his face. “How’s Dave?”
“He’ll be ok; at least I think so. He took a helluva beating and he might have a cracked rib; plus both shoulders were out; they’ve decided to keep him under for another twenty four hours –something about keeping his muscles relaxed so they can heal. The doctors reckon Starsk took a good deep breath when he saw the gas starting and managed to hold it long enough not have breathed in much of that filth.”

Kauffman looked steadily at Hutch.
“Now you see how far they will go. You understand why we are still fighting, thirty years later; there are still people who will tell you that the Holocaust didn’t happen. As long as men and women like Steinmetz are still around we have long fight on our hands and we need people like you and your partner to help us. Did you know that he signed up?”
“No; but then Starsky hasn’t been talking to me much in the past few days. In fact I don’t know how much he really believes.”
“Don’t worry about that. He knows it wasn’t you. He told me when I showed him this.”
Kauffman gave Hutch a copy of the photo of Kurt. “You saw the boy too.”
Hutch nodded grimly. “I saw him.”
“Steinmetz couldn’t afford to have the evidence of his sexual tastes discovered. The boy was doomed the day he met Steinmetz. He served his purpose and then he was destroyed. Just like an unwanted pet.”

“Are you going to go down and talk to him Hutch?” Dobey cut in on the blond cop’s thoughts.
“No. Let someone book him and charge him. Is there some way we can keep his lawyer from springing him this time?”
“Attempted murder of a police officer is plenty for him to be refused bail this time.”
“Good. He can sweat until Starsky is fit to do the interrogation.”
Dobey looked at him. “Are you sure that would be a good idea?”
“Yes.”
Kauffman smiled. “And then will you hand him over to me?”
Dobey grunted. “Mr. Kauffman; Steinmetz will be tried in California for the attempted murder of a police officer and for the murder of Kurt. He will also be tried in a Federal Court for his fascist activities. If he walks away from either of those courts I promise you that Starsky, Hutch and I will escort him to the airport for you to take him to Israel. IF!”

*************************************************************************

Starsky didn’t get the chance to interrogate Steinmetz; neither did any one else.
The day after he was arrested Steinmetz had a visitor; he had the right to send his plea to his lawyer and one of his friends brought him paper and envelopes.
Steinmetz returned to his cell and sat down to write his lawyer. After he had finished he carefully folded the pages and slipped them into the envelope. He licked the gummed flap and went to lie down on his bunk. When the guard came to check on the prisoner he noticed that Steinmetz seemed to be very still. By the time the doctor arrived it was too late. Analysis later showed that there were traces on cyanide on the envelope flap.

Hutch was spending every spare minute he had by Starsky’s bedside – and when he wasn’t there Dobey or Huggy took over. Despite the doctor’s earlier optimism; Starsky was taking longer to recover than expected. Worse, a specialist had been called in and he was skeptical about how much damage had been done to Starsky’s lungs. Starsky was still in a coma.
Hutch took Dobey to one side. “I guess someone should call his mom.”
Dobey looked worried. “You do it. If I call she’ll assume that he’s already dead…you might be able to soften the blow.”
“One thing’s for certain, I’m not going to tell her all the details.”
Hutch went over to Starsky’s place.
When he opened the door the scene of destruction made him stop dead. The model ship lay shattered next to the shards of glass from the photo of Starsky’s mother. On the other side of the room was a broken vase and the whole apartment smelled of…Hutch sniffed the air.
“That’s all he needs, while he’s away potheads wreck his house!” Hutch went over to pick up the mess and saw the makeshift ashtray with the Zippo next to it. He sat down heavily and turned the lighter over in his hand.
Oh Starsk. You really were hurting, weren’t you kiddo? And I couldn’t be there for you because you thought I was the one who was causing the pain.

He went into Starsky’s bedroom and found his partner’s ‘phone book. He sat down on the bed and looked at his watch; the time difference was Ok he wouldn’t be disturbing Lily if he called now. He picked up the ‘phone and dialed the long distance number.
“Hello, Lily; it’s Hutch…no...no Lily he’s not dead, but….calm down please.” He waited while Lily pulled herself together. “He was…I don’t know how to tell you this…he was gassed.” He held the ‘phone away from his ear as Lily Starsky’s wails seemed to echo across the continent.
“Lily…listen…yes… I don’t know…I’ll call you when he’s conscious.” Another wail ripped through the ‘phone lines. Hutch waited patiently.
“I’ll let you know…I know he would send you his love… Yes I’ll do that…don’t worry, Lily I’ll do it.”
“Ken? I may call you Ken? Davey is a very lucky boy to have a friend like you. I love you too.”
“Thank you Lily.” If only she knew…

Starsky was propped up on the pillows to help him to breathe. He was still not fully conscious and he had an oxygen tube in his nostrils; he was very pale. Although he had only been prisoner for forty-eight hours he had lost ten pounds and it showed. His ribs were even more visible and his hip bones were visible under the bedclothes. Hutch had to admit that he was more than a little envious of his partner’s physique; although he jogged and took care of what he ate he couldn’t compete with Starsky’s lean and muscular body. Right now, though Starsky looked bad.
Starsky started to cough. It was a raw cough and his whole body shook as he struggled to free the phlegm from his tortured lungs.
A nurse was always at his bedside ready to turn the patient to prevent him from choking.
The worst times were when Starsky was delirious. In his ramblings he pulled his arm back under the covers and begged ‘No No not that, no please.’ Other times he moaned in pain. In the middle of the night he started crying. “Hutch…no…please…don’t…no…don’t hurt me; please don’t hurt me anymore.”

The next day when Hutch arrived at the hospital; Dobey was waiting outside Starsky’s room.
“Wait, Hutch. The psychiatrist is with him.”
“Psychiatrist! Captain Starsky may be a little crazy sometimes…You’re serious aren’t you?”
“He’s had a bad time; he’s still in shock and he was pleading with you not to hurt him when he was delirious. The doctors think it would be best if he didn’t see you yet.”
Hutch sat down on the nearest seat. “What did they do to him?”
Just then the door opened and the psychiatrist came over to speak to Dobey. He looked at Hutch and said “He’ll be ok. We spoke for a long time and David told me everything that he remembers. Some things are still a little confused in his mind. He remembers being suspended by his arms and he remembers some of the things they did to him. He is still having nightmares about the gas.”
The shrink looked at Hutch. “It’s going to be a painful reunion; but he needs your support. Go on in.”
Hutch opened the door and put his head into the room. Starsky was coughing into a basin and Hutch saw the thick yellow phlegm. The nurse helped Starsky to lean back and adjusted his oxygen tube. She smiled reassuringly at Hutch as she left the room.
“Starsk? Can I come in?”
Starsky’s voice was hoarse and barely audible. “You can, it’s a question of may you.”
He smiled; ‘it’s Ok buddy, I give you permission to…” Another bout of coughing cut him off. He gestured to Hutch to bring him another basin from the bedside table and Hutch held him while he coughed up more of the infected phlegm. Starsky wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s getting better. At least now I can breathe without that fucking tube up my nose.”
He looked at Hutch carefully. “Come closer Blondie; let me have a good look at you.”
Hutch leaned forward and Starsky stared hard at his face.
“It’s ok buddy; it really is me; the Blond blintz in person. The imposter is dead.”
“I know; but sometimes…”
“I called your mom.”
Starsky shot Hutch a look that even after nine years his partner couldn’t really figure out.
“You did what?”
“You were very sick and even the national news was talking about the case…and I wanted to reassure her…”
“When does her ‘plane get in.”
Hutch looked sheepish. “Tomorrow at five.”
“Well the least you can do is go and meet her. Hey you can take my car – yours would frighten the life out of her.”
“I’d already thought of that; and Dobey agrees – about my car - he’s lending me his.”
Starsky tried to laugh, but ended up coughing his lungs up again instead. He fell back exhausted. Hutch watched as Starsky fell asleep.

The next day Hutch was at the airport at four thirty. The flight from New York was announced and he made his way to the arrivals area. He recognized Lily Starsky before she saw him and made his way through the crowd to take her suitcase. She looked up at him and smiled broadly.
“So this is the Blond Blintz I hear so much about. My Davey is lucky to have such a friend. So take me to him Ken and tell me what happened.”
Hutch led her to the car. “This is your car? From what Davey said I expected something held together with string.”
Hutch grinned and started to explain that it was Dobey’s car; but he didn’t get a chance. All the way to the hospital he got his first full experience of Lily Starsky in full flow!

He led Lily to Starsky’s room. As Hutch opened the door they heard the terrible racking coughs; Lily pushed past Hutch and ran to her son’s side.
She saw the fading bruises on her son’s face and kissed him.
“Davey darling; your momma’s here now.”
Starsky smiled over her head at Hutch.
“Thanks.”
Hutch left his best friend in his mother’s tender loving care.

A week later Starsky was well enough to leave the hospital – and Dobey, Huggy and Hutch were at last used to dealing with Lily!
Hutch and Lily arrived to take Starsky home. He was still weak and the doctor had ordered total rest for at least another two weeks. Lily had wanted to take him back to New York; but the doctor advised against the plane journey. When they arrived Starsky was protesting against being taken down to the car in a wheelchair.
“David! Don’t argue with the doctor. You are still sick sweetheart.”
Starsky smiled sweetly at her. “Yes momma.”
His smile was even broader when he saw the car waiting outside. Hutch had hired a limo, complete with chauffeur. Hutch helped Starsky into the back and they set off for the wooden house in the canyons.
When Hutch left, Lily was serving her son with a steaming bowl of home-made chicken soup.

Lily stayed for the full two weeks.
Starsky drove her to the airport.
“I’ll come over for the holidays…Passover…I promise.”
“We’ll see; darling. Don’t forget what Joe told you.”

Starsky was about to protest but the loud speakers started to call all passengers for flight 635 to New York and Lily turned to go.
“Mom! I love you.” He ran after her and put his arms around her; the force of her son’s hug lifted Lily off her feet.
“I know Davey and I love you. And I’m very relieved to know that you have Hutch to look out for you.”
She kissed him and brushed the tear from his cheek.
“Call me Friday, Davey.”
“Yes momma.” He watched as she disappeared into the crowd. He ran up to the upper level where he could see the runway. He didn’t leave the airport until the New York bound ‘plane had disappeared into the smoggy sky.

Starsky went back to ground level and out to his car. He got behind the wheel and put the key in the ignition; the engine growled and he pulled away from the curb. As LAX disappeared in the distance behind him the radio crackled.
“This is Zebra three calling Zebra Three. “
“Zebra Three” he suppressed a giggle
“Your place or mine?”
“Huggy’s. I need a drink!”
“Last one there pays.”
“Now you know that’s a dumb thing to say.”
He heard Hutch laugh and cut the connection. Starsky had the feeling that he just might have been suckered.
“This is Starsky calling dispatch direct.”
“Welcome back Starsky.”
“Thanks; could you do me a favor…call Hutch and make out that you are doing a routine check on his position.”
“I take it he shouldn’t know you’re on the air?”
Starsky blew a kiss.
“Control to Sergeant Hutchinson; please give your exact position before logging out.”
When Starsky heard Hutch’s position he roared with laughter.
Good thing I remembered to bring my wallet.

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